janeygodley
Janey Godley’s Blog
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Scottish stand up comic, actor and playwright. Also am published author of “Handstands in the Dark” my critically acclaimed memoir. I work all over the world, either on tour with comedy or theatre. Follow my stories daily and catch up with my unique life.
Age: 47
Age: 47
Gender: F
Location: UK Glasgow/London
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Personal Life: Rainy days do get me down
Posted 12/8/2007 2:03:15 PM
I am still in Leeds. Life was in turmoil yesterday. My brother Jim now lives in Essex with his daughter and five lovely grand kids and I go a call saying he had taken ill. Jim is a complex person but I adore him, regular readers of this blog will know that Jim has come through various drug problems, living with HIV and more recently he survived cancer.
Those worried I am spilling my brothers secrets on this blog will be heartened to know he gave me the say-so to tell all, otherwise I would not say anything!
He is my beloved big brother!
Anyway it seems he was very ill and I wasn’t totally sure why. His daughter had been given conflicting news from the emergency docs at Colchester Hospital and I needed to find out personally.
I called the hospital a few times and luckily managed to talk to a Scottish nurse! She was very friendly and helpful and called me back with Jim’s exact location in the hospital and the number to speak to the doc treating him.
It seems he has pneumonia and some other infection. I was worried he was dying and would have to cancel my comedy gigs in Leeds and dash to London, but the news was good. He was stable.
I called back a few hours later for an update and a wee Liverpudlian nurse said “he is still in a coma and there is no response”
“When did my brother go into a coma?” I screamed alarmed.
“Erm….sorry I have got the wrong notes, I am really sorry” she pleaded “Let me find your brothers notes”
After my heart beat normally I found out Jim is still stable and being treated for the chest infection.
My mate John Fleming drove down to Colchester on my behalf and visited him and gave me the news. I have been onstage every night and have been rather worried, so John is a great mate for doing that.
So far Jim is ok and continues to get better daily.
So husband and I got up today and despite the rain we set off for Otley. It’s a small market town outside Leeds and home to Mr Chippendale (not the sexy dancer but the famous cabinet and furniture maker).
The rain pounded down, we arrived to a small village flooded with water with puddles that could easily handle a small canoe if we so felt like it. I tried to look at the wonderful charming street scenes but the fact that my trousers were flapping and soaked irritated me.
Then Ashley our daughter called.
“Dad!” she screamed.
Husbands face became ashen. I stared at him, my heart stopped, the rain soaked my head, and splashes from cars soaked me as I stood stock still trying to decipher the look in husbands face. I wanted to rip the phone from his ear and find out what was happening to my precious child.
“Are you ok? Are you bleeding?” he asked as the rain muffled his words.
My legs shook- what the fuck was going on? He directed me to a bar off the main road and we both walked inside, him with phone still clamped to his ear. I wanted that phone NOW…I need to know what is wrong with Ashley and he was talking too slow and not giving me any indication, why did she want to talk to him? Why not me? I talk faster and process information quicker…
Husband finally passed the phone to me.
“Mum, I fell down the tube station in those evil brown lesbian looking sports shoes you bought me last year” she sobbed, she was really crying, big gulping sobs came through the ear piece.
“Baby, are you ok? Are you cut? Are you injured? Burn the lesbian shoes, through them out the window, talk to me!” I spoke quickly, I almost lactated and had a breast leak, I haven’t heard her cry like that since she fell off her scooter in 1994.
Husband was shaking his head and patting my shoulder, and trying to communicate something to me, but it was distracting me from my daughter’s pain.
“I really want my dad to come home, I miss him and no one is here when I fall” she squeaked…she sounded like she was five years old. “I don’t know why I am so upset, I really miss my daddy”
She almost hyperventilated on the phone and as I stood in front of a big crackling fire in a tiny wee bar in Otley surrounded by locals staring at me as I shouted about throwing lesbian shoes out of a window, I continued to get her breathe slowly. People stared more, like I was trying to help deliver a child over the phone.
That was until I added.
“Breathe slowly, now hold it and breathe again, not too fast, take it slowly, now grab one lesbian sports shoe and throw it right into the road from the windows in the front” I spoke slowly and clearly.
Husband giggled and ordered tea.
Ashley finally calmed down, I finally calmed down, I hung up the phone and watched loads of wee old men stare suspiciously at me. I didn’t care, my daughter was scared and hurt and it’s my job to fix that shit.
“She is upset, tired and fell and misses her dad” husband spoke as he pored tea into a cup for me. We both sat there in the wee bar in wet clothes and decided to head back to Leeds as the day was complete wash out.
We got back to the car and…it would not start!
The rain lashed, it sounded like pebbles being battered off the roof and the fucking car refused to start.
I sat with wet legs, wet head and freezing hands. Husband called the AA and gripped the wheel in anger; he hates the frustrating feeling of things not working properly.
I knew Ashley missing him was upsetting him and he felt annoyed he wasn’t there for her when she needed him.
Finally the AA turned up, fixed the starter thingy and we drove back to Leeds in silence. I watched his face, his jaw was stiff and he was grinding his teeth. The rain slashed continually.
“I miss her” he spoke.
“I miss her too, she is ok, you know, she needs to accept shit happens and she needs to know she will get over it, she really wants you home, but that doesn’t make you a bad dad for not being there, how do you think I feel? She doesn’t really miss me” I said.
“You have been travelling since she was eight, I was always there for her” he said.
“That sounds like I was never there for her, am I a bad mother?” my heart sank.
“No, you are a working mother, that’s a good thing; I am a dad, that’s a different thing”
We drove in silence, both of us trying to work out how to be a good parent, yet earn a living. I knew Ashley was having a bad day and would come through it all. She isn’t that weak or needy, she just must be feeling down, she is strong like me.
The phone rang again, it was Ashley. My heart missed a beat as I pressed the button and heard her shout “Guess what? It’s snowing here in Glasgow! Wow, mum I am so happy, I need to go my as mates are here and we are going to a party tonight, sorry I upset you, I just missed dad. I threw the shoes away…Love you mum” and she hung up.
Being a mum and dad is fucking scary.
Being a sister is scary.
Being a comic is easy, am back onstage in Leeds tonight. Life is ok.
Posted 12/8/2007 2:03:15 PM
I am still in Leeds. Life was in turmoil yesterday. My brother Jim now lives in Essex with his daughter and five lovely grand kids and I go a call saying he had taken ill. Jim is a complex person but I adore him, regular readers of this blog will know that Jim has come through various drug problems, living with HIV and more recently he survived cancer.
Those worried I am spilling my brothers secrets on this blog will be heartened to know he gave me the say-so to tell all, otherwise I would not say anything!
He is my beloved big brother!
Anyway it seems he was very ill and I wasn’t totally sure why. His daughter had been given conflicting news from the emergency docs at Colchester Hospital and I needed to find out personally.
I called the hospital a few times and luckily managed to talk to a Scottish nurse! She was very friendly and helpful and called me back with Jim’s exact location in the hospital and the number to speak to the doc treating him.
It seems he has pneumonia and some other infection. I was worried he was dying and would have to cancel my comedy gigs in Leeds and dash to London, but the news was good. He was stable.
I called back a few hours later for an update and a wee Liverpudlian nurse said “he is still in a coma and there is no response”
“When did my brother go into a coma?” I screamed alarmed.
“Erm….sorry I have got the wrong notes, I am really sorry” she pleaded “Let me find your brothers notes”
After my heart beat normally I found out Jim is still stable and being treated for the chest infection.
My mate John Fleming drove down to Colchester on my behalf and visited him and gave me the news. I have been onstage every night and have been rather worried, so John is a great mate for doing that.
So far Jim is ok and continues to get better daily.
So husband and I got up today and despite the rain we set off for Otley. It’s a small market town outside Leeds and home to Mr Chippendale (not the sexy dancer but the famous cabinet and furniture maker).
The rain pounded down, we arrived to a small village flooded with water with puddles that could easily handle a small canoe if we so felt like it. I tried to look at the wonderful charming street scenes but the fact that my trousers were flapping and soaked irritated me.
Then Ashley our daughter called.
“Dad!” she screamed.
Husbands face became ashen. I stared at him, my heart stopped, the rain soaked my head, and splashes from cars soaked me as I stood stock still trying to decipher the look in husbands face. I wanted to rip the phone from his ear and find out what was happening to my precious child.
“Are you ok? Are you bleeding?” he asked as the rain muffled his words.
My legs shook- what the fuck was going on? He directed me to a bar off the main road and we both walked inside, him with phone still clamped to his ear. I wanted that phone NOW…I need to know what is wrong with Ashley and he was talking too slow and not giving me any indication, why did she want to talk to him? Why not me? I talk faster and process information quicker…
Husband finally passed the phone to me.
“Mum, I fell down the tube station in those evil brown lesbian looking sports shoes you bought me last year” she sobbed, she was really crying, big gulping sobs came through the ear piece.
“Baby, are you ok? Are you cut? Are you injured? Burn the lesbian shoes, through them out the window, talk to me!” I spoke quickly, I almost lactated and had a breast leak, I haven’t heard her cry like that since she fell off her scooter in 1994.
Husband was shaking his head and patting my shoulder, and trying to communicate something to me, but it was distracting me from my daughter’s pain.
“I really want my dad to come home, I miss him and no one is here when I fall” she squeaked…she sounded like she was five years old. “I don’t know why I am so upset, I really miss my daddy”
She almost hyperventilated on the phone and as I stood in front of a big crackling fire in a tiny wee bar in Otley surrounded by locals staring at me as I shouted about throwing lesbian shoes out of a window, I continued to get her breathe slowly. People stared more, like I was trying to help deliver a child over the phone.
That was until I added.
“Breathe slowly, now hold it and breathe again, not too fast, take it slowly, now grab one lesbian sports shoe and throw it right into the road from the windows in the front” I spoke slowly and clearly.
Husband giggled and ordered tea.
Ashley finally calmed down, I finally calmed down, I hung up the phone and watched loads of wee old men stare suspiciously at me. I didn’t care, my daughter was scared and hurt and it’s my job to fix that shit.
“She is upset, tired and fell and misses her dad” husband spoke as he pored tea into a cup for me. We both sat there in the wee bar in wet clothes and decided to head back to Leeds as the day was complete wash out.
We got back to the car and…it would not start!
The rain lashed, it sounded like pebbles being battered off the roof and the fucking car refused to start.
I sat with wet legs, wet head and freezing hands. Husband called the AA and gripped the wheel in anger; he hates the frustrating feeling of things not working properly.
I knew Ashley missing him was upsetting him and he felt annoyed he wasn’t there for her when she needed him.
Finally the AA turned up, fixed the starter thingy and we drove back to Leeds in silence. I watched his face, his jaw was stiff and he was grinding his teeth. The rain slashed continually.
“I miss her” he spoke.
“I miss her too, she is ok, you know, she needs to accept shit happens and she needs to know she will get over it, she really wants you home, but that doesn’t make you a bad dad for not being there, how do you think I feel? She doesn’t really miss me” I said.
“You have been travelling since she was eight, I was always there for her” he said.
“That sounds like I was never there for her, am I a bad mother?” my heart sank.
“No, you are a working mother, that’s a good thing; I am a dad, that’s a different thing”
We drove in silence, both of us trying to work out how to be a good parent, yet earn a living. I knew Ashley was having a bad day and would come through it all. She isn’t that weak or needy, she just must be feeling down, she is strong like me.
The phone rang again, it was Ashley. My heart missed a beat as I pressed the button and heard her shout “Guess what? It’s snowing here in Glasgow! Wow, mum I am so happy, I need to go my as mates are here and we are going to a party tonight, sorry I upset you, I just missed dad. I threw the shoes away…Love you mum” and she hung up.
Being a mum and dad is fucking scary.
Being a sister is scary.
Being a comic is easy, am back onstage in Leeds tonight. Life is ok.
New Fringe poster for the Edinburgh Festival 2007
Posted 7/7/2007 7:51:58 AM
This is my new Fringe poster for the Edinburgh Festival 2007 JANEY GODLEY –
JANEY GODLEY'S CHAT SHOW 2nd-26th August - 5.00pm at The Green Room
The Green Room, 37 Guthrie Street, Edinburgh EH1 1JG
www.janeygodley.co.uk/fringe2007
Thanks Janey Godley
Posted 7/7/2007 7:51:58 AM
This is my new Fringe poster for the Edinburgh Festival 2007 JANEY GODLEY –
JANEY GODLEY'S CHAT SHOW 2nd-26th August - 5.00pm at The Green Room
The Green Room, 37 Guthrie Street, Edinburgh EH1 1JG
www.janeygodley.co.uk/fringe2007
Thanks Janey Godley
Personal Life: Whitstable and Beyond…
Posted 4/21/2007 7:01:13 PM
Sorry I have been late with the blog again! I write a weekly column for the Scotsman and invariably it is a page and takes up heaps of my time.
I worry that my blog is suffering although being a ‘proper journalist’ is a real job and being a blogger is just fun – I have a huge responsibility to my blog.
This week in London, I went off to BBC to do a radio show with Robin Ince called ‘Serious About Comedy’ where he hosts and other guests like myself review various TV and radio shows.
The sun was bursting out of the sky as I flip flopped in my summer shoes from Broadcasting House and there was husband sitting outside a coffee shop waiting on me! It was such a surprise and a lovely one to be honest.
“Lets jump on a train and get out of London and go to the beach” he said as we tried to walk along the crowded hot streets of London.
“Yes!” I laughed and we headed along to Victoria Station, we literally got there and saw the next train out of London was to Whitstable so we jumped on that one.
We haven’t been that impulsive since we decided to get married at 18 years old.
Anyway the journey was so pretty, though the train ticket was expensive.
It was £18 a return ticket.
If the government wants us all to get out of cars and onto public transport then they should encourage us by making the ticket price lower.
The train pulled into Whitstable and we meandered down through the leafy suburbs to get into town, well I say town as it’s a very old Victorian small town to be honest but it’s charming. Really old wee shops and pretty cafes, tiny winding streets and ancient walls and buildings, all so very cool as I love architecture.
Then we got to the stony beach, its awesome, the sun made the whole place hazy and we just sat at the beachside and took in the view. I love these moments.
Whitstable is famous for its oysters and seafood, but I am off shellfish since I had an allergic reaction a few years back, so we decided to eat later and go more walking.
After a while we walked back towards the station to get to the Castle, I never knew there was a castle but signs kept telling us there was. We eventually got up to the ‘castle’ and it isn’t really a castle but a big fancy house built in the 1800s and it’s now the council offices. That was a let down, but we headed back into town and bought fish and chips and we sat on the beach and ate our delicious food.
It was a magical amazing day and we both finally got tired enough to head off to catch the train back to London.
When we finally got back to our flat, I was so tired I actually fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
A beautiful day, one to remember when my life goes all wrong.
Posted 4/21/2007 7:01:13 PM
Sorry I have been late with the blog again! I write a weekly column for the Scotsman and invariably it is a page and takes up heaps of my time.
I worry that my blog is suffering although being a ‘proper journalist’ is a real job and being a blogger is just fun – I have a huge responsibility to my blog.
This week in London, I went off to BBC to do a radio show with Robin Ince called ‘Serious About Comedy’ where he hosts and other guests like myself review various TV and radio shows.
The sun was bursting out of the sky as I flip flopped in my summer shoes from Broadcasting House and there was husband sitting outside a coffee shop waiting on me! It was such a surprise and a lovely one to be honest.
“Lets jump on a train and get out of London and go to the beach” he said as we tried to walk along the crowded hot streets of London.
“Yes!” I laughed and we headed along to Victoria Station, we literally got there and saw the next train out of London was to Whitstable so we jumped on that one.
We haven’t been that impulsive since we decided to get married at 18 years old.
Anyway the journey was so pretty, though the train ticket was expensive.
It was £18 a return ticket.
If the government wants us all to get out of cars and onto public transport then they should encourage us by making the ticket price lower.
The train pulled into Whitstable and we meandered down through the leafy suburbs to get into town, well I say town as it’s a very old Victorian small town to be honest but it’s charming. Really old wee shops and pretty cafes, tiny winding streets and ancient walls and buildings, all so very cool as I love architecture.
Then we got to the stony beach, its awesome, the sun made the whole place hazy and we just sat at the beachside and took in the view. I love these moments.
Whitstable is famous for its oysters and seafood, but I am off shellfish since I had an allergic reaction a few years back, so we decided to eat later and go more walking.
After a while we walked back towards the station to get to the Castle, I never knew there was a castle but signs kept telling us there was. We eventually got up to the ‘castle’ and it isn’t really a castle but a big fancy house built in the 1800s and it’s now the council offices. That was a let down, but we headed back into town and bought fish and chips and we sat on the beach and ate our delicious food.
It was a magical amazing day and we both finally got tired enough to head off to catch the train back to London.
When we finally got back to our flat, I was so tired I actually fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
A beautiful day, one to remember when my life goes all wrong.
Personal Life: Mij is crazy…
Posted 3/28/2007 12:28:26 PM
My brother had a consultation today at the cancer clinic (he has cancer; we weren’t there for the social benefits).
I love my brother but he is nuts…in a good way.
“Janey I have a…” Mij broke off halfway through a sentence.
The women near us looked up and stared at my brother wondering what it was he was going to say, you see Mij talks loudly and is funny/mental and has a history of drug problems and kinda tells it like it is.
“I think the cancer was brought on because I have a…” he broke off again; he has a really irritating speech pattern!
“Menopause” he muttered and pointed his finger up with delight at recalling the word he had lost.
The other women in the waiting room looked up and smirked.
“When did your period stop then?” I asked sarcastically and added “Does your ovaries hurt?”
“Shut up Janey-stop saying the word ‘period’ really loudly, fucksake that’s embarrassing and aye my ovaries do hurt” he hissed. The women across from us started to giggle; I caught their eye and smiled with them.
“Mij, you need to know that you don’t have ovaries and only humans with a womb can have a menopause…you know like WOMEN” I spluttered through my laughter.
His face was crimson, he dropped his head and mumbled “Not menopause, I meant something else…I canny remember now” he started laughing and the women joined in.
I shook my head and went over to the tea bar in the hospital and ordered two teas.
“That will £1.11 please” the lady put her hand out.
“That’s a really unusual amount, how much is it for one tea?” I asked with confusion in my voice.
“It’s the way the till works one tea is 55 pence and two teas is £1.11” she answered.
I cannot begin to tell you how much that sum of money played in my head, why was it one pound eleven pence for two teas? How can that be? This conundrum went round and round my head till I heard my brother’s name being shouted…at last his menopause can be attended to!
Mij and I went into the consultation room. The cancer specialist opened a clean sheet of paper and started asking medical questions.
Doctor- “Tell me how this all began”
Mij- “Well one day Calum looked at my neck”
Doctor- “Who is Calum? Is he a doctor?”
Mij- “ No he is my grandson, he is eight years old, but he saw a lump on my neck and said it was cancer and then Cooper looked at it…”
Doctor- “Is Cooper a doctor?”
Mij- “No he is my dog and then…”
ME- “Mij get to the point”
Mij- “Yes I had a lump on my neck and I went to the docs and he sent me to the hospital and it was diagnosed after a biopsy”
I breathed a sigh of relief at this, you see Mij is funny and chatty and likes to spin a yarn and can make a small story into War & Peace (sound like someone we know? Yes me) anyway the very lovely patient doctor asked another question.
Doctor- “Do you suffer from any other illnesses?”
Mij- “No I am really fine”
ME- “Maybe the HIV is worth mentioning” I hissed.
Mij- “Oh aye my sister is right, I am HIV since 1986, but Calum says I am good at taking the medicine but he lives far away now but I am going for a visit because Cooper is being looked after by Simon and he had OCD and can actually stick together letters that have been shredded…”
ME- “Mij the point…please stick to it” I nudged him as he was off on a big tirade about his mental pals and nutty dog.
Doc- “Did you get the HIV from dirty needles?”
Mij- “No I never shared a needle in my life but my girlfriend at the time forgot to mention she was a hooker” Mij smiled as he threw this information into the ring, he is good at delivery of some lines I have to admit.
At this point I felt the only way to lighten the mood was to say something funny so I added “Mij thought he was having his menopause” and I giggled.
The doctor looked at me like I was really imbecilic and Mij kept an incredibly straight face, leaned over and said “Janey only women have a menopause that’s not even funny, especially as I have cancer and HIV and you are trying to crack silly jokes”
The doctor looked at me really distastefully and Mij shook his head in derision at me, then turned and winked.
I couldn’t stop laughing inside as he had managed to make me look a fool.
How funny is that?
Mij got through the whole consult and came out and we fell about laughing in each others arms, recalling the menopause joke and Mij talking about his dog.
I miss him and he makes me laugh like no one else.
Get well soon Dear Mij.
Posted 3/28/2007 12:28:26 PM
My brother had a consultation today at the cancer clinic (he has cancer; we weren’t there for the social benefits).
I love my brother but he is nuts…in a good way.
“Janey I have a…” Mij broke off halfway through a sentence.
The women near us looked up and stared at my brother wondering what it was he was going to say, you see Mij talks loudly and is funny/mental and has a history of drug problems and kinda tells it like it is.
“I think the cancer was brought on because I have a…” he broke off again; he has a really irritating speech pattern!
“Menopause” he muttered and pointed his finger up with delight at recalling the word he had lost.
The other women in the waiting room looked up and smirked.
“When did your period stop then?” I asked sarcastically and added “Does your ovaries hurt?”
“Shut up Janey-stop saying the word ‘period’ really loudly, fucksake that’s embarrassing and aye my ovaries do hurt” he hissed. The women across from us started to giggle; I caught their eye and smiled with them.
