JANEY GODLEY - Scottish actress, comedienne, author, playwright & journalist

Janey's Blogs - April 2005

Saturday the 2nd of April 2005
01:53:02 PM

End of an Era

Well Liverpool looks beautiful in the sunshine, I am here gigging comedy at Laughterhouse/Baby blue.

I begged husband to book hotel in advance but NOnono..'we will get a room when we get there' he pedantically insists. Its that 'man' thing where he refused to ask for directions or how to change a plug or deliver a baby...thing...

I was worried and rightly so, LIVERPOOL were playing at home (thats the football team, not the whole city just deciding to play at home) the place is like Bethlehem, its almost biblical and the Pope is dying slowly in time to the build up of one very Holy Catholic city about to kick a ball.

As the poor wee Polish pope slowly draws breath, the whole city is flooded in red, yet strangely subdued. We managed to get a hotel room because I LIED at the front desk of the very upmarket glamorous Crowne Plaza and insisted my room was booked. I got a great upgraded room and cheap!

Last night the gig went well, I managed to persuade five over forty but very handsome Liverpudlian men to come on stage. The stood there and smiled as they lampooned 'Westlife Twenty Years on" at my behest. I love 'em.

Called my eighteen year old daughter Ashley when i snuggled under my fluffy sheets all cosy and happy with husband, I needed to check she was ok on her way home from her Karaoke presenting. ( she is having her year out before uni)

"Hi Mamma ( dont ask -she is a bit posh), all is good I am in a cab going home, will call you from landline to let you know I am home"

Yes I know I am overprotective but she is in Glasgow!!

I waited for twenty minutes in the darkness....she must be home by now?? I start to slowly panic...what if the taxi driver snapped at her funny incessant chatter ( she gets that from me)and bludgeoned her ...God I wish she was quiet like her father...what if she is lying dead in some cold ditch???

My heart starts to race it is 2am SHE SHOULD BE HOME...what if she is dead and thats my payback for telling a joke about a dying pope?

I call and call yet no answer. Her Mobile will not be answered...aaarrrggghhh....she may be dead? Why my child???

Eventually lying in there in the darkness I hear her voice.

" Hang on mamma, cant talk" she then hung up. My soul leaked into the soft matress and fell three floors to deepest earth.

Oh God, what if she is trying to talk and is being tied up in some boot of a car? Why is she not at home? Where is she???

"Hi Mum sorry I never answered the phone, from the cab window I saw my mates, then they jumped into the cab and we all went up the student union, I am sorry I never called...you ok?"

me-" Yes I am fine, have a good night"

I finally slept and dreamt of her sitting there in bunches singing to her playmobile toys and trying to make her teddy bear stand up.

Breakfast was interesting as sat at the next table was Sir Terry Waite, he is very very tall. We both stood at the hot breakfast bar and got all impatient and annoyed at the time it took to fry eggs....fuck you would think all that prison time would have taught him some patience!!!

We went walking through the beautiful sunshine to avoid the constant updates about the pope...is there NO other news?

Poor man, they have camera's trained on the Popes window as if when he dies a wee catholic man will rush to the glass fronts - open the nets and scream 'he is dead'. Everyone is praying and millions are on their knees. That confuses me because surely he is getting into heaven?

I mean thats like taking flowers to a hooker....its a sure thing dude you are the POPE you are getting into heaven, quit the praying...and start worrying because if he doesnt get in WE'RE not!

We walked up to the amazing Catholic Cathedral in Liverpool. As I sat there outside on the concrete slabs a youngish weather beaten dirty looking woman came over to me.

"You Scottish?" she asked in her broad Glasweigan accent. She must have heard me talking.

"Yes I am" I replied and smiled. She looked tired, there was a seven inch scar running down from her eye to her mouth, her eyes had that sagging 'punched too many times' look about them and her dark greasy hair was pulled tight into a pony tail. Her breath reeked of beer.

"Can you give me money?" she smiled, her gappy mouth and toxic breath startled me.

"No I am sorry no cash" I smiled back.

" My name is Hannah what is yours?" she asked.

We chatted for a while and she told me she was off heroin for six weeks.

"Well done you, so are you on methadone?" I asked " or just replacing it with beer?"

"Fucking straight to the point ya cunt eh?" she answered back as one Glasweigan can do with the other and not take offence.

"This is my boyfriend" she introduced me to a big lanky shaven head drunk man.

"I love hannah" he told me. I believed him, i hoped when he stopped loving her he didnt punch her coz it looked like thats what happened before....or i was just imagining every Glasgow woman lived like my mother had done.

'Have you had a long journey?" Hannah asked me as I squinted into the sun to focus on her face.

"Yes, it looks like yours was fucking harder though" I replied.

She laughed, a big dirty throaty laugh. I liked her laugh, I think she laughed a lot and possibly laughed at the wrong times. Like me.

"Look at my belly" she lifted up her thin tee shirt and showed me a soft wrinkled puppy-soft like brown tummy, skin too loose on muscle." I have had sunbeds and got brown"

"yes well skin cancer is all you need" I added sarcastically but with a hint of humour. She laughed again. I like Hannah, she held my hand and kissed it, leaned over and hugged me. She reminded me of my mum. Hope she stays alive. My mum never.

As I write...the Pope is still alive. Poor wee man, let him go. Am hoping next Pope will be black. That will be very twenty first century.

Saturday the 2nd of April 2005
07:49:48 PM

Pope dies - I didnt

Liverpool was lovely. I had very good gigs and enjoyed the stage time.

Poor Pope, he finally got to go 'home' to God/Jesus (am not sure it gets confusing to me, what if he died and went up there and God is just a wee man standing there with a scabby dog called Jesus). Anyway I am glad he is out of pain.

Got up in hotel and had lovely breakfast ( why on earth do we eat that much in the morning at a hotel?) I ate so much I needed to go back to sleep. I had a nasty nightmare/morning mare should know better than to sleep 'out of hours' whenever i go back to slepp...fucking hell descends on me mentally.

On the subject of nightmares--I was amazed to find out that there was programme in USA where FReddy Kruger actor Robert Englund had a reality show where guests explained their scary dreams and he recreated them for you to confront your demons!

Fucking hell, I wonder how he could recreate my mother (who is dead), lying murdered and floating in the River Clyde, just when I lean over to touch her she jumps up and tries to pull me in with her...then it switches to a pram that i look in and as I pull the wee baby out a big purple blob appears and covers me entirely and sucks the life from me, I pull open the baby's chest and rip out its heart and hold it up through the purple jelly stuff, it turns into a small flying object that gets smaller and smaller and flies into the corner of my eye and I feel it penetrate my brain, sharp jagging pains ripping through my head!

Yes I know ...how fucked is that? What goes on in my head??? To recreate that dream it would be a big budget because sometimes Brad Pitt appears, then a cute black man and then I have sex....I know weird eh?

Meanwhile the drive home was nice. We always stop in Morecambe and have a wee stroll and cup of tea ( how old are we getting? I am sure we are turning into the old people who walk along the sea front dressed in mushroom or beige acrylic with their hands behind their back smiling at the horizon) Morecambe was a bit breezy after all the nice weather we had been having I was hoping for sunshine.

Anyway just to reinstate the age thing we needed to stop FOUR times so I could pee...I have a bladder like a scatter cushion. It's all down hill from here they say...well at least I am still alive.

Got home to find that my FINAL manuscript of my book 'Handstands in the Dark' has arrived. This is the final final final. I need to check it once more as the book goes to print NEXT WEEK !

Have a good Sunday I am off to read .....

Monday the 4th of April 2005
02:09:48 AM

From Ashley

I would just like to point out to all reading that I am not as bad a daughter as she makes out. She screamed at me on the phone when she did get in contact and as a result the guy I really fancied left because I was too busy fretting over what dear old mother was going to do when she got back home. Yet again my sexual life has hit rock bottom due to the mental infiltration of my Scary mamma! Whenever she comes back from a trip she tells me that she’s hidden tape recorders round the house and knows everything I have done, making me therefore spill my guts to a woman who actually has no proof and uses guerrilla tactics as a form of mothering skills. I won’t have sex until I’m 40, but no doubt she’ll be hiding outside the room to scare my poor victim of Rhohipnol off.

PLEASE HELP!

Monday the 4th of April 2005
11:02:39 PM

Rainy April

Another day in Glasgow in the sunshine. It was lovely, the sun burst through the clouds and I wore my new sunglasses…then the rain slashed down in horizontal sheets and all the lunchtime smokers ran covering their ciggies for that last drag before they get snuffed out in the rain.

Am glad I no longer smoke!

I am shopping for a new dress for the BAFTA television awards in London in two weeks time. I have no chance of getting anything nice, Ashley will look amazing as she is tall and beautiful and looks good in a scabby bread wrapper. I look like a wee fat woman dressed as a glittery dalek.

Am getting stressed about the book Launch and the play going to soho theatre in June. Everything worries me as I have no real control just now.

I have people at Random organise some press, my publicist organise other, my manager Martin organising other stuff and my Edinburgh Fringe show. I am used to doing everything myself.

I wrote a piece for Red magazine and am very pleased with it, the publicity for the book is kicking in and recently was interviewed for ELLE magazine and need to get the photo’s done for the issue in June. Told husband I need my hair down for photo shoot, he says “You look fine, why are you worried?”

He has no idea how scared I am getting my picture in a big glossy magazine, he think all I need to do is smile and make sure my hair is combed.

If only.

He thinks I look wonderful, which is nice but after 25 years of marriage he is not going to say “Fuck I made a mistake, you are an ugly cow” ( he never admits past mistakes, he will stick it out..I think it’s called …LOVE)

I need to stop worrying about the book being released, once its out there I can only wait to see what people think.

I have a great publicist Karon Maskill (she also looks after Eddie Izzard!). She reminds me that it will all be good then as we all know I get the backlash! That’s life.

Ashley’s birthday is this month and I am treating her to the flight in London and BAFTA party and stay in posh hotel, her father is buying her a guitar ( I think). She is learning to play a guitar and she is enjoying it and he is very much up to encouraging her to keep going. I played violin when I was a teenager, I really really want to learn it again and hopefully this year I can do that.

Maybe Ashley and I can start a wee acoustic duet.

Maybe not.

Tuesday the 5th of April 2005
03:45:54 PM

faces from my past

Dreamt last night about my brother in law 'Dick'. He is mentioned in my book. I never really got on with my in-laws. I have SIX brothers-in law and we were not what you can describe as really close 'Family'. In fact they make the Borgia's look like the fucking Waltons. Apart from being a family that concealed guns and explosives (well- my father in law for sure) they were a bunch of annoying men who hated any woman who actually had an opinion or point of view.

(Fuck.. can u imagine how much they took to me?)

Anyway, I had weird dreams about Dick, one of my many in-laws and this morning I went walking listening to the wonderful IPOD. In the middle of my Eagles mix and me singing along to it as I walked along the busy street I spotted none other than Dick, my old brother-in-law!

He stopped and chatted to me for a while, like we were old friends!

I haven't spoken to him in ten years! How odd, I felt good because I no longer felt intimidated by his opinion of me (I used to really hope they liked me so I could fit in, then I realised that IF I fit in I am like them and that scared me).

He said" My brothers said you will make lots of money writing that book about them and they wont get a penny"

I said" Yes thats right" and I smiled at him.

He looked so old, all grizzled grey hair and slack jowls on his pale face.

"Actually the book is about me and what I saw Dick, not really about you or your family, but if they feel their story wasworth telling and is worth millions, then really they should have written a book, thats up to them"

"Well they dont write do they? And you always were good at 'spilling your guts" he shot back at me.

"Yes thats right Dick, I was always good at telling the truth"

I smiled and could hear Hotel California still humming away in the one ear that I left my IPOD headphone in. I was interested to see him, but even he is not worth switching my IPOD off totally!

We said our goodbyes.

He did not even ask how Ashley was or showed any real interest in his brother (my husband).

I dont hate him or my brothers in law, I dont actually hate anyone. It is a part of my life that is over. My husband has been away from his family for so long now I actually forget he has brothers. He tells people he is an only child and an orphan. (Both his parents are dead).

So on another note I got a nice email from RED magazine who say they loved my article! I am so pleased they do. I enjoy wrtiting so much.

I am currently writing a screenplay for a movie with another Scottish talented comic, we have had good interest already. Cant really say much yet, but as soon as I can I will 'spill my guts' appparently thats an East End way of describing "Writing the truth".

Tuesday the 5th of April 2005
09:55:32 PM

More faces from past

Was going through all the paper work tonight. I had to do loads of things.

1) Pay bills ( fucking world demanding my cash for stuff and things).

2) Sort out all the bits of paper that sit beside the computer with wee bits of phone numbers and writing on it (aspergic husband makes me detail all and take notes)

3) Sort out Ashley's birth certificate (she lost her passport...I know how many times did I ask her to take it out of her fucking tatty handbag thats overstuffed with crap??)

So I was going through all this and finally found the lovely embossed certificate. I love reading it as it makes me smile seeing her name in large copperplate writing. As I opened it I quickly realised it was actually a death certificate of the man who murdered my mother.

