Janey's Blogs - September 2010
Friday the 3rd of September 2010
Fringe is over
Yes, am on my way home… four weeks of being tired, excited, scared and happy all in one month. Who knew that could happen? Late night drinks up the Loft Bar on the last Sunday was awesome. Phil Jupitus was the DJ and free champagne and canapés on the menu, but diet coke was a chargeable offence: it's either free wine, beer or champers or pay for a soft drink!
I watched a very drunk comic try to relay a story into a famous comic's face: it was a bitch about me. I stood there until it was done, drunken comic stared at me, stunned I had heard it all then reached over and hugged me, telling me I am just wonderful! That's Edinburgh and that's why I pay for diet coke. One day I will be that drunken person screaming a whisper about other people in front of them into a very annoyed famous man's ear.
Then I watched a skinny underdressed bleached blonde with a slash of bright red lipstick sashay about in a tight mini dress looking for famous male comics to 'befriend'. I asked her if she was in a show and she blurted out Antigone. I won't laugh at how she pronounced it… anyway she sidled up to Stephen K Amos and batted her big long lashes and giggled. He stared at her and checked out my flyering boy's tight jeans round his ass. That's Edinburgh.
I have had a good Edinburgh this year, though it has been blighted with a feeling that people don't want to see comedy unless they have seen the person on the telly. Even if they didn't like them on the telly, just to see them in the flesh and pay the price was worth it. Everyone had an opinion on the McEwan Hall which seats over a thousand people. I too had a gripe about that but ultimately it's down to the paying public; if they just want to see big shows from the telly then you have to accept their choice.
I watched some friends play to very small houses and as the Fringe grows beyond the fringe I fear small interesting shows will just end up not coming back, which will take the very soul out of the Fringe. It soon will be just big names in big venues and you know what? That's what the public in general want, so therefore the venues must supply the demand.
I went to see Tara Flynn's show which was awesome and funny as hell. I never got to see Joe Powers, the man who talks to dead people, coz I couldn't get my hands on a gun during Edinburgh. I wanted to shoot the fake fuck and see if he could annoy us from beyond the grave. The fake psychic got some damning reviews and some awful comments from fellow comics who can smell a shitty stick from 50 years away.
That said it was a good old time but, to be honest, I am glad to be going home.
Part Two - Am home…
Went to the Pleasance, chatted with Anthony who owns the venue. He is a lovely man and we had a good catch up. Doing my last show is always emotional: you get exhausted by the past month, all the worrying, the stresses, the many late night gigs, the ticket checking, the flyering issues, making sure the posters are up, making sure my stars are all over them, then you do that last show and you feel… elated and happy it's done.
I put down the microphone, thanked the audience, hugged the techy staff, kissed the security man, patted the dog that sits outside and ran to my car.
Husband was outside the gig with Ashley in the loaded-up car. It was crammed with all our stuff; husband moaned "Why do you both need all this shit?"
"Shut up, you got me put in jail for one night. I don't forget what you put me through with your gun-toting family!" I snapped.
"Are you ever going to let that go? It was 15 years ago, moany face," he laughed.
"Mum, Dad shut up and mum you can't counter every argument with dad with the fact they found guns in his dad' house years ago. Both of you deal with the argument today, the issue now, not something from decades ago. Now, let's all cheer we are leaving Edinburgh, coz I have been coming here since I was eight years old and you BOTH made me do that for years, so now I am harking back to the past coz you are both irritating me. Can we leave this fucking city and get me home please?" Ashley snapped.
We all laughed, one crazy dysfunctional family in a car packed with a guitar (Ashley plays it), clothes, unused giant posters of my face and a case full of dirty underwear heading for the M8 and home to Glasgow.
I adore that my husband - who doesn't particularly enjoy being around comedians or comedy for that matter - truly supports me totally. He has never once said, "This isn't a career choice, you could make more money elsewhere." He has always supported me fully. He never came to Edinburgh as he dislikes new places; he has Aspergers Syndrome and new houses make him unsettled; he finds it difficult to deal with incompetent people who can't print a ticket or work a sound system; he cannot stand the sycophantic nature of comedy and, because of his syndrome, if a comedian asks his opinion he usually says, "You weren't funny, but I like your new jacket." Aspergers people don't grasp tact very well. But, if they say they like you, then they really do, that's what I like about him!
So my first day home was awesome. I slept for hours like a freed hostage victim. I showered like I had been assaulted in an alley and ate like an Alsatian dog that had been locked in a garage for two weeks.
