Janey's Blogs - July 2007
Monday the 2nd of July
2007
03:05:11 AM
Terrorist Attack on Glasgow…
Am sitting in Leeds chatting
on the phone to my daughter Ashley, she was still in Glasgow and it
was late afternoon on Saturday. She then told me that Glasgow had just
had a terrorist attack. Two Asian men had rammed a Cherokee Jeep into
the front of Glasgow Airport. This was on the day after two car bomb
attacks had failed to ignite in London.
I immediately switched on the BBC news channel.
The engine had exploded on impact, and then they ran out and started
to throw petrol onto the flames.
What they really under estimated was Glasgow’s fierce winds; the
fucking petrol and flames blew back and set fire to their heads. Then
the police and Scottish bystanders ran around the place looking for
the terrorists…erm…excuse me I think you will find that the
two people with their hair on fire, screaming Allah may be the people
you are looking for!
What amazed me and made me laugh my ass off was the Scottish stoic attitude
to the first Al Qaeda attack on our soil.
Glaswegians were all over the BBC news talking calmly about the scary
event. For instance, when the BBC reporter asked what had happened the
wee old man actually said live on the worlds news.
“Well, two P.P...(Almost saying the word Paki which is horribly
offensive) Asian fellows came running towards me, their hair was on
fire, I fought in the war son, so I kicked one of them to the ground
and the rain never stopped once, I cannae believe this rain in June
can you? I suppose that’s my flight to Magaluf fucked then eh?
”
I sat in Leeds and pissed myself laughing. You see Glaswegian people
don’t understand Muslim terrorists. They keep asking: “Are
they Catholic or Protestant Muslims?” We only understand sectarianism,
after years of IRA and UDA fighting all over the UK, we really have
only got our heads around that!
We just cannot believe it has happened as we just don’t understand
it at all especially as all the events of terror that day had failed.
I think they may be the Provisional Al Qaeda; these people aren’t
very good at their job. Also it is the first time the apparent fundamentalists
haven’t attempted suicide in their attacks. So it’s all very
odd and haphazard to
be honest.
The other strange and funny thing is the UK police are calling the police
investigation ‘Operation Cobra’ which is so fucking funny
as ‘Cobra’ is a famous Asian/Indian Beer here in the UK. It’s
like saying we will call our operation after a beer that you guys make
but shouldn’t be allowed to drink if you are true to your religion!
I am not scared anymore, I am Scottish and more worried that some drug
addled fuck wit will rob me of my purse.
Monday the 2nd of
July 2007
08:45:55 PM
I am a bad Mother…
Things are making
me crazy lately; I always get freaked out this time of year as I prepare
to go to the Edinburgh Fringe. The organisation alone makes me feel
like I have to be one of those mystical Hindu Gods with seventeen arms
and possibly two heads. Luckily I do have help, but I still worry sick
about the tiny details.
To make matters worse my daughter Ashley told me that whenever she does
anything wrong she worries incessantly that I will be so disappointed
with her and she tries not to tell me stuff and instead tells her dad.
That makes me feel bad so we talked about it.
Am I that judgmental?
Am I that scary?
So we discussed, when we were in Glastonbury Ashley unfolded a small
pop up tent we bought as an addition to the big tent as we decided that
because we never had a car to store luggage- a pop up tent was the answer
to our problems…anyway Ashley popped up the tent and then promptly
snapped it - it broke within two seconds of it opening.
I apparently sighed loudly…so loudly…she felt terrible about
her mistake and used this incident as an example of my overwhelming
disappointment at her.
I was astounded at her saying this, I did sigh loudly, I was fucked
off she broke the thing within three seconds of opening it…but
then I immediately assured her that it was all OK. The most important
thing was to get it up and get the luggage inside as we were being flooded.
But that didn’t count…I sighed…and she felt crushed.
I have no idea how to fix this issue, I have told her that no matter
what she does – she must tell me, I will be disappointed BUT I
will lie, cheat and even kill to protect her and would do so willingly.
Being a mother is hard.
Husband is exempt from this psychological torture, he apparently doesn’t
care what she does and reassures her that all is well and she can tell
him anything. Does that make me Hitler?