I know....here's what happened...a couple of months ago, I got a call from Random House who are publishing my book.

They said "Janey you cannot properly say that Peter Greenshields killed your mother as despite him officially being charged with trying to kill her before, he wasnt actually charged with her murder. We all know he did it, even his confession to your friend does not count, you need to find him and ask his permission to legally write that he murdered your mother in the book"

Me-" Fuck that -I will just find him and kill him"

Random House-"Please dont even say that"

me-"Joking"

I went on the hunt for the man who killed my mother. Husband said-" Just say he is dead, trust me if he surfaces to complain about you telling the truth in your book...well we can deal with that"

So I told Random House that Peter was dead.

Random-"Please go get a copy of the death certificate"

me-"Oh Holy Fuck!"

So I sat and wondered how to find him. My first thought was that- maybe he was dead. So I went to the public records and asked if they could find a death certificate for a Mr Peter Greenshields, last know to be alive in 1986.

I sat in the stuffy records room. There were people sitting at computers all excitedly reclaiming their 'real parents'. Adoptees and misplaced grown up's trying to find their missing childhoods and all smiling at the fruitfulness of their long paper chase. There I was hoping for a death.

The assistant tapped her fingers on the computer, then wrote something down. She stood up and put her chubby hands around her mane of hair and secured it up quickly using a pen to hold it like a chinese hair pin, she then bent down to this big metal filing box and pulled out a wee film roll thing. She inserted it into a big flat screen. Her fingers scrolled along with two wheels at either side and she pushed her glasses up her freckled nose, leaned into the big screen and sighed.

"Was he a baker?" the small fat woman with glossy thick red hair spoke.

"Yes, he was" I remembered. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest, somewhere in my memory I recall him being a baker.

"Ok here is a Peter Greenshields, he died in Glasgow in 1996. Seems he lay in his flat and was found six days later, he died by choking.

I stood up and cheered, I frightened all the happy people trying to find a real mother. I found the killer of mine. He was dead. I bought the copy of his death certificate and read it thoroughly, it was the same Peter. I recalled his birthday and his mothers name was Beatrice.

Random House recieved the copy, smiled and went ahead to print that my mother was murdered in my book.
Its all legal.

To make it more morbid yet slightly funny-today is the anniversary of my mothers death.

Ashley just called the club she thought she had misplaced her passport in, after explaining to them she will need them to detail a police report with her....guess what THEY FOUND IT!

Good, dead people and passports found.

Wednesday the 6th of April 2005
06:27:52 PM

Funny story

Ashley told me story about the weird creepy man across our street.

"Mum, you know that man Mr Fellow's? He was the man who went through our bins and collected all my old school papers and then tried to give them back to me..remember?

Me-"Yes I do remember that man why?"

"He met me yesterday, and said to me ' I was in the market and there was a wee guy who was wearing a Von Dutch hat, then a big fat ginger man grabbed it off him, now I chased the fat ginger man and you do know that I am a karate expert?

Ashley tells me at this point he started to flail his fat arms about to show her his dexterity at hand to hand combat. His big fat red face sweated at this small exercise.

'So Ashley I got him to the ground and headlocked him, did five star pointed karate chops and took the hat off him, ran back to the young guy and gave him back the hat and do you know who it was Ashley? It was Cindy Lauper"

The man clearly is a fucking crackpot.

Ashley and I pissed ourselves laughing at the story, seems my daughter meets more nutters than me.

Had scary nightmares last night. I really hope they go as I get older but I guess not. I cant bear to be that scared forever.
Managed to book an amazing FIVE star hotel in central London for the BAFTA TV awards weekend. Ashley and I are going to get beauty treatments in their very posh Spa.

I doubt a mud wrap and seaweed body treatment will work, coz I spent my childhood falling about in mud and dragged my wee feet through seaweed on the scary Scottish beaches for years and I am still an ugly cow. Maybe my feet are wrinkle free though!

am off to check. ( see you soon)

YES YES! They are - My feet are smooth and have no wrinkles....fucking sea weed and mud works...hurrraaahh!

Thursday the 7th of April 2005
12:00:18 AM

Pop ups

I am dead sick of hearing and seeing that wee 'Sweety' yellow nasty bird that people (or fucking idiots) can download onto their phone.

I am not 'trendy' but apparently they have a Pop Chart for 'Downloads to your phone' fucksake people actually listen to a song on their nasty wee phones??

I am old aren't I?

Ashley has broken and lost her phone six times, somehow it always manages to come back to her, and it always works, albeit a bit dodgy. Her screen is so screwed she cannot even read a text anymore never mind download a shitty Busted song.

It is all squewiffy and the screen is so distorted it looks like a small version of 'The Dead Sea Scrolls', if she gets a text she has to switch the simcard to another phone to read the text and then swap over again, reminds me of my crazy brother Mij ( he is a mad fantasist) who used to have two telly's one that had volume and one that a picture both on top of the other!

Mij is great, he told me when I was younger that a lion escaped from a zoo and he tamed it and trimmed its fur to make it look like a big dog and kept it as pet!

I miss his funny tales, he lives out near Edinburgh and I dont get to see him much.

I am having a late night and am going to try a new herbal remedy for nightmares. I bought it on Boots the Chemist, its a herbal sleep thing, so I will let you know if it worked or if I spent the whole night running as my blood leaked out of my wounds as I fight of scary monsters.

Am bored with the Pope death, Election and Prince Charles's wedding. In one Month we will have a New Pope, a new Princess and a new Prime Minster.

We should just swap them all round

Camilla-Prime minster
Charles-Pope
Tony Blair-Princess!!

Thursday the 7th of April 2005
09:25:26 PM

Life

Overslept again, Ashley was up early to go to work and I recall smiling at her and falling back to sleep, then woke up at 1pm!

Watched a Meryl Streep film 'Manchurian Candidate' all about rich people who implant the Presidential candidate so they can control him. Made me wonder who the fuck implanted Blair 'There is no weapons, we can find no weapons, hey Fuck it lets invade!'

Ashley hates watching Meryl Streep as during the Fringe two years ago her son was in a theatre group at the Underbelly in a show called 'St Fatso's Lament'.

Ashley was helping out in the PR office ( I still never got reviewed despite my child helping out, only took four fringe appearances for me to get reviewed and then finally last year I got fourteen or something!)

ANYWAY I digress, Ashley was told that Meryl Streep was in the venue watching her son's show and the Scottish press were crawling all over the place. Ashley was told to go find Meryl Streep and a get a wee press quote and pic of her in the Underbelly. Ashley was under stress as Aaron Barshack had just called an impromptu press call and Ashley was on her own and all the press crew were at the Perrier Lunch. Sixteen years old, hormonal, too hot, tired hungry, flustered and trying to find chairs to accomodate BBC, Sky News and Radio stations en masse with Aaron throwing a strop and Meryl Streep sneaking through the crowds.

She hunted high and low and could not find the woman and she didnt want to be overly intrusive and wait outside the room her son was in, so she went to the loo for a ciggie and sat there quite upset as she failed her task.

Then she walked briskly through the venue asking a few people in the queue, she stopped a tall blonde middle aged woman and man and said "Have you see that woman ...erm foget her name, I think she was in a film where she boiled a bunny...erm..Glen Close?"

The woman smiled and answered "No not lately" and smiled as Ashley thanked her and moved on.

It was only later that she discovered it was not Glen Close but Meryl Streep she was supposed to be looking for and did not know it was Meryl Streep she had spoke to!

How we laughed.

Ashley did meet her later in the toilets and quietly apologised for her mistake, Meryl smiled and assured her it was fine and she told Ashley she hoped she was enjoying being at the Fringe as much as her son Henry was. How nice, what a star!

I have no place to make fun of her, I am the woman who asked Russell Crow to show me his cock!

And yes....he did.

Friday the 8th of April 2005
06:12:03 PM

big dog and a snooker ball

Was a great sunny day, then it snowed! Yes sunshine and snow…we are all gonna DIE!

Went out to meet Jeanette, she was my best pal at school when we were five. We met up again recently after about 27 years and it’s as if we had never been apart. She is so easy to be with, despite the small frame and loveliness she is a wee bully! She makes me

1)    Eat soup ( and I hate it)
2)    Nags me about my heartburn and diet
3)    Nags me about not having my diary ready to take calls and bookings (she was there today as Glastonbury was confirmed but I had wrong diary and no pen)

She has a good heart and just organises me every time we meet, like she did when we were kids! I love seeing her, I can recall how distraught I was when I realised she was leaving my school ( she moved away when we were about eight, then I met up with her at secondary school) she was my best friend and always shared her sweets and made sure I got to play games, she was like the world’s smallest social convener! She involved me in all things.

We chatted about my book and she told me she cant bear to read it, as it covers the sexual abuse I suffered as a child, the child she knew in fact. That disturbs her she told me and she cannot believe that she didn’t know it was happening and she feels bad she didn’t help at the time.

‘YOU WERE ONLY FIVE AS WELL’, I reminded her, but being Jeanette she wanted to think she could have done something, I appreciate her feeling for me but it was not her fault nor anyone else’s except the abusers fault. Its weird how sex abuse manages to spread its guilty wee tendrils out and snarl everyone in its wake, like some evil ‘Wandering Lizzie’ plant that wraps itself around bricks, mortar and everything it comes into touch with.

I assured her she didn’t have to read the book!

My pal Monica is the same, she almost throws up when she reads bits of the book that I send her for a quick opinion check.

“Janey please send me happy bits, not the dark passages, I really cant bear it, I hate to think of what that man did to you, and the way you write it, with that sinister monologue from the child as she feels that man come near her is very frightening for me” Monica said.

So there we have it, I need you all to know it is not all sad and scary, and there is a funny story about my mammy, a big scabby dog and a snooker ball. Trust me its funny.

Saturday the 9th of April 2005
09:19:15 PM

A Saturday in April

I forgot Prince Charles was getting married today.

So anyway my best pal Monica called to tell me she is in Glasgow ( I forgot, some mate I am!).

She is promoting property in Montreal at the Property Show in Glasgow, where Ashley is also working. I went down to the SSEC and met them both!

They did not know they were fourteen feet away from each other! Ashley was organiser the Seminar Hall or Seminal Hall as she called it!

Anyway with all this going on I forgot to watch Charles get married.

Not that I really care to be honest, I mean I hope he is happy.

Him and Camilla have been together 35 years apparently! I suppose the upper classes don’t let the married partners or other children come into the equation, if they want it they get it.

I think that’s what upset some people, it wasn’t that Charles hurt Diana ( I personally think Diana knew what she was stepping into and if Charles had a lover then Diana had fifteen for sure) I think what upset people is that Charles acted like an ass and when he was annoyed his ‘public’ deigned to ‘frown’ on his relationship.

I think that ordinary people just couldn’t understand that the upper classes fuck each other in full knowledge of their partners and attend parties with your lover or even go to dinner and hang out with your lover’s husband.

I mean in real terms that’s what the ‘Utterly very lower classes or ‘chav’ culture does’ in UK. We have TV shows where the mad very lower classes parade themselves on TV shows and casually tell each other in indecipherable language about how they have no shame about ‘shagging or sleeping’ with their mates and having kids to casual sexual mates,

They brag about swapping with each other and you will see downmarket magazines scream-

“I slept with my best friend’s husband the night before my wedding”

We balk at these people and in reality these are the people the upper classes sneer at …yet actually that’s the behaviour the upper classes take part in -without the selling of the stories to down market publications (except for Diana..she did!).

So Charles was shagging behind everyone’s back. I don’t care, Camilla’s husband didn’t care, Diana was too busy shagging Rugby players, Polo players, Royal security and swarthy Arabs to really care.

So welcome Charles and Camilla to CHAV land.

I remember the fuss and pomp at Charles and Diana’s wedding. I watched that wee telly in that old pub I used to work in back in 1981. I had only been married seven months and was swept away on the whole ‘fairytale’ of it all. I hoped they would be happy, I wanted to be that loved and that beautiful. I wanted to live in London and shop in Chelsea, I wanted to hang out in Sloane Street and buy designer shoes that were delivered to my door in beautiful bright band boxes.

I was desperate for personal hairdressers and make up artists. What a life!

I couldn’t, I was in the Calton in the East End of Glasgow, shoplifters and thieves would be my courtiers and bring shiny gifts in plastic bags lined with tin foil to divert the security systems in the big stores, my hairdresser was the wee gay guy who would come into the pub and fix my hair for me and my make up was done and taught to me by the hookers who worked in the ‘sauna brothels’ and showed me how to blend my foundation. One even showed me how to ‘cover up’ bruises.

All these years later I do often stay in Chelsea, I eat in Kings Road and get my shoes in Sloane Street, I even have my favourite hairdresser in Fulham road. It doesn’t make me glamorous at all, I never married a Prince, but I know how to cover a bruise.

Sunday the 10th of April 2005
06:22:27 PM

Kiwi dreams and kebabs.

