Spoiler Alert- may contain stories about shit

Andy Murray got beat at tennis and I got a camera up my ass.

Yes, the day dawned for my colonoscopy, heres what happened, months ago I told my doc I had some bowel issues, now I would write the Latin word but my spell check is having trouble with Diarrhoea – maybe that’s the right spelling eh? Anyway…my doc got me a hospital appointment and the specialist booked me in for a colonoscopy…as fast as that!

And as fast as that my Diarrhoea disappeared, yes it did!

So, I was told to drink FOUR litres of a powder that the hospital sent in the post, not an illegal powder I hasten to add, just something called Prep-klean…I hate ANYTHING spelt with a K when it really means a C but anyway I had to dilute these evil smelling granules in water.

It said ‘vanilla’ flavour on the side, now unless vanilla tastes like battery acid, I have no idea what they added to the foul smelling salts, but I managed to get ONE litre down my gullet before I started throwing up.

I was to drink the four litres over the course of a night after starving myself before I went to hospital the next day. Great…now I was just vomiting up the cold battery acid flavoured granules…it came out of my nose!

I called the hospital to tell them I couldn’t keep four litres down and they told me not to worry as whatever I got down would work. I didn’t believe them.

That was until I felt an almighty grumble in my lower bowel and I made it to the loo in time to witness an avalanche as my very skeleton flew out from my bum. It was extraordinary to experience; just a torrent came rushing forth.

I fell asleep exhausted, it was sleep you have after child birth, trust me I know this! My body was shaking and a crashing brain tumour of a headache descended and woke me up at 2am. Finally I called the hospital to tell them I couldn’t drink their four litres of Guantanamo Bay torture juice but I had ‘passed liquid’. They assured me I would be fine for the procedure and I should come along.

My headache was banging above my eye and my vision was blurred, at this point I considered swapping a colonoscopy for a brain scan in the reception of the hospital, but I don’t think they have a swap shop for procedures on the NHS.

I was taken into a small room and stripped. They gave me one of those sexy backless gowns and told me to get ready to go through to the ‘theatre’. Now I love the theatre as you all know, but going in there to get the ass ripped out of me sounds odd and not the kind of thing I love at all.

I explained to my specialist that I am scared of sedation, he told me repeatedly that everyone loves it, then I repeated how I didn’t, and he told me I was being silly as he stuck a needle into the back of my hand and I told him his birth mark on his face looked like a foetus and finally the room went quiet. He fingered his birth mark and sat beside me.

“Janey, it just makes you slightly less angry” he spoke.

“My anger is what keeps me alive, can I get this done without being sedated?” I suggested quietly.

The nurses waited with the vial of sedative to be put into the valve they had opened on the back of my hand.

“Ok, you relax and you will feel the camera go in and if you breathe slowly you can do this” he spoke firmly.

I am scared of sedation; I once got sedated and had terrible feelings of despair and a panic attack in my 20s when I got sedated for a dental treatment and that never quite left me. So I slowly breathed and they did the whole colonoscopy without the sedation! My head was still banging like hell though.

The procedure didn’t feel sore, it felt weird as I could feel the camera wind its way around my insides! Like when a baby kicks you from the inside.

Anyway my bowels are fine, there are no lumps, bumps and nothing wrong with them at all. And the good news was, I didn’t need an hour recovery in a hospital bed or have to take a day off to get orientated again.

I walked out five minutes after the bowel investigation (after farting the biggest fart in my entire life- it was awesomely wonderful in a strange way) and went for a walk as my husband was gone, he was told to come back two hours later for me. I didn’t have a phone on me to get him to come back sooner!

So I went a wander and found an old man stuck in the loo door where he had fallen. I got him up and into one of those horrible wheelie chairs they have lying about, and that’s when my husband turned up- to find me pushing a strange old man about the reception!

Husband thought I had been sedated and took an old bloke hostage in my crazed state!

“Janey, what are you doing?” he yelled.

I quickly explained I had been out for ages, never got sedated and found an old man who was shaky and he couldn’t find his wife. After we reunited the old bloke and his wife and walked them to their car I went home and managed to eat something so I could take painkillers to get rid of my racketing headache!

All good! My stomach is making seriously weird noises though!

January never ends

It felt like January was going on forever, but it has ended now, thank God!

It’s been an odd month for me all round, lots of writing work and less performance gigs which have freaked me out slightly. If I don’t get on stage I tend to be mental, husband says am like a cloven hoofed wolf prowling the house looking for faults!

My dad decided he wanted new curtains for his windows, so we bought him some (he picked them and shouted the serial number of them into my face in the street- he is a bit deaf, still…I nearly bit his face, I hate shouting). After we delivered them and the new curtain pole, I told him to give us a few days before we could come up and fix it into the wall. He agreed and spoke at length about the dangers of an old man going up heights, but as we drove away, I saw the silhouette of him erecting the ladders through his blinds! He is a stubborn old bugger!

Ashley and I have been writing hard for a radio show. People always ask what it’s like writing with your daughter or writing with your mum and we have always worked together. We did a sketch show at Edinburgh fringe in 2006 and toured New Zealand and it was awesome fun.

She has a great writing skill and am great at saying words out loud that she can type, she is very professional and I just watch her in awe.

We are not best pals, I disagree with that idea, she is my daughter but we have very similar yet very different comedy bones and that works. Also she is much more disciplined than me, she is aghast at how I prepare for shows, or how I quickly write for newspapers etc…but that’s a university education for you! As you can imagine I am very proud of her, as is her dad.