“Mij, you need to know that you don’t have ovaries and only humans with a womb can have a menopause…you know like WOMEN” I spluttered through my laughter.
His face was crimson, he dropped his head and mumbled “Not menopause, I meant something else…I canny remember now” he started laughing and the women joined in.
I shook my head and went over to the tea bar in the hospital and ordered two teas.
“That will £1.11 please” the lady put her hand out.
“That’s a really unusual amount, how much is it for one tea?” I asked with confusion in my voice.
“It’s the way the till works one tea is 55 pence and two teas is £1.11” she answered.
I cannot begin to tell you how much that sum of money played in my head, why was it one pound eleven pence for two teas? How can that be? This conundrum went round and round my head till I heard my brother’s name being shouted…at last his menopause can be attended to!
Mij and I went into the consultation room. The cancer specialist opened a clean sheet of paper and started asking medical questions.
Doctor- “Tell me how this all began”
Mij- “Well one day Calum looked at my neck”
Doctor- “Who is Calum? Is he a doctor?”
Mij- “ No he is my grandson, he is eight years old, but he saw a lump on my neck and said it was cancer and then Cooper looked at it…”
Doctor- “Is Cooper a doctor?”
Mij- “No he is my dog and then…”
ME- “Mij get to the point”
Mij- “Yes I had a lump on my neck and I went to the docs and he sent me to the hospital and it was diagnosed after a biopsy”
I breathed a sigh of relief at this, you see Mij is funny and chatty and likes to spin a yarn and can make a small story into War & Peace (sound like someone we know? Yes me) anyway the very lovely patient doctor asked another question.
Doctor- “Do you suffer from any other illnesses?”
Mij- “No I am really fine”
ME- “Maybe the HIV is worth mentioning” I hissed.
Mij- “Oh aye my sister is right, I am HIV since 1986, but Calum says I am good at taking the medicine but he lives far away now but I am going for a visit because Cooper is being looked after by Simon and he had OCD and can actually stick together letters that have been shredded…”
ME- “Mij the point…please stick to it” I nudged him as he was off on a big tirade about his mental pals and nutty dog.
Doc- “Did you get the HIV from dirty needles?”
Mij- “No I never shared a needle in my life but my girlfriend at the time forgot to mention she was a hooker” Mij smiled as he threw this information into the ring, he is good at delivery of some lines I have to admit.
At this point I felt the only way to lighten the mood was to say something funny so I added “Mij thought he was having his menopause” and I giggled.
The doctor looked at me like I was really imbecilic and Mij kept an incredibly straight face, leaned over and said “Janey only women have a menopause that’s not even funny, especially as I have cancer and HIV and you are trying to crack silly jokes”
The doctor looked at me really distastefully and Mij shook his head in derision at me, then turned and winked.
I couldn’t stop laughing inside as he had managed to make me look a fool.
How funny is that?
Mij got through the whole consult and came out and we fell about laughing in each others arms, recalling the menopause joke and Mij talking about his dog.
I miss him and he makes me laugh like no one else.
Get well soon Dear Mij.
Personal Life: Beggars and Thieves…
Posted 2/26/2007 5:58:49 PM
Sitting in the calmness of a wee coffee shop sipping a latte is great for me, no smoking cravings or anything, just me some coffee and a garibaldi biscuit.
That was until a glossy dark haired woman in a fancy leather jacket came over to me holding up a laminated card that said “I am from Romania, I am poor please give me money to feed my kids”
She had a designer handbag and smart heavy leather winter boots. I know this woman; she is always in and out of a big BMW car that cruises up and down the West End where I live. Then I recalled how I know her, she is part of the gang of beggars that work the west end and have been photographed and targeted as fraudsters.
She thrust the card under my nose again and looked at me with a nonchalant glance.
I stood up and shouted at the coffee counter staff “Excuse me are professional beggars supposed to be in here to annoy us” Remember I have Beggars and Thieves…
stopped smoking and am not easily negotiated at most times anyway.
The young waitress shook her head and pointed at the door.
At that moment a woman in a bright red head scarf sitting behind me said loudly “That’s awful, the woman is trying to feed her kids”
“Really?” I snapped “Outside is a BMW waiting to pick her and the other two girls that go round the shops and pubs begging, do you have a fucking BMW waiting on you outside?” I asked.
The Romanian woman butted in “It’s not a BMW it’s an old Mercedes”
“And she can fucking speak English, so the laminated card is defunct” I shouted.
The Romanian woman sneered and turned her back to me and carried on going round the café.
“Well” said the posh red scarved woman “Maybe she is forced to beg and the men are holding her hostage”
“Ok, you call the police then if you believe that” I shouted and saw the Romanian woman give me the finger then leave the café.
The red scarf woman, two waitresses’s and myself rushed to the window to see the Romanian woman get into a big blue Mercedes car and speed off, I stood smugly and pointed at them saying
“My niece lives on a minimum wage, she doesn’t claim benefits and for two days a week due to the low wages of her husband she cannot afford gas to heat her water, if she came in here with two wee Scottish babies and begged for gas money you would shout at her to go get a job, yet a well dressed Romanian manages to get her car repayments from a middle classed guilt ridden mung bean -salad - eating Lefty, aint the world fucked up?”
The people in the café pretended I wasn’t there and they all went back to drinking posh coffee as the Romanian Begging gang drove up further into the West End where posh people feel guilty enough to help fake beggars and poor Scottish people are scared to complain incase it looks like racism.
Posted 2/26/2007 5:58:49 PM
Sitting in the calmness of a wee coffee shop sipping a latte is great for me, no smoking cravings or anything, just me some coffee and a garibaldi biscuit.
That was until a glossy dark haired woman in a fancy leather jacket came over to me holding up a laminated card that said “I am from Romania, I am poor please give me money to feed my kids”
She had a designer handbag and smart heavy leather winter boots. I know this woman; she is always in and out of a big BMW car that cruises up and down the West End where I live. Then I recalled how I know her, she is part of the gang of beggars that work the west end and have been photographed and targeted as fraudsters.
She thrust the card under my nose again and looked at me with a nonchalant glance.
I stood up and shouted at the coffee counter staff “Excuse me are professional beggars supposed to be in here to annoy us” Remember I have Beggars and Thieves…
stopped smoking and am not easily negotiated at most times anyway.
The young waitress shook her head and pointed at the door.
At that moment a woman in a bright red head scarf sitting behind me said loudly “That’s awful, the woman is trying to feed her kids”
“Really?” I snapped “Outside is a BMW waiting to pick her and the other two girls that go round the shops and pubs begging, do you have a fucking BMW waiting on you outside?” I asked.
The Romanian woman butted in “It’s not a BMW it’s an old Mercedes”
“And she can fucking speak English, so the laminated card is defunct” I shouted.
The Romanian woman sneered and turned her back to me and carried on going round the café.
“Well” said the posh red scarved woman “Maybe she is forced to beg and the men are holding her hostage”
“Ok, you call the police then if you believe that” I shouted and saw the Romanian woman give me the finger then leave the café.
The red scarf woman, two waitresses’s and myself rushed to the window to see the Romanian woman get into a big blue Mercedes car and speed off, I stood smugly and pointed at them saying
“My niece lives on a minimum wage, she doesn’t claim benefits and for two days a week due to the low wages of her husband she cannot afford gas to heat her water, if she came in here with two wee Scottish babies and begged for gas money you would shout at her to go get a job, yet a well dressed Romanian manages to get her car repayments from a middle classed guilt ridden mung bean -salad - eating Lefty, aint the world fucked up?”
The people in the café pretended I wasn’t there and they all went back to drinking posh coffee as the Romanian Begging gang drove up further into the West End where posh people feel guilty enough to help fake beggars and poor Scottish people are scared to complain incase it looks like racism.
Personal Life: Tracing my family Tree…
Posted 12/1/2006 5:47:10 PM
I have spent the last few days tracing my roots. It has been hugely interesting and to be honest very revealing!
For instance my new baby niece Julia is a long line of Julia’s that stretch back to the early 1800s. My dad’s gran was a Julia, her mum was a Julia and her mum was also called Julia with the surname Derham. Very unusual name I think, but there we have it. I also discovered that both my great grandparents Annie and James died on the same day in December 1952. That must have shaken the family losing both parents.
The funny thing I came across was that the name Gunn was in my family, well we always knew I had guns in the family for a long time!
So I have been immersed in the last century for days now and find it really amazing how these people lived and little did they know that one day I would be writing about them.
All those poor wee Dutch and French immigrants who made there merry way to Scotland, marrying, breeding and finally settling in Glasgow, never telling much to each generation, only leaving behind Parish records and Marriage certificates, scrawling names that they probably never thought anyone would want to read again and never knowing that I, their great-great-great grand daughter would finally get to run my finger over that weak blue ink.
They buried children stricken by the measles and whooping cough, they sent sons of to war, they became weavers and bar tenders, they married and died and I wonder what part of that DNA was left in me. Probably none I suppose, but I do wonder what the women of my past were like.
I would love to know how they lived and how they died.
My mother died at 47 years and her mother died at 38 years old, but the women before that survived into their 60’s.
I traced Ashley dad’s side of the family and they ended up Irish and French on his side, and extremely Scottish on his mother’s, mother’s side. They were highlanders’ through and through but am sure history tells us that no-one is truly British we are all descendants through Scandinavians and Normans. Though Ashley tells me it’s a fact that one in four of the world’s population are descended from China.
So if anyone out there knows the name Derham, then we may well be related!
Posted 12/1/2006 5:47:10 PM
I have spent the last few days tracing my roots. It has been hugely interesting and to be honest very revealing!
For instance my new baby niece Julia is a long line of Julia’s that stretch back to the early 1800s. My dad’s gran was a Julia, her mum was a Julia and her mum was also called Julia with the surname Derham. Very unusual name I think, but there we have it. I also discovered that both my great grandparents Annie and James died on the same day in December 1952. That must have shaken the family losing both parents.
The funny thing I came across was that the name Gunn was in my family, well we always knew I had guns in the family for a long time!
So I have been immersed in the last century for days now and find it really amazing how these people lived and little did they know that one day I would be writing about them.
All those poor wee Dutch and French immigrants who made there merry way to Scotland, marrying, breeding and finally settling in Glasgow, never telling much to each generation, only leaving behind Parish records and Marriage certificates, scrawling names that they probably never thought anyone would want to read again and never knowing that I, their great-great-great grand daughter would finally get to run my finger over that weak blue ink.
They buried children stricken by the measles and whooping cough, they sent sons of to war, they became weavers and bar tenders, they married and died and I wonder what part of that DNA was left in me. Probably none I suppose, but I do wonder what the women of my past were like.
I would love to know how they lived and how they died.
My mother died at 47 years and her mother died at 38 years old, but the women before that survived into their 60’s.
I traced Ashley dad’s side of the family and they ended up Irish and French on his side, and extremely Scottish on his mother’s, mother’s side. They were highlanders’ through and through but am sure history tells us that no-one is truly British we are all descendants through Scandinavians and Normans. Though Ashley tells me it’s a fact that one in four of the world’s population are descended from China.
So if anyone out there knows the name Derham, then we may well be related!
Personal Life: Children in Need singing…
Posted 11/19/2006 11:12:56 AM
Craig Hill and I were part of the SPEX –Factor charity singing competition live on BBC Scotland on Friday night. It was all for Children in Need! We were up against TV presenters Julian Sinclair and his brother Cameron Stout, and the BAFTA award winning actors Kate Dickie and Ian Robertson. We were all doing The Proclaimers songs and GOD they are hard to sing without shouting!
I have never been that excited in my life! There I was all dressed up in a wee kilt, a new bra and top (The bra did make my boobies really high and scary but too late to go back now) and I stepped onto the huge stage set with my lovely singing comedy pal Craig Hill. I had to hike up my short legs onto the tall stool and sing my heart out and meanwhile my bladder felt like it would burst!
Craig can really-really sing and I am not too good but I did my best and we made a great effort, we even had a wee waltz at the end. The studio was mobbed with loads of fund raisers and guests, the air was full of flying cameras and strong lights and I was so happy we sang well.
The atmosphere was wonderful and we all knew it was for charity so we were all very supportive of each other and full of nerves. Craig is the consummate professional and never once made me feel nervous and encouraged me to sing my soul out…I LOVE him.
It was a phone result and after the votes came through Craig and I were knocked out first…we laughed our asses off and did breathe a wee sigh of relief because the next song we had to sing ‘Letter from America’ was so bloody hard we kind of relaxed that we didn’t have to go through with it, but it was such good fun that we all enjoyed the night.
There was such a party atmosphere backstage and God knows how that BBC Scotland staff managed all those people and all those kids and all those bloody short takes in between dealing with network BBC was amazing! I was impressed.
Husband called me and told me he was very proud of me and said I had ‘sexy legs’ on TV, dad called me and told me ‘You sat really nice on that stool’ (nothing about my singing obviously) and Ashley was DJ-ing in a club and said she could see me in silence as they kept the big screen on in her club and she clapped as she saw me walk on.
One of the judges in the studio was Lamar the sexy black UK soul singer and he was so nice and gave me some lovely compliments…..cute black man…mmmm…the Sugarbabes were live in our studio also and they were so gorgeous and tiny and sang like sexy angels!
I had such a great night and may give up comedy to pursue a career in pop music now...AM JOKING, thanks to all who voted and supported the charity.
Posted 11/19/2006 11:12:56 AM
Craig Hill and I were part of the SPEX –Factor charity singing competition live on BBC Scotland on Friday night. It was all for Children in Need! We were up against TV presenters Julian Sinclair and his brother Cameron Stout, and the BAFTA award winning actors Kate Dickie and Ian Robertson. We were all doing The Proclaimers songs and GOD they are hard to sing without shouting!
I have never been that excited in my life! There I was all dressed up in a wee kilt, a new bra and top (The bra did make my boobies really high and scary but too late to go back now) and I stepped onto the huge stage set with my lovely singing comedy pal Craig Hill. I had to hike up my short legs onto the tall stool and sing my heart out and meanwhile my bladder felt like it would burst!
Craig can really-really sing and I am not too good but I did my best and we made a great effort, we even had a wee waltz at the end. The studio was mobbed with loads of fund raisers and guests, the air was full of flying cameras and strong lights and I was so happy we sang well.
The atmosphere was wonderful and we all knew it was for charity so we were all very supportive of each other and full of nerves. Craig is the consummate professional and never once made me feel nervous and encouraged me to sing my soul out…I LOVE him.
It was a phone result and after the votes came through Craig and I were knocked out first…we laughed our asses off and did breathe a wee sigh of relief because the next song we had to sing ‘Letter from America’ was so bloody hard we kind of relaxed that we didn’t have to go through with it, but it was such good fun that we all enjoyed the night.
There was such a party atmosphere backstage and God knows how that BBC Scotland staff managed all those people and all those kids and all those bloody short takes in between dealing with network BBC was amazing! I was impressed.
Husband called me and told me he was very proud of me and said I had ‘sexy legs’ on TV, dad called me and told me ‘You sat really nice on that stool’ (nothing about my singing obviously) and Ashley was DJ-ing in a club and said she could see me in silence as they kept the big screen on in her club and she clapped as she saw me walk on.
One of the judges in the studio was Lamar the sexy black UK soul singer and he was so nice and gave me some lovely compliments…..cute black man…mmmm…the Sugarbabes were live in our studio also and they were so gorgeous and tiny and sang like sexy angels!
I had such a great night and may give up comedy to pursue a career in pop music now...AM JOKING, thanks to all who voted and supported the charity.
Personal Life: Getting ready for my big BBC singing appearance…
Posted 11/16/2006 4:01:13 PM
Singing is something I am not very good at it, I cant really sing very well but am giving it my best shot for BBC Children in Need slot. I bought a lovely wee kilt and smart jumper to wear. Craig Hill is my beautiful singing partner and BOY can he sing he is just bloody amazing!
So Craig and I rehearsed and it seems to be good, we are singing the Proclaimers song ‘Sunshine on Leith’ and if we get through to the second round we are singing ‘Letter from America’.
So after the singing session I popped over to see baby Abi, her new baby sister Julia and their mother (my niece Ann Margaret). Abi is now aged three and the funniest wee creature in the world. I was amazed how big wee baby Julia had grown; she is no longer a wee ‘prawn’ newborn…she is so cute and her eyes are huge!
Ann Margaret went off to the shops and left me in charge.
I was cradling the baby and Abi said “Aunty Janey, can I face-paint myself?”
I agreed and carried on snuggling the wee new baby, then minutes later Abi came running into the room completely blacked up! Her entire face, ears, neck and hair were a deep shiny black!
All you could see were the whites of her dark eyes!
It was scary and funny to see a toddler do an ‘Al Jolson’ (Old US singer who blacked up and sang…very politically incorrect nowadays). I pissed myself laughing and decided to teach her the old Al Jolson song ‘Mammeee’ complete with blackened jazz hands.
When Ann Margaret came back from the shops Abi came running into the hall singing ‘Mammeee’ waving her wee fat black chubby hands, Ann Margaret screamed and dropped the shopping and shouted “Aunty Janey, what the hell have you done, she is doing a Black and White Minstrel show!”
I did explain that Abi did the make up, I only did the choreography!
So today I got Ashley up at 4pm, she had been DJ-ing last night and was out very late and went off to do my workshops. I am looking after a bunch of 12-16 year olds teaching them comedy as a form of reinforcing self confidence. Yesterday they were treated to an exclusive Q&A with an amazing BAFTA award winning Scottish Comedy Actor who will remain un-named, he is an old mate of mine and came along at my request… the kids were hysterical with excitement that he came to chat to them. I will forever be in his debt for coming along at such short notice and being very humble. I have good friends!
I am off to sing my songs….talk soon.
Posted 11/16/2006 4:01:13 PM
Singing is something I am not very good at it, I cant really sing very well but am giving it my best shot for BBC Children in Need slot. I bought a lovely wee kilt and smart jumper to wear. Craig Hill is my beautiful singing partner and BOY can he sing he is just bloody amazing!
So Craig and I rehearsed and it seems to be good, we are singing the Proclaimers song ‘Sunshine on Leith’ and if we get through to the second round we are singing ‘Letter from America’.
So after the singing session I popped over to see baby Abi, her new baby sister Julia and their mother (my niece Ann Margaret). Abi is now aged three and the funniest wee creature in the world. I was amazed how big wee baby Julia had grown; she is no longer a wee ‘prawn’ newborn…she is so cute and her eyes are huge!
Ann Margaret went off to the shops and left me in charge.
I was cradling the baby and Abi said “Aunty Janey, can I face-paint myself?”
I agreed and carried on snuggling the wee new baby, then minutes later Abi came running into the room completely blacked up! Her entire face, ears, neck and hair were a deep shiny black!
All you could see were the whites of her dark eyes!
It was scary and funny to see a toddler do an ‘Al Jolson’ (Old US singer who blacked up and sang…very politically incorrect nowadays). I pissed myself laughing and decided to teach her the old Al Jolson song ‘Mammeee’ complete with blackened jazz hands.
When Ann Margaret came back from the shops Abi came running into the hall singing ‘Mammeee’ waving her wee fat black chubby hands, Ann Margaret screamed and dropped the shopping and shouted “Aunty Janey, what the hell have you done, she is doing a Black and White Minstrel show!”
I did explain that Abi did the make up, I only did the choreography!
So today I got Ashley up at 4pm, she had been DJ-ing last night and was out very late and went off to do my workshops. I am looking after a bunch of 12-16 year olds teaching them comedy as a form of reinforcing self confidence. Yesterday they were treated to an exclusive Q&A with an amazing BAFTA award winning Scottish Comedy Actor who will remain un-named, he is an old mate of mine and came along at my request… the kids were hysterical with excitement that he came to chat to them. I will forever be in his debt for coming along at such short notice and being very humble. I have good friends!
I am off to sing my songs….talk soon.
My First Newspaper Column!
Posted 10/31/2006 8:58:21 AM
So in between all the dashing through the night in cars/planes and taxi’s I am finally in London. Brechin was awesome, Manchester was amazing….I am so pleased that the gigs went well. I even managed to meet up with people who check the blog and have read my book! That’s an amazing feeling…trust me.
I am currently practising singing for my live TV appearance on BBC for Children in Need… I am not a Madonna, well she isn’t really a good singer either but I wish I was better.
On Sunday past my very first own column went in the Sunday Herald Newspaper Magazine! I was so chuffed to see it and you have no idea how proud my father is, he loves that I write for a newspaper, you see comedy is great but JOURNALISM is worthy. I wrote about Sacha Baron Cohen, his latest film and the validity of offensive comedy. You can see it on my website.
The flat here in London is wonderful, we have a huge two bedroom flat with a balcony, and it is so central.
I love the people at Crown Lawn, and they are my fairy Godmothers!
I must tell you about Brechin, it is a Cathedral town. It’s a very cute wee place just beyond Dundee.
I went to see the ancient Cathedral, it was built in 9AD originally and like all Catholic chapels, it became a Church Of Scotland after the reformation, not that you need to read that on any tourist documentation, the crucifix above the tower door had Jesus’ head hacked off and that always gives a good indication on the religious persuasion of any building. Protestants are not big with religious imagery…That makes me giggle.
The people were lovely and very welcoming and the area surrounding is just beautiful at this time of year. Those trees that are turning golden brown, burnt sienna, russet, copper red and dark burgundy would give New England in the US a run for its money!
The sun shining through the crisp leaves is breath taking. I was speechless, we often forget how lovely and scenic Scotland is and take that surrounding beauty for granted. Come to Scotland at this time of year and be wowed!
Castles, monuments, Roman Ruins, eye popping mountains….the list goes on.
So I am getting ready to do my gigs here in Old London Town, I do love it here and have brought along my video camera and hope to do a video blog here.