Had a late night last night. Went out to dinner up at Oran Mor with Monica and the staff she works with at the property company. The food was just delicious; I had big fat Scottish scallops that burst with flavour in your mouth! Yummy.

One of the guys in the group was from New Zealand. I had been in NZ three times, going over to the comedy festival and spending time there and touring.

I also spent time in Great Barrier Island, which is a small island five hours by ferry from Auckland. The ferry trip over is awesome, you see whales and dolphins trail being the big lumbering boat. The island is just really heaven. They have their own electricity and they have no pollution and they grow all their own produce and live from the sea. They even have a big Irish bar right there in Tryphena Bay.

I stayed in a house built by this nice dude called Wayne McVicar (Scottish descent), the house was just amazing with lovely wee twisty staircases and a big circular bedroom with one wall completely glass with a view of the beach! Heaven on earth. His back garden had a big camomile lawn with a stone bath set in the middle that is perfect for ‘moonlight’ baths. There is no street lights giving off heavy light pollution, so therefore the sky and constellations are so bright you can lie there and the garden is lit by the moon and stars and the scent of camomile soothes your soul.

I had NEVER EVER been so relaxed and amazed in my entire life.

So me and Michael ( the guy from NZ) chatted all about that beautiful land and guess what??, he is over here working so he can pay for a house on Great Barrier Island. I wish him well and I told him I do want to return there someday, he promised to keep me a hammock in his garden over looking the sea. How nice!

So with all that wondrous memory still seeped in my mind we wandered out of the restaurant and into the Glasgow rain and was promptly greeted by a wee fat Scottish couple shouting at each other outside the nightclub next door.

She had on a big red Basque top and flowing black skirt; her ample boobs were bulging and swelling over the top of the tight fabric. I thought she was in ‘fancy dress’ but that was her in her Saturday night best, her wee ginger headed man was wearing a frilly looking ‘Adam and the Ants’ type shirt which made me really think they were in fancy dress. I don’t think they were, I think that was genuinely their style. God help us!

Anyway they started shouting at the bouncer who was refusing them entry to the nightclub (maybe he too thought they were in fancy dress).

They shouted and shouted and then gave up arguing with the big passive bouncer.

Four feet away for the door they started shouting at each other, then as if by magic a big lanky teenager in a Rangers football top approached the scene, leaned over and slammed a fat squelching, dripping kebab into the ginger mans face!

“Stop shouting at the woman ya cunt” he screamed at the wee man, as dark red sauce ran down the wee blokes face looking like bright neon blood”

The fight ensued, lanky teenager busty basque woman and ginger kebab man all rolling around screaming and snarling abuse at each other.

Glasgow on a Saturday night.

I was ashamed of my happy guests having to see it all.

Then inside my head I smiled as I remembered that camomile lawn and Great Barrier Island.

Surely there was no-one there who dressed in bright acrylic and slammed kebabs into a face?

I am definitely going back, in fact I want to be there now.

Right now.

Sunday the 10th of April 2005
08:36:34 PM

Me a Mother?

Being a mum is good fun, but my 18 year old ( soon to be 19) has decided that I have to behave myself more. There is an article in a Sunday magazine about mothers who embarrass their kids, like how Sadie Frost snogs young guys in the street and her tits keep falling out of top and how her ‘husband swap antics’ got into the newspaper.

All of this has outraged her 14 year old son Fin.

To be honest if I had known wife-swapping could have meant I had a chance to shag Jude Law then I would have taken part no problem, I may even have got a toaster for my husband if not the sexy Jude boy, (upper classes shagging each other? See Charles and Camilla theory on Saturdays blog!)

Anyway Ashley has told me to stop flirting with the sexy Kiwi guy as I am way too old to have such fun. I was not flirting I was genuinely interested in his views on NZ.

Apparently according to Pleshette Murphy (who is an expert on Motherhood) ‘young girls are asserting their own sexuality at 18 and the last thing they need is to imagine their mothers are doing the same thing’ and that ‘Young girls should not have to compete with their mothers’.

Good advice but there is no way I am competing with my daughter, she is tall and lovely, I am small and fat. No competition! She wins.

I am not good at flirting; I go all red and odd if I think I fancy someone.

I recall doing a gig in Wimbledon, the room was full of well fit tasty guys and I flirted all the way through my set with a cute guy standing up the back. It was good on stage to be able to have that fun, and to be that outrageously sexy with him but when the gig was over I stepped out of the light and blushed and giggled with Monica.

Then that bitch Monica went over and brought my ‘victim’ over and introduced him to me, he smiled and was full of sexual confidence and I turned into a big lumpy block of wood and stumbled over a bag whilst trying to shake his hand! I could hardly speak and just ran out of the venue. Luckily my tits stayed inside my top.

Me? Badly behaved? I think not!

Monday the 11th of April 2005
01:24:37 PM

BBC writers and lamps.

My alarm woke me up early, forgot I had a meeting with comedy producer Gary up at BBC Scotland! I realised that a quick shower would be the thing, although if I wet my hair it will go mad curly..Dilema dilemma…then I decided curly mad hair is fine, it’s a comedy producer I am going to meet and all clowns have curly hair!

He will just think I am the original clown.

The sunshine burst through my living room curtains but I am now accustomed to- sunny yet cold Glasgow- finally after all these years living here!

The meeting went well and I am excited about the new projects I am about to embark on.

Went over to Oran Mor afterwards for some tea and a bacon bap.

The place was so bloody busy then I remembered Robbie Coltrane is performing there today in a play by Peter McDougall. Oran Mor has a big theatre space in the downstairs area. I have watched a good few plays there. Anyway the place was heaving so I snuck round to the whisky bar. It is an awesome building; it was and still is I suppose a big majestic church that houses two theatre spaces a whisky bar, restaurant, a brasserie and conservatory restaurant.

There is amazing paintings on the walls by the artist Alasdair Gray and the architecture is breathtaking.

I sat in the whisky bar sipping tea and met William McIlvanney the Scottish novelist and poet. He is a great writing inspiration to me and we chatted about books and stuff for a while, he is such a lovely gentleman and is looking forward to reading my book! Can you believe that? I am so chuffed like you cannot believe!

I walked home smiling in the warm sunshine (yes sunshine and warmth, how crazy is that? Soon it will be sunshine and snow like normal!) So there I was sauntering up the road with my big jacket draped around my arm.

When I got into the hallway for my flats, I saw a big black fancy spotlight lamp stood there near the steps and I remembered that last night when I went out for milk at midnight, I saw a big lamp in a skip truck in the street waiting to be collected as rubbish, I liked it so I climbed into the skip and pulled it out and brought it home.

It was really heavy so I managed to get it into the hall way and plugged it in, it worked! Then I switched it off then on again and BLEW the fucking bulb! (I am Electra!!, I blow out bulbs just by switching them on all the time, I have blown three this week at home!) I am so fucking mad, it worked and I broke it.

Anyway it is downstairs for husband to get bulbs for and to bring upstairs. He sighed when I told him and he asked me to stop climbing into rubbish skips and dragging things out and bringing them home.

(In Liverpool last week I climbed into a skip in Lime St and found two nice picture frames).

I can’t help it, I hate waste.

Tuesday the 12th of April 2005
12:08:00 AM

Handbags and Gladrags

Spent the whole night getting all the clothes out to get packed for London this weekend. Ashley seems to need five ..yes FIVE different handbags and no doubt six pairs of shoes.

I remembered my first handbag when I was twenty. It was big and square and black hard leather.

I got it from my husband as a present and on that first night taking it out back in 1981 as we went for our wedding anniversary, I had no idea what to put in it. I never owned a purse, (my husband carried the cash),I didnt smoke or carry pens or a diary. I had no make up ( never knew how to wear it). I never had keys ( again -husbands job).

I stood in our wee flowery wall papered bedroom and looked around for something to put in my bag to weigh it down.

So I found a pair of heavy metal pliers!

Yes!- old red plastic handled pliers was what I put in my bag to give it some bulk! I sat in that old Indian restaurant in Sauchiehall Street, eating curry and chatting away to my husband and every now and then I would look at my new leather bag and naturally feel the need to look inside it and the smell of new leather would envelope me, then I would giggle as I saw the old dirty metal pliers sitting there alone.

All these years on and I have TOO MUCH SHIT in my handbag and at some point I am going to need pliers and wont have them!

I told Ashley this story and she just stared at me and said "You had absolutely nothing to put inside a lovely new bag but tools? You couldn't have put a tampon or a magazine or pen or paper or maybe even a handkerchief? You had to put in pliers?"

I smiled and nodded.

She had her first leather bag at five when she went to school, it was a fee paying school and everything had to be just right.

Her first real adult handbag was Mulberry. She collects them, I collect pliers.

She never had to use tools, she has good taste, she has never had to peel explosives from a wall. I have. I may need pliers!

Tuesday the 12th of April 2005
04:59:14 PM

Pregnancy and Pop stars!

I am over week late with my period. I know everyone ...click away from the scary subject matter. My legs hurt, I am very hot and as I was shopping trying to find something to wear that covers my giant breasts, I felt sick and need to pee (AGAIN). Then it struck me, I may actually be pregnant, my heart started racing and I stood outside a betting shop ( I know...nice) and vomitted again, this time I brought up beetroot. Then I panicked even more as when I was pregnant with Ashley I had a big passion for pickled beetroot and yes I ate a full tub of it yesterday!

Heart pounding I call my daughter "I think I am pregnant" I shout.

Ashley let out a big sigh "Holy shit mum, you are exaggerating again, do you actually still have a womb? Do you actually still have sex? On second thoughts dont answer that please, now I feel sick"

Then she hung up on me. Two minutes later the phone rang.

"Mum get a pregnancy test and do it when you get home, honestly how can you be so irresponsible? Are you trying to ruin your life?" She sounded like me...but posh.

I walked home and ran through way too many scenarios with variant degrees of shock and panic. Images of me trying to do stand up and vomit with a huge pregnant belly at Edinburgh Fringe.

Images of husband smiling and being over the moon at being a father again ( he would be so happy...weirdo).

Pictures of me being the oldest woman at the pregnancy classes. Visions of me being sad at home with a wee baby and my daughter and husband jetting off round the world with my hard earned cash, sending me postcards and happy messages.

Then a wee image of me cradling a gorgeous black baby with huge brown eyes!

I liked that image, although the explanations would be funnier, how do you explain that you are pregnant to the 'big black man' that lives inside your head?

I carried on homeward bound.

I met Dante my mate in the street. Dante used to be part of the rock band GUN and is now in El Presidente, he wrote and performed the title music 'Point of Yes' for my play that went to Edinburgh and is now going to Soho Theatre in June.

Dante says "Janey guess what, I have great news?"

Me-"Everyone you know is pregnant?"

Dante-"No, what?" he then looks confused and shakes his head, laugh and adds "We are on Top of The Pops next week with our new single 'Rocket'"

Me-"Thats great news Dante I am so pleased, well done"

Dante-"We are also playing the John Peel tent at Glastonbury so we can come see you do comedy!"

me-"I am looking forward to watching you guys up there live"

We hug and go to part, then I realise I need yet another pee, my heart sinks with fear and I walk with Dante towards his cafe in Cambridge St. He runs a bistro there with his family and its my daily haunt, I practically wrote my play there and most of my book as I drank too much coffee and helped serve lunch when they got too busy.

I sat on the toilet and felt miserable.

I came out of the toilet singing.

I am NOT PREGNANT!

Hurrah....a good day all round.

Wednesday the 13th of April 2005
01:40:40 AM

Sex, lies and night goggles.

I am never having sex again, can't bear the worry. That's a lie. I will...anyway about the night goggles...well that's a weird story.

I have an older brother called MIJ, he is a mad bat-face nutter who lives out near Edinburgh. MIJ has had a relationship with heroin and other chemicals for many years.

He is now apparently straight. Despite this problem he is the funniest maddest fantsist in the world, when we were younger he told me he had turned into Bryan Ferry for a fortnight in 1975. I didn't really believe him, but watched carefully in case he became Donny Osmond whom I loved dearly.

Anyhow, MIJ is funny and always has a tale to tell, he once convinced me when I was six years old that the woman across the street who had just had baby, was lying about her child as she couldn't actually have babies and in fact what she had in that pram was a wee monkey from Glasgow Zoo. I stalked that woman for days until she eventually asked me why I was trying to peep into her pram and I said

"Can I see your wee monkey please?"

She beat me about the head with a handbag and screamed at my mum "Get your fucking cheeky child away from my baby".

MIJ called me tonight to tell me he had a mobile phone for Ashley.

Here is the conversation, I swear this is word for word.

MIJ-"Janey, listen I have a phone for Ashley, it has a thermometer, a radio, a camera, a MPC player (dont ask), a clock, a calculator" (At this point he was now just listing the office features on this phone) "A alarm, a thing with a pen on it and night vision goggles"

me-"Night vision goggles? What the fuck?"

MIJ-"Naw, it just night vision actually"
me-"What the fuck is that? I have never heard of that on a phone?"

MIJ-"No joke it has night vision Janey!"