He just stands back and watches us both banter words back and forth, he doesn’t speak, he supplies the coffee, makes the dinner, irons the clothes and calls us ‘His talented girls’ and occasionally adds a word when we do a read through or he voices his confusion over a paragraph. Its great coz he has Aspergers Syndrome so when he doesn’t understand something we know an audience won’t get it either, his mental capacity is a great sounding board. Every writer should have an Aspergers Syndrome person listen to their ideas!

I am looking forward to my one woman show at Tron Theatre on Thursday 25^th March for Glasgow Comedy Festival, ticket sales are going great guns!

I am glad January is over; it felt so long and dark.

London Weekend & Fun

Last weekend was awesome, Ashley and I decided to head to London and have a fun weekend. We were both doing Burns poems at a Private London Club as part of their Burns Night celebrations. Ashley ‘gets’ Burns and I am not really sure of how to pronounce his work, but she taught me over the week.

We flew into London at 8am on Friday morning, both of us exhausted as we don’t do mornings well and I hate folk who fight for elbow space on the London tube. Some nasty wee man started pushing his elbow right into my side as he read his paper. Ashley was sitting opposite and glared at him, whilst making silent angry eyes at me, I waited till he got comfy and gave him a proper Glasgow dunt (a big shove) right back. He was startled but gave up trying to stick his arm under my left breast. I felt like turning round and saying “We will need a lubricant if you get any closer to my side boobs” but the dunt did it. He had the cheek to look at me as if I was wrong!

Anyway we got to the Crownlawn apartments at Point West on the Cromwell Road and they were AWESOME, seriously – a huge two bedroom flat with enormous patio! My niece Ann Margaret was coming down for two nights, but the poor wee mite was doing the ten hour bus journey as she doesn’t have a passport or is into flying yet!

Ashley was furiously learning her Burns poem and I was silently ignoring mine; it will be all right on the night!

Ann Margaret arrived on the Saturday morning after the journey from hell on the bloody Magic Bus…trust me it wasn’t magic, it was evil.

On Saturday afternoon we all got ready and headed into the club to prepare for the big meal and the Burns performance. Little did we know that John Landis and his wife would be in attendance, its one thing winging a poem in front of a small audience and another doing it in front of a big Hollywood film director. To make it worse there were a few very famous faces from the big screen, Ashley stared at me with a pale face and I felt my bowels do the Macarena!

There were only about 50 people in this small room…so it’s not as if you can huddle into a corner if you totally fuck it up! Anyway, after the most amazing Address to the Haggis by a lovely Scottish actor, Ashley was first up with her rendition of ‘A mans a man for aw that’ and she was really good, her clear voice and determined attitude saw it through.

I did my poem and some Burns based comedy, as did other fabulous performers, it was a lovely night. Mr Landis congratulated Ashley on her lovely poem and chatted to her, he was so bloody nice!

Then we all had karaoke, which Ashley and Ann Margaret LOVE! They sang, danced and chatted the night away, fabulous stuff!

All in all it was an awesome night out, despite having nerves performing in front of some famous people!

So I am back home and back working, writing and trying hard not to think about my colonoscopy next week, but my bowels know its going to happen and they are rebelling in a way I will never describe in words.

Happy Monday

On Monday I had to go present myself for jury duty; I tried getting out of it by providing a valid E-Ticket from British Airways which clearly states I am leaving Glasgow this coming Friday. They sent it back by post and told me turn up on Monday and …maybe just maybe…they will let me off.

What I don’t understand is- with the sheer amount of unemployed people that we keep reading about in The Daily Mail why do the courts want people who are terminally busy?

Do busy people have better judgement? I don’t think so, I think if I had better judgement I would not work and lie in bed all day. I am a stupid twat that chose a career; if I was smart I would do piss all and sleep instead of working in an industry that still thinks women aren’t quite good enough for the job.

Anyway, I dragged myself out of bed at 8am on Monday, thought ‘suppose I better wash my hair, I don’t want to turn up looking mental….hang on…maybe looking mental is good?’ So, instead of coiffing my bunnet, I merely bushed it up further into what can only be described as a hysterical angry terrier hanging off the side of my head.

No make up either, a blotchy pale face with two red vicious spots on my chin completed the Susan Boyle effect I was going for. Husband stared at me silently, I could see him trying hard to think of something to slip out of lips, but having been married 30 years this is a man who knows to think really really hard before he says stuff about my hair or appearance. Holidays have been ruined by a sneery look at my summer shorts.

“Nice” was all he uttered.

“I am going to look mental, feels strange going out like this” I explained.

“You look like that when you sit about the house anyway” he stepped into a burning puddle of verbal hell, he didn’t know it, he was unaware of the liquid fire chasing his heels, but I let it go. I needed to get to court.

9.45am it stated clearly on the form. So I was there for 9.30am, the cold wind had chaffed my face and made my hair sufficiently psychotic, but the room they put me into was blisteringly hot. That was after they searched me and shoved me through a security arch that was set up at the front door. Within seconds I was sweating, people started filing in, before long the room was stuffed with folk. There weren’t enough seats; people were standing, nobody talking, all staring at watches and phones.

At 10.30am I lost patience, I slammed out of the ‘steam’ room and walked to the info booth. I explained to the pale man that the clerk was late, the room had 43 people and only 37 seats and that the heat was intolerable.

“Open a window then” the man said indolently.

“Well, its ground floor and it could breach security, that’s why I didn’t open the windows, you could easily pass a gun through the window and bypass the security at the doors” I said too loudly. The policemen, who were standing about laughing, stopped and stared at me…the word GUN flagged up in their head. But I was merely pointing out a fact.

Just then the court clerk Sue Perkins turned up, well she was the absolute DOUBLE of Sue Perkins and I know Sue, she even spoke like her. I was freaked out, was this Sue? Was it a trick?