I will keep you all posted on my singing progress, don’t expect too much though!
Posted 10/31/2006 8:58:21 AM
So in between all the dashing through the night in cars/planes and taxi’s I am finally in London. Brechin was awesome, Manchester was amazing….I am so pleased that the gigs went well. I even managed to meet up with people who check the blog and have read my book! That’s an amazing feeling…trust me.
I am currently practising singing for my live TV appearance on BBC for Children in Need… I am not a Madonna, well she isn’t really a good singer either but I wish I was better.
On Sunday past my very first own column went in the Sunday Herald Newspaper Magazine! I was so chuffed to see it and you have no idea how proud my father is, he loves that I write for a newspaper, you see comedy is great but JOURNALISM is worthy. I wrote about Sacha Baron Cohen, his latest film and the validity of offensive comedy. You can see it on my website.
The flat here in London is wonderful, we have a huge two bedroom flat with a balcony, and it is so central.
I love the people at Crown Lawn, and they are my fairy Godmothers!
I must tell you about Brechin, it is a Cathedral town. It’s a very cute wee place just beyond Dundee.
I went to see the ancient Cathedral, it was built in 9AD originally and like all Catholic chapels, it became a Church Of Scotland after the reformation, not that you need to read that on any tourist documentation, the crucifix above the tower door had Jesus’ head hacked off and that always gives a good indication on the religious persuasion of any building. Protestants are not big with religious imagery…That makes me giggle.
The people were lovely and very welcoming and the area surrounding is just beautiful at this time of year. Those trees that are turning golden brown, burnt sienna, russet, copper red and dark burgundy would give New England in the US a run for its money!
The sun shining through the crisp leaves is breath taking. I was speechless, we often forget how lovely and scenic Scotland is and take that surrounding beauty for granted. Come to Scotland at this time of year and be wowed!
Castles, monuments, Roman Ruins, eye popping mountains….the list goes on.
So I am getting ready to do my gigs here in Old London Town, I do love it here and have brought along my video camera and hope to do a video blog here.
I will keep you all posted on my singing progress, don’t expect too much though!
Personal Life: I didn’t win…
Posted 10/23/2006 8:33:39 PM
Scotswoman of the Year was won by ANNA DOMINICZAK, a Polish professor who works and lives in Glasgow and has made amazing progress with heart related disease. She has also been awarded an OBE in UK. She is a beautifully well dressed, well travelled and well educated woman who fought to get a heart unit come to Glasgow which is the ‘The Heart Disease Capital of Europe’
If you ask me who I think should have won (I am allowed my opinion!) I would have loved to have seen a wee battling woman called Helen who was also a finalist pick up that award.
She works tirelessly with drug addicts in an severely under funded area in Dumbarton, she gives up hours of her spare time to offer love and help to people who have been ravaged by the drug that has wiped out a generation of young people in that part of the world. She isn’t well educated, nor is she dressed in the best of clothes, she has a face that looks like it has seen too many dark nights and if I needed a woman on my side, it would be her.
I am not taking anything away from the good Doctor, but I am known for speaking my mind and my heart sank when I saw heard her name announced.
I watched the wee woman Helen applauding the Doctor and I wished I could turn back time and give her the £5000 charity money. I wished she’d won it.
I have never and probably will never devote my life to charity and be that hands on with people whom society normally shun and help to that extent with a problem that will never be fashionable, drugs are seen to be a symptom of weak people who harm themselves.
Helen was never taught how to do the job she does, she just gets on with it.
Tonight Helen McKenzie you are my Scotswoman of the Year, the majority of the people I spoke to agreed when we all chatted outside, you work hard and with no pay and will probably never get an OBE, Bless your wee Scottish heart, you are an example to every one of us.
Posted 10/23/2006 8:33:39 PM
Scotswoman of the Year was won by ANNA DOMINICZAK, a Polish professor who works and lives in Glasgow and has made amazing progress with heart related disease. She has also been awarded an OBE in UK. She is a beautifully well dressed, well travelled and well educated woman who fought to get a heart unit come to Glasgow which is the ‘The Heart Disease Capital of Europe’
If you ask me who I think should have won (I am allowed my opinion!) I would have loved to have seen a wee battling woman called Helen who was also a finalist pick up that award.
She works tirelessly with drug addicts in an severely under funded area in Dumbarton, she gives up hours of her spare time to offer love and help to people who have been ravaged by the drug that has wiped out a generation of young people in that part of the world. She isn’t well educated, nor is she dressed in the best of clothes, she has a face that looks like it has seen too many dark nights and if I needed a woman on my side, it would be her.
I am not taking anything away from the good Doctor, but I am known for speaking my mind and my heart sank when I saw heard her name announced.
I watched the wee woman Helen applauding the Doctor and I wished I could turn back time and give her the £5000 charity money. I wished she’d won it.
I have never and probably will never devote my life to charity and be that hands on with people whom society normally shun and help to that extent with a problem that will never be fashionable, drugs are seen to be a symptom of weak people who harm themselves.
Helen was never taught how to do the job she does, she just gets on with it.
Tonight Helen McKenzie you are my Scotswoman of the Year, the majority of the people I spoke to agreed when we all chatted outside, you work hard and with no pay and will probably never get an OBE, Bless your wee Scottish heart, you are an example to every one of us.
Personal Life: Tonight is the NIGHT!
Posted 10/23/2006 8:57:01 AM
I am sitting here with tufty squirrel hair, but my hair appointment is very soon, I have a big fat spot on my chin, I have the period from hell but I will go to the ball tonight.
It is the Scotswoman of the Year final dinner award at 6.30pm and I am not sure what I am wearing.
I couldn’t sleep last night with excitement, I finally drifted off at 8am this morning and woke up panicked after midday, dreaming I had slept through the whole day and missed it!
Husband was awake also and said to me this morning in bed at about 5am “If you had a chance to do that ‘Peggy Sue Got Married’ thing would you do it?”
I lay there, my brain all fuggy and said “What then the fuck are you talking about?”
“You know, if you woke up tomorrow, came out of the shower and it was 1980 and you were about to marry me and knew everything that had happened since then, and had the power to change it all -would you still do it all the same and marry me?” He answered.
I lay there for a few seconds and fifteen million images flew through my head, me in a white cheap dress standing at the alter, me crying in the back shop of that pub we owned, me running the streets of the Calton where I used to live in my bare feet to get away from him, me holding Ashley moments after she was born, me pretending to be fine as I served customers, me screaming at him to leave me alone, me sitting in a police cell after the police found the guns and weapons in his fathers house and we got charged for it….the images were like one of those fast digital galleries…all flashing and fearful.
“No, I wouldn’t, but I hope I still get to have Ashley” I said succinctly.
“Ok so tomorrow you wake up and get to be nineteen again and your life goes your way” He giggled.
“Why? Mr McFly, Have you always had some freaky power that can turn back time and you chose today to use it?” I hissed.
“Yes, I do I could always alter the time barrier, but I hid my power from you, are you serious Janey? You wouldn’t do it all again?” He sounded hurt.
“Probably not, I wouldn’t want to live that life all over again would you?” I spoke.
“Yes I would” He said.
So I got up this morning and I am still 45, yet again he lied. I hate it when people pretend to have secret powers and they don’t actually have them.
I stood in front of the mirror and looked at my giant bushy head, saggy skin and south bound breasts.
“I am still 45, where is my lovely tight nineteen year old ass and pert boobs?” I asked him.
“You haven’t had a shower yet, it happens when you come out of the shower” He giggled.
I am off to have a shower; I will let you all know in 25 years time if I did get to go to USA and discover 50 Cent and prematurely kill George Bush in the early 80’s. I will tell you all my tales of how I was there the night Oasis played that famous Glasgow gig and I singed them to MY record company, how I sex with Tony Blair in 1981 and exposed him as a drug dealer therefore fucking up his political career, how I made George Michael love me and become straight (I still love him) how I chatted to Freddie Mercury all night and stopped him sleeping with a strange guy who looked like he had a disease, how I went to NY in 1980 and punched a guy who drew a gun on John Lennon and most of all, how I convinced my mammy to leave the guy who we all knew would kill her…..and this time she listened!
So there we have it, if I don’t go back in time today I will go the Scotswoman of the Year party tonight…..maybe there is time to change the world?
Love ya Janey
Posted 10/23/2006 8:57:01 AM
I am sitting here with tufty squirrel hair, but my hair appointment is very soon, I have a big fat spot on my chin, I have the period from hell but I will go to the ball tonight.
It is the Scotswoman of the Year final dinner award at 6.30pm and I am not sure what I am wearing.
I couldn’t sleep last night with excitement, I finally drifted off at 8am this morning and woke up panicked after midday, dreaming I had slept through the whole day and missed it!
Husband was awake also and said to me this morning in bed at about 5am “If you had a chance to do that ‘Peggy Sue Got Married’ thing would you do it?”
I lay there, my brain all fuggy and said “What then the fuck are you talking about?”
“You know, if you woke up tomorrow, came out of the shower and it was 1980 and you were about to marry me and knew everything that had happened since then, and had the power to change it all -would you still do it all the same and marry me?” He answered.
I lay there for a few seconds and fifteen million images flew through my head, me in a white cheap dress standing at the alter, me crying in the back shop of that pub we owned, me running the streets of the Calton where I used to live in my bare feet to get away from him, me holding Ashley moments after she was born, me pretending to be fine as I served customers, me screaming at him to leave me alone, me sitting in a police cell after the police found the guns and weapons in his fathers house and we got charged for it….the images were like one of those fast digital galleries…all flashing and fearful.
“No, I wouldn’t, but I hope I still get to have Ashley” I said succinctly.
“Ok so tomorrow you wake up and get to be nineteen again and your life goes your way” He giggled.
“Why? Mr McFly, Have you always had some freaky power that can turn back time and you chose today to use it?” I hissed.
“Yes, I do I could always alter the time barrier, but I hid my power from you, are you serious Janey? You wouldn’t do it all again?” He sounded hurt.
“Probably not, I wouldn’t want to live that life all over again would you?” I spoke.
“Yes I would” He said.
So I got up this morning and I am still 45, yet again he lied. I hate it when people pretend to have secret powers and they don’t actually have them.
I stood in front of the mirror and looked at my giant bushy head, saggy skin and south bound breasts.
“I am still 45, where is my lovely tight nineteen year old ass and pert boobs?” I asked him.
“You haven’t had a shower yet, it happens when you come out of the shower” He giggled.
I am off to have a shower; I will let you all know in 25 years time if I did get to go to USA and discover 50 Cent and prematurely kill George Bush in the early 80’s. I will tell you all my tales of how I was there the night Oasis played that famous Glasgow gig and I singed them to MY record company, how I sex with Tony Blair in 1981 and exposed him as a drug dealer therefore fucking up his political career, how I made George Michael love me and become straight (I still love him) how I chatted to Freddie Mercury all night and stopped him sleeping with a strange guy who looked like he had a disease, how I went to NY in 1980 and punched a guy who drew a gun on John Lennon and most of all, how I convinced my mammy to leave the guy who we all knew would kill her…..and this time she listened!
So there we have it, if I don’t go back in time today I will go the Scotswoman of the Year party tonight…..maybe there is time to change the world?
Love ya Janey
Personal Life: Native American Indians and baby Abi strikes again…
Posted 10/14/2006 12:53:31 PM
I have to thank Marie Leaf, for sending me her hand made dream Native American Indian handmade Dreamcatcher. She posted it to me from all the way across the world.
It is beautiful and the feathers that dangle from it are just spectacular. I lie in bed and watch them flutter and dance in the late Scottish Summer sun. My dreams have got better except they are now BIZZARE and detailed beyond belief. I dreamt I was working in a huge bar I am not familiar with and had a stroppy fight with Kofi Anan and the BeachBoys, whilst and old gangster I knew became a make up artist that painted mustard on babies faces! Go figure that shit out!
I managed to get our boiler finally repaired this week; we have been living without hot running water for months now. Boiling kettles to wash dishes, the showers worked, but the taps didn’t so I managed to at least get myself cleaned! I even washed pots in the shower last week.
Plumbers are so good to have in the family and they are a dying breed of workmen, no one wants to be a plumber anymore. Loads of young people all want to go into media and film, hardly any want to get a real trade like brickwork and electricians etc….the Government here in UK is trying to recruit more youngsters into these trades as there is a dire shortage.
I don’t have any skills like that.
My dad could do plumbing and home repair jobs; my mammy was an expert wall paperer and painter. In the old days people were too poor to hire folk to come do stuff to their homes, but I never managed to gather those skills. My whole flat needs repainting and it will wait until I can afford one!
Till then I will live with yellowing walls and dull white doors!
I am hoping one of those TV shows will offer my home a make-over….but I suppose that will never ever happen!
My niece Ann-Margaret was telling how she is coping with her daughters the new baby Julia and the crazy toddler Abi.
Those who read the blog often will be familiar with the antics of Abi; she is now three and can TALK for Britain in the Toddler Chatting Arena. I love her so much; she is extremely funny and very sharp for a wee cute baby.
The other day Ann –Margaret finally finished breast feeding newly born Julia, coping with sore nipples and a cranky back she finally put Julia down for a sleep and gave herself a well earned rest.
Two minutes later she heard the baby’s “Waaa Waaa” screams from Julia’s lacy crib in the bedroom. “Oh ….crap, please don’t be awake wee preciousness” the weepy hormonal Ann-Margaret whispered as she struggled to get on her feet, being careful not to jerk her sore pelvis.
Just as she stood up Abi came running in and said “I just checked and that wee baby can’t talk yet, I spoke loudly and clearly and all she did was scream, when will she talk mummy?”
Abi’s big brown eyes pleading annoyance to her mum with her bubbly jiggly curls bouncing about as she struggled to understand why a tiny child won’t talk back, Ann-Margaret had to bite her bottom lip and restrain her shouts at the cute toddler who had woken up the baby again stood there waiting for an answer.
“Aunty Janey, please take Abi till she is at least 21 years old and bring her back for visits” my poor niece Ann-Margaret pleaded in desperation.
I am sure it will all work out in the end, but it must be madness having a toddler and a new born still on the breast….thank GOD I am too old for that stuff, though I wouldn’t mind having Abi till she was 21 years old, she is such fun!
I made a new video blog on my website, it is a satirical spoof of the famous UK Labour MP Sion Simon weblog where he spoofed the Conservative leader David Cameron….you can see it on my main webpage if you are interested.
Posted 10/14/2006 12:53:31 PM
I have to thank Marie Leaf, for sending me her hand made dream Native American Indian handmade Dreamcatcher. She posted it to me from all the way across the world.
It is beautiful and the feathers that dangle from it are just spectacular. I lie in bed and watch them flutter and dance in the late Scottish Summer sun. My dreams have got better except they are now BIZZARE and detailed beyond belief. I dreamt I was working in a huge bar I am not familiar with and had a stroppy fight with Kofi Anan and the BeachBoys, whilst and old gangster I knew became a make up artist that painted mustard on babies faces! Go figure that shit out!
I managed to get our boiler finally repaired this week; we have been living without hot running water for months now. Boiling kettles to wash dishes, the showers worked, but the taps didn’t so I managed to at least get myself cleaned! I even washed pots in the shower last week.
Plumbers are so good to have in the family and they are a dying breed of workmen, no one wants to be a plumber anymore. Loads of young people all want to go into media and film, hardly any want to get a real trade like brickwork and electricians etc….the Government here in UK is trying to recruit more youngsters into these trades as there is a dire shortage.
I don’t have any skills like that.
My dad could do plumbing and home repair jobs; my mammy was an expert wall paperer and painter. In the old days people were too poor to hire folk to come do stuff to their homes, but I never managed to gather those skills. My whole flat needs repainting and it will wait until I can afford one!
Till then I will live with yellowing walls and dull white doors!
I am hoping one of those TV shows will offer my home a make-over….but I suppose that will never ever happen!
My niece Ann-Margaret was telling how she is coping with her daughters the new baby Julia and the crazy toddler Abi.
Those who read the blog often will be familiar with the antics of Abi; she is now three and can TALK for Britain in the Toddler Chatting Arena. I love her so much; she is extremely funny and very sharp for a wee cute baby.
The other day Ann –Margaret finally finished breast feeding newly born Julia, coping with sore nipples and a cranky back she finally put Julia down for a sleep and gave herself a well earned rest.
Two minutes later she heard the baby’s “Waaa Waaa” screams from Julia’s lacy crib in the bedroom. “Oh ….crap, please don’t be awake wee preciousness” the weepy hormonal Ann-Margaret whispered as she struggled to get on her feet, being careful not to jerk her sore pelvis.
Just as she stood up Abi came running in and said “I just checked and that wee baby can’t talk yet, I spoke loudly and clearly and all she did was scream, when will she talk mummy?”
Abi’s big brown eyes pleading annoyance to her mum with her bubbly jiggly curls bouncing about as she struggled to understand why a tiny child won’t talk back, Ann-Margaret had to bite her bottom lip and restrain her shouts at the cute toddler who had woken up the baby again stood there waiting for an answer.
“Aunty Janey, please take Abi till she is at least 21 years old and bring her back for visits” my poor niece Ann-Margaret pleaded in desperation.
I am sure it will all work out in the end, but it must be madness having a toddler and a new born still on the breast….thank GOD I am too old for that stuff, though I wouldn’t mind having Abi till she was 21 years old, she is such fun!
I made a new video blog on my website, it is a satirical spoof of the famous UK Labour MP Sion Simon weblog where he spoofed the Conservative leader David Cameron….you can see it on my main webpage if you are interested.
I am in the FINAL SIX of Scotswoman of the Year!
Posted 10/13/2006 3:01:48 PM
I cannot thank all of you enough and a big Thanks to everyone who voted for me. I am also very touched the way the Glasgow Evening Times put me forward for this amazing award.
The other wonderful nominee’s for this prestigious award are amazing women who have overcome hardships, and went on to be inspirational to many. I am honoured to be up there with them!
The article in tonight’s newspaper is here
JANEY GODLEY
Comedienne Janey Godley proves laughter really can be the best medicine.
As a child, she was sexually abused by her uncle, which she recounted in her book, Handstands in the Dark.
She then married into Glasgow's gangland and watched as many of her friends and family were sucked into a life of crime and drugs.
Yet she was determined to take a different path in life. After 30 years she found the confidence to prosecute her uncle.
Today, the 45-year-old has become the inspiration for victims of abuse from all over the world.
"I am a great believer in trying to make the best of a bad job," she says.
Her award-winning play, The Point of Yes, tells the story of the 80s heroin epidemic.
She runs comedy workshops for 15-18-year-olds and drama workshops for former addicts, using their own experiences as inspiration.
Janey has worked unofficially with abused women at court, telling them what to expect, and this year, on International Women's Day, she contributed to a Fighting Violence with Comedy event in London.
This month she hosts the Emma Humphreys Memorial Awards, which recognises women who work against male violence.
If you haven’t voted yet and WISH to VOTE click on this link
http://www.eveningtimes.co.uk/lo/features/7025084.html
I am so chuffed and grateful, you have no idea how this has cheered me up!
Thanks everyone for your kind words and testaments.
Much Love Janey
Posted 10/13/2006 3:01:48 PM
I cannot thank all of you enough and a big Thanks to everyone who voted for me. I am also very touched the way the Glasgow Evening Times put me forward for this amazing award.
The other wonderful nominee’s for this prestigious award are amazing women who have overcome hardships, and went on to be inspirational to many. I am honoured to be up there with them!
The article in tonight’s newspaper is here
JANEY GODLEY
Comedienne Janey Godley proves laughter really can be the best medicine.
As a child, she was sexually abused by her uncle, which she recounted in her book, Handstands in the Dark.
She then married into Glasgow's gangland and watched as many of her friends and family were sucked into a life of crime and drugs.
Yet she was determined to take a different path in life. After 30 years she found the confidence to prosecute her uncle.
Today, the 45-year-old has become the inspiration for victims of abuse from all over the world.
"I am a great believer in trying to make the best of a bad job," she says.
Her award-winning play, The Point of Yes, tells the story of the 80s heroin epidemic.
She runs comedy workshops for 15-18-year-olds and drama workshops for former addicts, using their own experiences as inspiration.
Janey has worked unofficially with abused women at court, telling them what to expect, and this year, on International Women's Day, she contributed to a Fighting Violence with Comedy event in London.
This month she hosts the Emma Humphreys Memorial Awards, which recognises women who work against male violence.
If you haven’t voted yet and WISH to VOTE click on this link
http://www.eveningtimes.co.uk/lo/features/7025084.html
I am so chuffed and grateful, you have no idea how this has cheered me up!
Thanks everyone for your kind words and testaments.
Much Love Janey
Personal Life: Back to the East End…
Posted 10/9/2006 3:36:58 PM
I went back to my home town of Shettleston today to pick up a parcel from my brothers son David. It was really strange being there again, seeing that bar where I first met my husband at 16 years of age, standing on the exact spot where at age nine I was hit by car as I crossed the road in my Brownie’s uniform.
Back then I was so engrossed in trying to recall all the details for my ‘Road Safety Badge’ that I got smashed by a car as I crossed! Oh the irony.
It took almost a whole year to learn to walk again.
Shettleston looks so bloody grim, the old tenements have been cleaned, yet still have an air of desperation about them….I can’t explain why. New houses and blocks of modern flats are everywhere, yet feel drab.
The shops are so dirty looking, filthy windows with badly painted shop fronts that smack of cheap fags and stale bread.
You can almost the smell the mice that scurry amongst the chocolate bars as you walk in through their front doors, so I turned around and decided to buy a juice carton when we made it back to town.
I hated the feeling that seeped through me as I stood in my old main street.