He was now sounding very boastful of his I suppose stolen goods that were being passed onto my unsuspecting child to be palmed off as a birthday gift, he was proud to tell me of this night vision wonder.

MIJ-" Yes I am not fucking joking it has night vision, she will be very impressed, she may need night vision as she is a teenage girl and its a dangerous world, it could stop her being raped"

me-"Hang on how the fuck can night vision phone stop her from being raped?"

MIJ-"Well it means she can see the man in the dark and stuff like that"

me-"Well that could mean she will just be able to identify him which in turn could actually mean he will kill her so he will not got to prison"

I liked this conversation in a bizarre way as NO ONE courts my penchant for disasterous incidents that might happen to my beloved daughter. Whenever I start talking about how she could be hit by a car or mugged or spiked with drugs, sane people like my husband and friends tell me to shut up and stop fucking being so melodramatic. Here was someone agreeing with me and maybe even coming up with some sort of safety device. Albeit my mental spassy 'Walter Mitty' brother, I was getting very excited about the 'night vision goggle phone'

me-"Describe the night vision feature, that sounds awesome"

MIJ-"Well, heres what happens, when you press any key and I mean ANY KEY, a green light is on the screen and you can see everything"

me (now terribly dissapointed at this sudden awareness of what the 'night vision' is)-" Its just the green screen lighting up isn't it? MIJ thats just a light that's on every phone isnt it?"

MIJ-"Aye Janey, its no even that bright to be honest, if she was being attacked she would need to hold it up really near his face and then it would scare her coz then her attacker would look a bit like the Hulk and that would frighten her so maybe tell her not to do that"

me-"Ok"

MIJ ( now trying to change the subject)-" Did you know the guy from the Eagles lives round the corner from us, here in Grangemouth?"

me-"Really which one?"

MIJ-" The one with the eye patch"

me-"Was that not the guy from Dr Hook"

MIJ-"Aye thats him"

me-"Is it not just a guy with an eye patch? Maybe a rapist who's eye got fucked up when someone flashed a green phone screen into his eyeball in a struggle?"

MIJ-"If you are gonna be sarcastic I am no talking to you anymore, and anyway it is him from Dr Hook, I heard him whistle a Dr Hook tune in the post office when I was in cashing my disability book"

me-"Which song was it?"

MIJ-" Walking on the Moon"

Me-"Bye MIJ need to go, see you tomorrow"
I love him and I cannot wait to see him, he makes me laugh like no one else.

Wednesday the 13th of April 2005
03:02:59 PM

Billy Connolly and tantrums.

Billy Connolly is in Glasgow this week doing a big sell out tour. I am in awe of him and would love to meet him again. He is such star. I do not have a ticket though! Shit!

I might call MIJ and see if he has Billy's mobile number! Surely a man so well connected as MIJ will be able to do this?

I overslept this morning as I had really bad nightmares last night, I could not get out of them and the pain felt physical as I awoke. My legs hurt and there is a pain in my head that just sits there waiting patiently to pounce. I need to get fitter.

My daughter had her FIRST ever tantrum!

Yes she is 18 years old (19 next week) and last night she sat down to her favourite moment of the week. To watch the O.C. Yes that fabulous teenage sexy L.A drama on E4 Satellite staion. She is addicted to it and nothing but nothing gets in the way. If she was offered a night with Justin Timberlake she would get on her sexy boots and go BUT if this was on a Tuesday night...NNNOOOoooooo...she MUST watch O.C.

Ok lets go back a few weeks here, husband tells me he cannot find his credit card, we have to cancel both our cards and organise a new one. As soon as the cards came through we got a note to inform all our direct debit services that took the cash straight off the card and let them know the new details as everything would now be stopped.

The only thing we have off the credit card is the TOP UP TV subscription.

Yes! You guesssed it, as Ashley sat all comfy on the lovely sofa all snuggled in cushions with her tea and biscuits all set to enjoy.

She clicked onto E4, and the television went blank and the screen said

CONTACT YOUR TOP UP TV SUPPLIER

She screamed so loud, her dad and I ran into the room, I thought she had been shot by a scary sniper who lives across the road? (What is wrong with me?).

"MUM!" She yelled "What is wrong with the TOP UP TV?"

My mind went into overdrive and in my head I could see that piece of paper sitting beside my bed, I never called them to give them the new number, I fucking forgot.

me-" I think I was suppsoe to call them and give them the new credit card number, shit I forgot sorry"

Ashley-"AAARRRGGGHHH Dad its all your fault for losing that card, it wasnt even lost mum" She screamed and threw her biscuits at her dad "He had just put it in the Welsh Dresser, you big odd, daft, forgetful, stupid and annyong man"

I laughed.

"And you! you scary old, fat silly, non-letter opener, you mental attention seeking freak, you could have called them and sorted this, call NOW!" she threw the hands free phone at me.

I fumbled through the letter and as I managed to get connected, Ashley ripped open my wallet, the velcro rasping as she tore in apart violently, she thrust my credit card into my hand and stood there red faced hissing, "Do it now"

I started to laugh, I could hear her dad telling her to calm down as it "Will be back on at midnight and its repeated again on Sunday" She screamed at him and threw her slipper at his head. I giggled more as I have never seen her throw a fit, it was funny.

I managed to establish with some Scottish boy called Graham that my new credit card is ready and we went through all the transactions, he assured me the service will be resumed in half an hour.

Ashley was now throwing cushions about the room and still shouting.

I could hardly contain my laughter, she spotted my smirking and ran at me wielding my packet of Veganin painkillers I got yesterday for period pains. She threw the three white plastic strips at my head shouting "Mum dont laugh I love the O.C"

She calmed down after she realised she could watch it at midnight. We laughed as she picked up her tantrum props, the slippers, the cushions, the biscuits and my painkiller. She laughed as well, then as we sat there and waited for the service to resume, it was nearing midnight and E4 still refused to work. I tried calling TOP UP but they were closed by now. It still isn't working, Ashley knows she can watch it up in her grandads house on Sunday if need be.

So after nearly 19 years I saw my child finally have a tantrum.

Today she is calm. TOP UP TV is back, she is hugging the TV as I write.

Thursday the 14th of April 2005
01:39:24 AM

Babycham girls and Peter Kay

Got a call from The Babycham Funny Women people as it seems the stand up competition for funny women is not getting enough females on board. I am hosting the Glasgow heat, and am hoping a wee bit of press may alert all those women out there with Celtic comedy bones will come down to the venue

www.funnywomen.com
Saturday 14th May
8.00pm
Baltica Comedy Cavern, 36 Bell Street
Merchant City, Glasgow
0141 552 5924

I love working alongside a whole bunch of women for the night, as a female comic its rare to be on the bill with ANOTHER woman, as comedy bookers tend to only book ‘One tits on the gig’. I know..how weird is that? You never really think about it until you are on the bill and there is another woman there, it’s nice.

I recently was asked about doing gigs in Greece with a comedy company, but they had to refuse me in the end as they only get one room for the comics and as the other comic was a man it would be too awkward for us to have to share a room, so I lost the job to another man! Nice! To be honest there is very few women comics I would actually share a room with as well as the boys! Its fucking assuming girls can only share and if you put two comics of opposite sex in a room –we will have sex! What if we were both gay? Or one gay? Why do we only get one fucking room is a better question!

Well here’s news for you, I was in Kings of Comedy live on TV every week on Channel 4, and I shared a room with six men, and guess what…NO SEX!

Anyway getting back to the female comedy night at Baltica -Ashley my daughter says she will do a slot on the night, she did stand up when she was 11 years old until she was 13 and still occasionally does a wee gig, here and there. She makes me laugh so much at home, I am glad she has her father’s height but my humour!

It’s really interesting and challenging for her to do comedy as an adult; she says it scares the shit out of her, as she had no fear standing on stage as a child. She gigged back then with Peter Kay, Adam Bloom, Omid Djhallai and many others. She loved it and made friends.

Last year in December, I was in London doing comedy at Soho Theatre and Ashley flew down later in the week to see me, so I went to airport to meet her. Standing in Heathrow domestic arrivals, I spotted the great Peter Kay, he remembered me and we had a hug and a laugh, I told him I was waiting on Ashley coming through the gate and he was asking how old she was now and stuff. Just then I spotted her and pointed her out and he couldn’t believe how tall she had got. Then he watched her coming through the gate and started shouting on her and he stood there with his arms outstretched and she ran and hugged him like they were really old pals! She had only met him once before! He teased her about her boots and style and chatted for a while.

Ashley walked away to join me and said “How surreal was that? I was coming through the gate and saw this big round man that looked a helluva lot like Peter Kay shouting ‘Ashley’, and then as I got closer I thought ‘Holy shit that is Peter Kay, wasn’t that lovely of him to stop and spend time?”

Me-“Yes it was, he is a genuinely nice man”

Comics are cool people I would not mind being locked up in a hotel room in Greece with Peter Kay, how funny would that be?

So if there is any women out there near Scotland and you want to come along for the night and be funny or support funny women, then Ashley and I will be there waiting to say hello and give you a smile. I will even hug you.

Saturday 14th May
8.00pm
Baltica Comedy Cavern, 36 Bell Street- Glasgow

Friday the 15th of April 2005
12:48:45 AM

BBC Radio and backseat booze sellers!

I was shopping today, last minute stuff for tomorrow. I bought a necklace and a wee bag all in a lovely blue colour that I like. I wondered what the hell I am going to wear to the BAFTA's on Sunday night! I actually have nothing really planned; I have packed two dresses and a couple of tops and skirts.

I met up with Monica's sister, Mum and her wee niece Gabrielle whom I adore. They are in Glasgow for a couple of days; I bought wee Gabrielle a colouring book, and new pens and a big book. She loved it and wee both sat and drew nice pictures. As I was in Jo Malone (for those who don’t know she makes the best fragrances and candles in the WORLD) Gabrielle skipped into Accessorize and begged for a plastic crown with shiny plastic jewels. Gabrielle came swaning into Jo Malone resplendently adorned complete with sparkly crown. The woman assistant who wrapped my sumptuous body lotion in a gorgeous box, spotted Gabrielle in her crown and smiled and bowed, Gabrielle simply waved her royal hand and smirked at the woman as if to say " I know you are jealous of my shiny crown, but deal with it lady"

It was good to spend time with the wee one. I do love her.

Later on that night I had to go to Arches to do BBC Radio 5 Live 'Comedy/Politics' debate live radio show! The small crowd gathered round as I tried hard to be 'funny' about politicians, it was annoying as they kept cutting me off and going to another subject or guest. It was ok, but not great.

Ashley my daughter sat in the audience and watched the show and yawned a few times, i could hardly blame her.

The show wrapped up and we waited on Argyle St for my BBC car to take us home. Just then a silver car came screeching round, it slowed down and indicated to me to come over. Ashley looked at me with a puzzled look on her face and slunk behind a stone pillar. I leaned over to the car; the driver was thin with spiky hair and told me to open his passenger door.

I stood there and thought for a second and pulled on the door handle, as soon as I opened it I knew he was not a cab.

"Hey Missus, I am no a cab, listen do you drink this stuff" he leaned into the back seat and I could see plastic Morrison’s bags with instantly recognisable red vodka tops peeping out of the white plastic. He pulled back the bags and I could see that is was Smirnoff Bottles.

me-"No, what makes you think I am going to buy vodka from a man who stops me at the kerb in a silver car? Are you ill?"

man-"What about her?" he points to my daughter who is standing there in a mini skirt and knee high boots and then said " Does she want a drink?"

me-"No funnily enough I don’t fancy buying alcohol from a wee man in a silver car and passing it onto my daughter, weird that eh? And to be honest we are actually standing outside a pub, where we could get drink from someone who doesn't drive it through the streets first"

man-" Do you think she might want a ride home?"

me-"Again, NO, I am not letting my child get into your car, don’t you have people to stop and offer vodka to?"

man-"You need to lighten up you weird old woman" he screamed and screeched off sticking up two fingers at me.

I laughed as I walked over to Ashley who asked "Did he think I was a hooker, did he think you were my old pimp?"

I need to re address my style. I have no idea what I actually look like, I was dressed nice for the radio show but apparently I look like fucking Huggy Bear.

Ashley and I laughed all the way home, somewhere in Glasgow there is a man who sells vodka from his back seat, Glasgow's smallest exclusive bar.

Friday the 15th of April 2005
03:39:43 PM

London Calling

As usual, I wake with a start when i have an early flight, nearly screamed then realised that it was only 7am. We managed to get on an earlier flight because we were so early at the airport, as Ashley was desperate to get there! Was nice to go that wee bit earlier and we sat beside Sharleen Spiteri from Texas on the flight. Ashley so coveted her Converse boots, as soon we landed she hit town and bought a pair.

The hotel is just amazing its the Atheneum on Piccadilly, lovely big 5 star suite, this book had better sell or I will have Ashley out there as I pimp her to pay the bills! (am Joking I have got it covered, I can hear my husband scream back in Glasgow as I write this, although he doesn't read this blog, my lovely wee step mum does and she will call him and tell him that-)

a) I have booked a suite

B) I am writing about prostituting his only child

I wish my step mum (whom I love dearly) did not read this, it makes me feel odd, she is such a lady and this is really literary scum as far as she is concerned!

