Janey's Blogs - October 2008
Tuesday the 7th of October 2008
Can I ask you something?
Have you ever woken up talking to George Clooney and realised that you are licking the pillow and your husband is staring at you strangely? I have, just this morning actually.
Last weekend saw me in Dundee, St. Andrews and Stirling on my wee Scottish comedy tour. It was LOVELY and I love that people came out to see the show!
My great niece Baby Julia is my new BEST FRIEND, now that wee Abi has started school; I need a toddler side kick. Julia is as funny as Abi, though not as chatty. She acts quirkier. I went over to her house last week and their cat is all horny again. The cat is lying on the floor trying hard to look sexy and making those God awful noises that are basically cat language for “Touch my pussy, please,” but the scary thing is she does this to anyone.
Even the postman who was shocked as he handed me mail. As I opened my niece's door, the cat squirmed out and showed the strange bloke her cat fanny.
She even showed it to the baby, who doesn’t touch her pussy but whacks her in the soft tummy with a big hairbrush and says, “Bad cat!”
The cat shuts like a flick-knife and runs off squealing more horny noises that make us shout “FUCK UP SQUEAK!”
But not baby Julia. She doesn’t shout that, she goes off in search of a new implement to whack it with. Don’t worry, cat lovers, she isn’t really hurting the cat. Mind you, this is the cat that regularly attacks the baby and everyone else; because, when this cat is not horny, she hates everyone. She is Hitler/Courtney Love depending on the time of the month.
So I have been lazy with my blog, I know and I am sorry. Life catches up with me at an alarming rate. Only yesterday I was 14 and desperate to find a way to get to Utah to marry Donny Osmond. I picked out a nice pair of Crimpolene flares and a Bay City Roller jumper to wear for our initial meeting. Then I woke up today and I am old. How did that happen?
I am in London next week and will performing at The Rainforest UK gig at the Leicester Square Theatre. I will also be gigging around town at various venues.
Hopefully I will be sharper at updating the blog? I hope so…Janey
Saturday the 11th of October 2008
I need more time in my life
It is all just slipping away from me. I sleep, wake up, read emails, pay bills, make phone calls, organise flights, sort out gigs, arrange accommodation, wash towels, fold clothes, I wipe down walls and scrub toilets, find Ashley’s tights for her, visit relatives, eat tomatoes, defrost pasta, match up socks, go onstage and sometimes I get to pee and have sex (make love…whatever…). I have had a crazy bad day.
To top it all off, I watched a documentary today about wee American kids who are Bible Thumping preachers. It was horrible! A wee blonde seven year old boy from the Mid-West whose parents took him to the streets of New York to stand there with a bible and shout at the Manhattan folks about Jesus! Oh and by the way he normally hangs about abortion clinics with his dumb ass father to scream “Don’t kill your baby!” at women going in through the doors of the hospital. At one point of the documentary he was slightly prissy to his mother and the camera was averted whilst his mom slapped him as he screamed! You could hear her smack his flesh and you could hear him yell in pain. Yes…they are normal folks, eh? These people need punched with a brick. Leave them kids alone, people!
Then we switched to a wee black eight year old boy whose grandmother believes he is the new Messiah. They dress this wee boy up like Luther Vandros circa 1987 and he preaches to these people at big conventions. Then the camera followed him upstairs of this big hotel and you could hear the granny say: “You must thank your grandmother for the blessings she brings at the end of your sermon! How dare you leave me out!”
Child exploitation, I believe, is what is happening right there. I find it horrific when young children stand up and scream: “Jesus will send you to hell if you are a homosexual!” What seven year old knows that shit? Adults should be jailed for manipulation of young minds for that kind of behaviour.
So I stopped watching, as I realised throwing things at the telly and shouting “Fuck OFF!” really loudly wasn’t helping at all.