I can never quite shake the memory of watching my mum walk away from me on that road in 1982, her brightly coloured woollen coat, merging with other East Enders as she huddled against the cold spring afternoon and even as I waited and watched - she never looked back. It was the last time I ever saw her alive.
Husband and I drove down to the main shopping Mall called ‘The Forge’ as we needed to bank some cheques.
It is on the grounds of the old Parkhead Forge iron and steel works, many generations of men from Shettleston had worked there, including mine. My daddy worked there and so did his grandfather and his uncles and brothers.
The brightly lit shopping mall with a smattering of high street stores, cheap POUND stores and crap 1980’s musak was busy, mostly with mums and kids after school.
Children wearing a uniform from my old school were walking, moaning, crying, screaming, laughing and shouting alongside world-weary women, much younger than me ….but yet all looking tired and mostly very fat.
I hate that generalisation, but I cannot write this without mentioning their appearance.
Women with short boyish haircuts, dull almost colourless clothes and big fat legs pushing empty prams with staggering slightly drunk-looking small toddlers ambling alongside them, passed me time and time again.
Even the small toddlers looked bored and exhausted.
There were some women who had that burnished bronze skin that is favoured by people who live under tanning beds.
Racism is rife in Glasgow’s East End, Glasgow is Scotland’s sunbed capital, and we have more tanning salons than any other city North of Carlisle.
Loads of white people in Glasgow’s East End despise Blacks and Asians yet spend the majority of their cash on trying to look brown! Funny? Yes.
In the main part of the mall there were stalls that sold various goods.
One sold cheap costume jewellery, one sold tee shirts with a distorted child’s face on it- “Your Kids face Here” it announced and another stall was hawking Native American Indian’s faces on clocks! Who buys this shit? I thought.
I decided to stop near the food store and wait on husband coming back from the bank.
Beside me there was a gaudily lit stall with gold lame fabric over the table and it had a huge white awning that shone out strong lights.
“Britt Ekland’s Bronzing Powder!!” the gold letters screamed and the stall had two very fat ladies; short cropped blonde hair, on the very small stools that sat at the front.
A curvy bleached blonde, very brown looking older woman was stroking her ‘Bronze like the Stars’ powder over the pudgy face of one woman, as a screaming toddler sat on the knee of the other.
The two women had a glut of plastic bags bursting with recent purchases, slung over the various handles and hooks off the two pushchairs that sat beside them.
The saleswoman continued her sales patter, her hands flourishing over the woman’s face, animated chatter as she bestowed the virtues of Britt Ekland’s magic make up.
I wondered if the Famous Britt was lying on some fancy sun deck in the South of France, sipping on a Champagne Martini and listening to the tinkling of some classic pianist. Was she living the dream?
Meanwhile her ‘magic’ was being worked on a few hard faced East End Glaswegians and a woman the colour of oak was speaking profusely of her products, what would Britt make of that scene?
The heavier of the two ladies turned her face upwards to the brown-oak coloured sales assistant and offered up her pasty white Scottish skin to the be ‘bronzed’…just like Britt but without the Azure coastline and fresh Martini.
The stool creaked, her abundant bum-flesh leaked over the sides of the tiny frail metal chair, I watched with freakish excitement….watching but worried the stool might just give way.
A sticky faced toddler clambered out of the pushchair and climbed onto the fat woman’s knee, surely this added weight is not going to help this situation?
The chair held fast, the women with their rusty brown faces and white necks were satisfied and purchases were made. More dreams sold to women who really need that boost.
Both women stood up, fixed their clothes and arranged small children back into prams, complimenting each other, smiling and gathering up their shopping.
I stood quietly watching the scene when a beautiful Japanese woman interrupted my thoughts. Her tiny stick thin frame and dark eyes covered my vision.
“Would you like to try the “Human Hair extension” she smiled?
I turned to see I was standing beside a cart that advertised “Real Human Hair for You, Look like a Star as worn by Jennifer Lopez”
“No thanks, I have more than enough hair already” I answered, but she had already clipped a huge blonde fountain of ‘human hair’ into my scalp.
I stood there shocked and tried to quickly unclip it out, it wouldn’t move!
She thrust a mirror into my face and the sight was horrible, I looked mental.
“You look lovely Madame” she said in her faltering English.
“I have really dark hair and that is blonde, I look like a freak, please take it out!” I demanded.
Just at that I saw the shocked look on my husbands face as he came down the escalator, he had big shocked -bush baby eyes and a horrified squint in his face at the hideous blonde slash that fell down my back.
The Japanese lady took the hair section out of my scalp, smiled, bowed and I ran off towards my poor shocked husband “Jesus Janey, you weren’t really thinking of going blonde were you?” he said as I grabbed his hand and headed for the car park.
“No, I never even asked for that hair extension, and it may have nits or lice in it, how many people had that in their hair before me? Quick I need to get home and shower” I hissed as I dragged my fingers through my tuggy hair.
I don’t want to be brown skinned or blonde, I am me. Janey from Shettleston, with thick bushy- dark hair and pasty white skin and that’s the way I will always stay.
Britt Ekland and Jennifer Lopez can sell their crazy elsewhere.
Posted 10/9/2006 3:36:58 PM
I went back to my home town of Shettleston today to pick up a parcel from my brothers son David. It was really strange being there again, seeing that bar where I first met my husband at 16 years of age, standing on the exact spot where at age nine I was hit by car as I crossed the road in my Brownie’s uniform.
Back then I was so engrossed in trying to recall all the details for my ‘Road Safety Badge’ that I got smashed by a car as I crossed! Oh the irony.
It took almost a whole year to learn to walk again.
Shettleston looks so bloody grim, the old tenements have been cleaned, yet still have an air of desperation about them….I can’t explain why. New houses and blocks of modern flats are everywhere, yet feel drab.
The shops are so dirty looking, filthy windows with badly painted shop fronts that smack of cheap fags and stale bread.
You can almost the smell the mice that scurry amongst the chocolate bars as you walk in through their front doors, so I turned around and decided to buy a juice carton when we made it back to town.
I hated the feeling that seeped through me as I stood in my old main street.
I can never quite shake the memory of watching my mum walk away from me on that road in 1982, her brightly coloured woollen coat, merging with other East Enders as she huddled against the cold spring afternoon and even as I waited and watched - she never looked back. It was the last time I ever saw her alive.
Husband and I drove down to the main shopping Mall called ‘The Forge’ as we needed to bank some cheques.
It is on the grounds of the old Parkhead Forge iron and steel works, many generations of men from Shettleston had worked there, including mine. My daddy worked there and so did his grandfather and his uncles and brothers.
The brightly lit shopping mall with a smattering of high street stores, cheap POUND stores and crap 1980’s musak was busy, mostly with mums and kids after school.
Children wearing a uniform from my old school were walking, moaning, crying, screaming, laughing and shouting alongside world-weary women, much younger than me ….but yet all looking tired and mostly very fat.
I hate that generalisation, but I cannot write this without mentioning their appearance.
Women with short boyish haircuts, dull almost colourless clothes and big fat legs pushing empty prams with staggering slightly drunk-looking small toddlers ambling alongside them, passed me time and time again.
Even the small toddlers looked bored and exhausted.
There were some women who had that burnished bronze skin that is favoured by people who live under tanning beds.
Racism is rife in Glasgow’s East End, Glasgow is Scotland’s sunbed capital, and we have more tanning salons than any other city North of Carlisle.
Loads of white people in Glasgow’s East End despise Blacks and Asians yet spend the majority of their cash on trying to look brown! Funny? Yes.
In the main part of the mall there were stalls that sold various goods.
One sold cheap costume jewellery, one sold tee shirts with a distorted child’s face on it- “Your Kids face Here” it announced and another stall was hawking Native American Indian’s faces on clocks! Who buys this shit? I thought.
I decided to stop near the food store and wait on husband coming back from the bank.
Beside me there was a gaudily lit stall with gold lame fabric over the table and it had a huge white awning that shone out strong lights.
“Britt Ekland’s Bronzing Powder!!” the gold letters screamed and the stall had two very fat ladies; short cropped blonde hair, on the very small stools that sat at the front.
A curvy bleached blonde, very brown looking older woman was stroking her ‘Bronze like the Stars’ powder over the pudgy face of one woman, as a screaming toddler sat on the knee of the other.
The two women had a glut of plastic bags bursting with recent purchases, slung over the various handles and hooks off the two pushchairs that sat beside them.
The saleswoman continued her sales patter, her hands flourishing over the woman’s face, animated chatter as she bestowed the virtues of Britt Ekland’s magic make up.
I wondered if the Famous Britt was lying on some fancy sun deck in the South of France, sipping on a Champagne Martini and listening to the tinkling of some classic pianist. Was she living the dream?
Meanwhile her ‘magic’ was being worked on a few hard faced East End Glaswegians and a woman the colour of oak was speaking profusely of her products, what would Britt make of that scene?
The heavier of the two ladies turned her face upwards to the brown-oak coloured sales assistant and offered up her pasty white Scottish skin to the be ‘bronzed’…just like Britt but without the Azure coastline and fresh Martini.
The stool creaked, her abundant bum-flesh leaked over the sides of the tiny frail metal chair, I watched with freakish excitement….watching but worried the stool might just give way.
A sticky faced toddler clambered out of the pushchair and climbed onto the fat woman’s knee, surely this added weight is not going to help this situation?
The chair held fast, the women with their rusty brown faces and white necks were satisfied and purchases were made. More dreams sold to women who really need that boost.
Both women stood up, fixed their clothes and arranged small children back into prams, complimenting each other, smiling and gathering up their shopping.
I stood quietly watching the scene when a beautiful Japanese woman interrupted my thoughts. Her tiny stick thin frame and dark eyes covered my vision.
“Would you like to try the “Human Hair extension” she smiled?
I turned to see I was standing beside a cart that advertised “Real Human Hair for You, Look like a Star as worn by Jennifer Lopez”
“No thanks, I have more than enough hair already” I answered, but she had already clipped a huge blonde fountain of ‘human hair’ into my scalp.
I stood there shocked and tried to quickly unclip it out, it wouldn’t move!
She thrust a mirror into my face and the sight was horrible, I looked mental.
“You look lovely Madame” she said in her faltering English.
“I have really dark hair and that is blonde, I look like a freak, please take it out!” I demanded.
Just at that I saw the shocked look on my husbands face as he came down the escalator, he had big shocked -bush baby eyes and a horrified squint in his face at the hideous blonde slash that fell down my back.
The Japanese lady took the hair section out of my scalp, smiled, bowed and I ran off towards my poor shocked husband “Jesus Janey, you weren’t really thinking of going blonde were you?” he said as I grabbed his hand and headed for the car park.
“No, I never even asked for that hair extension, and it may have nits or lice in it, how many people had that in their hair before me? Quick I need to get home and shower” I hissed as I dragged my fingers through my tuggy hair.
I don’t want to be brown skinned or blonde, I am me. Janey from Shettleston, with thick bushy- dark hair and pasty white skin and that’s the way I will always stay.
Britt Ekland and Jennifer Lopez can sell their crazy elsewhere.
Personal Life: Meeting Alan Bennett…
Posted 10/8/2006 4:14:39 PM
Firstly I want to thank everyone who voted for me online for ‘Scotswoman of the Year’ my nomination has left me flabbergasted. The sheer amount of votes that have been flooding in are overwhelming and I am so grateful. Some of you lovely people have been saying amazing things in your testimonials and I am so very touched. Thank you.
I have yet to find out if I make the final seven.
If I do make the final then on 23rd October I will be attending the city Chambers in Glasgow to find out if I have won! Hooray!
Ashley and I both went to the Scottish premier of ‘The History Boys’ in Glasgow.
The film was very interesting and the script was really sharp but I am afraid I had reservations about the whole plot; though I am sure the stage version was awesome.
After the film I had the opportunity to meet Mr Alan Bennett himself!
I was so excited as his ‘Talking Heads’ inspired me to become a playwright, the man never let me down. He was genuinely interesting and charming to meet, both my daughter and I chatted with him about plays and writing. He really is inspiring and I was so blessed to meet him.
Still the nightmares continue but I am bored talking about them now.
I had a great gig at Kilmarnock Theatre, the most amazing thing was a 90 year-old woman came to the show and it was lovely making someone of that generation laugh out loud, even I didn’t know I had Second World War gags!
I think that many comedians balk when they step on stage and see either very old or very young members of the audience and it takes a good decent comic to bridge that age gap, it really did go amazingly well, the old lady laughed her support tights off and the young 17 year-old guy at the front pissed himself at the same funny story.
The old lady even joined in, and added to the show with some funny anecdotes!
What a night!
So today I had a lazy day, a nice rainy Scottish Sunday, I bought some newspapers and went up to Oran Mor (local theatre/bar/restaurant where I have performed) and sat outside for a cigarette and a read of today’s Sunday Papers. I hate having to sit in the rain and smoke BUT it is Scotland and these are the laws. No smoking inside any public building, so sitting reading in the rain is normal for us smoky Scots!
On a new note, I was offered some Folgers Coffee sent to me by the American company for me to try and taste. So I made my coffee and sat and watched a documentary about murders. The opening scene was about the Charles Manson murders and I hear that one of the victims lying on the lawn who had been shot - was an heiress of ‘The Folger Coffee Dynasty’ well I was stunned and what a strange coincidence!
Well I am so sorry for the Folger people, but the coffee was awesome, really good stuff and I wish I had more of it.
If anyone wants to send me a Jaguar XJS then please do as I will keep it and let you all know how it rides.
Good luck and good night.
Posted 10/8/2006 4:14:39 PM
Firstly I want to thank everyone who voted for me online for ‘Scotswoman of the Year’ my nomination has left me flabbergasted. The sheer amount of votes that have been flooding in are overwhelming and I am so grateful. Some of you lovely people have been saying amazing things in your testimonials and I am so very touched. Thank you.
I have yet to find out if I make the final seven.
If I do make the final then on 23rd October I will be attending the city Chambers in Glasgow to find out if I have won! Hooray!
Ashley and I both went to the Scottish premier of ‘The History Boys’ in Glasgow.
The film was very interesting and the script was really sharp but I am afraid I had reservations about the whole plot; though I am sure the stage version was awesome.
After the film I had the opportunity to meet Mr Alan Bennett himself!
I was so excited as his ‘Talking Heads’ inspired me to become a playwright, the man never let me down. He was genuinely interesting and charming to meet, both my daughter and I chatted with him about plays and writing. He really is inspiring and I was so blessed to meet him.
Still the nightmares continue but I am bored talking about them now.
I had a great gig at Kilmarnock Theatre, the most amazing thing was a 90 year-old woman came to the show and it was lovely making someone of that generation laugh out loud, even I didn’t know I had Second World War gags!
I think that many comedians balk when they step on stage and see either very old or very young members of the audience and it takes a good decent comic to bridge that age gap, it really did go amazingly well, the old lady laughed her support tights off and the young 17 year-old guy at the front pissed himself at the same funny story.
The old lady even joined in, and added to the show with some funny anecdotes!
What a night!
So today I had a lazy day, a nice rainy Scottish Sunday, I bought some newspapers and went up to Oran Mor (local theatre/bar/restaurant where I have performed) and sat outside for a cigarette and a read of today’s Sunday Papers. I hate having to sit in the rain and smoke BUT it is Scotland and these are the laws. No smoking inside any public building, so sitting reading in the rain is normal for us smoky Scots!
On a new note, I was offered some Folgers Coffee sent to me by the American company for me to try and taste. So I made my coffee and sat and watched a documentary about murders. The opening scene was about the Charles Manson murders and I hear that one of the victims lying on the lawn who had been shot - was an heiress of ‘The Folger Coffee Dynasty’ well I was stunned and what a strange coincidence!
Well I am so sorry for the Folger people, but the coffee was awesome, really good stuff and I wish I had more of it.
If anyone wants to send me a Jaguar XJS then please do as I will keep it and let you all know how it rides.
Good luck and good night.
Personal Life: What an exciting day!
Posted 10/5/2006 1:05:59 PM
Today I was nominated as ‘Scotswoman of the Year’ I am so very touched to be thought of in this way, how amazing!
I am also off tonight to a film premiere of ‘The History Boys’, which includes a Q&A with Alan Bennett the writer of the movie.
I have copied out the whole article in today’s newspaper, if you feel like you would want to vote and you know me well enough to endorse such a thing, then there is a voting form by link at the bottom.
In the voting form it asks for an address of the nominee, you can leave that bit blank THAT’S IF YOU WANT TO VOTE!
Neither pressure nor coercion I am NOT a politician- it’s entirely your decision!
Here is the article in today’s Evening Times, Glasgow Scotland UK -
By Shelia Hamilton
JANEY GODLEY had kept a secret for most of her lifetime. But when she saw an interview in the Evening Times with a child sexual abuse victim, it gave her the courage to "come out" with her own story in this newspaper.
And when she was told even after 30 years, she could still prosecute the uncle who abused her, she found the confidence to go ahead and see him jailed.
Today, Janey herself is the inspiration for victims of abuse from all over the world.
She has taken her own life by the scruff of the neck and lives it the way she wants it.
By helping herself, she is now helping others who tell her "if you can do it, so can I".
One message posted recently on her website from a 15-year-old said: "I would like to tell you how much your book has helped me with abuse.
"Your book made me realise I can get through it and I will!"
Janey Godley. What a life - and she's still only 45.
It's all in her mesmerising book, Handstands in the Dark, out in paperback this summer.
The girl who grew up in poverty in Shettleston, who did handstands to take her mind off the fact her uncle was sexually abusing her, then married into Glasgow's gangland has become a star.
Janey might have gone the way of so many of her friends and family in Glasgow's East End who got sucked into crime and drugs.
But her own drug of choice is laughter. She says if you don't laugh, you'll cry.
She's feisty, intelligent and sharper than any tack you've ever stood on.
If ever there was an inspiration to those in similar circumstances, it's Janey.
"I'm a great believer in trying to make the best of a bad job," she says wryly.
She dreamed of a different life, she worked for it and she got it.
Behind the bar at the Weavers Pub in the Calton that she ran with her husband, Sean, she watched as friends and family succumbed to drugs.
Her award winning play, The Point of Yes, written to warn her 20-year-old daughter Ashley off heroin, tells the story of the 80s heroin epidemic.
It enjoyed rave reviews at the Edinburgh Fringe and is now used throughout Scotland to highlight the dangers of drugs.
She has performed The Point of Yes to housing associations in "problem" areas, to drug forums and to prisoners.
She also runs comedy workshops for 15 - 18-year-olds and drama workshops for ex -addicts, using their own experiences as inspiration.
She is proud of the results she's had with her work with children from difficult backgrounds teaching them comedy to improve their confidence.
She says: "It's the most important thing I've done.
"It was awesome to see these wee kids getting up and telling jokes and getting a big cheer.
"Some have horrible lives You can tell by looking at them. It's great to see them gaining in confidence and skills they would never imagine they had."
She has also influenced social workers and carers which in turn may change how people are treated by the system.
You couldn't blame Janey had she shut out the world.
But having taken her uncle to court, she has worked unofficially with abused women at court, telling them what to expect and how to explain what had happened to them.
On International Women's Day 2006, she contributed to a Fighting Violence With Comedy event at the Cafe Royal in London.
In October, she hosts the annual Emma Humphrey's Memorial Awards ceremony in London which recognises women who work against male violence.
She is irrepressible, but the loud exterior hides a sensitive and caring woman.
Never just accept the world as it is, she tells her daughter. "You don't have to accept your surroundings.
"You can change things if you want to."
Janey's the proof of that.
http://www.eveningtimes.co.uk/lo/features/7024629.html
Posted 10/5/2006 1:05:59 PM
Today I was nominated as ‘Scotswoman of the Year’ I am so very touched to be thought of in this way, how amazing!
I am also off tonight to a film premiere of ‘The History Boys’, which includes a Q&A with Alan Bennett the writer of the movie.
I have copied out the whole article in today’s newspaper, if you feel like you would want to vote and you know me well enough to endorse such a thing, then there is a voting form by link at the bottom.
In the voting form it asks for an address of the nominee, you can leave that bit blank THAT’S IF YOU WANT TO VOTE!
Neither pressure nor coercion I am NOT a politician- it’s entirely your decision!
Here is the article in today’s Evening Times, Glasgow Scotland UK -
By Shelia Hamilton
JANEY GODLEY had kept a secret for most of her lifetime. But when she saw an interview in the Evening Times with a child sexual abuse victim, it gave her the courage to "come out" with her own story in this newspaper.
And when she was told even after 30 years, she could still prosecute the uncle who abused her, she found the confidence to go ahead and see him jailed.
Today, Janey herself is the inspiration for victims of abuse from all over the world.
She has taken her own life by the scruff of the neck and lives it the way she wants it.
By helping herself, she is now helping others who tell her "if you can do it, so can I".
One message posted recently on her website from a 15-year-old said: "I would like to tell you how much your book has helped me with abuse.
"Your book made me realise I can get through it and I will!"
Janey Godley. What a life - and she's still only 45.
It's all in her mesmerising book, Handstands in the Dark, out in paperback this summer.
The girl who grew up in poverty in Shettleston, who did handstands to take her mind off the fact her uncle was sexually abusing her, then married into Glasgow's gangland has become a star.
Janey might have gone the way of so many of her friends and family in Glasgow's East End who got sucked into crime and drugs.
But her own drug of choice is laughter. She says if you don't laugh, you'll cry.
She's feisty, intelligent and sharper than any tack you've ever stood on.
If ever there was an inspiration to those in similar circumstances, it's Janey.
"I'm a great believer in trying to make the best of a bad job," she says wryly.
She dreamed of a different life, she worked for it and she got it.