Husband does not it as he does try to not read anything or watch anything I do as he feels he wants to keep out of 'all that showbiz shit' as he calls it.

Quite rightly so, its hardly fucking showbiz and it can be shit.

Well, we went up to BAFTA offices to pick up tickets and had drinks in the newly refurbished BAFTA bar, very swish.

I am now excited and we have a party planned for this evening, we are meeting old friends. Ashley has 99 things packed to choose from, whereas my fat ass can only fit into the one pair of jeans (that may be used as a tent at Glastonbury) that my lardy ass can fit into. Lovely!

My boobs have got so big that I may need to order them a bra from Kvarener Tall Ship Makers, as they may be the only people who can handle that amount of fabric and supports.

I have worked out a good diet and read on the plane about a woman who lost SEVEN stone, the plan is...I dont eat till January next year, which is good coz it's my birthday then.

I have left Ashley in Balans in Old Compton St, a great place to eat and run by gay men. Two things could have happened since I left her 20 minutes ago

1) She has sung some showtunes and has the staff dancing 'buffalo ball step change' type moves, as they twirl and side step the customers and 'ballet' into the street.

2) They have tossed her onto the street for assuming gay men like showtunes.
Must go.

Saturday the 16th of April 2005
11:59:46 AM

Atlantic bar

Last night we got on our gladrags and hit the town, well I say 'We hit the town' in actual fact Ashley hit the town, I kinda hobbled, as my leg hurts.

It took her half an hour to go from devil to diva, I remained looking like the second stage of 'possessed by demons' no amount of Jo Malone body lotion and Touche Eclate' make up concealer made any difference. The huge marble bathroom has very harsh lighting (and mirrors to show you from all angles!) I felt like crawling under a blanket or just dating David Blunkett whichever is easiest on the eye.

We did have fun in Soho, the night was warm and the city is buzzing with people. We went to my old haunt and where I used to run comedy The Atlantic bar in Glasshouse St. The huge doorman who is six foot five picked me up to hug and kiss me (Meaoow!Grrrrr) and he dropped me suddenly as he set eyes on my younger, taller prettier version of me whose skin still fits her-Ashley.

"Hello, what's your name?" He smiles and leans down to kiss her cheek.

She blushes demurely, he becomes all manly and protective. I shout "Oi That's my daughter, hands off, attention on me"

They both ignore me and I decided this might be the time to set fire to my leg to get attention. After some introductions, we walk downstairs. "He is lovely who is he?" Asks Ashley

Me-" Sexy Atlantic Bar doorman whom I have known for about five years, but suddenly he has forgotten me," I laugh but I realise that I will never be sexy, sassy, smart or anything like that, I am the mother of a child who is now a sexy woman and that makes me ancient.

I watched her walk to the bar to order drinks and I watched men watching her. I dont think I ever had that in my life, I am not being self doubting or self pitying here, but I was never the girl that turned people's heads. I was the 'funny one' that they would chat to, not the tall sexy one they all wanted to date. That does not mean I was never sexy or pretty to some degree but I never had that 'Head turning' factor that I see in so many women. It did not make my confidence dip but I just acknowledged it and smiled, I am just me. I am 44 and look what I managed to produce - compliments to the chef - is what I say! There were many beautiful women there last night, all confident and sexy and having fun and that was awesome to see. It's good to watch them having fun, dancing and not all of them need a man to buy them drinks.

Ashley and I chatted and we bought a few cocktails, I am not really accustomed to booze and two drinks makes me pissed! Ashley went very quiet at one point whilst I was enjoying my pissed-ness and she said very solemnly "Mum I have something very serious to tell you"

Me (heart thumping) "What is it?"

Ashley-" I am a lesbian, I am gay, I am sorry if this is not the time to pick to tell you"

My alcohol levels disappeared, I looked at her and she was quite teary looking, I was not worried but a wee bit shocked, this would explain why she is not bringing home boys or dating.

I looked at her and said "Good for you, what ever makes you happy you know I love you"

Ashley-"Whatever, I am joking, I was awfully bored and you went quiet, how was that for acting, did you see my eyes. I can cry on demand"

I laughed out loud, but then I thought what if she was just saying that and was testing the water, and backed off, did my face show an emotion that made her retract? I voiced this to her and she smiled. "No Mum trust me, I am not gay, probably life would be easier but No, I am not and your face was fine, I am lucky that you would support me in anything, and dad would be cool. Do you think that big doorman is single?"

I am constantly amazed by her madness and I do know where she gets that from.

We are off to the park today to rehearse 'Smack-The Point of Yes' as I performing it on Monday in Glasgow.

Will be funny to watch tourists run as I scream about heroin and shoplifters in Hyde Park.

Sunday the 17th of April 2005
10:40:34 AM

sex drugs and a bacon roll

Its Sunday morning, I have just woke up and I have NOT got a hangover but I know a girl who has. Ashley! Well not a hangover really more a lack of sleep and big sticky face covered in last nights make up, her pillow is the Turin Shroud, i am sure I can see Jesus and Bungle from Rainbow imprinted on her expensive Egyptian cotton pillow case.

We had the best night ever last night. She had a work out and I did an interview for the Independent paper, we then did make up and dressed and went to meet my best mate Monica, who lives in Chelsea.

After a few bars and a few drinks we ended up at a fancy schmancy night club in Mayfair owned by an old friend of mine from over ten years ago, he knew I had a daughter but assumed she was still the nine year old he remembered in pictures of her that i showed him, he was in for a shock!

The club was heaving. Now I cant stand busy mad places because I am over forty and need a quiet room, with space to sit down and fold my jacket, keep an eye on my bag and talk about me for forty six hours. We got a good table that had been reserved in advance and Cristal Champagne was delivered in a big lighty up coloured ice bucket that changed colour every twenty seconds or I saw an aurora borealis in a night club-you work it out.

Ashley immediately brightened up, there was 'hot fit' guys everywhere.

What the fuck is it with that combination of Cristal Champagne and Destiny's Child that makes you dance that much? I dont know, but I danced, Monica danced and Ashley never sat on her ass once!

I saw a young very thin hyperactive blonde girl barely dressed and staggering near our table ( I hate that as they ALWAYS fall on me, I can spot them from 50 feet, they bob and weave and then fall on my table splattering drinks ).

This time I was ready, she seemed to have no real control over her hips or knee joints and her erratic dancing/staggering actually worried me. Five times she got so near she stumbled against the table, luckily I had my bodyblocking technique going on, I covered the table with my body (not hard) and every time she shunted up against us, I held onto the champagne bucket with one hand and table with other, that stopped the lot from toppling. I told her three times to fuck off and fall elsewhere, then I looked at her, she was very young.

I went to the loo and she was in there, she was coked out of her head, she looked about 16.

I started to turn into her mother and watched as a few older guys were passing her about as they danced and touched her, then to my horror, her skinny vest slipped off and down from her shoulder revealing her body more. By this time her body was permanently shaped into a weird 'S' shape and she was buckling. I got security to get her out and find her friends to get her home. Luckily, she was with a big group who finally took responsibility for her.

It made me sad, it really was none of my business and who the hell am I to get involved?

Anyway it kinda made my night a wee bit more enjoyable that she was gone and hopefully safe.

When I got back to my table Monica was sitting with the tallest, muscled and cutest black man I have ever seen. Ashley smiled and gave me the thumbs up to indicate that Monica may want some privacy with her new found friend. They had a dance and I was in charge of bag watch. The club owner came over and we had a nice chat, he could not believe Ashley was an adult and he danced with her and we had more champagne delivered to the table.

Monica came over as I gulped down yet another glass of bubbles! I was a bit tipsy, she smiled and handed me a tiny piece of paper saying "This is his phone number please put it my bag" She promptly went back to dance with him.

I stuffed it into my mouth - I ate it for a laugh, as I thought she was pretending to have his number, all the people at the table laughed as I did it and cheered me on.

We left together and got cabs back to our beds later that night, Ashley slightly drunk and danced out .

I woke up this morning and was horrified to recall eating that phone number.

Monica called me this morning to wake me up and said

"It's a great day, we had a fun night and somewhere in my bag is a big lovely man's phone number"

I want to die, what if he was 'THE ONE'?

I may die.

Monday the 18th of April 2005
04:23:43 PM

Dead runners and live stars

The big day arrived.

WE left the hotel on time and as we got into the car, the tall and very formally dressed doorman told us that Paula Yates had won the marathon.

Me (totally uninterested anyway) “Isn’t she dead?”

Doorman-“No, she was the first over the tape at the London marathon; she was crap in Greece at the Olympics but was amazing today!

Me-“That’s Paula Radcliffe”

Doorman-“Who is Paula Yates?”

Me-“Dead, bye then”

Well -both of them have pissed in the street, so maybe Paula Radcliffe was running in the spirit of Paula Yates.

The BAFTA’s were amazing but exhaustive fun!

Ashley scrubbed up lovely and was so excited, I was wearing a new lipstick and new pair of knickers, both were invisible to the eye to be honest, but nice none the less.

The red carpet experience was great for her; she walked gracefully whilst I shuffled like a geisha behind her.

The actual ceremony was long and a bit tiresome and getting onto the ‘celebrity buses’ to Grosvenor House was fun, all those famous people queuing and running in the rain.

We hadn’t eaten all day and had anticipated getting dressed and getting her ready, I was so nervy and full of caffeine that it was hopeless even attempting to chew food, so by the time we got to the dinner, I was hungry but we could hardly eat at all. (Maybe this is the way to lose weight? Just attend so many ceremonies and get constantly nervous?)

We both ate then danced ( I know, me dancing don’t even picture it, but I saw fucking celebrities dance worse than me)

Ashley danced to at least forty six songs; I could only manage a few as after ten minutes my eye broke. You know that bit of elastic that holds your eye to your brain? Well after a few dances mine snapped and I had a sharp headache and had to sit down and breathe slower.

Ashley on the other hand, has skin that fits her and is full of vitamins and nutrients and can dance for hours and hours. I got tired and chatted to a woman who was very drunk, quite famous and very sad because her man left her….so I cuddled and consoled some actress. Nice…

Here is Ashley’s version of the night, because she met more people and seemed to have more fun than me-

Ashley’s BLOG

First of all I would like to scrap my mothers comment: “She scrubs up well” Like I’m some sort of Dickensian street urchin who passed as a princess.

We need to start from the beginning of that day to truly understand what went on. I woke up at nine with and then promptly fell asleep again. Mum on the other hand stole the banana I had been saving for my breakfast, claiming that it smelled funny (a likely story) and went out. When I awoke it was already 2pm and we had to leave the hotel at five so I jumped up had a shower which washed all the fake tan I’d painstakingly applied the day before- off, then Mum did my hair in those roller rod things. I think she enjoys it far too much as they rip the scalp off of you when you’re putting them in.

When we left the hotel mum looked lovely and I looked like an older more wanton Shirley Temple (The hair rollers had worked a little too well.)

When we got to the red carpet we were too early so we got out of the Taxi and walked down to the Tesco’s in our frocks to get some juice because my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth.

When we were watered, we walked to the red carpet, I was terrified that I’d trip and fall and the whole world would see the big blue knickers I had on under my thin tights. Mum on the other hand was behind me muttering: “smile and keep your chin up!” I did as I was told and it went surprisingly well. A few of the autograph hunters looked at me as if to say “is she or isn’t she famous?” they soon realised I was not.

The hall quickly filled with, actors, musicians, directors, producers, press and other industry folk. I have to say I was truly taken aback by the sheer velocity of the whole event.

That excitement and anticipation was quickly gone when the ceremonies began and I needed to pee. I had drank the complimentary bottle of water given to me and mum being the daft old woman that she is had immediately lost hers, so I gave her a packet of salty pretzels to see how long it took for her to need a drink so that I would not be the only person needing to vacate the hall mid ceremony.

The awards went by pretty quickly though some said not quickly enough; I don’t think anyone apart from the nominees actually enjoy these things.

The dinner was nice and quite uneventful, we were sitting next to nice people, I didn’t eat the food mainly because I work in catering and I know how haphazardly these meals are thrown together.

The Party was the best bit, mum and I walked into this big hall lit with pink and red lights, at this point it wasn’t very busy, though the music was blaring.

We found a big black patent leather seat which was like something out of a dominatrix dungeon. As soon as we sat down we got chatting to the other occupant of the couch, his name was Gerard and he was one of the Shameless cast. He had to be one of the nicest, down to earth and funniest young men I have met. He took me and my old mammy up to the dance floor, we were the first people to dance and it was hysterical, after about 2 minutes, mum got all arthritic and had to leave the dance floor and me and this guy were left standing there like two great plumbs.

We got bored of dancing to the countless Michael Jackson tracks the DJ was playing so he started doing impressions of what he would be like if he was wearing my high heels, I then had to run to the toilet because I nearly peed myself at the looks on peoples face as this boy staggered around the dance floor pretending to wear high heels.