Loved the gigs over the weekend at Glasgow Jongleurs, they really are cool to do. Some comics dislike Jongleurs comedy clubs and slate them as too corporate etc… but I like them. Comics can get prissy about Jongleurs and say things like “They are full of stag and hen nights and they are a big corporation”. Well, most independent clubs I have worked in have had rowdy crowds but NO crowd control in place as they don’t want to throw people out; also many comics have no bones about working for the BBC, which is one of the biggest corporations. It's even got 'corporation' in its name!
There is an element of snobbery when it comes down to it and I dislike hypocrisy - so comics who turn their nose up at Jongleurs should also refuse to do gigs anywhere that hosts party nights and never work for any big media company.
Jongleurs pay well, they don’t inhibit you from working anywhere else in the same weekend, they make sure the gig is well run and loads of people turn up to enjoy the night. Occasionally, too many big parties do turn up and try to ruin it for other people, but it’s down to the MC and the staff to prevent that from happening. I love the gigs!
Sunday the 19th of October 2008
Flashes in the night
I have been in London for a week now and have been lazy writing the blog, so am sorry about that. Gigs, meetings and all manner of busy stuff have kept me away from my laptop. Here is what happened last week…
It was 2am in Soho last week and I searched for a cab. I spotted two scantily dressed girls shouting at a group of young guys; all had their hoods pulled up and wore dark clothing. The girls seemed to have some grievance but I couldn’t understand exactly what they were saying; their mix of cultures and accent had me baffled. But they were really hacked off about something.
Every now and then the girls would stop shouting and quickly chat to passing men, veering from screaming banshee, to alluring lady in one swift breath. They were touting for business in between publicly complaining; it was rather odd to watch.
The boys were shifty and were trying hard to blend into the dull walls of Soho. Some of them were really young-looking, some were black, some were rather older bedraggled-looking homeless guys, but they moved in a pack throughout the busy street. They split up, dodged cars, side-stepped the clubbers and then came back together. It was a fascinating dance to watch.
I spotted a big bloke near me; he was obviously the main drug dealer on the kerb. The hoodies approached him, grabbed small deals and melted back into the darkness. Some threw their packages into car windows that were cruising on the busy street in Soho.
The young girls were still kicking off when the big bloke signalled to the hoodies to shut them up. Meanwhile the paparazzi were snapping at the celebs coming out of a launch party for a new private club. The famous actor and his wife smiled, the flashes of the camera lit up the dark street. I could see their shimmering white teeth glitter as the flash-light smacked off their faces, brightness in a second and dense darkness the minute the cameras stopped and the slinky dark hoodies slipped past them again and carried on their business.
The gossip magazine will print that photo and young girls in Glasgow, Hull and Birmingham will stare at the amazing couple in their glamorous life on the sexy streets of London.
The homeless who were lying on the street hugged their dogs close and the girls continued screaming and pointing. There was an air of menace, the dogs barked and their owners pulled blankets over them to comfort and not draw attention to themselves.
The young guys finally decided to tackle the noisy girls. They approached the girls in the way small boys poke a fire with a long stick, hoping that the sparks won’t jump out and set alight their sleeves.
Those girls didn’t shut up until that big bloke finally walked over and palmed them a deal.
The girls immediately huddled together in silence.
As they walked off, one of the girls lifted her skirt and flashed her bare ass to the paparazzi that were leaning against the railings. “Photo me!” she shouted, laughing.
Photographers sneered at her, then lazily flicked cigarette buts into the gutter and waited on more celebs to appear. Who wants to take a picture of a drug-addled skinny girl flashing her wares?
Just then, the photographers scrambled and pushed the girls out of the way, as Kate Moss came out of the new club. She ran to a waiting car as the cameras flashed inches from her face and she almost fell. I saw that photo printed the next day and it looked nothing like it was in real life, Kate look amazingly awesome in a black and white dress and seemed to be smiling!
Life is strange through a lens and even stranger in real life.
I do love Soho.