That was the Edinburgh Fringe 2010.
Friday the 10th of September 2010
My feet still hurt
Where am I? I am home in Glasgow, that's where. I have been in London for a few days doing some interesting stuff and having meetings etc… nothing too exciting but I did get to perform at Heston Blumenthal's staff party. For the record he is the nicest man on the planet, despite cooking weird and wonderful food and soup made out of rainwater (he didn't make that though I suggested it with a puddle pudding on the side: it may appear on the menu). He is very cool.
It looked like the worst gig on the planet: a big bunch of folk of all nationalities in a sodden tent with rain battering down and a microphone that didn't work. The microphone stand was assembled by me out of two cricket stumps and gaffer tape! There was no stage, I stood on a plastic chair and shouted at people and luckily I was funny. The crowd laughed at some of the info I had gleaned off the staff.
The next night, Heston was presented with an award at the GQ Man of the Year as best chef, so I was a guest at the party. I basically stalked Jon Hamm (the sexy bloke from Mad Men). I sneaked up behind him and sniffed his back, I gently stroked his shoulders and plucked a stray hair, I shook his hand and stared at him, willing him to take me into a cupboard and have wicked dirty sex; he merely smiled and wondered why a wee Scottish woman stared so much. I scared him. I liked that.
There were billions of celebs but that's boring as they don't know me and don't want to, but Jon Hamm did look disturbed every time we locked eyes (or when I stared at him intently again). I have discovered Jedi power doesn't exist, I tried to make him love me by staring and sending a message via my wee tiny angry eyes, but I need glasses and blurred vision didn't help.
I learned stuff. Trying to get out of a big-celeb filled room with Heston Blumenthal is hard. Imagine wearing a Velcro suit and trying to run through a forest made of Velcro trees all standing close together. People don't like letting go of him. They talk for ages, want photographs and talk about food as their own food splutters out of their own mouths and lands on your face. They get excited and giggly. Basically you need to be violent and clear a path with a cricket bat as you batter people aside. But that's not how celebs behave and that's why I will never be famous.
Leaving that room was like a famous footballer was running through a private school reunion and the girls had all turned into hookers and wanted a piece of him (that's if you believe well-educated girls become hookers and want to fuck footballers for money).
The other thing I learned is that high heels hurt more than childbirth. That room was full of women in tightly-bound spiky high heels. No wonder Victoria Beckham is grumpy: she has feet bound like a poor Chinese woman from the turn of the century. My feet hurt so much I cried. I fantasised about wearing flip flops and being naked with Jon Mann over the course of the whole night.
So eventually we left there and went to a club in Soho where my flip flops were waiting for me. Now a black low-cut dress on a fat woman who is wearing flip flops is not a good look, but still I got papped by the paparazzi outside the club, fag in hand, chatting to a famous person. (The photo isn't of me, it's of the famous man but I look mental.) I look like an old cleaner in a fat frock chatting up a rich man. Yuk.
I am home and happy, sitting in my pants watching Mad Men.
Sunday the 12th of September 2010
Just me writing stuff
Been a quiet but happy week. I think I might have a mental illness, as I sat on the sofa and chewed the ends of my hair, then got the hair into a knot and ripped it out my head. That's not normal, is it, unless am slowly turning into a cat. Soon I will cough up a fur ball.
Been gigging all week and writing and booking flights, then un-booking them as some comedy promoters and other people can't make up their minds where I am meant to be. So here is the rule of thumb in comedy: don't book stuff in advance for cheapness and seat security, leave it till the last minute as you won't be going to that destination at all and some travel companies hit you with a cash penalty for changing your mind. Just leave everything till the last minute and pay a bit more - cheaper in the long run but fucking annoying. Just thought I would let you know that.
I also need to go buy new high heels, as the ones I had have been donated to the Marquis de Sade Museum of Torturous Pain. I actually threw them over a wall in Soho last week as they hurt my feet so much. I just lobbed them in the dark night; am hoping some Tory MP with small feet finds them and uses them to dress up as a hobbled hooker at weekends.
So I now have the hunt for the comfy heels; that's on my list of things to do.