I have to say that the women there were stunning, and there was me with a Marks and Spencer’s skirt pulled up over my boobs to look like a short cocktail dress, my hair finally dropping out of the tight curls flapping about my head and my mother plodding along behind me, giving any man who looked at me the evil eye.

I settled in a little after an hour, the self consciousness was gone and I found myself dancing madly with half the cast of ‘The Bill’ (long running cop drama on ITV), there were three main points I noticed about these guys:

1) They were all quite drunk and mad.

2) They are all really small (in fact practically every actor I met was tiny, when mum was looking for me she said I stuck out over all their heads and she didn’t have to look hard)

3) The old guys in that cast can seriously dance; the old actors who’d been in it since I was a wee lassie were out- dancing all the youngsters, doing angry hip hop style moves.

It was only near the end of the night that I looked around me and realised my new found friends were the people who I had idolised as a child watching them on the TV screen week in and week out, these are the people my friends scream about when they watch an episode of their show, the people who can evoke tears with one look or line.

I have to say it’s a weird feeling but an easily overcome one because everyone in that room was in the same boat; they were all just big attention seekers like me and my mum.

Tuesday the 19th of April 2005 @ 01:27:37 AM
Posted by Steve:

Hello and Congratulations, your Journal has been selected as one fo this weeks Bravenet Journals of the Week!

Your journal was nominated by a fan of your work and we wholeheartedly concur... this is definitely one of the best Journals we've seen. Great work, keep it up!

Tuesday the 19th of April 2005
11:24:26 AM

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASHLEY!

MY daughter Ashley is 19 years old today!

I am so happy that she reached this age without getting pregnant or married. The first to do so in a long line of females in my generation. I was married as a teenager, so was my sister and my mother and my grand mother and her mother!

She got the much heralded 'phone' from my brother MIJ, the onw with the amazing night vision...it doesnt work, the reciever ariel is broken and there is a weird looking video captured on it that involves a childs voice saying "The shop had an evil man inside it" and if you look at the screen the camera is pointed to small scrawly pencil drawings as this childs wee voice talks of the 'evil' one.

Ashley and I screamed and dropped the phone as the voice screamed and the child shouted " He is killing me"

Holy fuck a modern technilogical version of 'Rear Window'

Called Mij to solve the puzzle and it turns out to be his grand son wee Connar had made a short film with a story board of a horror film he thought up and he did all the voices and narrative with the illustrations! He is seven!

What a talent, we thought MIJ had been taken by strange aliens ( He lives in Grangemouth near Bo'ness which is the UFO capital of the world!)

WE also thought it was a thing like that film 'The Ring'

I have to go, my sister just called and has to go to hospital as she think she has a hernia, she wants me to go with her.

a) I hate hospitals
b) She will be getting all the attention
c) I will need to break a limb on the way there to get more attention than her.

Tuesday the 19th of April 2005
07:09:58 PM

hospital and IPODs

Still the 19th of April, I had to rush off to meet my sister at the local hospital, she has a suspected hernia. I felt awful, as I had organised a birthday lunch for Ashley and was planning to buy her an IPOD, but my sister had to come first.

The hospital was so bloody busy then after a fashion we were finally taken into a consulting room. A very young oriental man came in and in his slightly broken English, he managed to get most of the info needed from my sister.

He went to take blood but then could not get the needle in, my sister was crying and I wanted to punch him on the head. I asked him "What is the current records on MRSA bug in this hospital?"

Doc-"Dont know"

me-"How long have you been a doctor?"

Doc"One year and half a month"

me-"Have you killed anyone yet?"

My sister looked at me in horror and fear.

Doc-"No, but I nearly killed.."

Me-"It's ok I am only joking"

My sister started to cry so I stopped annoying the doc and hugged her.

She is being kept in overnight to get the hernia scanned better. I am so bloody exhausted as last night the minute we got home from London I had to rush off to Yoker and perform my play "Smack -The Point of Yes" for the drug forum people.

I was very very tired as we had only four hours sleep, then got up to catch the flight. I was worried that I hadn't performed the play to the best of my ability, its about drugs coming to Glasgow and how it affected the people in the streets, its also a bit funny despite the bleak subject matter.

I did the best I could and was terrified to read the review today in the Glasgow Evening Times. I opened the paper with scared stiff fingers, saw the photo of me and gingerly read the review.

IT WAS GREAT! HURRAAHHH! Here is a wee snippet

"Godley hones her storytelling skills every week in comedy clubs, but she's even more engaging when sinking her teeth into subjects that matter. She tells us she's no better than addicts...just luckier." Glasgow Evening Times

I am happy. I am so glad I did the play well, just got a phone call, my sister has been let out of hospital and they think it is just some soft tissue.

All good! I also managed to go to shops and get Ashley her very coveted IPOD and in PINK!-

Tuesday the 19th of April 2005
10:27:50 PM

Late night musings

This has been the most stressed out two days of my life, well not since I gave birth have I been that stressed I suppose. I had to get so much done today and I feel as though I am just chasing my tail round in circles.

Ashley's birthday always makes me reminisce of past days. I was so scared to go to hospital and actually give birth to her, I thought I could be the first woman ever to just stay pregnant forever. Mind you I feel fat enough just now to convince me that I am eternally pregnant.

I cannot believe she is 19 years old, the day I delivered her I was just so worried she would die or I would do something that harmed her instantly.

As it turned out she refused to be born and stayed in a state of labour for three whole days. I thought I was going to die, when she was finally dragged out of my body, I felt like a torn and ripped Christmas stocking that had just delivered the greatest gift to all ! My husband was so happy when he saw her, he held her gently then promptly felt faint and almost fell on the floor holding his newborn baby!

I watched as a wee Scottish nurse, scooped the baby from and him and with her other hand and leg she lowered my husband to the floor, where he lay for a while!

Both of us on our backs and Ashley being the centre of attention in a brightly lit hospital room.

I am finally chilled out, she is making me tea and I need to stop stressing and enjoy her company before she goes to Uni and out of my life for a few years.

I cant even begin to think about that, how will I cope without her smile every day?

I am back to stressing....shit...

Wednesday the 20th of April 2005
04:01:35 PM

Guns and semtex

I know what your thinking, why is that todays title?

Well to be honest and old face from past called me today, and that can always throw me back a bit. I used to live in the East End of Glasgow and I ran a bar there. I married into a family who did use/hide guns and weapons (its a very long complicated story), anyway for many years it was just the way things were in that part of the city, I never used guns obviously ( though I did get to shoot one for a treat in the middle of a field at night, it smells funny and the kick back is awesome, I never actually shot anything that night-I hope!)

So about ten minutes ago of one my in-laws cousins called me to say they saw me in the newspaper last night and they want to come see my play. I explained it is next performed in London so that would be difficult for them. We chatted for a while and I keep forgetting it's been so long since I was part of that whole scene. He was the guy who helped us when we got caught with guns in my in laws house.

I do sometimes miss the old pub and the people there. He chatted for a while then hung up.

I ended up sitting there remembering a lot of my past and recalling how scared I was when the police actually found those guns and semtex in my father in laws house.

As I am writing this I realise i did actually shoot someone as a child, here's what happened, my brother had a slug gun that fired metal pellets. I was so fascinated with this rifle that I used to play with it when he was out of the house, so one day I opened the window a tiny bit and slipped the nozzle of the gun out just a peep.

I sat there for ages looking down the cross hairs on the sight part that sits above the weapon. Just then I saw a man I knew to be my school pal's father, I squeezed the trigger and felt the gun go POP! I saw that poor man fall to the ground screaming holding his ass! I was terrified and fell to the floor, clutching the gun. I scuttled across the floor like a commando and hid the gun back under the bed, slowly I crawled back along the floor and watched Mr Simpson stand there shouting angrily at whoever the fuck shot his ass.

My heart was thudding in my chest and I was so scared he would know it was me. I could not believe my first attempt actually hit a target!

I went into the living room really worried and after a while furtively asked my mum if a pellet could kill someone if they were shot in the bum.

my mum-"Well I suppose it could kill as the pellet could travel through the blood stream and then go into his heart and kill him stone dead"

I sat there and could feel the blood drain from my face in fear.

mum-"Why did you know someone who got shot by a slug gun?" Then she got more hysterical "Has your fucking daft brother shot someone with that fucking slug gun?"

me-"No, i was just asking"

I was worried about going to school the next day in case Mary Simpson told me her father was dead after being shot in the bum and the pellet had travelled to his heart and killed him stone dead.

He didn't.

Years later when I worked in the pub in Shettleston where I met my husband, I used to serve Mr Simpson his beer. I used to watch him closely and stare at his ass trying to imagine if the slug was still there or did it just bounce off him. I am sure he thought I fancied him, I was always checking his old ass every time he came in!

I have so much to do today and Ashley has a flu.

Poor wee chicken I will go get her some painkillers.

Wednesday the 20th of April 2005
11:19:31 PM

Dreams

I am using my laptop as my main PC is being a screwy unhelpful bastard today. I am not as stressed now that I am getting through stuff, I have to confirm lots of gigs and book signings and the Scottish book launch. Also need to get tent and stuff ready to fly to London as I need to get other luggage and bits for my work down there, I am demented trying to do ANYTHING other than fucking sleep in a tent, am still trying to get a motorhome thing that we can park at back of cabaret tent like other comics last year, I hated sleeping in the tent, drove me mad.

I loved performing at Glastonbury, it was really nerve racking but fun at the same time, I had fun hanging out with people I had hardly met before like the late ledgendary Malcolm Hardee. He took me a good walk all round Glastonbury showing me stuff and pointing out various bits of interest. The walk took ages as he seemed to know everyone and they all stopped for a quick chat with him, it was like taking a stroll with Mick Jagger...everyone wanted to touch him and laugh for a moment in his presence. I am sure there will be many people who will miss him terribly this year, his untimely death shocked the many many people he knew in the comedy industry, music world and just in general. He was so well thought of.

I have to either get a tent or quickly become the elderly groupie of some famous rock star with a huge....star like winnebago!

Must go and sleep, have just downloaded loads of really cool hip hop/R&B music onto my IPOD and cant wait to lie in bed and listen to it as my husband moans that he can hear sweary rap as he tries to listen to some strange boring report about titanium drills being exported to Botswana or some dull dreary play about a minister's wife in a rural village coping with too many parishoners gossiping about her red lipstick! (trust me I heard part one last week, I almost sat up and drank petrol for relief).

I like sweary music.....

Thursday the 21st of April 2005
03:27:15 PM

Sunny Days

Weather is sunny in Glasgow today, what a difference!

I finally got mail today, I think our postman has died and in his place they have given us a geriatric asthmatic donkey with an attitude problem and aversion to handling paper. We can go four days without a letter then get eleven at once all with dates that are usually five or six days old!

I have finally got my second part of my advance payment from Random/Ebury publishers. It is only three months late. There is a reason for this. My literary agent is about as functional as my postman. I was directed to her by someone as I did have a publishing deal but NO agent to do it for me. I had the book commissioned all I needed was someone to broker the deal-how easy was that?

She was nice at first and then she has proved to be very incompetent, never answering calls and when I once flew to London to ask her for a copy of my contract, she refused to see me and told me to sit in a cafe in Soho and she would send an office assistant round with it! Subsequently when my second payment was due in December, she never asnwered any of my calls to get it sorted, so I spoke to the publishers myself and hinted that they send ME the cheque direct and let my very unavailable agent invoice me for her 'cut' and I would send it after a few ignored phone calls!

Weirdly enough when she got wind of that SHE EMAILED ME IMMEDIATELY!

Anway so I have the cheque, I smiled and opened the next letter which was my VISA bill and then I stopped smiling as that just cancels out my book cheque...lovely.

I am hoping this book sells well as I have over spent a wee bit and hate worrying about cash, failing that I will sell Ashley on Ebay, she may fetch a few pennies?

My best mate Monica who lives in London has had the busiest week ever, she does PR and management for restaurants and chef's.

Her main client is Heston Bluemental and he just won "The Best Restaurant in the World!"

I mean you cant get any better than that! He is a THREE Michelin star chef and this latest award means his cooking and menu and restaurant beat EVERY single other restaurant in world, he is officially superior to all those chef's on TV 'Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsay and the rest.

Monica has been dealing with world wide TV and press all week and has no time to talk as Heston is being feted around the globe, well done to him and well done to my pal, if he is the best chef in the world she is the best PR!

I am off to to work out how much I will get for Ashley on Ebay.

Thursday the 21st of April 2005
11:24:51 PM

my diary years ago (a true excerpt from this day April 21st 1979)

I went to the drawer under my bed to get out an old photo frame as I have new pictures to put up. As I dragged the huge heavy drawer out, I noticed a familiar dark purple cover with gold letters on 'Letts Diary 1979' I couldn't stop the smile from spreading over my face, I remember sitting in my mum's house at aged eighteen (the year I met my husband).
here is the entry for today......
________

I hope that shitey song Bright Eyes is not number one this Sunday, I fucking hate it, some shit song about a rabbit, load of pish. I want Squeeze singing 'cool for cats' to be the number one. Cats are better than rabbits any day, i could kill a rabbit but not a cat, I killed my cousins rabbit a few years ago but that was an accident, I would not kill a rabbit deliberately.