Behind the bar at the Weavers Pub in the Calton that she ran with her husband, Sean, she watched as friends and family succumbed to drugs.
Her award winning play, The Point of Yes, written to warn her 20-year-old daughter Ashley off heroin, tells the story of the 80s heroin epidemic.
It enjoyed rave reviews at the Edinburgh Fringe and is now used throughout Scotland to highlight the dangers of drugs.
She has performed The Point of Yes to housing associations in "problem" areas, to drug forums and to prisoners.
She also runs comedy workshops for 15 - 18-year-olds and drama workshops for ex -addicts, using their own experiences as inspiration.
She is proud of the results she's had with her work with children from difficult backgrounds teaching them comedy to improve their confidence.
She says: "It's the most important thing I've done.
"It was awesome to see these wee kids getting up and telling jokes and getting a big cheer.
"Some have horrible lives You can tell by looking at them. It's great to see them gaining in confidence and skills they would never imagine they had."
She has also influenced social workers and carers which in turn may change how people are treated by the system.
You couldn't blame Janey had she shut out the world.
But having taken her uncle to court, she has worked unofficially with abused women at court, telling them what to expect and how to explain what had happened to them.
On International Women's Day 2006, she contributed to a Fighting Violence With Comedy event at the Cafe Royal in London.
In October, she hosts the annual Emma Humphrey's Memorial Awards ceremony in London which recognises women who work against male violence.
She is irrepressible, but the loud exterior hides a sensitive and caring woman.
Never just accept the world as it is, she tells her daughter. "You don't have to accept your surroundings.
"You can change things if you want to."
Janey's the proof of that.
http://www.eveningtimes.co.uk/lo/features/7024629.html
Personal Life: Dreams can come true, but hopefully not for me…
Posted 10/3/2006 3:19:59 PM
So the bad dreams continue and despite a deluge of help from people they refuse to be binned.
I am coping with it all, but it does mean my energy levels are down I am afraid. So my blog is suffering.
I am currently organising a trip to London, where I will be working and having some meetings with TV people and stuff. It’s good to stay focussed and on top of stuff.
The good news is, I got to see the new baby niece Julia, and she is a lovely wee thing. Her big sister my other favourite child- Abi couldn’t wait for me to see her ‘Wee Sister’….Abi was delighted and slightly jealous, so she went into ‘Full attention seeking mode’ the minute the new baby was presented to our household. My poor husband had Abi literally wrapped around his head as he tried to look at the new wee infant and Abi had prepared a whole new singing and dancing routine for us to watch just in case any of us forgot she was alive.
Then she told us an imaginary story that came out of her wee cute lispy mouth and entailed her meeting a zebra, warthog and baby kangaroo in a forest and the story lasted a full 38 minutes, with enough time to breathe and carry on with hand movements to explain her fantasy….it was so funny and that wee three year old toddler has a great imagination. I love her.
Am going to a BAFTA premier of ‘The History Boys’ on Thursday with my daughter Ashley, and the great writer Alan Bennett will be in attendance for a Q & A afterwards. Ashley is super excited and can’t wait to meet her favourite writer and director.
Husband is quietly trying to find a cure for my nightmares; I think he may never find one, what if the only cure that will work is if we separate? That would be awful, I have explained that I get the nightmares whether he is there or not, but he seems to assume that he makes them worse.
That’s because if I get wakened at any moment and fall back asleep they get worse and he does sometimes wake me up by accident. I have reassured him it’s not his fault, but he continues to blame himself.
Glasgow is in the news just now as a young Polish Student who was working as a volunteer in the local St. Patrick’s Chapel has been found beaten to death and her remains were secreted in the chapel, it was the parish where my husband was raised in and there has been an outcry from the locals.
The handyman in the church had gone missing after the young girl’s disappearance though he has now been found in London.
It seems he used a false name and is a previous sex offender and is being questioned by the police concerning the death. People are outraged that this man worked in their parish.
I don’t blame the priest, as he wasn’t to know that the handyman had a false identity and had convictions. I don’t know the legality surrounding checking backgrounds on clergy workers, but the guy did have a false name, either way it is a terrible tragedy and makes me shudder to think of that poor young woman being buried inside the chapel as the police were looking for her. How awful for her poor family to have to fly from Poland to come to her death scene, the place where she had felt safe.
I am grateful that my daughter is safe tonight and at least my bad dreams aren’t true, unlike the nightmare that Polish family are suffering as we speak.
Posted 10/3/2006 3:19:59 PM
So the bad dreams continue and despite a deluge of help from people they refuse to be binned.
I am coping with it all, but it does mean my energy levels are down I am afraid. So my blog is suffering.
I am currently organising a trip to London, where I will be working and having some meetings with TV people and stuff. It’s good to stay focussed and on top of stuff.
The good news is, I got to see the new baby niece Julia, and she is a lovely wee thing. Her big sister my other favourite child- Abi couldn’t wait for me to see her ‘Wee Sister’….Abi was delighted and slightly jealous, so she went into ‘Full attention seeking mode’ the minute the new baby was presented to our household. My poor husband had Abi literally wrapped around his head as he tried to look at the new wee infant and Abi had prepared a whole new singing and dancing routine for us to watch just in case any of us forgot she was alive.
Then she told us an imaginary story that came out of her wee cute lispy mouth and entailed her meeting a zebra, warthog and baby kangaroo in a forest and the story lasted a full 38 minutes, with enough time to breathe and carry on with hand movements to explain her fantasy….it was so funny and that wee three year old toddler has a great imagination. I love her.
Am going to a BAFTA premier of ‘The History Boys’ on Thursday with my daughter Ashley, and the great writer Alan Bennett will be in attendance for a Q & A afterwards. Ashley is super excited and can’t wait to meet her favourite writer and director.
Husband is quietly trying to find a cure for my nightmares; I think he may never find one, what if the only cure that will work is if we separate? That would be awful, I have explained that I get the nightmares whether he is there or not, but he seems to assume that he makes them worse.
That’s because if I get wakened at any moment and fall back asleep they get worse and he does sometimes wake me up by accident. I have reassured him it’s not his fault, but he continues to blame himself.
Glasgow is in the news just now as a young Polish Student who was working as a volunteer in the local St. Patrick’s Chapel has been found beaten to death and her remains were secreted in the chapel, it was the parish where my husband was raised in and there has been an outcry from the locals.
The handyman in the church had gone missing after the young girl’s disappearance though he has now been found in London.
It seems he used a false name and is a previous sex offender and is being questioned by the police concerning the death. People are outraged that this man worked in their parish.
I don’t blame the priest, as he wasn’t to know that the handyman had a false identity and had convictions. I don’t know the legality surrounding checking backgrounds on clergy workers, but the guy did have a false name, either way it is a terrible tragedy and makes me shudder to think of that poor young woman being buried inside the chapel as the police were looking for her. How awful for her poor family to have to fly from Poland to come to her death scene, the place where she had felt safe.
I am grateful that my daughter is safe tonight and at least my bad dreams aren’t true, unlike the nightmare that Polish family are suffering as we speak.
Personal Life: Nightmares as always…
Posted 10/1/2006 11:54:25 AM
Am sorry I haven’t been doing my blog, I have been dragged into the deepest nightmares again, and I simply cannot get rid of them.
I really am trying all different kinds of ideas to solve this, but until then I will keep being knackered daily as I relive the horror I sleep in.
Last night I tried hard to have really good thoughts to clear up my head before I slept, but to no avail.
I was sitting in a dark room; noises were coming from behind the door. I sat on a floor I didn’t really recognise, the water was dripping from a tap into a filthy sink.
The noise resonated loudly in my ears, much louder than a normal tap dripping. It was a bang –bang, like a spoon hitting on an oil drum.
I sat there with my body tensed into a cramped uncomfortable shape.
I stared at the unusual wallpaper, it was purple swirls and somewhere in my head it was familiar, but from where I just couldn’t work out in my fugged brain.
Somewhere in the back of my memory it was all very recognisable, I was trying to make sense of the situation, but my heart beat was now as loud as the tap dripping.
The cold floor made me shiver horribly and I was aware I wasn’t wearing underwear as I could feel my bare bum wet and icy. I started to stare at my knees and the scab on them was very familiar, I remember that scab, it was when I came off my bike at the bottom of the hill across from my home as a child.
I recalled how a bus came trundling towards me as I managed to cycle off the hill and onto the main road, I skidded onto the pavement and came off my bike just inches before the wee single decker bus crashed into me full on.
Bits of the scab were bleeding where I had picked at it. Why am I here? I tried to ask myself with a degree of rationality but the fear in my heart and the tap dripping in my ears was unbearable.
I was terrified but I wasn’t sure what I was scared of, in the background I started to hear music. It was from another room, it was Dusty Springfield singing, the words were becoming clearer, I knew it was my living room that the noise was coming from but not my living room here where I live but the living room I had as a child in the 1960s.
That old living room, with the radiogram and pink flamingos over the mantle piece, with the old fire burning coal and the black and white television sitting in a big wooden box in the corner, I want to run away from here but my legs wont move.
Why am I here again?
I hear scratching at the door; I smile at this - as it is my DOG! I know it’s my dog, Major. He is trying to get into me and cuddle up with me, my legs wont move. I try really, really hard to move them and suddenly I am up on my feet.
I slowly walk to the bathroom door and open it, the dog shuffles in and snuffles up to me. His wiry coat and musty smell are so good, I cry, I can feel tears on my face.
I feel so happy to see him, I missed him so much but still the fear is mixed in my soul, I can’t escape the noise of the tap and the music coming from the living room.
Suddenly my body drops to the floor I can’t see anything but a pair of shoes, I don’t like these shoes, I know these shoes and they scare me. I feel a hand on my hair; it is pulling me up sharply- the pain in my scalp is searing through my brain, I get up to stop the hair pulling, if I stand up quick I can catch up with my scalp.
The dog barks, it snarls and starts howling behind me, the tap drips loudly, the music gets louder and suddenly I feel like my head is going to burst, I am now absolutely frozen with fear as I see the shoes meet the trousers, and those trousers become a blue shirt, and the shirt leads up to a mans face that I now fully recognise.
He smiles and lifts up his other arm, the hand is holding a long pointed sharp knife and he quickly brings it down into my face. I feel the pain rip through my cheek, my tongue has been slashed inside and I cannot scream, the dog is barking and skidding all over the floor behind me, I can hear his claws on the wax floor covering.
I try to wake up, I beg to wake up but I cannot somehow pull myself from the horror and get away.
Then I can hear my name being called “Janey, Janey” it drowns out the music, the dog barking, the tap dripping and the horrible searing pulsating pain in my face.
Husband is shaking me “Janey are you ok? Wake up, you are screaming, are you ok? Janey wake up!”
So that has been my life for the past three days, continuous nightmares and blood dripping fear….at least I got to see my dog again. I loved him.
Posted 10/1/2006 11:54:25 AM
Am sorry I haven’t been doing my blog, I have been dragged into the deepest nightmares again, and I simply cannot get rid of them.
I really am trying all different kinds of ideas to solve this, but until then I will keep being knackered daily as I relive the horror I sleep in.
Last night I tried hard to have really good thoughts to clear up my head before I slept, but to no avail.
I was sitting in a dark room; noises were coming from behind the door. I sat on a floor I didn’t really recognise, the water was dripping from a tap into a filthy sink.
The noise resonated loudly in my ears, much louder than a normal tap dripping. It was a bang –bang, like a spoon hitting on an oil drum.
I sat there with my body tensed into a cramped uncomfortable shape.
I stared at the unusual wallpaper, it was purple swirls and somewhere in my head it was familiar, but from where I just couldn’t work out in my fugged brain.
Somewhere in the back of my memory it was all very recognisable, I was trying to make sense of the situation, but my heart beat was now as loud as the tap dripping.
The cold floor made me shiver horribly and I was aware I wasn’t wearing underwear as I could feel my bare bum wet and icy. I started to stare at my knees and the scab on them was very familiar, I remember that scab, it was when I came off my bike at the bottom of the hill across from my home as a child.
I recalled how a bus came trundling towards me as I managed to cycle off the hill and onto the main road, I skidded onto the pavement and came off my bike just inches before the wee single decker bus crashed into me full on.
Bits of the scab were bleeding where I had picked at it. Why am I here? I tried to ask myself with a degree of rationality but the fear in my heart and the tap dripping in my ears was unbearable.
I was terrified but I wasn’t sure what I was scared of, in the background I started to hear music. It was from another room, it was Dusty Springfield singing, the words were becoming clearer, I knew it was my living room that the noise was coming from but not my living room here where I live but the living room I had as a child in the 1960s.
That old living room, with the radiogram and pink flamingos over the mantle piece, with the old fire burning coal and the black and white television sitting in a big wooden box in the corner, I want to run away from here but my legs wont move.
Why am I here again?
I hear scratching at the door; I smile at this - as it is my DOG! I know it’s my dog, Major. He is trying to get into me and cuddle up with me, my legs wont move. I try really, really hard to move them and suddenly I am up on my feet.
I slowly walk to the bathroom door and open it, the dog shuffles in and snuffles up to me. His wiry coat and musty smell are so good, I cry, I can feel tears on my face.
I feel so happy to see him, I missed him so much but still the fear is mixed in my soul, I can’t escape the noise of the tap and the music coming from the living room.
Suddenly my body drops to the floor I can’t see anything but a pair of shoes, I don’t like these shoes, I know these shoes and they scare me. I feel a hand on my hair; it is pulling me up sharply- the pain in my scalp is searing through my brain, I get up to stop the hair pulling, if I stand up quick I can catch up with my scalp.
The dog barks, it snarls and starts howling behind me, the tap drips loudly, the music gets louder and suddenly I feel like my head is going to burst, I am now absolutely frozen with fear as I see the shoes meet the trousers, and those trousers become a blue shirt, and the shirt leads up to a mans face that I now fully recognise.
He smiles and lifts up his other arm, the hand is holding a long pointed sharp knife and he quickly brings it down into my face. I feel the pain rip through my cheek, my tongue has been slashed inside and I cannot scream, the dog is barking and skidding all over the floor behind me, I can hear his claws on the wax floor covering.
I try to wake up, I beg to wake up but I cannot somehow pull myself from the horror and get away.
Then I can hear my name being called “Janey, Janey” it drowns out the music, the dog barking, the tap dripping and the horrible searing pulsating pain in my face.
Husband is shaking me “Janey are you ok? Wake up, you are screaming, are you ok? Janey wake up!”
So that has been my life for the past three days, continuous nightmares and blood dripping fear….at least I got to see my dog again. I loved him.
Fights, sex and anniversary nights…
Posted 9/28/2006 3:07:10 PM
We did manage to get through our wedding anniversary without a fight…well almost.
Here is what happened, we decided NOT to plan anything (coz that always starts the fight) and take the day as it came. So we got up and did some paperwork with the tentative view to go out for dinner at night, somewhere local.
As it happened I got a last minute job writing an article for a Scottish newspaper to a deadline….so that was the day screwed, it was 1000 words they needed and loads of back research involved. By the time I had finished writing and had it pre-checked by my manager John, the whole day and most of the night was gone.
No Anniversary dinner for us.
It was ok though, he understands, living with someone who has a strange job is cool with him.
Just when I thought it was all going to be cool, husband found the mail and brought it upstairs…..yes my credit card bill arrived. He almost died when he saw how much Ashley and I spent in Edinburgh…so there we have it, the ‘world’s cheapest man is married to the world’s most expensive woman’ conversation came up.
To combat this and to back up MY side, I showed him a magazine that displayed handbags and shoes that cost £8000, I never spend that much on handbags and shoes, and he merely flicked the page and shouted in despair because the magazine cost £2.50 …that’s was enough for him to get mad.
So I kicked him and ran into the bedroom. I won.
It really bugs me because this man spends NOTHING, how can he do it?
Honestly, he wears the cheapest shoes and has no reason to buy more until those ones (after three years believe it or not) wear out.
Why would he need another pair of shoes? He has one smart pair of shoes for a suit and trainers he wears daily and that’s all a man needs according to him.
He still wears clothes he had from the early 90s and would have worn the stuff he had in the early 80s but I threw them out!
He really cannot understand the concept of buying ‘more clothes’ when he has perfectly good stuff that fits…it bewilders him that men go shopping for clothes “Don’t they have any clothes at home?” he snaps, when we pass them in a store.
So imagine how he feels when I buy ‘yet another top’
“You have tops at home, don’t you have enough tops? I iron about 20 tops and at least 15 pairs of jeans, why do you need more?” he mutters when I browse through a shopping mall and he is forced to be with me.
He will never ever learn will he?
Or maybe he is right? Do we just keep buying clothes we hardly ever wear to satisfy some strange consumerism need that has been bred into us through the media?
He should be happy with me though, I very rarely buy very expensive stuff, and my best mate Monica thinks nothing of spending £200 on a pair of shoes. I am pretty cheap in that I would never spend more than £40 on shoes, I am a cheap bitch!
Ashley has her first day back at Uni and she was all tired and talky when she came home. She had made us both a lovely hand made card, which was really nice.
We decided long ago to stop buying anniversary presents, neither of us needs anything new (except some tops that I get myself obviously) and we feel it is a waste of cash.
So last night we all sat up talking and catching up with each other on the sofa, Ashley was full of excitement about her new film course (she loves Uni) and then we got a call from my niece Ann Margaret she had a wee fat baby girl. So we did get an anniversary gift after all!
We had planned on having time to ourselves and possibly having some anniversary sex, but both of us are way too old and tired and promptly fell asleep!
I woke up today (Thursday) and had a photo shoot for a forthcoming news article, the very thought of having to put make up on and dress nice that early in the day made me feel grumpy. But I did it, a whole new shiny hair-do, nice clothes and high heels, before 2pm! I looked like a hooker….
The day got completely thrown into disarray because an Aunt of my husband had taken ill and he had to go to hospital with her, he spent 5 hours in the emergency room until they finally got her admitted and settled. She is doing fine, husband realised that my niece who ahs just given birth was in same big Glasgow hospital, so he dashed off to the new maternity wing to see Ann Margaret, poor tired woman that she is, all sore and craggy.
I haven’t seen the baby yet, but apparently she is ‘ridiculously beautiful’ I can’t wait to hold her!
Posted 9/28/2006 3:07:10 PM
We did manage to get through our wedding anniversary without a fight…well almost.
Here is what happened, we decided NOT to plan anything (coz that always starts the fight) and take the day as it came. So we got up and did some paperwork with the tentative view to go out for dinner at night, somewhere local.
As it happened I got a last minute job writing an article for a Scottish newspaper to a deadline….so that was the day screwed, it was 1000 words they needed and loads of back research involved. By the time I had finished writing and had it pre-checked by my manager John, the whole day and most of the night was gone.
No Anniversary dinner for us.
It was ok though, he understands, living with someone who has a strange job is cool with him.
Just when I thought it was all going to be cool, husband found the mail and brought it upstairs…..yes my credit card bill arrived. He almost died when he saw how much Ashley and I spent in Edinburgh…so there we have it, the ‘world’s cheapest man is married to the world’s most expensive woman’ conversation came up.
To combat this and to back up MY side, I showed him a magazine that displayed handbags and shoes that cost £8000, I never spend that much on handbags and shoes, and he merely flicked the page and shouted in despair because the magazine cost £2.50 …that’s was enough for him to get mad.
So I kicked him and ran into the bedroom. I won.
It really bugs me because this man spends NOTHING, how can he do it?
Honestly, he wears the cheapest shoes and has no reason to buy more until those ones (after three years believe it or not) wear out.
Why would he need another pair of shoes? He has one smart pair of shoes for a suit and trainers he wears daily and that’s all a man needs according to him.
He still wears clothes he had from the early 90s and would have worn the stuff he had in the early 80s but I threw them out!
He really cannot understand the concept of buying ‘more clothes’ when he has perfectly good stuff that fits…it bewilders him that men go shopping for clothes “Don’t they have any clothes at home?” he snaps, when we pass them in a store.
So imagine how he feels when I buy ‘yet another top’
“You have tops at home, don’t you have enough tops? I iron about 20 tops and at least 15 pairs of jeans, why do you need more?” he mutters when I browse through a shopping mall and he is forced to be with me.
He will never ever learn will he?
Or maybe he is right? Do we just keep buying clothes we hardly ever wear to satisfy some strange consumerism need that has been bred into us through the media?
He should be happy with me though, I very rarely buy very expensive stuff, and my best mate Monica thinks nothing of spending £200 on a pair of shoes. I am pretty cheap in that I would never spend more than £40 on shoes, I am a cheap bitch!
Ashley has her first day back at Uni and she was all tired and talky when she came home. She had made us both a lovely hand made card, which was really nice.
We decided long ago to stop buying anniversary presents, neither of us needs anything new (except some tops that I get myself obviously) and we feel it is a waste of cash.
So last night we all sat up talking and catching up with each other on the sofa, Ashley was full of excitement about her new film course (she loves Uni) and then we got a call from my niece Ann Margaret she had a wee fat baby girl. So we did get an anniversary gift after all!
We had planned on having time to ourselves and possibly having some anniversary sex, but both of us are way too old and tired and promptly fell asleep!
I woke up today (Thursday) and had a photo shoot for a forthcoming news article, the very thought of having to put make up on and dress nice that early in the day made me feel grumpy. But I did it, a whole new shiny hair-do, nice clothes and high heels, before 2pm! I looked like a hooker….
The day got completely thrown into disarray because an Aunt of my husband had taken ill and he had to go to hospital with her, he spent 5 hours in the emergency room until they finally got her admitted and settled. She is doing fine, husband realised that my niece who ahs just given birth was in same big Glasgow hospital, so he dashed off to the new maternity wing to see Ann Margaret, poor tired woman that she is, all sore and craggy.