It wasn’t Sue- she was the court clerk and she announced “everyone into court seven please” I was trying hard to get her attention to let her know I needed to be excused and because Sue Perkins (the real one) is so friendly I assumed her doppelganger would be as amiable. She wasn’t. Actually that isn’t fair, she was just efficient.

Finally we all sat in the court and shouted ‘Here’ when our names were roll called.

After eons of time passed she finally gave us an opportunity to come forward to ask to be excused (it was like school games time).

I was there first, I smiled my best and wished my hair didn’t look raped, then told her all about my busy life, my trip to London, my inability to judge killers, my dislike of the small over heated room, the story about being caught with guns 15 years ago, my Burns night at The Groucho, my lump near my crotch, my birthday plans and then finally told her I was a stand up comedian who tells long winded stories for a living, then I muttered the last time I was in that very court room was when I gave evidence of the child abuse I suffered when we took my uncle David Percy to court in 1996….I talked for ages then told her she looked like Sue Perkins who by the way is ‘awesome’.

She simply smiled and said “ok”.

I ran out of there like one of the Guildford Six celebrating my freedom.

So life is sweet! I am all packed for London and it’s my birthday today!

Chill Out Time

Have loved the cold weather, so much so I went on ‘STV The Hour’ show and declared my love of the snow, it was funny- to me. 

I did have a blocked up nose during the broadcast and was sweating slightly. The snow has been a double edged sword in my household.

On the one hand, we are all getting cabin fever, on the other we are all talking more and huddling together.

Ashley and I are writing together, I have to sit in her room as we do it and I get all distracted by staring at her book collection (why does she have Dirk Bogarde’s biography?), the bundles of clothes (are they clean or needing ironed?), why is there make up bottles mixed with bank statements and a basil Panini? (Should I sort them out?) Things come into my head and she shouts “Mum, stop looking at my stuff and bloody focus on what we are writing, we have a deadline!”

I am easily distracted. So after all this week of writing, learning a new programme on the laptop and dealing with a lump that I haven’t yet let the doctor look at, I headed up to Bingham Pond on the Great Western Rd and joined in with a skating/curling event. It was very unorganised yet totally organised at the same time- nothing to do with the council, this was community spirit at work- a bloke had gotten heaps of skates for people to have free, a lovely woman had brought hot food and the kids brought their enthusiasm!

The Bingham Pond was totally frozen over, expect for one big hole cut into the side where the ducks and birds sat sullenly around a chilly patch of freezing water.

They didn’t look happy, I have never seen so many emotional, sad angry ducks- they did look totally disenfranchised. They stared at me, sniffed and waddled off in a stumpy huff. This was there pond, why on earth why we walking on their water? What were we Jesus?

I met loads of nice people, drank heaps of hot tea, ate home made brownies, and did a bit of slipping about, perfect Sunday.

I have been keeping constant contact with my dad, despite his age he is determined to get out into the slippy ice and snow and damage himself.

“Dad, please stay in, we will come up with food” I said.

“Och, I will be fine, am just off to get myself a newspaper” he quipped.

Meanwhile I got an ear infection; it made my ear pulsate with pain. I called the NHS helpline and they directed me to the out or hours clinic, they faxed them to let them know I was coming.

The clinic was at The Western Infirmary, with pulsating itchy painful ear I hobbled in.

Husband dropped me off to go park his car, I was sitting there reading a book and trying to imagine having sex with George Michael (I do this when I am in pain- it takes a lot of concentration) when I noticed a fat young bloke snarling and muttering at his skinny young girl friend.

“They cunts should have listened to you Shania, I am gonna punch that fucking nurse, she is a cow” I could hear him despite my ear being half blocked.

Great- all I need is a fat dick in a bad mood as my ear threatened to explode, where was husband?

There was a nice Asian looking bloke opposite me, we both made eye contact and raised our brows at each other. Then the nurse called for the Asian bloke- fat acrylic clad fuck wit shouts “How come that paki cunt got took?”

This made me glare at him, the yellow NHS room felt menacing, and the skinny girlfriend looked at me with pleading sorry eyes. Fat man huffed louder and answered his loud mobile phone whose ringtone was ‘Rule Britannia’ I was amazed he liked orchestral music.

“Turn your phone off; it says so on the sign” the girlfriend spoke mouse like but adamant.

“I am dyslexic and cannae read” he sniggered. I didn’t doubt it, but I suspect it was illiteracy not even sarcasm.

Then the nurse called my name, just as I was getting up he snarled “Why is she being taken?”

At this I snapped my head round and said “I had an appointment faxed in by my doctor, did you? Shut up, you might be able to bully her but not me ok fatty boom boom?”

He just stared open mouthed and put his head down. I was only getting seen by the nurse before I go to the doctor. I was out in seconds and husband was now on the chairs waiting on me, he didn’t know husband was with me and was complaining about how some woman and a paki got it before them. I sat beside husband and glared at fatty boom boom.

Husband ignored all the words coming out of fatty’s mouth- he doesn’t like strangers talking to him, far less racist annoying ones.

Just then a skinny blonde girl and her young spiky haired boyfriend came in- she was painfully thin and vomiting into a grey hospital sick bucket.

“Fucksake Tam, I feel ill” she bleated.

The fat arse immediately recognised what he thought was his own kind and started telling them how his girlfriend was waiting ages “I am gonna punch some cunt soon” he spoke gruffly. I stared at him.

He looked away; husband laughed loudly and stared at the wall. The room felt menacing, the spiky young haired guy looked at husband and immediately smiled and stroked his blonde sick girlfriends back- he was not alleging himself to fatty.