They keep playing the 'rabbit song' in the Palaceum (this is the bar I worked in at weekends and where I met my husband). The boyfriend is now the fiance as we got engaged on Tuesday 17th April. He took me round to the beer barrels at the side of the bar and I sat there waiting to see why he was so excited, he gave me this wee box and in it is a beautiful gold ring with a diamond. It's called a solitaire. I can't believe I have a diamond.

I showed it to my mammy and she said it was nice and she thinks he is good for me. I went over to Peter's to see her, I hate his house. it's really really clean and frightens me a wee bit, he looks at me funny and she talks shite when he is there, it's like she doesn't talk like she always does and he makes snide faces at her when I laugh at him for something.

He knows I know he is a cunt, I wish that wee bastard was dead. I can see a big punch mark on her arm and she said it wasn't Peter it was when she fell drunk.

I bought a beige dress and it looks ok with my black shoes.
_____

I laughed reading it and felt sad inside, I remember writing that passage. I remember my mum as I wrote that part of the diary. Her boyfriend Peter had been beating her up and all this came out eventually.

Oh well, I started this as a happy thing and it ended up quite sad didn't it?

sorry.

Friday the 22nd of April 2005
02:21:51 PM

soft furnishings and Red magazine

Another sunny day in Glasgow! I am so hungry and really want to stuff myself with cakes and buns but cant I must clean the house. The worse thing is - every TV programme at this time of day is just full of cookery shows or people who want to make their home better.

I dont really understand people who spend all their time 'Improving their home' the money spent is just astronomical! It's just a house, why do people get so obsessed by soft furnishings and painted skirting boards?

I am the woman who finds things in skips and takes them home! That big lamp I found works perfectly, my daughter Ashley says it will have some electronic fault and burn us all to death in the night! Pah!

I have a few interviews to do soon and am not sure how I feel about that, it's all to do with the book coming out. I am quite happy to talk to people I know about it, but chatting to people I dont know who have just read my book makes me feel weird. I never really know how people really feel about the book, as they all say nice things. No doubt when the press start slagging me off, I will fucking wish that statement hadn't came out of my mouth!

God knows how I am going to behave when I have to do those live TV shows chatting about 'my life'. I will probably freeze and talk shit! I have done live TV before when doing comedy and stuff, but this is different.

The article I wrote myself goes in RED magazine in May as does the ELLE interview. I now have Guardian, Times and various others to get through. All will be fine I am sure.

Must lose weight incase they describe me as a wee fat rolly polly woman.

I really want cake. Even as I sit here and write I can feel my boobs getting in the way of my hands, that is not a good sign unless I am 23 years old and incredibly slim with a penchant for shagging TV soap stars and hanging outside clubs in my knickers.

I am 44 years old and if I am found outside a nightclub in my knickers then you know that I have finally snapped and took to drinking petrol, snorting drugs and running through the streets in my pants screaming about talking animals!

Wont that be a good article for the Guardian to write about?

I need to go eat. See you tomorrow.

Saturday the 23rd of April 2005
12:46:42 AM

tits and cam pics

Well, after me chatting about my oversized boobies on that last mail, I got an email from a comic in London. He told me I had lovely boobs and at this I said" How the hell would you know?"

him-" Well I still have a pic of them on my mobile!"

Me-"What?"

him-" I have a picture of you sitting on top of a police car with you top pulled up and you have on a lovely pink bra"

me-"OH yes, I remember now"

Let me fill you in on this sordid story, last August at the Edinburgh Fringe I had been to the Bound and Gagged comedy party (trust me thats their name -nothing to do with bondage) I was having fun and not really drinking and then the police arrived, I NEVER stay anywhere in a house when the police arrive, last time I did, I was charged with possesing fire arms. So I ran down all the stairs in this big Edinburgh tenement, the old building had a big wide spiral grey stone staircase and an old rickety wooden curved bannister, it seemed to go on forever. I was near dizzy by the time I finally ran out of the door at the bottom. I was amazed to see it was daylight. It was 6am.

I was laughing at the sight of all of these comics in the street and on spotting the empty police car parked at the bottom of the flats, turning on their drug fucked heels and scuttling away. Then I spotted a female comic I know,

she shouted "Janey the police car has keys in why dont we steal it, for a laugh..?"

Now I know I have a bit of a reputation for being 'mad' but fuck that!

me-" No, lets not do that".

Her-"Ok then I dare you to climb on top of the car and show me your tits!"

me-"ok then!" ( remember I am an attention seeker)

I clambered onto the bonnet of the vehicle, pulled up my top, I was grateful to know I had on a nice bra and balanced myself on the police car, to the cheers of a few comics, I even danced.

At this point, I heard the police radio's crackling as they too descended the stairs. I jumped off the bonnet of the car and ran laughing to my festival flat, fell asleep and forgot all about it.

Till tonight and this phone call.

He sent me the pic by text and to be honest, I like it. I am so glad I bought the bra as well, Bravissimo is a great shop for big boobed woman like me.

So as I sit here, late at night on a Friday in Glasgow, I have bushy hair as I can't be arsed blow drying it, I have on mismatched pyjamas, no make up and a spot on my chin, I smile . I know that sometimes I can stop being a housewife, a mother and a wife and sometimes I can get my tits out and dance on a police car, all I need is some encouragement!

Sunday the 24th of April 2005
10:13:02 AM

computer crash and Catholics

yes my pc has crashed totally, i have effectively lost most of my emails (again) I have lost half of my diary (Thank God John Fleming who does my website and stuuf had most of it) the rest of the gigs and info were wrote on a bit of paper, screwed up in the bin. SO I had to wade through yucky bits of steak pie, ashtray material and stuff I have no idea what it is to get to that wee bit of paper to get the other gigs. AARRGGHH!

As if that is not fucked up enough i did a gig last night at Blackfriars in Glasgow. A gig that had no real door control, people were walking in talking, there was a private party up the back of this small long room celebrating 'Real Ale'.

Yes, you read right, Real fucking Ale!

A bunch of cardigan wrapping, organic, sandal flapping, thick rimmed specatacle wearing, bushy haired, acrylic bedecked corduroy clad bearded ( even the women) weirdo's.

If that wasn't quite bad enough to have to do comedy in the middle of a chat about 'Ptarmigan Duchers Caledonian Home Brew' there was a bunch of very loud, drunk Irish men.

They sat right at the front and I watched them decimate act and compere before me.

As I took the mic they demanded to know if I was Catholic or a Protestant! I explained I didnt understand 'poor talk' anymore and tried to ignore. No good -they stood up and talked loudly throughout the act. I managed to get them to sit, and verbally ripped their throats out to the delight of the comedy audience that was intermingled with the corudoy crowd.

The one person who was on the door, controlling the audience and supposedly taking ticket money, was the same person who was serving and running upstairs to the bar above. I did manage to control the show to a degree, the Irish boys constantly interrupted EVERY joke/story and I had to intersperse each story with a comeback and keep them at bay as I kept the crowds attention for the punchline.

This was a nightmare, they were in free, they were not up for comedy and were too drunk therefore the people who did pay were pissed off and some were arguing with the Irish crowd.

This is why comedy clubs do NOT flourish, wee clubs that are set up by people who assume they will run on their own, or that the publican/under paid barmaid will make sure the night is managed well are just badly thought out. Those people who paid to come along, will not come back, those people who may have been converted to comedy will probably never come to a live gig again, Irish boys will wake up and forget they ruined a show with booze and sectarianism.

Me? I am going to make sure the smaller nights I insist on supporting are better organised before I even bother to waste shoe leather going.

I am off to cry about my PC, may call police to Just balantly lie and report porn and see if they can retrieve my hard drive?

Worked for Gary Glitter! (that was a joke ok?)

Sunday the 24th of April 2005
05:35:45 PM

children and shouting

Shouting at a computer doesn’t help. This I know to be true, shouting at the person who was allocated to ‘save’ the stuff also doesn’t help. It only creates a loud noise in your house. I stopped shouting and we-husband and daughter Ashley decided to pack up and go to the beach. Actually to be honest, Ashley did not want to go, she wanted to stay in her bed, but because I took the tuna sandwich filler in the picnic box, she decided the only way to get a crusty roll on her favourite spread was to come with us, so she dragged herself out of bed and came with us.

I was glad to see she had wiped off her eye make up the night before. I despair of her penchant for sleeping in ‘full make up’, she seems to think its ok and I worry she will damage her skin. I do recall being 19 though and I know I thought I would never get old or worry about my skin. Ha! Youth is wasted on the young indeed.

I do feel it is absurd that the amount of cash we spend on ‘colouring in our face’ and then the crazy cost of ‘special wipes’ to then rub it off! But we do it, we are women in the 21st century and we are under pressure to look good. Well, I am on the lower end of my forties and am hoping I can reach 50 then give up trying to look sexy, fuck that time out!

I am joking, I don’t think I look remotely sexy, I think my dress code is more ‘Urban angry lesbian’ than ‘Chic Desperate Housewife’.

Anyway the beach out at Balmaha is lovely, a stony setting on the side on Loch Lomond. The sun shone so strong I got worried I would burn and covered Ashley up as well.

A young mother came by with two small tiny boys who were identical twins. They were so cute and dinky, she smiled and the wee boys waved at me.

I looked at husband and watched his face soften and melt looking at the cute wee things toddle by.

“OH MY GOD! Imagine having twins, oh no, I would die at having twins!” I whispered to him, still in a slight shock at the thought of having TWO small kids at that age, no matter how cute.

Husband-“ Twins, I would love that, I would love two more kids and twins would be amazing, it was easy having twins my mother said” he grinned looking at me. I reminded myself that his brothers are twins, my niece has twins and multiple births are scattered throughout both families.

My heart thudded in my chest. TWINS? Is he mad?

Me-“Are you serious? How on earth could we cope having two more kids? We have just got her up and off to Uni, what goes on your head?” I was genuinely shocked.

Husband-“Yes, well I could bring them up and you can carry on working”

He had it all worked out, Ashley was lying in her wee beach tent that she has mastered erecting after a whole year of putting it up. She was lying listening to her IPOD in one ear and us in the other.

Ashley-“Yuk, please tell me you aren’t thinking of having sex and babies” She then sat up and looked at her dad “Papa, if you had twins would you love me more than them?”

I sniggered, here was un chartered territory for the man who knows everything (except how to save info on PC and manage to love more than one child).

Husband (now uncomfortable)-“ Erm. I would love you more as I have had you longer” he smiled at his own ability to get out of that one, but she is my child as well remember and will take this as far as she can.

Ashley-“Papa, you love me more than you love mum don’t you?”

I knew she was just making him uncomfortable, his position of ‘only totally loved child’ was being threatened by all this ‘twin talk’. He looked at me and went to wink and she shouted “Look at me not her and say you love me more than anyone or thing ever!”

I smiled and squinted through the sunlight and watched her, all six foot of her lying their with her pale face and his brown eyes and her fat petulant lip demanding his attention.

Husband-“Yes I love you more than anything and anyone”

She sniggered and looked over at me, smiled and stuck out her tongue and lay back down giggling. Husband looked confused and bewildered.

Me-“See that kind of manipulation would THREE FOLD if we had twins and her at home”

He shook his head, smiled and went back to watching the wee mum holding the twins near the water. I hope he is not really serious about more kids, I am looking forward to getting my life my way, not being saddled back down to spoon feeding and swing park visiting.

Never the less, I like the spring arriving, I love the beach at Balmaha. Roll on summer so we can start roaming all over Scotland on our days off.

That’s what families do when they are not shouting at each other.

Monday the 25th of April 2005
04:17:08 PM

good day

Had horrible nightmares again last night, seems there is no pattern to how it happens. Managed to sleep walk as well, woke up half dazed in the living room sitting on the sofa!

I decided to go a walk today, also went into the Bistro where my mates El Presidente own. They are a great rock group and were on Top of The Pops on Saturday morning, seems their new single 'Rocket' is going places. They wrote 'The Point of Yes' song for my play thats going to Soho Theatre.

I am having my Scottish book launch there as I did sit in there daily and write the book and play inbetween drinking Dante's coffee. Funny to watch him on stage singing, I keep waiting for him to serve me up a latte, then sit down grab my note pad and read what I had just written. He is very talented though, as is Guilanno his older brother. They wrote that song for me after i gave them a brief description of the storyline and it fitted perfectly, the lyrics were haunting and the melody really did bring the script title to life. It was played at the beginning of the play and end.

So here I am back home, the sun is still bright outside and hopefully this will not be 'our summer'.

A few bright days does not a summer make!

Monday the 25th of April 2005
12:04:33 AM

hair problems and life looking back

I hate to admit this out loud, but i have a bald patch. Self inflicted to be honest. I used to tie small strands of hair into knots as a child, then if the knot failed to come undone (as always) I would rip that peice of hair out and throw it away.

I am doing it again.