I don't like shopping; I am not one of those Sex in the City women who squeal and orgasm at the sight of a shopping centre. I don't take hours poring over 'sexy heels' or stroke, kiss and covet them nor do I pay more than £40 for shoes I wear occasionally. I don't subscribe to the noughties mantra that shoes are better than men. I don't want a spiky heel in my tenders and have no interest in pretending I do. Nor do I believe a good handbag and dress makes you more interesting. I look old and quite fat. I don't look sexy but I get laid well and often and in my life time I have actually beaten cock off with a stick, despite having no dress sense, a thick waistline and mangled hair. Eat that, Cosmo girl.
Having said that,libido I do wish I was skinnier as buying clothes that fit my giant tits would be easier.
Husband and I are fast approaching our 30th wedding anniversary and we debated about going away to an expensive cosy cottage by a windswept coastline. We were going to hire this awesome place with a big four poster bed, a log fire with the sea literally whipping at our three hundred year old stone walls, but I decided not to go.
Despite how lovely it looked, I just wanted to stay at home, eat chocolate on the sofa in my pants and not have to wear a bra for three days.
He agreed and we are planning to just have the fight at home, which is what we always do when we go away together. I can sulk better in my own bed.
September is my favourite month. I love the seasons changing and Scotland looks great at this time of year.
I have also started my annual moan about not having a cat. Husband won't let me have one as I am always away and he says it would be his job to clean up after it. So am planning on having a really big fight which will culminate in divorce talk which the only way our marriage can be saved is if we get a cat.
Am joking – that's a horrible thing to do to get what you want, see… I may chew my hair but am not really mental at all!
Am off happy high heel hunting!
Thursday the 16th of September 2010
Who is with me?
I think we should quickly invent a Vuvuzela trumpet for the Pope's visit to Glasgow - it doesn't hoot but the screams of small children come out and remind him of the abuse he covered up! Who is with me?
Let's all stand near Bellahouston Park and protest with banners about the homophobic, Nazi, abuse apologist! Who is with me?
That may sound hysterically radical to you reading this but I am disgusted that the Pope will not allow condoms to save lives in African countries that are crippled by AIDS: the Catholic Church refuses financial help to those communities that distribute and use condoms.
I am disgusted that the Pope won't allow women to become equal in the eyes of his Lord and am totally horrified at the cover up and protection of Church staff that mentally, sexually and physically destroyed children throughout the globe in the name of The Lord.
Jesus must be ashamed of these people if he is the good man everyone says he was/is. Jesus must be up there 'in heaven' wearing a tee shirt that says: "Not in my name, you weird evil people." I don't think anyone can believe the man instigated such horror on mankind, poor Jesus he is the most famous being in existence and look at his PR! Even I have better PR than that.
I hate that these religious pious types got away with such criminal acts.
My wee friend when we were teens was beaten brutally by the nuns who were taking care of her; these despicable women sexually brutalised, battered and mentally tortured my wee pal when she was 14 years old. It took years for her to come to terms with the angst and pain she suffered.
Any organisation that protects its abusers within a system and proclaims protection in the name of The Lord needs a punch in the chops.
Who is with me?
Having said that I have to acknowledge that there were many good priests and nuns in the Catholic Church. They can't all be bad. I knew a cracking wee Nun when I lived in Shettleston; she used to bake for pensioners and, despite me not being a Catholic or having any religion, she taught me to knit and got me loads of books to read. She was a friend's aunt and she was always kind.
So we can't blame everyone for everything.
Saturday the 18th of September 2010
Who does that?
At Highlights comedy club in Edinburgh, a stag party proudly announced to me as they walked in the door, "We hired a dwarf," and pointed at a little person dressed neatly in a police uniform. Everyone guffawed and the little person - or as he liked to call himself 'Dwarf For Hire' - pinched my bottom and wiggled his bum.
The small policeman sat at their table, pinched a few cheeks and left after an hour as he is only hired by the hour and they had only paid for an hour. He was grumpy as well and I don't mean Dopey, Happy and Bashful weren't available I mean the small person was actually grumpy.What's the point in hiring someone who is banking on their ability to be laughed at being grumpy when laughed at?
Folk are weird, eh? I didn't know you could hire small people in various costumes. At least they have stopped hiring strippers and moved on to people with other talents.
Yesterday I went out to get milk and slipped on a dead pigeon, its guts all squirted out and my hand landed on its squished wing, then I spewed up all over the street outside the Shelter charity shop. It was like a scene from a Quentin Tarantino film, except it wasn't, it was my life. I couldn't get the bird blood and guts off my sleeve and I spewed all the way home. I wasn't fit for a dead bird event as I am already sick.