My reckoning is this…husband has disappointed me so much in life
and is used to making mistakes so Ashley and he have an empathy that
I don’t.
I am wrong aren’t I?
I make loads of mistakes and I talk about them and discuss where and
why I went wrong. I am sure I disappoint loads of people but I can't
do everything right every time and I explained this to Ashley. I am
not always disappointed in her, I am allowed to be either annoyed or
shocked at something she did, but I will always stand by her.
I think somewhere along the line I have damaged her and I feel bad.
Wednesday the 4th
of July 2007
10:27:27 AM
Trust me I am
a doctor….
Is Dr Who going
to be the only doctor from lands afar that we can now depend on?
The latest news
that terrorist cells are being established through the NHS with Pakistani/
Indian originated doctors in the UK is horrifying.
Is Locum a new word
for bomb?
We have thousands of Asian doctors in Glasgow and they have always been
very well respected. People in Scotland trust medical staff: it's how
we were raised as kids.
We in the UK always assumed that fundamentalist terrorist groups were
made up of uneducated disenfranchised Muslims who needed something to
believe in and would go to the lengths of killing themselves and innocent
others to prove their point.
Now we know that middle classed educated doctors and medical staff is
actually the people behind the latest attacks in the UK and that stuns
me.
I live within a huge Muslim community in Glasgow; it's great to have
diversity. I have noticed changes lately. For instance the sheer amount
of guys going to the Mosque in full white robes and long beards, no
longer a staple for the older Islamists, is growing.
Now the younger guys who used to dress in jeans are fully robed and
growing beards.
That doesn’t
mean they are terrorists! I am not that bloody naïve, but I have
never seen so many younger men in the white with beards as I have before.
I am a comedian
and a people watcher; these things I notice.
I used to love watching the diverse mix of young hip Asians getting
out of the fancy cars, music booming, dressed like pale rappers and
walking to the Mosque to join their elders and shake hands and acknowledge
each other in the street.
Now there are less
of them and that’s just how it is.
I love living near the Mosque. It is right across from a Church and
near and Chapel.
Watching the mix
of religious worshipers is interesting for me.
The sheer amount of Afro/Caribbean food shops mixed with Asian shops
that sell jewellery, fabrics and beauty products are wonderful in the
West End of Glasgow.
That’s what
I love the most about living here; we never had that in the East End.
I hate the suspicion
that is beginning to grow in my community.
I saw two men come
out of a pub yesterday and shout at the guys going to the Mosque. That
isn’t helpful.
I have no idea what the government is going to do about our National
Health Service being the bedrock for terrorism; I hope it gets sorted
out.
The last thing we need is racial attacks on the hard working Muslims
that live here and love being Scottish.
Saturday the 7th
of July 2007
04:20:48 PM
Getting Old…
I am nearly very
old and I feel it. I am 46 now and truly that is old for being a stand
up comic; all the other comics who are female are mostly young and sexy.
I know I am old because…
1) I actually use the handles on my bath and
now stick my feet onto the bath non slip surface to get a good purchase
grip when getting out. When I was young, those rough patches on the
bath annoyed me and I hated cleaning them, now I keep them rough with
a pumice stone.
2) When I try to tie my hair up with a clasp,
the stretch hurts my under arms.
3) There are grey eyebrows appearing and there
is one long grey ‘Witch's Hair’ growing out of my chin.
4) My knee makes a strange squeaky noise when
I climb the stairs.
5) Sex exhausts me for all the wrong reasons.
6) A multiple orgasm may induce a stroke, so
I avoid them at all costs and concentrate on flower arranging during
any sexual contact.
7) I almost peed when I sneezed last week.
8)
There is a big brown freckle on my hand that may look like a liver spot
that old people get.
9) The young guys in the street don’t offer
me free flyers to get into sexy night clubs; in fact they offer to help
me with my shopping bags.
10) Old women on the bus turn to me to chat about the weather and expect
an answer; don’t they know I still fancy 50 Cent?
11) I know all the words to Rappers Delight by the Sugar Hill Gang and
can recall the exact day in October 1979 when rap first burst onto our
airwaves through the radio.
12) I can recall live pictures from the Vietnam War on the BBC News.