Then fatty’s girlfriend was called in by the nurse and as soon as she went off fatty said “her period is two weeks late fucksake and she is bleeding clots fucksake and it might be a miscarriage and these cunts aren’t taking her seriously fucksake”

Husband laughed loud again and stared at the wall and the said “Yuk” out loud at the ‘clots’ comment. The spiky boy and sick girl stared at us, the sick girl smiled at me.

“You ok?” I offered some friendship at her.

“I am just pregnant 3 weeks and I can’t stop being sick” she muttered.

I told her I had that when I was pregnant and offered her sympathy she, I and her spiky haired boyfriend all chatted about sickness in pregnancy.

Fatty was left in the cold. Just then his girlfriend came out and he shouted “What happened?”

She was whispering and didn’t want to share with the group and they both left in a hurry.

“Maybe she will get away from him?” I ventured and the sick blonde girl laughed and said “I hope so” we all sat in silence until my name was called. The upshot is- I got anti biotic ear drops and need to keep using them. I was glad to get out of that place. The ears are better and am hoping the thumping infection clears up for London next week.

So Ashley and I are currently learning Burns’ poems as we are doing a wee turn at The Groucho club for Burn’s night next Saturday. Ashley is really good at it, I seem to stumble over the old Scots dialect and can’t quite get my head around it, those odd Gaelic-type words flow from her wee lips…me? Its like flip flops falling out of my mouth…I need to practice more.  

Both of us are hoping that the snow clears up so we can fly to London when needs be!

Safer World for Women

The fair haired woman at the bus stop cried loudly and turned away as her male friend shouted into her face. He then slapped her loudly across the head with a plastic bag which I assumed must have concealed a bottle, for the crack that she suffered made my teeth grind and crush as I heard the impact.

He stood there, his bald head red with anger, his other fist trembling in rage and his face contorted into that of a snarling bull dog. The blonde woman simply moaned and bent over holding her head after the bottle made contact with her scalp.

“Leave her alone you crazy freak!” I screamed and stepped between him and the moaning simpering woman. “Don’t say anything.” – The woman lifted her dazed face towards me, pleading with her frightened eyes. I knew exactly what she was conveying with her eyes. “If you upset him, I get it more” is what she was saying. “If you stand up to him, he will beat me worse in private.” Those feelings stirred up old memories within my furious brain. The baldy angry man spat at her and ran off leaving us both at the freezing cold bus stop. The woman refused any words of comfort and help. She jumped on a number 56 bus and I never saw her again. I used to be her.

I got married too young to an even younger boy who never knew how to love without fear and violence. He came from a gangster background – a male dominated family, where women were undervalued and were never really respected. It took us both almost two decades of anger and abuse to work out our differences. I was told men don’t change, but I would like to think some can and –DO. When my husband talks about how he behaved towards me, he is totally remorseful and has never tried to justify or hide anything he did. He actively encouraged me to write all the details of his marital abuse in my autobiography ‘Handstands in the Dark.’ He is still ashamed and can never understand why I stayed. I know I shouldn’t have stayed but, like many women, I had many reasons to hang on. None of them right reasons; more like excuses and lack of confidence mixed with no sense of self worth.

When my husband had tried to talk about his abuse towards me, no one wanted to deal with it. He knew instinctively that what he was doing was wrong and needed help to understand what was going on with the violence and his own mental health and recurring depression that he had suffered since he was 14 years old. Other people around us assured him that it was the norm. Society accepted it.

My own mother had been murdered by her boyfriend – Peter Greenshields – and he never even got questioned by the police, despite being the last person to see her alive and having been charged for assaulting her previously. My husband recalls how, back in the early 80s, he tried to seek help from his family and the local priest about the way he had been beating and mentally abusing me, he was told “Men sometimes just can’t control themselves and it is hard when you first get married.” This spurred him into seeking psychological help from the local health authorities, which became fruitless and left with him with no other avenue so he went for private therapy. This does not make him a ‘good man’ but it did make him a good husband who has never forgotten how he terrorised the love of his life. He still struggles to understand what made him so unbelievably violent towards me. That is the reason I stay with him: if he had never tried to understand the anger, or take the responsibility for his actions, I could never have shared my life with him.

We are now married 30 years and sometimes to this day, when he shouts, I get a knot in my stomach and cringe at my own vulnerability. He will never hit or abuse me ever again, not because he has promised, but because I will never let it happen to me. It takes years to be strong inside after being abused by someone you love but you do manage it. We have a beautiful 23-year-old daughter. It is hard watching her grow up. I worry she will be hurt or let someone rob her of all that shiny beautiful hopefulness she possesses. I can only try to teach her self worth, self confidence and her father has spoken to her about how he treated me. There are many testimonials my daughter can read about women who were attacked and beaten by their partners and all of those accounts are valid and important, but I think it was valuable for her to hear it from her father – how violent he was towards me – her mother. My daughter was appalled at the level of brutality and emotional fear I had lived under from the man she loves the most in her world and him discussing it openly with her can only help her reach some understanding as to how to deal with such situations in her life. We hope.

My daughter, her father and I agreed that silence, shame, ignorance and acceptance are the some of most basic hurdles to get over when dealing with spousal abuse. The shame it brings on a woman to have to admit that the man she loves and chose to marry is the one person who is making her life a living hell is often the hardest thing to tell people. It was for me. To this day, I hope that woman at the bus stop with the cracked head got on a bus and ran away from her violent man forever. Or maybe like me, she waited and hoped her man would love her enough to stop hitting her only to realise that I had to love myself first. Both my husband and I changed, it took the two of us to get therapy to solve it: him to understand what made him violent and me to understand what made me accept it. It doesn’t always work out like this, I know, but I always liked happy endings.