I haven’t seen the baby yet, but apparently she is ‘ridiculously beautiful’ I can’t wait to hold her!
Personal Life: Where Rape is not a crime and why I like my husband today…
Posted 9/26/2006 5:04:21 PM
I am having a bad day shouting at my computer screen as I write.
I read with complete and utter horror in a magazine this week that in Pakistan –women who were raped were jailed or worse….stoned to death.
The law that they have purportedly broke is called Hudood Ordinance. The rapists walk free and the Pakistani government extremists continue to uphold this law!
I really get mad at this stuff and wonder how in the so called ‘Modern World’ this stuff can still exist, I try to make my blogs funny and sometimes vaguely interesting, but today I am having a rant.
I was raped as a child, and to be told you are the bad person and deserve to die for being raped makes me want to scream and makes me re-visit the shame I felt at five years of age.
Some of these women were pregnant as a result of the repeated rape; some of them were very young girls.
I cried reading the article and feel very privileged that I live in a society that recognises child abuse and rape. If you want to join the campaign for a change in the law go to www.actionaid.org.uk
Life sucks and I can only be happy that I was born into poverty and not some extremist religion or country. Thank God Scotland’s society is based on sectarianism and alcohol problems, and not hell bent in making women full-on second class citizens. I sometimes get mad at the injustice of misogyny, but now I appreciate the difference.
On a lighter note husband got up and cleaned the house, he does this often and I have realised why I will stay here forever- he completely understands my deep psycho-need for domestic cleanliness. We aren’t meant to be together in all other aspects of personality, that’s for sure but he gets how I need a clean house and tidy cutlery drawer. The thought of divorcing him and having to teach another man why I need a clean fresh pillow case daily and washed in fresh lavender cut from my dads garden seems too much to bear. My husband gathers the lavender, crushes it up in a sock and washes it in with my bed linen for me. That’s devotion. Not necessarily love…or maybe it is?
I will be nice to him on our anniversary tomorrow 26 years and counting.
Posted 9/26/2006 5:04:21 PM
I am having a bad day shouting at my computer screen as I write.
I read with complete and utter horror in a magazine this week that in Pakistan –women who were raped were jailed or worse….stoned to death.
The law that they have purportedly broke is called Hudood Ordinance. The rapists walk free and the Pakistani government extremists continue to uphold this law!
I really get mad at this stuff and wonder how in the so called ‘Modern World’ this stuff can still exist, I try to make my blogs funny and sometimes vaguely interesting, but today I am having a rant.
I was raped as a child, and to be told you are the bad person and deserve to die for being raped makes me want to scream and makes me re-visit the shame I felt at five years of age.
Some of these women were pregnant as a result of the repeated rape; some of them were very young girls.
I cried reading the article and feel very privileged that I live in a society that recognises child abuse and rape. If you want to join the campaign for a change in the law go to www.actionaid.org.uk
Life sucks and I can only be happy that I was born into poverty and not some extremist religion or country. Thank God Scotland’s society is based on sectarianism and alcohol problems, and not hell bent in making women full-on second class citizens. I sometimes get mad at the injustice of misogyny, but now I appreciate the difference.
On a lighter note husband got up and cleaned the house, he does this often and I have realised why I will stay here forever- he completely understands my deep psycho-need for domestic cleanliness. We aren’t meant to be together in all other aspects of personality, that’s for sure but he gets how I need a clean house and tidy cutlery drawer. The thought of divorcing him and having to teach another man why I need a clean fresh pillow case daily and washed in fresh lavender cut from my dads garden seems too much to bear. My husband gathers the lavender, crushes it up in a sock and washes it in with my bed linen for me. That’s devotion. Not necessarily love…or maybe it is?
I will be nice to him on our anniversary tomorrow 26 years and counting.
Personal Life: Fights, Cat-faces AND Smoked Haddock…
Posted 9/25/2006 11:20:58 AM
Yes all of the above are involved in today’s blog.
First of all Ashley and her dad have been locked in battle for two whole days.
Let me explain, Ashley tells her dad she likes smoked haddock fish, so he buys her it every week.
This week he bought smoked haddock the size of a small whale…it was HUGE!
Whilst I was out the town fighting with pensioners at coffee tables, Ashley asked her dad to drive her to her grandfathers house, he said yes and then he said as they were leaving the flat “Do you want to cook that smoked haddock for tonight’s tea?”
Ashley replied “No, thanks I am not coming home for tea tonight”
This upset husband (don’t ask me why, but sometimes his Aspergers skew his opinion)
He then snapped “No one eats the food I buy in this bloody house” and refused to drive her to her grandfather’s house as he felt she was being unfair (for not eating the giant whale-like fish he bought!)
He then called me and interrupted my street argument to tell me the whole fragmented weird fight he had just had with his daughter. I stood in the street and tried to make sense of the smoked haddock story but gave up and invited him to come a walk with me.
Anyway, eventually Ashley came home and refused to speak to him for TWO WHOLE days…this drove me to distraction and I wanted to resolve it.
My niece Ann Margaret (mother Sean and of famous baby Abi in my video blog) and who is heavily pregnant with her third child and READY to pop at any moment came over to visit. She lay fat and uncomfortable on my sofa as husband and Ashley tried to thrash the argument out and reach a conclusion because I had made them both sit down to talk about it.
“I want smoked haddock” Ann Margaret shouted over their voices “I have a huge fat baby that is slowly chomping on my womb, stop arguing and make me the smoked haddock”
Eventually Ashley made her dad realise that he was being unreasonable and he apologised and I cooked the smoked haddock…it was fucking huge and I had to skin it and it stank….yuk…
Three days that smoked haddock argument lasted.
So I was then called to do a live broadcast for a radio show on Saturday. I had to do three minutes live comedy and an interview in Edinburgh in front of a live audience.
When I got there, the audience consisted of one adult and nine toddlers who had faces painted in the style of cats. Yes –small kids with wee cat faces all staring at me as I tried to do comedy live to the nation whilst staring at confused sticky cat painted kids!
My life is crap sometimes, but I did manage it….in the background I could here this wee child say “Why is that lady not doing anything but talking, can’t she do a tumble, that would be funny, is she supposed to be funny?”
So that made me think that if all adults painted their faces full time the world would be a better place…, imagine it.
If you had to deal with some authority figure that had a big fat face painted as a racoon or a bright butterfly, then it would be easier to deal with, strange frightening lawyers would not seem scary if they were talking to you with a big colourful cat on their cheeks!
It would be cool, teenagers who had acne need never feel ostracised – they just need to transform their faces into wild tigers or vibrant parrots! I love this idea…
George Bush could come on live television painted as a funny monkey and Tony Blair would have the face of a bright pink pig…I am loving this idea…aren’t you?
I am excited about this week, hopefully I will have some big news to tell you all that I can’t really mention just now -till it gets released in the press….speak soon
Posted 9/25/2006 11:20:58 AM
Yes all of the above are involved in today’s blog.
First of all Ashley and her dad have been locked in battle for two whole days.
Let me explain, Ashley tells her dad she likes smoked haddock fish, so he buys her it every week.
This week he bought smoked haddock the size of a small whale…it was HUGE!
Whilst I was out the town fighting with pensioners at coffee tables, Ashley asked her dad to drive her to her grandfathers house, he said yes and then he said as they were leaving the flat “Do you want to cook that smoked haddock for tonight’s tea?”
Ashley replied “No, thanks I am not coming home for tea tonight”
This upset husband (don’t ask me why, but sometimes his Aspergers skew his opinion)
He then snapped “No one eats the food I buy in this bloody house” and refused to drive her to her grandfather’s house as he felt she was being unfair (for not eating the giant whale-like fish he bought!)
He then called me and interrupted my street argument to tell me the whole fragmented weird fight he had just had with his daughter. I stood in the street and tried to make sense of the smoked haddock story but gave up and invited him to come a walk with me.
Anyway, eventually Ashley came home and refused to speak to him for TWO WHOLE days…this drove me to distraction and I wanted to resolve it.
My niece Ann Margaret (mother Sean and of famous baby Abi in my video blog) and who is heavily pregnant with her third child and READY to pop at any moment came over to visit. She lay fat and uncomfortable on my sofa as husband and Ashley tried to thrash the argument out and reach a conclusion because I had made them both sit down to talk about it.
“I want smoked haddock” Ann Margaret shouted over their voices “I have a huge fat baby that is slowly chomping on my womb, stop arguing and make me the smoked haddock”
Eventually Ashley made her dad realise that he was being unreasonable and he apologised and I cooked the smoked haddock…it was fucking huge and I had to skin it and it stank….yuk…
Three days that smoked haddock argument lasted.
So I was then called to do a live broadcast for a radio show on Saturday. I had to do three minutes live comedy and an interview in Edinburgh in front of a live audience.
When I got there, the audience consisted of one adult and nine toddlers who had faces painted in the style of cats. Yes –small kids with wee cat faces all staring at me as I tried to do comedy live to the nation whilst staring at confused sticky cat painted kids!
My life is crap sometimes, but I did manage it….in the background I could here this wee child say “Why is that lady not doing anything but talking, can’t she do a tumble, that would be funny, is she supposed to be funny?”
So that made me think that if all adults painted their faces full time the world would be a better place…, imagine it.
If you had to deal with some authority figure that had a big fat face painted as a racoon or a bright butterfly, then it would be easier to deal with, strange frightening lawyers would not seem scary if they were talking to you with a big colourful cat on their cheeks!
It would be cool, teenagers who had acne need never feel ostracised – they just need to transform their faces into wild tigers or vibrant parrots! I love this idea…
George Bush could come on live television painted as a funny monkey and Tony Blair would have the face of a bright pink pig…I am loving this idea…aren’t you?
I am excited about this week, hopefully I will have some big news to tell you all that I can’t really mention just now -till it gets released in the press….speak soon
Personal Life: Old People Who Shout in the Street…
Posted 9/22/2006 7:29:26 AM
Today in Glasgow the weather was really weirdly hot, I mean full on sunshine, warm breezes and sweaty backs as you walked through the humid city streets. It was weird. It is mid-September, this is Scotland.
I sat outside in a street café and could feel some strange African-like breeze pick up napkins on my table and flop them onto my knee with a warm draught.
Yet the weather man says- Hurricane!
I must tell you what happened when I actually sat down at the café table.
The place was busy as I said- the weather was unseasonably hot, I approached one table where a younger guy in a blue tee shirt sat alone, he was facing an elderly man in a white shirt, but the elderly man was at an opposite table with an elderly guy in a bright red shirt.
I spoke to the younger guy as I held my coffee and sandwich on a tray “Excuse me can I join you at this table?” There really was nowhere else to sit.
The younger guy nodded and indicated to the empty seat beside him and carried on chatting to the elderly gentleman.
Just as I put the coffee on the table the elderly man in white shouted loud enough for the whole outside café area to hear “No you cannot” and laughed very loudly at his ‘apparently funny’ comment.
I simply smiled and said “Actually I wasn’t talking to you, this isn’t your table” as I sat down and placed my bag on the floor. The younger guy looked uncomfortable as the elderly man was being very loud.
“Oh she is very tough, I would watch her!” the old attention seeking white shirted interrupter added and laughed (yet again) at his ‘funny comment’. “I bet she could make your tea go cold with a stare, tough woman at the table” he added and laughed again.
“Really…you call me tough? I would thought being assertive is what I am, but I suppose you would never confound stereotypes and any woman who speaks out must be very scary, well thanks for that” I stared at him full on and went back to stirring my coffee. I then completely ignored him and started flicking through my newspaper.
He was not to be ignored, he was clearly one of those old men who had to have EVRYONE listen to his fucked up Victorian opinion.
He then took a big breath and shouted “I wouldn’t like to come home to you with an opened pay packet!” (Followed by his annoying loud guffaw) people around us started to look uncomfortable.
I merely flicked another page and said without looking at him “I don’t need a man to bring home money to me as I make my own cash, and even if you brought home all the money Bill Gates owned, I would still fake my own death to get away from you”
This enraged Mr Misogyny “I see you are not wearing a wedding ring, that’s because there isn’t a man alive who would be stupid enough to marry you”
By this point he had stopped being ‘Jovial Old Scottish Bloke’ and had turned into angry old man who hates any woman who talks back.
I didn’t even look at him, I simply plugged in my horribly expensive outside-noise -reducing earphones, switched on my IPod and listened to 50 Cent blast into my ear canals. I could see the old man getting red and angry, pointing, shifting in his seat, ranting and banging his fist on the metal table that rocked his tea all over the surface.
Still 50 Cent rapped my brain senseless.
Eventually I pulled out the earphones and caught him practically screaming at me
“Women like you are the reason kids today are beating pensioners”
I lifted my head and spoke “Obviously not enough” and smiled to myself.
He then stood up and said “I despise women like you, you are destroying the very fabric of Scottish Society, you think the world owes you a living, I bet you have robbed lots of very good men of a job with your lesbian militant ways, women like you were put in mental institutions when I was a young man” The people at the nearest tables started whispering and gasping loudly at his outburst.
At this I burst out laughing and looked at around at the horrified looks on the coffee drinking Glaswegians who were shocked at the transformation of happy old man to angry Hitler bloke.
I looked at him, leaned over and said “Listen old man, I have been married 26 years, raised a daughter, and been self employed since I was 17, in fact I gave more men more jobs than you have ever lost. I have never had to justify myself to any man as to why I have every right to have a voice, so I don’t see why I have to start now. Sit on your old arse and stop making a big show of yourself, you are frightening people around you and I am listening to some sexy black gangster rap, why don’t you go home and shout at your wife?”
“My wife died four years ago” he said with a degree of glee at the thought of shaming me in front of people.
“What did she die of…boredom?” I answered “She must be really proud of you, standing there shouting at a woman sitting alone, calling her a lesbian and making assumptions about her life when you know nothing about me”
He then stood up; he looked at me and went really red.
He looked around at people wanting their support, at that point a man with bright red hair and a smart suit leaned over holding a piece of paper and a pen and he said to me “You are Janey Godley, I loved your book, it was such an inspiration to me, can I have your autograph?” I was stunned, I thought yet another bloke was about to hurl abuse at me.
I thanked the suited man and quickly signed my name, I held it to him and he then spoke to the elderly man and said “You really should be ashamed of yourself standing there shouting at this woman, she wrote a book about her life, she was abused as a child and she is now being abused as an adult, you really should mind your attitude”
I watched the old man stand there, not really dealing with the situation and I actually felt really sorry for him. Old guys like him have set attitudes that are ingrained into them since childhood and it must be hard to shake them off and to have a woman answer you back in public must be the biggest insult of all time, then again the old bastard started it….so I smiled as he stumbled through the tables muttering to himself.
This just goes to prove that warm weather in Glasgow in September makes people fucking crazy, before tonight there will no doubt be seven murders….hopefully none of them by me.
So as I write this, I look out of the window and the trees are blowing all over the street, the wind is howling and that promised hurricane is checking into Glasgow.
I don’t like strange weather cycles, it makes me scared and snappy.
Posted 9/22/2006 7:29:26 AM
Today in Glasgow the weather was really weirdly hot, I mean full on sunshine, warm breezes and sweaty backs as you walked through the humid city streets. It was weird. It is mid-September, this is Scotland.
I sat outside in a street café and could feel some strange African-like breeze pick up napkins on my table and flop them onto my knee with a warm draught.
Yet the weather man says- Hurricane!
I must tell you what happened when I actually sat down at the café table.
The place was busy as I said- the weather was unseasonably hot, I approached one table where a younger guy in a blue tee shirt sat alone, he was facing an elderly man in a white shirt, but the elderly man was at an opposite table with an elderly guy in a bright red shirt.
I spoke to the younger guy as I held my coffee and sandwich on a tray “Excuse me can I join you at this table?” There really was nowhere else to sit.
The younger guy nodded and indicated to the empty seat beside him and carried on chatting to the elderly gentleman.
Just as I put the coffee on the table the elderly man in white shouted loud enough for the whole outside café area to hear “No you cannot” and laughed very loudly at his ‘apparently funny’ comment.
I simply smiled and said “Actually I wasn’t talking to you, this isn’t your table” as I sat down and placed my bag on the floor. The younger guy looked uncomfortable as the elderly man was being very loud.
“Oh she is very tough, I would watch her!” the old attention seeking white shirted interrupter added and laughed (yet again) at his ‘funny comment’. “I bet she could make your tea go cold with a stare, tough woman at the table” he added and laughed again.
“Really…you call me tough? I would thought being assertive is what I am, but I suppose you would never confound stereotypes and any woman who speaks out must be very scary, well thanks for that” I stared at him full on and went back to stirring my coffee. I then completely ignored him and started flicking through my newspaper.
He was not to be ignored, he was clearly one of those old men who had to have EVRYONE listen to his fucked up Victorian opinion.
He then took a big breath and shouted “I wouldn’t like to come home to you with an opened pay packet!” (Followed by his annoying loud guffaw) people around us started to look uncomfortable.
I merely flicked another page and said without looking at him “I don’t need a man to bring home money to me as I make my own cash, and even if you brought home all the money Bill Gates owned, I would still fake my own death to get away from you”
This enraged Mr Misogyny “I see you are not wearing a wedding ring, that’s because there isn’t a man alive who would be stupid enough to marry you”
By this point he had stopped being ‘Jovial Old Scottish Bloke’ and had turned into angry old man who hates any woman who talks back.
I didn’t even look at him, I simply plugged in my horribly expensive outside-noise -reducing earphones, switched on my IPod and listened to 50 Cent blast into my ear canals. I could see the old man getting red and angry, pointing, shifting in his seat, ranting and banging his fist on the metal table that rocked his tea all over the surface.
Still 50 Cent rapped my brain senseless.
Eventually I pulled out the earphones and caught him practically screaming at me
“Women like you are the reason kids today are beating pensioners”
I lifted my head and spoke “Obviously not enough” and smiled to myself.
He then stood up and said “I despise women like you, you are destroying the very fabric of Scottish Society, you think the world owes you a living, I bet you have robbed lots of very good men of a job with your lesbian militant ways, women like you were put in mental institutions when I was a young man” The people at the nearest tables started whispering and gasping loudly at his outburst.
At this I burst out laughing and looked at around at the horrified looks on the coffee drinking Glaswegians who were shocked at the transformation of happy old man to angry Hitler bloke.
I looked at him, leaned over and said “Listen old man, I have been married 26 years, raised a daughter, and been self employed since I was 17, in fact I gave more men more jobs than you have ever lost. I have never had to justify myself to any man as to why I have every right to have a voice, so I don’t see why I have to start now. Sit on your old arse and stop making a big show of yourself, you are frightening people around you and I am listening to some sexy black gangster rap, why don’t you go home and shout at your wife?”
“My wife died four years ago” he said with a degree of glee at the thought of shaming me in front of people.
“What did she die of…boredom?” I answered “She must be really proud of you, standing there shouting at a woman sitting alone, calling her a lesbian and making assumptions about her life when you know nothing about me”
He then stood up; he looked at me and went really red.
He looked around at people wanting their support, at that point a man with bright red hair and a smart suit leaned over holding a piece of paper and a pen and he said to me “You are Janey Godley, I loved your book, it was such an inspiration to me, can I have your autograph?” I was stunned, I thought yet another bloke was about to hurl abuse at me.
I thanked the suited man and quickly signed my name, I held it to him and he then spoke to the elderly man and said “You really should be ashamed of yourself standing there shouting at this woman, she wrote a book about her life, she was abused as a child and she is now being abused as an adult, you really should mind your attitude”
I watched the old man stand there, not really dealing with the situation and I actually felt really sorry for him. Old guys like him have set attitudes that are ingrained into them since childhood and it must be hard to shake them off and to have a woman answer you back in public must be the biggest insult of all time, then again the old bastard started it….so I smiled as he stumbled through the tables muttering to himself.
This just goes to prove that warm weather in Glasgow in September makes people fucking crazy, before tonight there will no doubt be seven murders….hopefully none of them by me.
So as I write this, I look out of the window and the trees are blowing all over the street, the wind is howling and that promised hurricane is checking into Glasgow.
I don’t like strange weather cycles, it makes me scared and snappy.
Personal Life: Old people who kiss in the street…
Posted 9/20/2006 4:13:54 PM
Husband and daughter Ashley came to meet me today after a meeting.
As they both entered the bar, they passed in the entrance an elderly couple (mid to late 60’s probably) who were locked in a passionate kiss….seriously into a massive big clinch and my daughter was horrified “Arrrggghhh pensioner porn” she screeched as she threw herself into the seat opposite me!
I saw the couple at the door and thought it was not nasty but very nice in a lovely way.
I mean , if they were a couple of scary old drunks mauling each other, I would be worried it was going to end badly, either in violence (Glasgow drunks veer from affection to hostage situation very quickly ) or worse -full on open air sex! (Yuk).
This was a very well-dressed middle- classed –looking couple and they really were wrapped around each other, completely oblivious to the school kids and human traffic that occupied the busy West End street.
I imagined that they were an elderly couple who once fell in love in the 1950’s but were somehow tragically torn apart and finally 50 years later meet up and declare their undying love for each other!
Or maybe it was just a happy couple celebrating their wedding anniversary in public….why did that seem so alien to me?
Why could I not consider that two people would still want to kiss in public after being together for 50 years?
I can’t imagine being with someone that long EVER….yet I am married 26 years next week….I still think we are dating and I am not too sure about him yet, I haven’t decided if he is the ONE.
When husband came to Edinburgh during the Fringe he drove me mental. I recall going up to a bar to meet Ashley after one of his particularly bad Aspergers syndrome episodes (my husband has mild Aspergers).
Here is a typical conversation my daughter and I had, it really does sound like a scene from some cheesy sitcom.
Ashley- “Where is dad?”