13) When I dance, people snigger and listen for my hips snapping.
14) Old men with smelly jackets and tufty hair, ask me for my phone
number and use the chat up line “Did we meet at the bingo?”
15) I wear socks to bed and no longer choose underwear for sex value,
preferring cotton and easy wash attributes, I used to wear uncomfortable
bright sexy lacy gear.
16) My baby niece Abi asked me if I had owned a Penny Farthing bike
which we saw in a museum last month.
17) My nephew Shawn wanted to buy me a shopping trolley with wheels
for my birthday, because he worries that the weight may hurt my arms.
Life is over for me….please please 50 Cent come get me before it’s
all too late for me to bend.
Wednesday the 11th
of July 2007
02:30:46 PM
Gulls must die…
My bed is directly
beneath my window in our bedroom and we always have the window tilted
open. This morning I woke up with screaming and screeching in my ear.
I leapt to the floor and ran to the door when husband shouted: “It's
OK - It’s a gull outside, not Ashley!”
I fell on the bed
in a state of fear. In my sleepiness, I thought it was my daughter screaming
from her room. So gulls must die.
Like I need more noisy things to frighten me on my sleep? No.
I am still getting everything organised for the Edinburgh Fringe. Tomorrow
I go to London to do my first preview of the show ‘Janey Godley
- Tell It Like It Is!’ which will run throughout the Fringe at
the Pleasance venue and I will be doing a chat show at the Green Room
also.
Two shows a day is good; it keeps me busy and makes me work hard which
I love to bits.
Ashley is doing
a play called 'The Guid Sisters' and it will be awesome to see her onstage.
I can’t wait; she is such a good actress.
Husband isn’t
looking forward to any of it. He isn’t into the Fringe the way
we are.
I, on the other hand, love it -three weeks of performing nightly is
so up my street like you cannot believe!
Yesterday, I went over to see Shaun, my wee nephew and he is now ten
years old. He is getting tall and funny. He asked me if he could come
over to my house for the night, but I had to tell him that Ashley has
her period and may claw him like a tiger as she is very grumpy today…This
confused a wee ten year old boy, so its just as well he is getting sex
education at school soon as he lives with three females and he better
get up to speed soon.
I said to him: “One
day the word ‘ovulating’ is going to mean so much to you”
He didn’t understand,
but he will…one day…
Poor wee man.
I am sure he will catch on soon enough and learn to build a safety bunker
in the basement with food supplies and drinking water so he can avoid
the rampaging hormonal Amazonian Scottish women that roam his house
whilst ovulating.
Meanwhile, I am going to make Ashley a hot water bottle…maybe it was her screams I heard this morning?
Saturday the 14th
of July 2007
11:23:42 AM
I am panicking about age again…
Yes I am becoming
obsessed with this subject matter. I woke up this morning and panicked
as I realised I am nearly 50…well I am 46 and that’s fucking
close enough.
I recall the 80s
like it was yesterday, I can tell you what I wore, who I voted for,
how I felt and what music I liked and that was 25 years ago!
It feels like last
month not decades ago!
I can’t believe I am this age. I have only one marker or example
to go by and that’s my mammy and she was murdered at 47.
She was really old
at my age. She was wrinkly, had no teeth, cared nothing about what she
wore and had absolutely no ambition; she accepted her child bearing
days were done and that she was just a granny with no future!
I think my life is just beginning now that my daughter is an adult.
I can travel more, I can explore my own ambitions and I can start to
be me again after the hiatus of motherhood. Well that’s the plan!
Talking of travel, I am just back from London having done my first Edinburgh
preview show at the Arts Depot in North London. I decided to stay at
the Groucho Club overnight as it was nice and central. The place is
awesome and I love the Groucho, but at 5.30am I was sharply awoken by
the noise of hundreds of bottles being smashed in the backyards of Soho
as the recycling truck came round. The noise was ear shattering! I could
not believe anyone or anything could make that much noise so early!
Fuck the planet and let me sleep!
So here I am back in Glasgow and it's Saturday. I have woken up scared
I am nearly 50 and scared I will be too old too quick. I want my life
back to live all over again and, this time, I promise I won’t get
married too young, I won’t spend 15 years in a shitty bar and I
will make sure I find a way to go to America and screw Brad Pitt!