And that is why I support a campaign called A Safer World for Women.

The second you say you are involved in raising awareness about the violence women suffer, you can hear some people shut their minds off from you. Bleeding hearts and sad tales isn’t something people like hearing about. The reason there is sympathy fatigue over this subject matter is that folk feel helpless to help and that can in turn be negative about the good work from the people at A Safe World for Women which is run by The Women for a Change International Foundation (WFAC) and is a not-for-profit organisation staffed by volunteers.

Basically the organisation are trying to get one million online endorsements to help raise awareness about the fear, violence, rape, abuse and mental torture suffered by women across the globe, they are also trying to highlight the horror of the female slave trafficking.

Please go to: A Safe World for Women  

And make your endorsement for a safer world for women, it’s free and it makes a difference.

Please follow on twitter @safeworld4women

Is it the end?

Yes, it is the end of the year. That time when we look back and think…screw that… I am looking forward!

I am NOT looking back to see what I could have done differently, I refuse to mull over old shit and worry about it. I am old enough now to just look ahead!

I have just discovered the delights of PS3- Ashley got it for Christmas and I love watching her play, I may even try to do it myself. The last time I played a ‘video’ game was at the Weavers Inn pub in the early 90s. It was a space invader game and the sound effects made me nervous, so I am not that great at them but am willing to give it a go.

I was watching Ashley create a digital image of herself on the PS3, then she entered this digital city centre and seemed to ‘run’ around meeting strange folk who wanted to either fuck her or swap sex files with her, not much different from real life I suppose. Except that smart city scape looked very clean and didn’t have dog shit or have drunks vomiting into unattended baby buggies. There was no mini bingo, sunbeds shops or a chipvan so I reckoned it wasn’t anywhere in Scotland that they used as the template for the virtual city.

Though everyone who was online and in virtual form in her strange online city seemed to be obsessed with her vagina or they were desperate to show her online cams with their cock out. They all looked sexy and young in their virtual image as well. Well, not all were sexy, there was one man dressed as an armadillo with three swords over his back constantly chasing her shouting about his penis. I wanted to climb into the telly and kick his face hard.

I told her to ‘get out of that town quickly’ and go play space invaders instead.

I suspect the online world of meeting virtual strangers is liberating for people who like rape, fucking dogs and punching babies…I wish Ashley wouldn’t go back to that strange game she was in. I may introduce her to real life needle point, you rarely meet an armadillo dressed man who carries pictures of his erect cock in the world of cross stitching, cushion making and stretched canvasses.

Why don’t they invent a video game where you have to learn to set up direct debits, manage a budget, shop for a mortgage and understand house management? That would be more conducive to young people instead of running about chatting about your titties on live cam and could actually teach you stuff that makes sense!

Or maybe I am just really old and need to get with the times!

Happy New Year everyone and may 2010 be the best ever for you!

That was the Decade that was

We are about to go into 2010, how was the last decade for you? Here are the highlights of my last decade.

2000- I watched the Millennium firework display on a balcony overlooking the Thames in London on the eve of the year 2000 with my daughter Ashley, she was the youngest stand up comic in 1999 and was finishing the year by retiring from stand up- she was 13 years old.

I was running a comedy club at Mansions Café Bar in Glasgow’s West End, it was great fun but it closed suddenly due to non payment of bills or tax problems, whichever is easier to believe.

My cousin Sammy died due to infected heroin.

2001- I hopped over to NZ and did the Comedy Festival for the first time. I ran a comedy club in London at The Atlantic Bar, it closed due to the terror attacks in New York on September 11^th, which resulted in a lack of tourists or non payment of bills & tax problems, which ever is easier to believe, you decide.

No one died, in my family.

2002- I returned to New Zealand comedy festival and won Best Concept Show; I also went to Edinburgh Fringe and got no reviewers through the door, but sold out the ten day run. Ashley passed loads of exams which made me think she was adopted.

The Gilded Balloon venue in Edinburgh burnt down, due to non payment of bills or an accident which ever is easier to believe.

2003- My baby niece Abi was born and made us all smile.

I did my first full length show at Edinburgh Fringe and performed my first serious play which I wrote called ‘Point of Yes’ at the Underbelly.

It never closed or burnt down, which made me suspicious of them.

I had all the comedy award Perrier panel into my comedy show, but they deemed me to be ‘making all look too easy and not sticking to the same show everyday and improvising too much’ so after much debating they chose not to nominate me and instead told me to theme my shows and stick to them. I was offered a book deal with Random House and wrote what became my best selling autobiography.

Nobody died and nothing burnt down, but a man tried to jump off a building during the fringe and I talked him down, he later set fire to his house, so that was mildly interesting, he hadn’t paid his bills.

2004- Ashley turned 18 and left school to have a year out, she passed all her exams and that made me proud and further convinced she wasn’t my child. She then became a DJ, a care worker, a catering assistant, a shop floor worker and a secretary, she hated all of that and decided to go to Uni.

I took a show called Good Godley to the Edinburgh fringe and it got hordes of FIVE star reviews, everyone liked me for a short while.

It tackled subject matter about death, child abuse and gangsters and was called confessional comedy. Some comics mocked it but it did become a specific genre at the Fringe later on in the decade.

People who never spoke to me crossed roads to say hello, it was an odd experience. My book was finished and the publishers were happy with it.

I went on a TV reality show called Kings of Comedy on channel 4 and managed to grab Russell Brands face live on telly, because he was being awfully annoying and loud. But he is a nice man, he was just shouting in my ear. I learned that reality TV and sober people don’t really go hand in hand. I started writing my blog.