Me- “Dad?....oh sorry he died in a horrible fireball accident”
Ashley- “Are you trying to plot his death again?”
Me- “Yes, its true I am, he sat tonight after I did three shows, one radio show and one interview and decided to teach me binary numbers and explain why logarithms are important in society, and I never really got into it but I did realise that you should never marry the first man you have sex with, so I did learn something”
Ashley- “Mum tell him to go home please”
Me- “I did, apparently he lives with us, how did that happen?”
Ashley- “I mean back to Glasgow, leave him alone”
Hopefully Ashley will never marry young, never believe that marrying any man will get her away from the hopelessness of her family, because that’s why her dad and I got married. I am not being horrid, that’s the truth, we were only teenagers.
His family were a male dominated gangster type Glasgow crime clan and mine were dirt poor and broken emotionally.
I just wanted to find a boy and make a lovely wee family unit, a wee house and lots of love, just create what I didn’t actually have.
We were a couple of train wrecks waiting to crash into each other and WE DID!
Thank goodness the one important amazing thing that came from both of us un-educated, emotionally trashed, sexually abused and mentally crippled kids was that beautiful daughter.
Yet we are still together….still looking at each other like strangers in the dark, still scared the other will leave, still holding onto each other like a broken boat in a swollen river, still spitting and hating, loving and crying, kissing and biting, shaming and smiling, still waiting….yet still hoping they will kiss in the street when they are pensioners?
Maybe we will or maybe we won’t. I really don’t know.
Posted 9/20/2006 4:13:54 PM
Husband and daughter Ashley came to meet me today after a meeting.
As they both entered the bar, they passed in the entrance an elderly couple (mid to late 60’s probably) who were locked in a passionate kiss….seriously into a massive big clinch and my daughter was horrified “Arrrggghhh pensioner porn” she screeched as she threw herself into the seat opposite me!
I saw the couple at the door and thought it was not nasty but very nice in a lovely way.
I mean , if they were a couple of scary old drunks mauling each other, I would be worried it was going to end badly, either in violence (Glasgow drunks veer from affection to hostage situation very quickly ) or worse -full on open air sex! (Yuk).
This was a very well-dressed middle- classed –looking couple and they really were wrapped around each other, completely oblivious to the school kids and human traffic that occupied the busy West End street.
I imagined that they were an elderly couple who once fell in love in the 1950’s but were somehow tragically torn apart and finally 50 years later meet up and declare their undying love for each other!
Or maybe it was just a happy couple celebrating their wedding anniversary in public….why did that seem so alien to me?
Why could I not consider that two people would still want to kiss in public after being together for 50 years?
I can’t imagine being with someone that long EVER….yet I am married 26 years next week….I still think we are dating and I am not too sure about him yet, I haven’t decided if he is the ONE.
When husband came to Edinburgh during the Fringe he drove me mental. I recall going up to a bar to meet Ashley after one of his particularly bad Aspergers syndrome episodes (my husband has mild Aspergers).
Here is a typical conversation my daughter and I had, it really does sound like a scene from some cheesy sitcom.
Ashley- “Where is dad?”
Me- “Dad?....oh sorry he died in a horrible fireball accident”
Ashley- “Are you trying to plot his death again?”
Me- “Yes, its true I am, he sat tonight after I did three shows, one radio show and one interview and decided to teach me binary numbers and explain why logarithms are important in society, and I never really got into it but I did realise that you should never marry the first man you have sex with, so I did learn something”
Ashley- “Mum tell him to go home please”
Me- “I did, apparently he lives with us, how did that happen?”
Ashley- “I mean back to Glasgow, leave him alone”
Hopefully Ashley will never marry young, never believe that marrying any man will get her away from the hopelessness of her family, because that’s why her dad and I got married. I am not being horrid, that’s the truth, we were only teenagers.
His family were a male dominated gangster type Glasgow crime clan and mine were dirt poor and broken emotionally.
I just wanted to find a boy and make a lovely wee family unit, a wee house and lots of love, just create what I didn’t actually have.
We were a couple of train wrecks waiting to crash into each other and WE DID!
Thank goodness the one important amazing thing that came from both of us un-educated, emotionally trashed, sexually abused and mentally crippled kids was that beautiful daughter.
Yet we are still together….still looking at each other like strangers in the dark, still scared the other will leave, still holding onto each other like a broken boat in a swollen river, still spitting and hating, loving and crying, kissing and biting, shaming and smiling, still waiting….yet still hoping they will kiss in the street when they are pensioners?
Maybe we will or maybe we won’t. I really don’t know.
Personal Life: Fighting again…
Posted 9/19/2006 3:14:47 PM
Well there are more territorial issues going on in my home than there are in the Middle East…well I know that’s an exaggeration – but I am prone to some exaggeration when it comes to describing my relationship- well not really exaggeration, more exacerbating and explaining the problem is how I would like to describe it.
I believe that as we get older we become much more easily annoyed in a relationship.
Thinks about it, at first when you meet a man/woman, you love their ‘little habits’ …things like…when they snort aloud as they laugh, OR when they talk over you as you make a point OR how the snigger at your inability to cook/vacuum/iron and fold towels.
After 25 years of marriage- these tiny things make you plot his murder daily.
You must remember how you would tell friends that ‘He has this funny wee thing where he cleans out my handbag for me, he throws away bits of paper and makes it all tidy, its really thoughtful of him’
YES I KNOW…as I write that I can hear screams from women all over the globe shouting “He goes into your handbag?”
A woman’s handbag is akin to the Holy Grail, it is where we find sanctuary and safety in a world of madness, its where we keep that last bit of gum, that scribbled phone number of a TV producer, that last tissue, that favourite wee packet of sweets, that dirty mangled tampon (that we will use in emergencies, despite the health issues surrounding it) that voucher for a free coffee that you will never use but reminds you of the time in Barcelona, the crumpled photo of your baby niece, that foreign coin you can never use- but makes you smile when you remember Amsterdam, that un-stickable first class stamp and the free lipstick you got from a magazine that would only look good on a cheap whore….BUT…it is YOURS!
We need this shit in our lives.
My husband recently cleaned out and re-arranged-
1.-My handbag
2- My underwear drawer
3-My kitchen cupboards
I am now baffled as to where my ‘good bra’, ‘favourite cup’ and ‘phone number on the back of bus ticket’ has gone and he now must die.
He sees this as ‘helping’ and I see it as ‘territorial terrorism’ and it must stop or I will hide his
1- Batteries - that - work collection (Ashley uses them on audio stuff and he freaks)
2- Favourite socks that match
3- Beard trimmer with battery that works
4- Favourite black pen
5- Remote control (Which is more prized that the Ring from Lord of the Rings!)
6- The small bag that he hordes all his small change in
I can be a bastard as well and I am better at him in this ‘War of the Roses’ tactic.
So today we fought again and the anniversary is looming, where will we go? What will we do? Will we celebrate or silently seethe?
Watch this space.
Posted 9/19/2006 3:14:47 PM
Well there are more territorial issues going on in my home than there are in the Middle East…well I know that’s an exaggeration – but I am prone to some exaggeration when it comes to describing my relationship- well not really exaggeration, more exacerbating and explaining the problem is how I would like to describe it.
I believe that as we get older we become much more easily annoyed in a relationship.
Thinks about it, at first when you meet a man/woman, you love their ‘little habits’ …things like…when they snort aloud as they laugh, OR when they talk over you as you make a point OR how the snigger at your inability to cook/vacuum/iron and fold towels.
After 25 years of marriage- these tiny things make you plot his murder daily.
You must remember how you would tell friends that ‘He has this funny wee thing where he cleans out my handbag for me, he throws away bits of paper and makes it all tidy, its really thoughtful of him’
YES I KNOW…as I write that I can hear screams from women all over the globe shouting “He goes into your handbag?”
A woman’s handbag is akin to the Holy Grail, it is where we find sanctuary and safety in a world of madness, its where we keep that last bit of gum, that scribbled phone number of a TV producer, that last tissue, that favourite wee packet of sweets, that dirty mangled tampon (that we will use in emergencies, despite the health issues surrounding it) that voucher for a free coffee that you will never use but reminds you of the time in Barcelona, the crumpled photo of your baby niece, that foreign coin you can never use- but makes you smile when you remember Amsterdam, that un-stickable first class stamp and the free lipstick you got from a magazine that would only look good on a cheap whore….BUT…it is YOURS!
We need this shit in our lives.
My husband recently cleaned out and re-arranged-
1.-My handbag
2- My underwear drawer
3-My kitchen cupboards
I am now baffled as to where my ‘good bra’, ‘favourite cup’ and ‘phone number on the back of bus ticket’ has gone and he now must die.
He sees this as ‘helping’ and I see it as ‘territorial terrorism’ and it must stop or I will hide his
1- Batteries - that - work collection (Ashley uses them on audio stuff and he freaks)
2- Favourite socks that match
3- Beard trimmer with battery that works
4- Favourite black pen
5- Remote control (Which is more prized that the Ring from Lord of the Rings!)
6- The small bag that he hordes all his small change in
I can be a bastard as well and I am better at him in this ‘War of the Roses’ tactic.
So today we fought again and the anniversary is looming, where will we go? What will we do? Will we celebrate or silently seethe?
Watch this space.
Personal Life: Maybe I think too much...?
Posted 9/17/2006 7:26:10 PM
How can there be 120 odd socks in my laundry basket?
I know!
That’s way too fucking many odd socks for one family to own. Where did their partners go? Did they divorce each other and jump out of my window? Did they argue as they were rolled up together, like a fiery couple (possibly imitating husband and I) AND just split up…!
Should I start a website showing pictures of my lonely odd socks - advertising for a partner?
Would this solve the world’s problem of odd sock-ness?
Imagine the results…people from around the world could check the socks online in a close up image and start posting single socks around the globe and we could actually match them all up and maybe world peace would be next?
I can’t even begin to imagine where my odd socks went, they must technically be somewhere IN THIS HOUSE…because no one would come home with one sock or go out wearing odd socks…or lets assume I lost one or two on travels…but not fucking 120 ! That’s impossible…
I have checked in Ashley’s room as that is the main focus of our investigation, her room could possibly be hiding Osama himself –under the mass of clothes and strewn paperwork, shoes, make-up, camera equipment and boxes of sentimental shite that she stores. We did a thorough search and we only found five and guess what THEY WERE ODD and MATCHED NONE of the ones we had in the laundry basket!
So there we have it people….lets get together and unite all the socks in the world and bring them back together….or maybe I should start writing my new book and stop finding socks and getting into my other strange hobby of taking pictures of Trainspotters…..I DO…I have 49 pictures of ‘Trainspotters’ standing on cold train stations.
I am A TRAINSPOTTER SPOTTER! How crazy is that? I take photos of them on my phone as I pass through various stations on my travels! It annoys them and they all huddle together and avoid me. A bunch of fat men wearing acrylic and woollen jumpers, holding expensive cameras – getting excited at engines makes me giggle.
None of the Trainspotters are WOMEN…you know why? Because I don’t ANY woman who would give up her weekend to stand on a cold rainy Midlands train station to write down the number of any fucking train or waste time taking pictures of them ! We are too busy counting socks that are odd and taking pictures of them.
Posted 9/17/2006 7:26:10 PM
How can there be 120 odd socks in my laundry basket?
I know!
That’s way too fucking many odd socks for one family to own. Where did their partners go? Did they divorce each other and jump out of my window? Did they argue as they were rolled up together, like a fiery couple (possibly imitating husband and I) AND just split up…!
Should I start a website showing pictures of my lonely odd socks - advertising for a partner?
Would this solve the world’s problem of odd sock-ness?
Imagine the results…people from around the world could check the socks online in a close up image and start posting single socks around the globe and we could actually match them all up and maybe world peace would be next?
I can’t even begin to imagine where my odd socks went, they must technically be somewhere IN THIS HOUSE…because no one would come home with one sock or go out wearing odd socks…or lets assume I lost one or two on travels…but not fucking 120 ! That’s impossible…
I have checked in Ashley’s room as that is the main focus of our investigation, her room could possibly be hiding Osama himself –under the mass of clothes and strewn paperwork, shoes, make-up, camera equipment and boxes of sentimental shite that she stores. We did a thorough search and we only found five and guess what THEY WERE ODD and MATCHED NONE of the ones we had in the laundry basket!
So there we have it people….lets get together and unite all the socks in the world and bring them back together….or maybe I should start writing my new book and stop finding socks and getting into my other strange hobby of taking pictures of Trainspotters…..I DO…I have 49 pictures of ‘Trainspotters’ standing on cold train stations.
I am A TRAINSPOTTER SPOTTER! How crazy is that? I take photos of them on my phone as I pass through various stations on my travels! It annoys them and they all huddle together and avoid me. A bunch of fat men wearing acrylic and woollen jumpers, holding expensive cameras – getting excited at engines makes me giggle.
None of the Trainspotters are WOMEN…you know why? Because I don’t ANY woman who would give up her weekend to stand on a cold rainy Midlands train station to write down the number of any fucking train or waste time taking pictures of them ! We are too busy counting socks that are odd and taking pictures of them.
Personal Life: Ashley is FAB…I am so proud!
Posted 9/16/2006 7:30:50 AM
Ashley my daughter got her exam results today. Now bear in mind that she was sitting her exams for Uni in between performing her Sketch Show at this years Fringe in Edinburgh. Yet today she got A’s and B+ RESULTS!
I am so very proud of her as I knew the pressure she was under. Thank God she has brains! I would be absolutely devastated if it turned out that she ended up with no formal education like me. I always wanted her to have a great start in life, and this way she will.
I was onstage tonight at Jongleurs Comedy club here in Glasgow, it was so lovely, the Glasgow people are amazing. I love them. Though the NO Smoking ban is making us all mental as the cold weather is coming in, as you may recall I have STARTED smoking again….I know its fucked, but I am sorry.
So there we all stand in the cold night air puffing like mad, shivering and filling our lungs with evil smoke.
My dad doesn’t know and he doesn’t read the blog and I am terrified he will find out as his disappointment in me will crush me. Strange isn’t it….how we still crave that approval from our parents, but my dad is amazing and I love him so much and he has never told me to be anything other than who I am. Yet he was so very pleased when I stopped, he called me everyday to tell me how proud he was…..and now I have to stub out a ciggie when he calls me for fear he will hear me puff.
So there we have it…I am a nutter again, smoking till my limbs go numb. I need to get psychiatric help me thinks.
Posted 9/16/2006 7:30:50 AM
Ashley my daughter got her exam results today. Now bear in mind that she was sitting her exams for Uni in between performing her Sketch Show at this years Fringe in Edinburgh. Yet today she got A’s and B+ RESULTS!
I am so very proud of her as I knew the pressure she was under. Thank God she has brains! I would be absolutely devastated if it turned out that she ended up with no formal education like me. I always wanted her to have a great start in life, and this way she will.
I was onstage tonight at Jongleurs Comedy club here in Glasgow, it was so lovely, the Glasgow people are amazing. I love them. Though the NO Smoking ban is making us all mental as the cold weather is coming in, as you may recall I have STARTED smoking again….I know its fucked, but I am sorry.
So there we all stand in the cold night air puffing like mad, shivering and filling our lungs with evil smoke.
My dad doesn’t know and he doesn’t read the blog and I am terrified he will find out as his disappointment in me will crush me. Strange isn’t it….how we still crave that approval from our parents, but my dad is amazing and I love him so much and he has never told me to be anything other than who I am. Yet he was so very pleased when I stopped, he called me everyday to tell me how proud he was…..and now I have to stub out a ciggie when he calls me for fear he will hear me puff.
So there we have it…I am a nutter again, smoking till my limbs go numb. I need to get psychiatric help me thinks.
Personal Life: Life with Godley the mental patient …
Posted 9/14/2006 10:44:04 AM
I still have that lump on my cheek, it will not go away. I think I have to maybe go to a voodoo witch to get it removed completely. The antibiotics never seemed to work, they only gave me thrush. Now I have a lumpy face and an itchy vag…wonderful!
I am now on special bifidicus tablets to restore the wipe out of the good bacteria that was flushed out of my system. AArrrhggghhhhh!
I am back on stage this weekend at Glasgow Jongleurs and can’t wait to perform to a nice home crowd. I love comedy and being on stage makes me insanely happy.
Cant say the same about husband, he is terrified to realise that I am home for a few weeks and is planning his escape, he feels like a hostage when I am at home.
Ashley is getting ready to go back to Uni and normality. We had such great fun at the festival together; performing together has been the most wonderful time for me. I will miss her when she goes to Uni. Although she is still at home, she is gone most days and we don’t get to do our favourite thing which is watching daytime telly with the volume turned down and adding our own voice over’s. It is hilarious watching Star Trek and voicing every scene as a gay men’s get-together. Try it…it is fun.
Watching Dr Spock stand there in his tight skin fitting costume saying loudly in a fake American accent to Captain Kirk
“Yes, I do want you to lick my back”
Captain Kirk then turns to the big screen up front and points to a scary totalitarian monster that appears
“He is my ex-boyfriend, he keeps following me throughout the universe, and he wasn’t even a good kisser”
I will miss those funny times and have to try to enrol husband in this game, he hates it and screams at me for ruining his favourite day time watching.
I am a mental patient.
Next week husband and I celebrate 26 years of marriage together, which is usually an excuse for a big fight, if you recall last year, he managed to DELETE my entire address book online by mistake the night before we were due to go away for our 25th Wedding anniversary…….I refused to go away on holiday with him and we spent the night in tears, lets hope this year is better and I am going to be a good girl and not fight.
Well that’s the plan!
Posted 9/14/2006 10:44:04 AM
I still have that lump on my cheek, it will not go away. I think I have to maybe go to a voodoo witch to get it removed completely. The antibiotics never seemed to work, they only gave me thrush. Now I have a lumpy face and an itchy vag…wonderful!
I am now on special bifidicus tablets to restore the wipe out of the good bacteria that was flushed out of my system. AArrrhggghhhhh!
I am back on stage this weekend at Glasgow Jongleurs and can’t wait to perform to a nice home crowd. I love comedy and being on stage makes me insanely happy.
Cant say the same about husband, he is terrified to realise that I am home for a few weeks and is planning his escape, he feels like a hostage when I am at home.
Ashley is getting ready to go back to Uni and normality. We had such great fun at the festival together; performing together has been the most wonderful time for me. I will miss her when she goes to Uni. Although she is still at home, she is gone most days and we don’t get to do our favourite thing which is watching daytime telly with the volume turned down and adding our own voice over’s. It is hilarious watching Star Trek and voicing every scene as a gay men’s get-together. Try it…it is fun.
Watching Dr Spock stand there in his tight skin fitting costume saying loudly in a fake American accent to Captain Kirk
“Yes, I do want you to lick my back”
Captain Kirk then turns to the big screen up front and points to a scary totalitarian monster that appears
“He is my ex-boyfriend, he keeps following me throughout the universe, and he wasn’t even a good kisser”
I will miss those funny times and have to try to enrol husband in this game, he hates it and screams at me for ruining his favourite day time watching.
I am a mental patient.
Next week husband and I celebrate 26 years of marriage together, which is usually an excuse for a big fight, if you recall last year, he managed to DELETE my entire address book online by mistake the night before we were due to go away for our 25th Wedding anniversary…….I refused to go away on holiday with him and we spent the night in tears, lets hope this year is better and I am going to be a good girl and not fight.
Well that’s the plan!
Personal Life: Meeting Friends…
Posted 9/11/2006 6:39:54 AM
I had my last gig in Liverpool last night and went back to the hotel for a good sleep. The hotel is also a recording studio and private club so late at night music blasts constantly straight into my room. Normally that would annoy me, yet the music was awesome and after 15 years of having lived above a bar, it kinda soothed me to sleep no worries. ..
This morning as I was packing to catch a train home ( I was so desperate to get home and see husband and Ashley, I have really missed them) I had that sinking feeling of sitting on a train for ever…then Neil Shackelton called me. Neil is a stand up and was in Liverpool for a family party and was driving home to Glasgow! Did I want a run home? YES!
So I shared the journey home with one of the funniest and loveliest men you could meet, he and his best mate Will made sure I got home safely. WE laughed the whole way in the car as Neil and I reminisced about our days when we were comics together, Neil hasn’t done stand up in a few years and is thinking of getting back into it and he should, he is fucking hilarious.
Neil and I once did a gig way up in the North of Scotland maybe nine years ago. The gig was held in a small working man’s club, it was awful from the start, and the people came out for the night to enjoy the singer who was on before us.
The singer was ‘sixty-something’ year old man who had jet black dyed hair the same ebony matt black you normally paint onto tyres to make them look shiny and fresh- his face was covered in fake tan that never actually reached his deep wrinkles and this left brown flashed stripes down his sagging face. He resembled an old tawny zebra!
His bright metallic red shirt was open to the waist revealing a thick silver curly chest and nestling there was a disgustingly large gold necklace in the shape of a lion….I am not joking….it was a LION made of gold.
His tight hip hugging white synthetic trousers were so flared they almost covered the gold plastic shoes that peeped just out of the bottom, like gilded tongues that flashed when he walked. When he came into the back room to say hello, Neil and I could not even begin to make eye contact for fear we would laugh up a kidney.
I watched the man glide around the main room with the confidence of a constantly elected President, his people cheered as he picked up his guitar, the place was electric when he plucked the guitar and his voice resonated throughout the small community room as he burst into the worst hammy version ‘Jailhouse rock’ that I have ever heard in my life.
I swear I thought I was taking part in a spoof movie; surely these were a cruel people that egged on the crazy pensioner who couldn’t sing?
Neil and I just sat there in impending horror, if these people loved him they were going to fucking hate us, which was all I could think.