I did this under extreme stress when I was small and my mum found loads of hair under our bed and was flummoxed by it all. I haven't done this mad habit in years but am back to ripping it out and at the right side of my head just above my ear, the hair is thinned right down and there is a distinct bald spot. HOLY FUCK I need to quit.

When i did "Kings of Comedy' TV show on C4, i was chewing my hair ends and pulling on it a bit as having a camera on you 24 hours a day was nuts! I actually saw the tapes of my doing the hair thing and was appalled at how mental I looked.

I do know this is a real illness and have read up on it, there is some poor people who actually pull out their eyelashes. I do pluck out wee hairs on my eye brows and have plucked my arms and chin to the point where they have bled.

At least I am saying it out loud and telling you (whoever you are) reading this.

I am going to stop.

Wednesday the 27th of April 2005
11:05:25 AM

Yorkshire pudding and tampax stories

This is weird I know, but as I walk home each day from town, I pass this big bush just past the wee school. I hate going near ir as it extends onto the pavement and scratches me.

Three weeks ago as I walked past it I looked down and there on the ground just under the bush and clearly visible was a big 'Yorkshire' pudding. One of those ones you get frozen from supermarkets usually filled with sausages etc. It is about the size of a small side plate, you know the kind?

Anyway I remember looking at it and thinking...how the fuck did that get there? I mean it's not a snack food, you would have to cook that at home and bring it out and throw it on the ground, so I started to imagine scenario's as to how it got there.

Like maybe a husband was thrown out by his wife and she chased him with his dinner and threw it behind him?

Maybe some anorexic had been to dinner at a friends house and slipped it into their bag and dumped it before getting into their car?

Anway, this is not the point I am trying to make.

Yesterday I walked home and under the bush, the YORKSHIRE PUDDING is still there...NOT mouldy, not eaten by rats or birds BUT intact and still brown and crisp looking!!!

A few reasons for this are

A) It is a genetically modified food that never deteriorates, it is full of so many warped genes that even rats wont eat it.

B) Someone daily puts out a big yorkshire pudding for a small rat community and I just happen to be there before it gets noshed.

C) It is a plastic prop from some food programme and I am too stupid to tell the difference.

I have no real idea, but if it is there tommorow I will take a photo of it ( which will make me a scary geek).

On another note, I was chatting to a mate who collects Airmiles, this made me smile, because husband was obbssesed by Airmiles a few years ago, to the extent that we had to shop only in Sainsbury's as they gave Airmiles points with food purchases.

This is a true story...I am not proud but here goes.....

Sainsbury's used to do 'Special Offers' on goods to get you to buy more and save the Airmiles, one day we went in and there was a special deal on 50 Airmiles with boxes of Tampax. Aspergic husband worked out in minutes that if we bought loads it would mean Sainsbury's were in effect actually paying us to have them! (dont ask me, I know nowt about figures).

He stood there in the supermarket aisle, looked at me and asked in a loud voice " When do you stop having a period?"

me-" When I am pregnant I suppose"

him-"NO, I mean menapause thing"

me-"I dont fucking know, are you trying to work out how many periods I will have to justify buying 8 million tampax?"

him-"Yes, but it's ok cause luckily I have a daughter and she will have years of periods"

At this he filled up the trolley with hundreds and I mean hundreds of Tampax boxes, Ashley ran away from us in shame and waited in the car. I stood there bemused. He was challenged at the check out where a silly manager realised that my husband was making cash out of buying the Tampax.

manager-"You are not allowed to buy this much sir"

husband-"dont call me sir, you dont know me and there is no sign to say so"

The manager slunk off and other customers watched as he counted the boxes for the assistant.

husband (very loudly at checkout) 'Is there a sell by date on these?

me-" No, women dont care how old something is, they will still stick it up their vagina providing it does the job"

I wanted to die as he loaded up the car way past the windows with Tampax. Ashley sat on the floor of the car and refused to carry them upstairs.

A year later we all flew first class British Airways to Los Angeles/Las Vegas and San Diego on the Airmiles aspergers man accumulted and we have still got enough Tampax to last another year! He ain't all bad!

Thursday the 28th of April 2005
11:05:56 AM

book launches and dead flies

had a mental day yesterday, after sending out 35 email invites to various media people and comics to come to my book launch at Soho theatre...I was informed by Random/Ebury that the date had changes from Monday ( the date I had sent to people) to Tuesday 7th! It wasn't Random's fault, it seems to have been changed by Soho theatre weeks ago..
It seems everyone knew this but me...well there's no need to tell me eh? I am after all only the author.

I sat yesterday so stressed trying to compose a new email at my pc and chomped my way through a big Eccles cake or in Glasgow we call it a 'Flies Graveyard' because when you bite into it it looks like millions of wee flies stuck together.......it is actually raisins, but now I wish I hadn't said that or fucking even wrote it now. I feel sick!

Why do I open my mouth and say this stuff aloud?

Even worse it's now in print!

So now I have the invites out for both book launches, one in Glasgow and one in London. I am scared the book will bomb totally, and that no one will want to buy it and it has to get pulped..like in that Alan Partridge sketch.

Woke up this morning way to early for my liking. ( I like to sleep until midday). I was up at 10am, husband is off out to get yet another thing to maybe fix the computer. (He is taking this computer virus thing a wee bit too far, he hates internet hackers who send virus's- I suggested putting a condom on the internet portal thing and he shouted at me- I thought it was funny).

On Friday I am off to do Manchester for two nights, I like Manchester, I just hope it likes me!

Thursday the 28th of April 2005
07:52:13 PM

how to work me FAQ

After all these years of marriage, you would think husband would know by now how to understand some 'Trigger signs'?

Well...No he doesn't. Even when I unleash the hormonal cloven hoofed hell that comes out of my mouth on these ever frequent occasions, he continues.

My daughter likened him to one of those confused lab rats, who despite being shocked by a small voltage every time they nibble food at the electric wire they keep going back and doing the same thing over and over.

When he says something really fucked up and annoying she whispers 'Thats right wee white rat, keep prodding your nose against the wire' or 'Ok heading for the shock again lab rat'

In last years blog I gave out some HOW TO WORK JANEY TIPS here is some more..for my husband...

tip A) If I looked bloated and there is a red ring around my waist that indicates my knickers have become 'tools of the devil' and they are threatening to slice me like cheese wire DO NOT SAY " Are you too fat for those sexy knickers I bought you last year?"

tip B) When I burn my hair trying to straighten it and cry at my curls DO NOT SAY " I love it when you look like a bushy woman, just leave it curly like Tina Turner, she loves her hair curly and it makes you look like Roseanne".

tip C) NEVER SAY AGAIN IN PUBLIC "Janey is really weird coz she can even snore whilst lying on her side".

tip D) Never be stupid enough to be offering a six foot three stand up comic one of my leather belts to hold up his jeanswhen his snapped because you think that I am the same waist size as a fifteen stone man.

tip E) When you think I am really asleep, and you can tell this as I am snoring on my side, NEVER EVER assume that if you put your freezing cold hands on my boobs, that will tempt me to become awake and maybe turn around and kiss you.

tip F) If I am ever pushed to buying make up in front you in a store NEVER EVER SAY TO THE ASSISTANT-"Please dont let my wife buy this incase she ends up looking like you do with all that purple stuff on your eyes..have you been too near a smokey fire?...why is that eye stuff 26 pounds?"

tip G) If I want to pay fifty quid getting a back massage, you shouting you will 'rub me' for fifty pence is not funny.

tip H) - NEVER EVER assume that I want fucking 'lavender bath salts' as a birthday present, I will never get over that humiliation in January at my birthday. I wanted an IPOD and despite shouting it at you for three weeks prior, you still never got the hint. I bought it myself.

tip I) NEVER look at old photo's of me and say' That was the years when you could really bend your legs and you didn't have a wee moustache"

tip J) Always make me tea when you are busy and I want it, always ignore me when I cry about my mental hair ( but dont try to run your fingers through it, it's like a badger trap) Always tell me you love me, even when I feel too fat to bend down to tie my shoes. Always pretend to be interested when I tell you what happened on the way to the shops. Always do that nice thing when you put your hand on my thigh when you sleep, even when i am on the other side of the bed, you make contact. Always do that.
I will try to be less annoying and shouty.

Saturday the 30th of April 2005
12:12:48 PM

Manchester and no sex

I wrote 'No sex' at the top of this blog bcause I am officially very old, I slipped in the hotel's bath and hurt my leg!

Whooppee...I am an old woman who needs bath aids, maybe a non slip grip handle or a stick rubber mat.

The weather was lovely yesterday, I read the reports of rampant bank holiday sunshine....and yes I awoke to RAIN...

I had a nice gig last the acts went down very well, Todd Sawyer the US comic is very dry humoured and funny, George Egg was hysterical and Gina Yashere was just brilliant, she really did rip the roof off the gig.

I am in a shitty Thistle Hotel and am thinking that as I travel in these really good/really shit hotels I should actually be a hotel reviewer.

Was excited yesterday as I saw El Presidente on GMTV it was nice to my mate Dante in full swing then I saw Heston Blumental on telly -he is my mate Monica's client and just been voted the 'Worlds Best Restaurant' ( I do know famous people) Then I watched Andrew Neil (Newspaper media mogul) and I recalled how he used to drink in my bar years ago and he like me is from Shettelston which yesterday according to Department of Health is YET AGAIN the worst place to stay in Europe!

If you live in Shettleston ten years will come off your life! Thank fuck I moved out!

Manchester tonight again...sorry this is short but I am in Easyeverything and there is a big fat sweaty man in acrylic beside me looking at 'Animals who like sex' on some webpage and I no longer ever want to see a horse like that again
( my own fault for looking at his screen)

Janey (running downstairs to get cleansed in the Manchester rain)

Saturday the 30th of April 2005
06:11:26 PM

Age and Times

It really is a small world, as we were driving into Manchester yesterday, we got a bit lost and contrary to popular belief, men can ask for directions! Well actually I can ask for directions after being directed by husband to do so! We always get a bit lost when we get into new cities, and as we slowed down in the busy traffic, I spotted a guy to ask but noticed he had head phones on so the next person approaching answered as I yelled "Excuse me!".

The young woman came over to the car. She smiled and said "Hello Janey Godley!"

It was Lucy Porter! Stand up comic from London, Lucy was in town to perform at Comedy Store. It was nice to stop and chat, I like Lucy.

At the gig last night we were talking about our ages and our parents. This got me thinking more about who I am at this age.

Women my age (44) are generally described as the 'Punk Generation'. We are old enough to have been teenagers when the real Punk wave hit Britain in 1977. We are women who by now have had our big 'White Wedding' and are possibly onto our second marriage, we will have paid the bigger part of our mortgage, our kids are now young adults and according to latest statistics we will probably have had two lovers and one abortion.

I feel cheated on the two lover thing and am happy to have missed the abortion but I do agree with the other statistics.

We are not the 44 year old women our mothers were, my own mother had grey hair, none of her own teeth, had more wrinkles and was considered ancient at 44 back in 1979. She was an old woman according to me at the time. I was just 18 that year and I thought she had lived her life and was now relegated to being a granny that made soup and would now watch as her children got married and brought home the wee babies for her to sing to.

I didn't know she was still sexually active, and possibly had ambitions. In 1979 I didnt know that she only had three more years to live. Had I known that then I would have spent more time with her.

Women my age in this century have an upper hand. We have better skin care, more awareness of diet, better health screening, and are more valued in the work place than our mothers. Women in their forties are no longer considered menopausal nightmares and are now climbing the corporate ladder, they no longer require childcare and have no guilt about working longer hours with more committment to the job and the 1980's under achieving jealous annyoing spouse has either been divorced or has finally grown up.

The only problem I can see is where we fit in in the fashion sense. You only have to look at Patsy Kensit, Lesley Ash and Carole Vordeman to see that 'Looking good' does mean 'Mutton Dressed as Lamb' or resort to fattening up your lips to clown status.

Real women my age have a bit of a short fall where clothes buying comes in. All the high street stores are geared to the 'Sienna Miller' gypsy look, I cannot wear that hip 1970's stuff...it doesn't work and you cannot wear wrap over tea dress's as they do make me look like my maiden Aunt and you cant do 'ironic' at 44.

My dress sense falls somewhere between 'Hip street/angry teenage lesbian/flowery baggy woman who keeps too many cats.

I do wish fashion houses would design something that can understand older women have breasts that are no longer 'above' the Empire line, that real woman do have hips and we all dont want to look like Bet Lynch in leopard print wrapover dresses this summer.

I am old enough to enjoy sex without the stress now, most women my age have realised by now what they like, how they like it and when they want it.

I know what bits of my body dont look as good and I now know how to ignore it and enjoy the moment.

The 1980's are over- we have done the whole sex with high heels and red lipstick shit and we aint going back. We want Egyptian cotton sheets, Jo Malone body cream, a decent music collection, some good long sex and if the man in our lives can no longer provide it, we are self assured and wealthy enough to go get it ourselves.

I feel like I have just delivered my first party politcal broadcast! Vote for me!

Must dash and go to get ready for the gig.