I did my first run at the Soho Theatre in London and appeared on 100 Greatest Christmas Moments on Channel 4 and I did Glastonbury for the first time.

A plastics factory near me exploded, many people died and I was so close to the event I took photos of it and they made the front page of The Glasgow Evening Times.

2005- My book was published and made it to number 3 in the Sunday Times best seller list. I did a show at the Edinburgh Fringe called ‘Janey Godley is Innocent’ it got great reviews but some people didn’t like it because I didn’t have anyone killed in the show, who knew?

I also took my play the Point of Yes to the Soho Theatre.

I appeared on BBC radio 4 ‘Loose Ends’ and met the late great Ned Sherrin. Ashley started University and studied screen play writing.

Nothing burnt down but the amazing Godfather of Comedy Malcolm Hardee died in London.

2006- My daughter and I took 3 shows to the Edinburgh Fringe, a sketch show, that we both performed, my one woman play ‘Point of Yes’ and my stand up show ‘Blog Live’. We also did Glastonbury again.

Ashley and I toured New Zealand together and had great fun on the road. Reviews were good and I appeared on BBC radio 4s ‘Just a Minute’. My favourite printer Tam made all the posters, but had been printing his own cash (again) on the side, that ended badly. My wee niece Julia was born.

I was nominated Scotswoman of the Year, but lost out to a Polish woman.

No one died and nothing burnt down.

2007- My favourite printer Tam became famously known world wide as Hologram Tam (due to his expertise in making bank notes) got caught and put in prison. I was photographed by the cops going into his shop late at night during their long stake out. I needed to find a new printer, and I did.

I landed my weekly column in The Scotsman newspaper.

I performed my play and my comedy show off Broadway at the Bleeker Street Theatre and performed 2 shows at Edinburgh fringe, called Janey Godley’s Chat Show and ‘Tell it Like it is’, both got five star reviews.

No one died and nothing burnt down.

2008- I won the Fringe report award; I won Nivea Funny woman and my Edinburgh show Domestic Godley went great guns. I got my haircut, stopped smoking for three weeks and tried not to fight with everyone in three mile vicinity. I also headed back to NZ comedy festival and got nominated best international guest. No one died and nothing burnt down.

2009- At the start of the year, I appeared in the Scottish soap on TV called River City, it was great fun and scary. I headed back to NZ and got nominated again and met Wayne Brady who was presenting the Gala TV show we were on. I dressed up as Susan Boyle and asked him “Are you Kanye West?” he pretended not to know Susan Boyle and we all giggled at him behind his arrogant back. I had a great time with my comedy show Godley’s World at Edinburgh Fringe.

Life got difficult for us all as my step mum died and left a huge hole to be filled in all our lives. The good news is nothing burnt down.

So that really is a quick rundown of my decade.

This past week

I don’t have a Christmas rush, because I take time to go buy food we want to eat on the ‘big day’ and contrary to popular belief, shops DON’T run out of stuff. My problem is having time to organise myself and the work, and the amazing evil deathly snow didn’t help.

Luckily I was based in Glasgow for most of December, no flapping off to foreign climes for me during the season, just good old Glasgow! Usually husband & I are snugly ensconced in a serviced flat in Leeds, Nottingham or Canada around this time of year as I do my comedy thing, but this year I stayed home and did local gigs.

Mainly because my dad is spending his first December as a widower, we lost mum early this year. It has had a devastating effect on him, luckily my dad has an awesome step family who care and love him. I do my bit by turning up, chasing squirrels from his wheelie bin or convincing him that one mouse does not equate an invasion. Sometimes we talk about stuff, or I have to cancel Virgin media yet again as he managed to go on the phone and instead of ordering one football match to watch he gets charged for a whole months worth. I love him, he is hilarious at times and his tales of old make me giggle.

His penchant for leaving the house during a snow storm to go for a newspaper makes me want to send him to punchy town, but he was a hard Glasgow steel worker and doesn’t see why he can’t handle a bit of slush!

I have yet to work out why he is obsessed by his wheelie bin, but I suppose that might take a therapist and some dolls to get through that issue.

My best mate Monica was stuck in Milan airport for three days due to the thick freeze over Europe. Husband drove me through to Edinburgh to do a few gigs, and the drive home was so scary, I wrote a note and placed it in my jacket which stated “My name is Janey Godley, if you find me in a car accident please contact (my pals name and number) and tell her to contact my daughter”. I started to freak out thinking that if we both get badly injured the police would go to my home and Ashley would have to deal with it herself, I don’t want her ever to go through that. I worried what would happen to her if we both died in a car crash!

But it felt like a sure thing in that snowy road.

Our car was sliding all over the road and giant belches of dense fog smacked against the car like flour bombs as it plummeted through the dark winding part of the M8 motorway. The frozen white trees looked skeletal and eerie as the car lights flashed on them through the darkness.

I was terrified; every muscle in my body was tensed for the whole journey there and back. I was like a coiled spring when I got home.

Luckily and clearly we both survived, but we passed loads of stranded cars and a few accidents.

So last week I went up to Easterhouse to see my old pal Janie, she is awesome fun; I have known her for over 30 years.

Both of us headed up to the big shopping mall near her home, we saw a swan stuck in the ice.

I offered to go free it and she told me “Don’t they are evil and can bite the face off you, I know a woman who got her eye taken out by a swan, they can peck their way out of the ice, it’s a Scottish swan”

I watched as the swan batted giant white wings, throwing up a flurry of snow and run towards me, it hissed and tried to bite my leg. It was an evil swan indeed. Yet looked magical with the frosted snow scene all around it, it was a big Narnia angry beast. Janie was right yet again, she knows stuff!