As we sat at the side of the dance floor watching this trippy scene as the locals got up to dance. The people there were dressed like something from the 1960’s, I know this sounds like a unfavourable lazy stereotype but there is no other way I can explain this.
There were a group of women to our left all wearing the thickest traditional Fair Aisle woollen jumpers in the brightest colours, it was very cold outside I grant you but all that small gathering of women were wearing clothes that were too small, the sweaters were pulled snugly over rolls of fat and barrel chested breasts…they all looked like Buddha’s in sheep’s clothing.
Then to the other extreme, there were a small clutch of younger women to our right wearing the cheapest version of the latest styles, gaudy red nylon tops with plastic glittery straps or yellow polyester shirts on top of the biggest jeans I have ever saw stretched over the fattest asses I have ever seen.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not the thinnest of women, I am over weight but under no circumstances would I wear jeans if I got to that size…now way EVER! That amount of fabric could house nine people at Glastonbury under a marquee.
The strange thing was- the women who were slim looked underweight and sick!
They were either extremely fat or dangerously skinny…were we about to perform at The TITTY TWISTER from the film From Dusk Till Dawn?
The few men that were there were exactly the same! A whole bunch of fat, brightly dressed farmers with ruddy cheeks or thin dying- looking pasty men.
And still the aged rocker sang on…..
Then it was time for us to get on stage, I have to say it was the hardest gig I have ever done, people stared as I told funny stories….tales that became un-funny as each word left my mouth, each punchline faltered and died as it left my lips, like saggy balloons on the brink of deflation falling from my tongue…even my breath felt empty as I tried to suck air in standing on that wooden floored room.
I walked off to the sound of my own feet, clumpy hollow noises followed me….the fat/skinny people looked relieved but not unperturbed that we failed, it was as if they expected such an occasion, before I could even reach the end of the room, the scary shiny old man struck up his rendition of “Beyond The Sea” and the whole place burst back into life. I was merely an interruption in their fun pack pensioner loving cabaret.
Neil and I sat together after being paid for the worst service in the world. Just then one of the fat woolly women came over and asked him to dance….Neil looked horrified but she stood there demanding he danced with her. She smelled of sweat and cheap beer.
I looked at her and said “I am sorry but he wouldn’t be able to hear the song because the sound of your cloven hooves on the wooden floor would drown out the music”
At that we ran out of the place, started the car and drove off out into the coldest night in the remotest part of Scotland. Black roads, no lights, gravel paths and Oasis blasting out of the sound system as owls and other night birds flew past the long strobe of the headlights. We laughed like mad clowns, with a mixture of fear and bewilderment until we reached civilisation or at least a motorway that we recognised.
We finally stopped somewhere outside Fort William, we got out of the car and looked up. The thing I remember so vividly about that night was the sky….honestly it was awesome, with no city light pollution and the clear conditions, there was every star and constellation known to us, just hanging there sparkling above us like a dark carpet sprinkled with glitter, the night air was so fresh and we lay on the car bonnet with our backs warm from the engine and gasped at the stars.
We agreed that we might never become great comics, but we both knew we would never be ancient cabaret singers dressed in shiny satin and that somehow made us feel ok.
Neil and I talked again about that night today and we laughed all over again, both of us spluttering and giggling, feeling shameful for slagging the wee awful singer who in actual fact did entertain those people better than we could ever have hoped.
So I am finally home, sitting in my own house on my own sofa and happy.
Posted 9/11/2006 6:39:54 AM
I had my last gig in Liverpool last night and went back to the hotel for a good sleep. The hotel is also a recording studio and private club so late at night music blasts constantly straight into my room. Normally that would annoy me, yet the music was awesome and after 15 years of having lived above a bar, it kinda soothed me to sleep no worries. ..
This morning as I was packing to catch a train home ( I was so desperate to get home and see husband and Ashley, I have really missed them) I had that sinking feeling of sitting on a train for ever…then Neil Shackelton called me. Neil is a stand up and was in Liverpool for a family party and was driving home to Glasgow! Did I want a run home? YES!
So I shared the journey home with one of the funniest and loveliest men you could meet, he and his best mate Will made sure I got home safely. WE laughed the whole way in the car as Neil and I reminisced about our days when we were comics together, Neil hasn’t done stand up in a few years and is thinking of getting back into it and he should, he is fucking hilarious.
Neil and I once did a gig way up in the North of Scotland maybe nine years ago. The gig was held in a small working man’s club, it was awful from the start, and the people came out for the night to enjoy the singer who was on before us.
The singer was ‘sixty-something’ year old man who had jet black dyed hair the same ebony matt black you normally paint onto tyres to make them look shiny and fresh- his face was covered in fake tan that never actually reached his deep wrinkles and this left brown flashed stripes down his sagging face. He resembled an old tawny zebra!
His bright metallic red shirt was open to the waist revealing a thick silver curly chest and nestling there was a disgustingly large gold necklace in the shape of a lion….I am not joking….it was a LION made of gold.
His tight hip hugging white synthetic trousers were so flared they almost covered the gold plastic shoes that peeped just out of the bottom, like gilded tongues that flashed when he walked. When he came into the back room to say hello, Neil and I could not even begin to make eye contact for fear we would laugh up a kidney.
I watched the man glide around the main room with the confidence of a constantly elected President, his people cheered as he picked up his guitar, the place was electric when he plucked the guitar and his voice resonated throughout the small community room as he burst into the worst hammy version ‘Jailhouse rock’ that I have ever heard in my life.
I swear I thought I was taking part in a spoof movie; surely these were a cruel people that egged on the crazy pensioner who couldn’t sing?
Neil and I just sat there in impending horror, if these people loved him they were going to fucking hate us, which was all I could think.
As we sat at the side of the dance floor watching this trippy scene as the locals got up to dance. The people there were dressed like something from the 1960’s, I know this sounds like a unfavourable lazy stereotype but there is no other way I can explain this.
There were a group of women to our left all wearing the thickest traditional Fair Aisle woollen jumpers in the brightest colours, it was very cold outside I grant you but all that small gathering of women were wearing clothes that were too small, the sweaters were pulled snugly over rolls of fat and barrel chested breasts…they all looked like Buddha’s in sheep’s clothing.
Then to the other extreme, there were a small clutch of younger women to our right wearing the cheapest version of the latest styles, gaudy red nylon tops with plastic glittery straps or yellow polyester shirts on top of the biggest jeans I have ever saw stretched over the fattest asses I have ever seen.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not the thinnest of women, I am over weight but under no circumstances would I wear jeans if I got to that size…now way EVER! That amount of fabric could house nine people at Glastonbury under a marquee.
The strange thing was- the women who were slim looked underweight and sick!
They were either extremely fat or dangerously skinny…were we about to perform at The TITTY TWISTER from the film From Dusk Till Dawn?
The few men that were there were exactly the same! A whole bunch of fat, brightly dressed farmers with ruddy cheeks or thin dying- looking pasty men.
And still the aged rocker sang on…..
Then it was time for us to get on stage, I have to say it was the hardest gig I have ever done, people stared as I told funny stories….tales that became un-funny as each word left my mouth, each punchline faltered and died as it left my lips, like saggy balloons on the brink of deflation falling from my tongue…even my breath felt empty as I tried to suck air in standing on that wooden floored room.
I walked off to the sound of my own feet, clumpy hollow noises followed me….the fat/skinny people looked relieved but not unperturbed that we failed, it was as if they expected such an occasion, before I could even reach the end of the room, the scary shiny old man struck up his rendition of “Beyond The Sea” and the whole place burst back into life. I was merely an interruption in their fun pack pensioner loving cabaret.
Neil and I sat together after being paid for the worst service in the world. Just then one of the fat woolly women came over and asked him to dance….Neil looked horrified but she stood there demanding he danced with her. She smelled of sweat and cheap beer.
I looked at her and said “I am sorry but he wouldn’t be able to hear the song because the sound of your cloven hooves on the wooden floor would drown out the music”
At that we ran out of the place, started the car and drove off out into the coldest night in the remotest part of Scotland. Black roads, no lights, gravel paths and Oasis blasting out of the sound system as owls and other night birds flew past the long strobe of the headlights. We laughed like mad clowns, with a mixture of fear and bewilderment until we reached civilisation or at least a motorway that we recognised.
We finally stopped somewhere outside Fort William, we got out of the car and looked up. The thing I remember so vividly about that night was the sky….honestly it was awesome, with no city light pollution and the clear conditions, there was every star and constellation known to us, just hanging there sparkling above us like a dark carpet sprinkled with glitter, the night air was so fresh and we lay on the car bonnet with our backs warm from the engine and gasped at the stars.
We agreed that we might never become great comics, but we both knew we would never be ancient cabaret singers dressed in shiny satin and that somehow made us feel ok.
Neil and I talked again about that night today and we laughed all over again, both of us spluttering and giggling, feeling shameful for slagging the wee awful singer who in actual fact did entertain those people better than we could ever have hoped.
So I am finally home, sitting in my own house on my own sofa and happy.
Personal Life: I love Liverpool…
Posted 9/8/2006 6:12:27 PM
I managed to scam my way from London to Liverpool by train, ok here is the story. When I booked the train ticket online I mistakenly booked it for Thursday the 7th of September as opposed to Friday the 8th. Now I did try to rectify seconds after the confirmation email came through and I had realised my mistake, but the nasty women on the line insisted that I have to pay £68 for a Friday ticket (how fucking expensive is that for a train? The flight to London was £40) and go through some procedure to get back the original £12 I paid for the Thursday journey.
Anyway I turned up at Euston, collected my tickets from the ticket credit card machine and boarded the train and took my chances. The ticket guy came, I nonchalantly handed my tickets, he looked at them and said “This is yesterdays tickets” I gasped in horror and explained “That cant be right, I just collected them from the ticket machine, my journey was booked for Friday, look at my booking online on my laptop” I showed him the receipt I pasted and copied onto my desk top from my email, except I had obviously altered the date and day in the same font. (I am sneaky).
He looked at my laptop, looked at me and said “Ok there must be a mistake”
I know I am going to hell, but even Jesus would understand why I refused to pay over £60 to go two hours on a train from London to Liverpool!
I finally get to the amazingly unique Parr Street Studio hotel. This is one of the oldest recording studios in Liverpool and now has some very basic but comfortable hotel rooms. They give you a key to the LIFT! It is ancient and one of those old trellis type sliding doors (again…remember I had one of those in Oban last weekend?) then you insert your key and pull the shutters over and get up to your room.
I think this place is really good for musicians and performers to come to, I think when the refurbishment is complete ordinary members of the public will love it, yet I think that will make it lose some of its eccentric charm.
The great news is it has a wonderful cool private members bar where musicians all hang out and that’s where I am sitting right now.
I did the gig at Bar Blue and it was awesome, I do love that club and the audience are excellent.
The dockside of Liverpool has all been renovated and so trendy, they have a Beatles Museum and there are thousands of tourists visiting the area, mostly they are Oriental from what I have seen, those Eastern people really love the Beatles!
The whole city is geared up to be European City Of Culture in 2008 and I am sure it will make a great host city, I remember when Glasgow was the City of Culture in 1990, it is a wonderful accolade to have and bring millions of regeneration to industrial towns in UK.
Parts of Liverpool are still run down, even just off the city centre and I do hope those beautiful old buildings get recovered as they are wonderful.
I walked home from the gig and stopped in the bus station to check a text on my phone, the bus station is brand new and all shiny and very well lit but was completely deserted.
Just as I sat on shiny chrome bench I heard footsteps coming towards me and there was a fucking smelly stumbling drunk heading for me. I sat there and sighed inwardly, always me, they always come to me every time I am a nutter magnet.
He sat right beside me, pressing his thigh against mine- that’s how close he got.
“There are hundreds of benches empty and you come to sit beside me” I snapped at him
“Do you have a fucking problem?” He mumbled with the alcohol reeking off his mouth.
Great! He was actually Scottish. “Yes I have a problem, get your manky leg off my thigh and fuck off; I don’t want to talk to you” I said back.
I stood up and walked on, he followed me, I walked faster- he walked faster.
I then turned on my heels in this empty big bright yellow and white bus station and shouted right at him “Fuck Off! I will actually kill you, I have killed before”
He stopped in his tracks.
“Get fucked, do you want me to stab you, I once set a man on fire and took photo’s as he burned, then I ate his barbequed leg and God told me to do it” I screamed into his face and jumped up and down like a mental patient.
He ran off in the opposite direction, screaming as he went, arms flailing and sloppy trousers flapping in the breeze.
I sat back down and finished my text and out of the corer of my eye I saw a bus station attendant watching me closely! Now I was the bus station nutter- I could see him tentatively talking into his radio.
Now we all know I have never killed before and I wasn’t going to stab him but it really works sometimes to OUT CRAZY the NUTTERS! They hate it if you are more mentally damaged than them, it is too much competition, I learned that trick from days in the bar when I worked in the roughest part of Glasgow, whenever some crazy fucker come up and whispers evil stuff, just agree with them and tell them you really want to fuck a dead body or can you cut him and drink his blood…..it works most times – except when you once meet that man who does like that – then run for your life!
So I am in Liverpool for one more night and then it is back home to husband and possibly normality.
Posted 9/8/2006 6:12:27 PM
I managed to scam my way from London to Liverpool by train, ok here is the story. When I booked the train ticket online I mistakenly booked it for Thursday the 7th of September as opposed to Friday the 8th. Now I did try to rectify seconds after the confirmation email came through and I had realised my mistake, but the nasty women on the line insisted that I have to pay £68 for a Friday ticket (how fucking expensive is that for a train? The flight to London was £40) and go through some procedure to get back the original £12 I paid for the Thursday journey.
Anyway I turned up at Euston, collected my tickets from the ticket credit card machine and boarded the train and took my chances. The ticket guy came, I nonchalantly handed my tickets, he looked at them and said “This is yesterdays tickets” I gasped in horror and explained “That cant be right, I just collected them from the ticket machine, my journey was booked for Friday, look at my booking online on my laptop” I showed him the receipt I pasted and copied onto my desk top from my email, except I had obviously altered the date and day in the same font. (I am sneaky).
He looked at my laptop, looked at me and said “Ok there must be a mistake”
I know I am going to hell, but even Jesus would understand why I refused to pay over £60 to go two hours on a train from London to Liverpool!
I finally get to the amazingly unique Parr Street Studio hotel. This is one of the oldest recording studios in Liverpool and now has some very basic but comfortable hotel rooms. They give you a key to the LIFT! It is ancient and one of those old trellis type sliding doors (again…remember I had one of those in Oban last weekend?) then you insert your key and pull the shutters over and get up to your room.
I think this place is really good for musicians and performers to come to, I think when the refurbishment is complete ordinary members of the public will love it, yet I think that will make it lose some of its eccentric charm.
The great news is it has a wonderful cool private members bar where musicians all hang out and that’s where I am sitting right now.
I did the gig at Bar Blue and it was awesome, I do love that club and the audience are excellent.
The dockside of Liverpool has all been renovated and so trendy, they have a Beatles Museum and there are thousands of tourists visiting the area, mostly they are Oriental from what I have seen, those Eastern people really love the Beatles!
The whole city is geared up to be European City Of Culture in 2008 and I am sure it will make a great host city, I remember when Glasgow was the City of Culture in 1990, it is a wonderful accolade to have and bring millions of regeneration to industrial towns in UK.
Parts of Liverpool are still run down, even just off the city centre and I do hope those beautiful old buildings get recovered as they are wonderful.
I walked home from the gig and stopped in the bus station to check a text on my phone, the bus station is brand new and all shiny and very well lit but was completely deserted.
Just as I sat on shiny chrome bench I heard footsteps coming towards me and there was a fucking smelly stumbling drunk heading for me. I sat there and sighed inwardly, always me, they always come to me every time I am a nutter magnet.
He sat right beside me, pressing his thigh against mine- that’s how close he got.
“There are hundreds of benches empty and you come to sit beside me” I snapped at him
“Do you have a fucking problem?” He mumbled with the alcohol reeking off his mouth.
Great! He was actually Scottish. “Yes I have a problem, get your manky leg off my thigh and fuck off; I don’t want to talk to you” I said back.
I stood up and walked on, he followed me, I walked faster- he walked faster.
I then turned on my heels in this empty big bright yellow and white bus station and shouted right at him “Fuck Off! I will actually kill you, I have killed before”
He stopped in his tracks.
“Get fucked, do you want me to stab you, I once set a man on fire and took photo’s as he burned, then I ate his barbequed leg and God told me to do it” I screamed into his face and jumped up and down like a mental patient.
He ran off in the opposite direction, screaming as he went, arms flailing and sloppy trousers flapping in the breeze.
I sat back down and finished my text and out of the corer of my eye I saw a bus station attendant watching me closely! Now I was the bus station nutter- I could see him tentatively talking into his radio.
Now we all know I have never killed before and I wasn’t going to stab him but it really works sometimes to OUT CRAZY the NUTTERS! They hate it if you are more mentally damaged than them, it is too much competition, I learned that trick from days in the bar when I worked in the roughest part of Glasgow, whenever some crazy fucker come up and whispers evil stuff, just agree with them and tell them you really want to fuck a dead body or can you cut him and drink his blood…..it works most times – except when you once meet that man who does like that – then run for your life!
So I am in Liverpool for one more night and then it is back home to husband and possibly normality.
Personal Life: London is hot…
Posted 9/6/2006 9:16:41 AM
The weather here is awesome; I am in the most amazing apartment in the West End of London. I have a huge penthouse suite that Crown Lawn organised; they are just the best people in the world and look after me like I was their own family. I love them.
The balcony looks over the whole of this side of London and it’s just wonderful.
The place is so cool and I feel like Joan Collins sitting here in Park Avenue, all I need is a couple of naked dancing boys and my day is complete!
So husband and I have come to an amicable agreement that we stop going over past misdemeanours and concentrate on our future, for if I can only remind him of everything he did bad (and I think my autobiography already did that, people all over the world now know what he has done to me) then we need to reconsider why we are both in this relationship.
I have no idea why every time a memory comes up, for instance if he mentions Disneyland holiday in 1995, I immediately recall how he fought with me that night and I ended up sleeping outside on a beach lounger, I don’t recall the other 22 nights when he walked for two miles to get me painkillers from the outside garage, how he surprised me with breakfast in bed, how we sat on the beach all night and watched the sun come up and how he held Ashley in his arms all night because she was sick and wouldn’t sleep in case she choked and her temperature went up too high.
No I remember the one night he was an ass.
Why is that? I have a BANKFUL of holidays, days out and special occasions that are marked by one argument, one fight and one time he spat at me, he told me the reason he hardly recalls the past or chats to me much is he is scared it will trigger a bad day and he will spend the rest of his time sad, because he is being punished for something he did in 1987.
I need to stop and realise that for every ‘bad’ time there are the wonderful days.
Here is one….
In 2004 I had been on a live Big Brother TV show on UK Channel 4 television called Kings of Comedy. After the intensity of performing live on demand and being under the scrutiny of 57 cameras 24 hours a day, they let us out on the Thursday night till Sunday lunch time to do our regular circuit gigs. The studio was in Bristol; far enough from my home in Glasgow, where my poor stressed out family were watching me constantly through a TV lens.
Remember that whilst in the ‘comedy TV house’ I was under immense stress and the politics of being stuck with five other comics was mental, anyway on that first Thursday night when they drove me to London, I arrived at the Hotel and lay down to sleep at midnight. At 5am in the morning my husband and Ashley arrived out of the blue to see me, they had DROVE ALL NIGHT to get there to be with me and it
Posted 9/6/2006 9:16:41 AM
The weather here is awesome; I am in the most amazing apartment in the West End of London. I have a huge penthouse suite that Crown Lawn organised; they are just the best people in the world and look after me like I was their own family. I love them.
The balcony looks over the whole of this side of London and it’s just wonderful.
The place is so cool and I feel like Joan Collins sitting here in Park Avenue, all I need is a couple of naked dancing boys and my day is complete!
So husband and I have come to an amicable agreement that we stop going over past misdemeanours and concentrate on our future, for if I can only remind him of everything he did bad (and I think my autobiography already did that, people all over the world now know what he has done to me) then we need to reconsider why we are both in this relationship.
I have no idea why every time a memory comes up, for instance if he mentions Disneyland holiday in 1995, I immediately recall how he fought with me that night and I ended up sleeping outside on a beach lounger, I don’t recall the other 22 nights when he walked for two miles to get me painkillers from the outside garage, how he surprised me with breakfast in bed, how we sat on the beach all night and watched the sun come up and how he held Ashley in his arms all night because she was sick and wouldn’t sleep in case she choked and her temperature went up too high.
No I remember the one night he was an ass.
Why is that? I have a BANKFUL of holidays, days out and special occasions that are marked by one argument, one fight and one time he spat at me, he told me the reason he hardly recalls the past or chats to me much is he is scared it will trigger a bad day and he will spend the rest of his time sad, because he is being punished for something he did in 1987.
I need to stop and realise that for every ‘bad’ time there are the wonderful days.
Here is one….
In 2004 I had been on a live Big Brother TV show on UK Channel 4 television called Kings of Comedy. After the intensity of performing live on demand and being under the scrutiny of 57 cameras 24 hours a day, they let us out on the Thursday night till Sunday lunch time to do our regular circuit gigs. The studio was in Bristol; far enough from my home in Glasgow, where my poor stressed out family were watching me constantly through a TV lens.
Remember that whilst in the ‘comedy TV house’ I was under immense stress and the politics of being stuck with five other comics was mental, anyway on that first Thursday night when they drove me to London, I arrived at the Hotel and lay down to sleep at midnight. At 5am in the morning my husband and Ashley arrived out of the blue to see me, they had DROVE ALL NIGHT to get there to be with me and it