Sunday the 15th
of July 2007
06:49:31 PM
Beach time again…
Husband, Ashley
and I went out to Balmaha beach on Loch Lomond. It is very nice but
there are too many dogs running around shitting everywhere, despite
a ‘dogs on leads only’ notice up in the car park.
The stony beach overlooks the east side of Loch Lomond and it can be
a peaceful place at times, but not today.
I was surprised
to see many young girls as old as eight, nine or ten running around
naked as their parents sat and watched them play on the busy shore.
I kept averting my eyes incase I looked like a pervert that likes watching
naked females play in the surf.
I am not being stuffy here but how hard is it to cover up little girls'
developing bodies?
I wish we lived in a society that had no inhibitions about naked kids….but
fucksake dear parents shoot yourself in the face, people have camera
phones and access to the internet and we all know the consequences of
that equation.
Only recently we have had to deal with the barrage of publicity of that
wee McCann girl being abducted from her holiday villa; people snatch
kids and usually girls.
Well at least the naked girls' parents were sitting close and not dining
out of reach of their kids like the McCann family, who I think need
a good kick in the bollocks for leaving their three small kids unattended.
Anyway, lest I rant about the negligent McCann family, I did have a
decent day at the beach.
We stopped at the Carbeth Inn on the way home and Ashley remarked about
the sheer amount of fat baldy bikers and asked: “I wonder what
the ratio of hair loss to bikers is?” - and that made me laugh.
Life is OK; we are all waiting patiently on our move to Edinburgh in
August for the Fringe 2007. I am gathering amazing guests for my chat
show and my new comedy show ‘Tell It Like It Is’ is all good
to go.
Do come along if you are in the area - would be nice to see you all!
Tuesday the 17th
of July 2007
11:40:51 PM
Goats do things to sheep…I saw it with my own eyes!
We were passing
a field the other day and there was a goat sucking on a sheep’s
teats, well I hope that’s what it was doing. I hope I never witnessed
sheep rape; I am not sure if it was a female sheep - anyway the sheep
was trying to get away and the goat was really insistent. Yuk.
Whilst on that theme of wildlife and sex, my daughter once had to sit
exams in her old school church and in the middle of the exam a pigeon
starting screaming around the rafters as a male pigeon tried to pin
it down for sex!
There were feathers
and dust flying all around the place and my daughter complained that
she couldn’t concentrate on her maths exam as pigeon rape took
place!
I am sure many people here recall back in their childhood seeing two
dogs stuck together at the ass and women would come out and throw buckets
of water over them. I used to think it was like the ‘pushmi-pullyu’
llama from the Doctor Dolittle stories.
I think I am all out of animal sex stories for now.
I had to go on the phone for nearly an hour tonight talking with a journalist
as Ashley and I are featured in the Sunday Times Ecosse section this
coming Sunday: it’s about mothers and their daughters. I
hope I came across OK.
Glasgow was hot today, well not to start with: we had hail stones as
big as pebbles, then the sun came out.
Four seasons in one day!
Thursday the 19th
of July 2007
11:10:47 AM
I am an ambassador…
There is a new charity
in Scotland being launched tonight called World HIV Aids Charity in
Edinburgh and I am an ambassador. I am doing a speech and an auction
and I will auction the authors signed copy of the latest Harry Potter
book!
I may read the last
few pages and spoil it for everyone! I WILL NOT!
Husband and I went down to Balmaha on the banks of Loch Lomond to visit
my niece Ann Margaret; she and her husband were camping with baby Abi
and Shaun. The sun was shining when we arrived and baby Abi was sitting
sadly on a swing, so I went over to find out what was wrong; I thought
she would be happy to see me.
“Hello Abi, are you ok?” I asked.
“No,” she sulked.
“Why?” I asked.
“I want a wet suit and boat of my own; everyone else has one,”
she pouted.
I couldn’t stop laughing: a fucking boat and a wet suit! I recall
begging for one roller skate when I was her age - one skate would have
done me…a fucking boat? Hahahaha…
Anyway she finally decided to stop moaning come play on the beach. Just
as we got there the clouds burst and the weather went from searing hot
to pounding rain…we all ran towards the tent and huddled in to
get out of the slashing storm.