We went food shopping and ended up back her flat after trudging through the snow and had a wee lie down. Yes, we have reached that age that we need a nap after a shopping mission. Just as we were about to fall asleep she darted out of her bed and ran downstairs to drag in her wheelie bin, I fear that fate will get me soon. It an age thing I suppose!

She then ranted about global warming, which was funny as it’s a subject she is no expert on.

“What is global warming and why do I need to recycle milk cartons?” she asked.

It took me ages to go through it all and even I got lost in the quagmire of information, she just butted in Janie style and said “So if I stop throwing milk cartons out will polar bears stop dying?” I laughed and said “yes”.

“There are kids up here dying of drug addiction, there is now Anthrax in heroin killing folk, there are people losing their homes as bankers sit snug in castles, there is devastating poverty in Glasgow that even frightens the MPs and I have to wash out milk cartons? Don’t tell me the priorities are all wrong Janey” she said.

I found it hard to disagree with her.

“I have never seen a polar bear and don’t care about them so the milk cartons will get tossed into my big wheelie bin” she spat out. I knew we would get back to those wheelie bins sooner or later.

Well the Christmas spirit is definitely out and about, the lights are twinkling all over The West End of Glasgow and the snow looks awesome when it isn’t seeped in dog poo or dead drunks have a Happy Christmas people!

Mary in the stable

Just watching the Nativity scene in my local town square, I was struck by how bare it looked. Having given birth myself once, and I do say once because it was so painful and distressing, I never done it again, I was shocked at how serene Mary always looks.

Personally I would be thoroughly gutted, that after giving birth to the most important child in all millennia, the only visitors I received were a trio of Kings bringing totally useless gifts, not one women pops in with a hot mug of tea and a couple of pain killing tinctures.

It was bad enough for Mary having to go through a painful labour (She was a virgin as well, that stuff would have hurt) amongst straw and some farmyard animals, but to have to entertain guests without as much as a shower first, must have been horrendous. How does she remain that peaceful and happy looking, I personally couldn’t sit down for a week and don’t even ask me how my boobs felt, as to describe that would involve a flip chart and an over head projector.

Now let’s look at the gifts, only men would bring such obscure objects. It seems even back in those days; men still didn’t know the protocol of presents for a new born. Today’s fathers and men friends still turn up to see a new baby bearing flowers, balloon animals and fluffy toys, all of which are useless to the point of stupidity.

What every woman needs immediately after any birth, is

1. Big knickers that hug under your boobs.

 

1. Giant sanitary pads with at least a 10.5 tog rating.

 

1. Maternity bra with supporting straps that could dock a ship.

 

1. Clean towels, favourite shower gel and moisturiser

 

1. Drugs supplied by Keith Richards.

 

Mary (I don’t know her surname, does anyone? Does Jesus have a surname?) anyway Jesus’ mother Mary, must have been made of steely stuff, Joseph (her man) wasn’t that bright to start with, dragging a heavily pregnant woman to what can only be described as Vegas, Bethlehem was at its busiest time.

He never booked ahead, he didn’t plan for the birth, and he shoved her onto a donkey during the early stages of her labour, gave her a pat of the rump and headed off into the desert. She calmly agreed and headed off to Bethlehem.

At that point, I would have kicked his head and turned up in Bethlehem alone, screaming and demanding a doctor, after all this was no ordinary child that was about to be born.

Mary must have literally been an actual Saint. If it were me, there would have been swearing, bitching and at least some Joseph bashing with the local chicks round the waterhole.

But not for Mary, she calmly accepted her fate; she serenely smiled through labour pains with a beatific smile.

She simply cleaned up behind her, washed her own child, combed her hair, washed her face and pulled the blue scarf around her head and got on with job as being Jesus’ mammy. Then accepted the clumsy gifts from the strange blokes, who came to visit and thus showed up all us women as bleating, screaming whingers who couldn’t handle a contraction, thanks for that Mary!

My Rant

Long life energy saving light bulbs are total bollocks. They don’t last ten years and they are so dull you have to buy the highest wattage, which still feels like a flickering candle and end up buying another lamp to brighten the room.

How is that ‘energy saving’? I now have two lights running to make up for the ONE light I used to have. Apparently if you use the energy bulbs on the ceiling they don’t last long with heat reflecting from the ceiling and they are only going to last ten years if you only use them for 3 hours a day, and to make matters worse, if you continually switch them off and on, THAT reduces their lifespan as well!

On top of all that, the light gives me a dull thudding headache and I end up with a battery lamp beside my laptop!

So, basically I am going through these energy saving bulbs at a rate of 2 a year!

My old bulbs lasted longer and I don’t know if that’s less energy used, but when you work out the carbon footprint of supplying these bulbs at the store on a bigger demand as they last less time, they might be just as bad as the old bulbs!

How am I going to save penguins with that attitude?

How can I stop Scotland from breaking off and floating to Norway unless I can stop using so much power? I am worried about my green house-ness.

So that’s ONE rant over, second rant is- Why does the big store Marks and Spencer insist on charging me cash for a carrier bag, yet wrap every single piece of food in acres of plastic?

Try opening their pate, cheesecake or salad boxes and you will come up against plastic fantastic wrappy ville! So come on M&S make up your own bloody mind about your commitment to less plastic and start using biodegradable cardboard boxes for food- or stop making me feel like a child killing, crack smoking, herpes ridden hooker, when I want to buy a bag to carry home your plastic over-wrapped goods. 

That’s it, no more rants, its nearly Christmas.