Wednesday the 22nd of October 2008
If you are allergic to prawns, never eat them, is all I am saying, because I had decided my seafood allergy was a one-off and chomped down prawns last Saturday night in Camden. To give you a broader picture and back story to the prawn situation, in 2005 at the Edinburgh Fringe, I ate sushi and ended up in the Edinburgh emergency room two hours before my show. It wasn’t fun and the adrenaline stuff they gave me made me insane onstage, though I did get a stonking review for a show I don’t recall doing. Who knew I could do stuff about pregnant junkies appearing in the Bayeux Tapestry?
Anyway back to Saturday last week and the Camden prawns. After eating the said prawns I hopped on the 88 bus back to my flat in Westminster. My head really itched and my ears were burning and all the way on the journey I could feel lumps appear on my cleavage and upper body. I tried not to panic.
Just when I got off the bus at Marsham Street and entered the building, the concierge bloke looked at me and asked: “You OK, Janey?”
I ignored him and ran to the flat getting the keys out quick. I looked in the mirror and there was Snippy the Lobster Woman staring straight back. I gulped down some anti-histamines.
I ran back out to the concierge and he pointed the direction to St. Thomas’s hospital over the bridge.
Now, emergency units are never fun on a Saturday night. I know this because I am from Glasgow and used to own a pub.
Nowadays, the queuing system is high tech: you simply take a ticket from a machine like in the deli section of Tesco’s, watch for your number on the big digital board and you either get coleslaw or a doctor.
There was a wee box thing where a nurse sat and took the initial story from you. There was a big odd-looking bloke sitting in it and he was quite well-looking and happily swinging his feet and his relaxed manner indicated that he wasn’t sick, but wanted a woman in uniform to talk to. This was confirmed when I wandered near and heard him say: “So, in 1987, I went to Australia...”
The nurse looked bored and I was getting red and lumpy so decided to indicate to her behind his back that he was a nutter and should be thrown out. But all she could see was a lumpy red blotchy woman making hand signals behind her patient's back. Therefore I was the scary nutter and not him. After all he had been to Australia, he can’t be mad can he?
The other people in the waiting room sat patient (that’s why they are called patients I realised for the first time in my life). They were all too English to complain about the chatty fuckwit who was taking up far too much time. I got shouty is all I am saying.
“How long is his story?” I yelled.
The nutty man turned his head and stared at me. He looked angry and if he did have a mental condition and had a penchant for slicing people with a Samurai sword (why is it always a Samurai?) then I was his next victim, at least in his head.
Finally, the nutjob left the box and it was my turn to tell her a big story and I was excited and red. The waiting room got busier and I sat down in the plastic seat with my back to the crowd. I quickly explained to the bored nurse about the prawns and immediately pulled down my jumper to show her my boobs covered in red welts. She merely pointed above her head. I followed her finger and, above her on the wall facing the waiting room, was a big flat screen for security that had me on it showing off my lumpen tits to the people behind me.
I quickly turned round to the folk and shouted: “I have a rash! I am not here to flash my tits and I am not mental!”
The nutjob who had been in before me tutted and pointed at me. “She needs mental care,” he said. I glared at him and he sliced a finger across his throat, just so I knew he was going to kill me, because clearly my panicky rash wasn’t bad enough for me. I stuck two fingers up at him and the nurse stared at me. I needed to calm down, she explained quietly.
The nurse assured me that the anti-histamines that I took would work - or I could wait two hours to see a GP; but, if I was going to die in an anaphylactic shock thing, it would probably happen in that two hours, so it wasn’t worth my while.
I ran out of there and belted it across the bridge back to the flat. I had a gig in an hour’s time at The Hob in Forest Hill and had to pull myself together.
All in all it was an unusual night, my rash calmed down and the gig went great.
This time I spoke about Jesus being embedded into my cellulite when I was in New York. Weird things happen when I eat seafood…didn’t I tell you?
Tuesday the 28th of October 2008
Taking the time
Last week I was incredibly busy. I had a guest part in River City, it’s a Scottish drama and it was really hard work remembering a whole bunch of pages of dialogue but the cast were awesome. I take my hat off to the lot of them including the film crew; it is really hard work. I can’t tell you what I play or the storyline for obvious reasons but my bit will be shown early January I think.