Ann Margaret had a wee one ring gas stove, so as she and her husband
drove off to buy fish and chips for dinner; my husband and I boiled
some water and had a cup of tea. Finally the rain stopped and we sat
outside in the wet fresh greenery and drank our hot mugs of tea…it
was delightful!
The fish and chips arrived. Wee Abi is only four years old and must
have a stomach the size of a wee golf ball yet managed to stuff huge
amounts of food in and a few slices of bread!
She eats like hell
and is a tiny wee fairy type child…it never fails to amaze me.
Shaun, who had been in the Loch swimming for ages also ate like a ravenous
wolf. I couldn’t stop laughing at the way they sat so lovely and
all fingers and pointy pinky fingers, yet chomping their way through
a whole fish and plateful of chips.
They don’t
normally get chips and fast food but, as the rain had destroyed all
chances of eating from the barbeque, desperate measures were needed!
Husband and I drove off home leaving the happy wee family sitting outside
their wet tent, but enjoying a day with their kids. Ann Margaret’s
youngest baby Julia was being babysat, so they had more time to spend
with Shaun and Abi.
When we were leaving, Abi hugged me and said: “Can you buy me a
boat, Aunty Janey?” I just laughed and promised I would teach her
to swim so she doesn’t need a boat in future.
Saturday the 21st
of July 2007
05:26:18 PM
A fight with a God botherer…
Glasgow has a pedestrian
area where more often that not Jesus people come past, set up camp and
shout about God. I had a small argument with them as the young boy with
the microphone asked me if my life was perfect and I shouted “Yes,
I have no God to serve, I am good to people, I give money to charity
and unlike the Catholic Church in America I don’t have to sell
my property to pay off the kids I abused, but no doubt because I don’t
have Jesus in my life you will tell me when I die I will go to hell...”
The young guy stood there and, as the public waited on his answer, I
pushed him again: “Am I going to hell even though I am a good person?
Come on, tell the people - they want to know!” and he said quietly,
“Yes she will go to hell,” and I laughed loudly and said that
priests who have abused kids will got to heaven but I won't and, yes,
my life is perfect.
So, after that wee conclusion, I marched off home happily.
I am sure if Jesus
is up there watching us he would agree with me.
Life can be like that.
Sunday the 22nd
of July 2007
03:01:50 PM
The Great Floods and my history…
It seems Middle
England is under water this week. Huge floods have swept across most
of Cheltenham, Gloucester and other places that sound like building
societies in the UK.
Scotland seems to
be fine so far and I am not sure if we are under threat but there is
a reason they call us Lowlanders here in Glasgow!
I may move to the Highlands like my forefathers. Actually I recently
investigated my gene pool and it seems I had a great, great, great Granny
with the surname Derham, which isn’t actually from Durham but is
Dutch.
How nice, I quite
like being a bit Dutch.
My husband has Scottish Highlanders going back five generations and
that explains why our daughter is really tall and looks like a big highland
lass! All dark hair, fair skin and strong legs, Ashley was made for
tree felling and fighting invaders.
I was made for rolling down hills and making clogs I suspect.
Here is my family tree that I found out so far - start at the bottom
with my dad and work upwards.
(Her mum and dad) John Derham and Catherine Rogers (no dates)
/
(Her mum) Julia Derham (b 1853; d 1914)
/
(Her mum) Julia Gunn (b 1887; d 1949)
/
(His mother) Martha Currie (Died in 1950s)
/
My dad Jim Currie (still alive)
So there we are - a wee bit of my history. I would like to add more
to it, but I am still searching and need to go up to the genealogy department
to finish it all off, but haven’t got the time yet.
I love figuring
out where I came from and find it immensely interesting.
I will update as
I find out more.
My name Godley was actually my middle name, I was born Janey Godley
Currie – Godley was given to me by my Aunt Janey who married a
bloke called John Godley in the late 50s and then she divorced him and
I was left with his name and no one knows anything about him!
I suspect he was
from Kent or somewhere like that; my aunt and he never had kids together
and I don’t speak to my aunt. She hated me for taking her brother
to court for sexually abusing me.