I have been laid low with a flu virus for over a week and it has made me feel awful. It's as if I am snorting molten sticky lava through my nasal passages and drawing hot coal dust into my lungs. Am hoping that goes away quite soon.
I must tell you that the podcast is taking off great guns. We have had heaps more downloads and Ashley and I really have fun doing it, though I end up talking over the top of her constantly! Who knew I did that?
Tuesday the 21st of September 2010
I hate the flu, or whatever this virus is that I have been harbouring in my veins since last week. Everyone who isn't a doctor has a theory: "It's a cold, everyone is getting it" is a favourite or "My mate had it last week and her legs went wobbly".
OK, here is the scoop, I hate being sick and almost had to cancel a gig on Saturday at Highlights Edinburgh. Turns out despite vomiting, sweating and having blurred vision, I can still be funny! I did try to avoid contact with everyone in case I smitted them with my stinky virus.
Twitter has been hysterical this week, by the way. Everyone in the media moans about Twitter; they say stuff like "Is that twatter?" but I love it and even news agencies use it as a major tool. I watched a politician being grilled on BBC and his tweets were used against him in the argument. Twitter is like your conscience talking whilst your mouth isn't moving and journalists love that.
Anyway I have been following 50 Cent, the US rapper, and his tweets border on porn; he loves talking about his cock and how he has sex with women. It makes you feel a little bit dirty listening in and then he puts up pics of his golden guns made into desk lamps which are funny as fuck. It took me three weeks of following 50 Cent to realise he isn't Nelly the rapper that I actually like, which makes me racist, I don't know my black rappers from one another. Ashley was horrified at this news and made me watch videos and listen to songs from Nelly and 50 Cent and 50 Cent is rubbish; it really is Nelly I have loved all along.
I can't go on Twitter and take back all the love I gave 50 cent but I can now laugh at his golden ornaments around his home without shame. Meanwhile I am on Nelly's tail on Twitter and he is well sexy!
Maybe in my fast approaching dotage I need to stop lusting after young black rap boys? I can't imagine my mother at this age (she never reached my age she died at 47) anyway I can't imagine my mammy telling me she lusted after a pop star that I loved at the same time. I can see why Ashley is disgusted at me.
So this week I have been sick, racist and dirty all at the same time.
I also have been making big plans for the future. Will tell all when news comes in!
Tuesday the 28th of September 2010
The Anniversary Blog
The past month I have been down on my hunkers with a nasty flu. Ashley my daughter got it as well and she was worse than me: it felt like a TB ward in my home. Husband didn't get it which is good as, when he gets flu, it's like he has had a stroke and paralysis of the torso, but not in his moany mouth.
I almost had to cancel comedy gigs, but instead just went along, stayed away from everyone and shouted random words into a microphone in a funny fashion… I hope.
Husband and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary; we didn't go away to a swanky hotel as we decided to have the argument at home. We always argue on important dates. I can't believe we have managed thirty whole years together. I was only 18 when I met him and he was 16 and half years old, then we got married when I was 19 and he was just 18 that month. We were just bloody kids, yet people allowed us to get married: that's a lack of parental guidance as far as I am concerned.
So here we are, running headlong towards middle age; we have both been through our teens, twenties, thirties and forties which makes us sound like brother and sister and that's creepy. I don't think it's normal to remember when your husband first shaved or to witness his school leaving party and a man shouldn't really recall when his wife had her first period… should they?
Unless they are cousins and its Hicksville USA!
People ask how we have lasted so long and the simple answer is… we openly hate each other quite a lot and that's healthy and we have angry, bitey sex… but no dogging.
I love my family. Talking of family, I went up to see my dad and his latest malapropism made me wet my pants a bit. He actually shouted in the supermarket: "Janey, get me some fresh poonanny!" People stared, kids giggled and I corrected him by shouting back: "Yes, dad, I will get you some Panini."
On other news, the podcast that Ashley and I do has been going great guns. Loads of people have subscribed and we are well chuffed with the support it's been getting - just check Janey Godley Podcast on ITunes if you want to hear it.
This month I will be doing a big charity event called The Hottest Night of The Year where I will be doing a big comedy night. I will be tutoring four prominent business people in Glasgow to do stand up for five minutes. I have to say that the poor people who have volunteered are apoplectic with fear at the prospect of getting up doing comedy.
But they are all coming on well and I am very proud of them and their efforts and it will great on the night.