On Saturday past I was back in London as I performed at The Groucho Club Gang Show. I was pretty nervous as they were a real music crowd and doing comedy in the middle of a music night can be daunting, though the lovely Alex Zane and his mate did a wee sketch right before me, so the crowd were up for fun. I had an awesome gig and the talented John Culshaw went straight on after me. All in all a great time was had by all.
To top it all I met Daryl Hannah the famous US actress and she is a blessing to chat to. How amazing and warm a woman? Totally at ease and funny to boot.
This week I am at home. At the weekend I fly off to Southampton for Friday and Saturday and then on to Barcelona for a one night comedy show on Sunday. I will be living out of a suitcase yet again.
I have made some new wee videos and you check them out on YouTube; one is the ‘Sarah Palin Parody’ and the other is ‘Abi Strikes Back’ both are quite disturbing yet funny.
I am always slow with my blog lately as I am as busy as hell, but I do miss revealing my life here online and it hasn’t been as personal lately, so I apologise in advance.
Thursday the 30th of October 2008
Dressed for what?
It was freezing cold in Glasgow. I put on a hoodie, pulled on a coat, dragged on a hat. It was one of those woolly ones that goes over your ears and has a toggle on top; it is blue with some Icelandic designs knitted in it and has two plaited ropes that tie under your chin. Basically it looks cool on a young Swedish blonde chick but on me it screamed ‘mental patient’. I didn’t care. It was cold and to top it all I wrapped a thick scarf around my neck and went out a walk with husband.
I was happy and then I bumped into a woman I know who is a dressmaker. She was dressed for a cocktail party or a Sex and The City tribute night - I wasn’t sure which - but she looked pale with the freezing wind biting her bare legs. She was with a dark-haired hip bloke who was wearing a velvet jacket with nothing underneath and skinny scarf. He was chittering with the cold but looked very fashionable.
“Holy Fuck, Janey, you look like you are homeless dressed like that!” the woman giggled. The skinny bloke’s frosty breath pumped out as he guffawed at her comment.
“Really?” I sniped back. “I am snug as a bug.”
“Are you actually a homeless person?” the annoying bloke tried to see if the joke was worth repeating. I didn’t know him, therefore it wasn’t funny and I wanted to kick his cold, shrivelled balls.
The dressmaker laughed loudly and hugged him, throwing her arms up as if he had just cracked the best joke in the world. Both of them fell about holding each other yelling their cocaine laughter louder as the cold air puffed from their gaping mouths. The word vacuous never did fit a situation more than it did in this moment.
“Oh, this is Tom - He is famous!” the woman shouted at me as shouting is so in just now.
“Famous for what? Being a fuckwit?” I then laughed.
“No, he is famous for designing wallpaper...” she nodded seriously.
He stared and waited for me to be amazed.
“Wasn’t that designed years ago?” I said.
“Yes, but he does amazing patterns on it,” she added with a tone of seriousness usually reserved when announcing a Nobel Prize winner.
“Does he get a potato out and stamp on it?” I was now getting nippy and I knew it. I wasn’t letting the homeless jibe go.
He tried to get back to slagging me off: “You should get Tessa to design a dress for you and you would look amazing. Men would fall over you.”
“Actually, I get laid a lot mate - yes, even dressed like this. I get cock and you look like you do too, despite the shoddy 80’s velvet jacket. So thanks for the fashion tips, but I am happy in my woolly homeless gear.”
I marched off.
Husband was standing looking in a shop window and missed the whole exchange.
“Do I look homeless to you?” I asked him.
“No, but that skinny hooker and the gay man looked drug-fucked and freezing, did they say something to you?” he asked.
“Yes, they said I looked homeless,” I spoke as I pulled my scarf closer.
Husband pulled me closer and kissed my frozen cheeks. “Janey, people are jealous because they know you are beautiful and talented, ignore them….though the hat is rather freaky. But you suit it, you are my wee freak.”
We crunched through the frost happily. On the way back home, we saw the skinny woman lifting up her designer dress and peeing behind a skip and the gay man screaming at her. Classy!