About Last Night

I had an awesome wrap party night at the BBC gig, just lovely and my daughter Ashley came along and made me happy.

She makes me laugh; she suggested that she buy me a small red duffel coat so that I can run around the river bridges of Glasgow in a ‘Don’t Look Now’ manner. She says I look like a child from behind but have a wee old wrinkly face at the front. What a nice child I gave birth to eh?

Last week I met up with my dad who told me to walk him to the bus stop, he then told me “That bus takes me home” and pointed to a big Glasgow bus. I waved him off then ten minutes later he called me shouting “This is the wrong bus you put me on”

“Dad, I never put you on a bus, YOU said it was YOUR bus” I laughed loudly on the phone.

“No I didn’t its like going to Belsen horror camp on this bus” he muttered.

Now before you get all umpity and suggest my dad is anti- Semitic, he isn’t, it’s a generational catchphrase, old Scottish people use the term ‘Belsen’ to describe any type of mildly uncomfortable situation.

Scots use exaggeration and shock to display humour.

If they see a skinny model on TV they say things like ‘she looks like she walked out of Belsen, she should eat’ I know that it sounds offensive and probably is to some people, but my dad and other elderly relatives do throw the word ‘Belsen’ about at an alarming rate. It’s a generational thing I suppose.

I had a neighbour who once described a Butlins holiday camp as Belsen, now that is just wrong, old Scottish people do have a rather savage sense of humour, yet we contemporary comics get our balls kicked for less!

So apparently an over crowded bus hurtling through the foggy streets was akin to a horror ride to a death camp in my fathers mind and guess who sent him there? Me…according to him.

I do love the crazy old nutter.

Today I got up early and went to see wee Abi my great niece in her nativity play. She was the lead part in The Bossy King, and she really did take the stage with gusto. All the other kids were mumbling, stumbling and shuffling with downcast eyes. Abi was belting out her lead role with a performance that Dame Judy Dench would have been proud of.

“I am the bossy King, everyone bow down to me NOW!” she yelled and startled all the babies in prams and on knees of the parents sitting in the school hall. I gasped out loud and laughed. Abi winked at me and a huge grin split her face, then she went quickly back to grumpy face of the Bossy King. I am so proud of her!

Baby Julia was on my knee silently waving at Abi and getting annoyed she wasn’t getting a wave back “Hi Abi” she finally yelled out in toddler frustration. I giggled and hugged wee Julia close, or almost suffocated her in my bosom…you decide!

It was lovely watching the wee school play and Abi is destined to be a top actress, I can see her Oscar acceptance as I write.

I have been at Glasgow Jongleurs all week, the Christmas nights can be really hard work, but all in all it’s been fine.

The downside was wearing a new bra I bought, honestly it felt like a torture device from the Spanish Inquisition (see my dad’s use of genocidal events to exhibit exaggerated mild discomfort has been passed onto me) and I spent the whole night in pain. How can a bra be that sore? The side bones literally cut into my ribcage, my tits looked great but my lungs were being crushed.

So it’s been a good week. Talk soon.

Merry Christmas

 

Have A Merry Christmas & A Happy New Year

 

Best Wishes from Janey Godley, her family and the team!

Where do I begin?

Wee baby Julia is now three years old and is my great niece, she is small, blonde and the perfect Aryan child that Hitler would have shoved on posters of the propaganda type. Her giant blue eyes that peep at you under the white blonde hair are disarming; she is the wee sister of Abi (famous in her mouse killing video on my YouTube site) and just gorgeous.

Luckily Julia hasn’t started killing small mammals; her favourite thing at my house is to pull down the collection of miniature hedgehogs in my hall and make them all kiss each other on my wooden table. A lot of kissing happens and American type chatter, it’s funny that small Scottish kids use a Californian voice when they do ‘play’.

American TV has such an effect on children, that annoying nasal voice that inhabit all the cartoon characters eventually come flooding out of the mouths of wee Glaswegians.

She asked me to switch on kids TV which I did and I was agog at the adverts for Barbie’s who were wearing what can only be described as prostitute outfits. Crotch skimming glittery skirts, high pony tails and tops that revealed pert plastic boobies, all for wee girls to dress and undress, suddenly the kissing hedgehogs seemed positively dull.

It made me think of the dolls I got as a child. We had a Tressy doll, which was a teenage skinny doll that when you pressed her tummy button her hair grew long out of the crown of her head. Long hair/short hair…that was Tressy’s thing and I managed to get ALL her hair pulled out and cut it off at the roots, my big sister Ann nearly battered me to death over that incident.

I wasn’t good with dolls, I remember one Christmas morning waking up to a stiff Spanish doll in the corner of the room, it was about 3 foot tall, as tall as me. It had a big bee hive hair do and dirty red slashed lips, it resembled a small Amy Winehouse. I thought it was a dead toddler standing beside the electric fire and screamed myself sick till they took it away. Who gives their child a dead toddler for Christmas?

So anyway I had fun with wee Julia, she makes me smile and she has a high pitched squeal of laughter when you chase her with a spatula round the kitchen. She squashed Jaffa cakes into small paper cake cases and then proceeded to hand them out for us to eat. They were all sticky and yucky looking, but she declared “I made these myself” which I loved. 

Any girl who can learn about baking cheats so young is a friend of mine, good on you Julia, baking is for nutters, just buy a cake.

So tomorrow I have to get my hair cut and coloured, I have to buy gifts and get the house Christmas ready. That doesn’t mean anything, it just means that I buy a scented cinnamon candle and burn it.

I am working the majority of December and looking forward to having a wee holiday in January. I may got back to LA in January, who knows?