Her brother is my Uncle David who raped and abused me as a child and
she defended him and insists I am a liar.
My uncle was charged
and sentenced to three years imprisonment for abusing my sister and
me. So I will probably never know who John Godley was or is or where
he is now. But I have his name and I am proud of it!
I don’t hate my Aunt Janey; I feel sorry for her. She is somewhere
out there convincing herself that her family name is intact and their
honour is preserved.
What a shame, but I don’t feel sorry for telling the truth….EVER!
Tuesday the 24th
of July 2007
06:23:13 PM
Daisy chains and shouting matches…
Well Glasgow is
incredibly hot so I went to the park today to eat lunch and I actually
made a daisy chain! I haven’t made one in years and it does take
a bit of practice.
At least I got some
peace and quiet.
I saw the feature on Ashley and me in the Sunday Times Ecosse
section and the picture they used of me is hideously funny. I am stuck
on a fence with one leg over and one leg behind the metal rail and it
really is the most unflattering picture of me I have ever seen. Ashley
looks like a goddess. I look like a fat stuck pig. The article was great
though.
Well there has been trouble at the Godley household. Husband and I had
yet another spectacular shouting match (all we do is fight). As always
it my fault, me again and my big fucking annoying mouth. I seem to make
him pissed off just by breathing…is that possible? He is big MAN…you
see I have run out of insults and have resorted to calling him a man
that’s how exasperated he has got me lately.
Ashley is even grumpier; her favourite jeans that she has worn to death
have actually died. They have fallen apart and are in shreds.
She had out seven
pairs of jeans today and apparently none of them fit properly like her
old jeans. So I have decided to get the old jeans and take them to a
tailor to be copied. The things I will do for some fucking peace. I
may just run away and never come back. They might not even miss me.
So there we have it: daisy chains and shouting matches. At least Scotland
isn’t flooded.
Thursday the 26th
of July 2007
06:25:24 PM
Things I remember that make me snort with laughter
I remember about
twelve years ago, I went to a private therapist to talk about the sexual
abuse I had suffered as a child.
I didn’t really
want to go but was advised that it would help. This was a new age type
of holistic therapy. But it was recommended and although I was hesitant
I tried to open my mind and try it.
On meeting the woman
who was my one-on-one therapist, I immediately felt uncomfortable. She
had that overly bright smiley look that makes me think of people who
are on Valium or who are eternally happy over nothing.
Anyway she hugged
me (how odd) and then sat me down and told me that before she could
assess me we had to do some exercises!
I had just finished
an eight hour shift in my busy pub and didn’t feel like being a
tree or whatever the fuck she thought I wanted to be.
Anyway she stood me in the middle of this floor in a big empty room
and handed me a small hard rubber ball. There was big circle in blue
on the opposite wall and she told me to throw the ball at the circle,
and then tell her what made me sad.
I was so fucking tired and couldn’t be arsed with this, I couldn’t
see how being raped at five could be solved by lobbing a ball at a wall,
but I thought I shouldn’t be churlish.
She told me before I threw the ball that anger is a controllable emotion,
that it is natural and expressive, so not to feel strange but to feel
‘safe’. Then she smiled serenely, nodded her head at me, then
opened her arms and hummed loudly.
I stifled a giggle.
I decided to take her words on board and I lifted my arm up and with
all my strength I battered that wee ball towards the wall; it hurled
in the air at an amazing speed, the sheer force of it hitting off the
wall made a big popping sound.
The ball smacked the wall, ricocheted back and hit the woman right in
the eye.
She fell on the floor and went into the foetal position and gasped in
pain.
I stood there not knowing what to do. Why the fuck had she stood in
the room with her arms open? She looked like a target!
“Are you OK?” I asked.
She jumped up and held her eye with both hands and screamed at me: “You
have probably damaged my eye! Why did you throw it so hard?”
“I was raped,” was all I could say.
I laughed so much, she screamed more at me. All I could do was grab
my coat and run out.
She was right; it did make me feel better.
Friday the 27th
of July 2007
02:19:12 PM
My Tribute Act
Yes I know it’s
hard to believe but I actually have my own tribute act! That’s
me and Billy Connolly have our own personal imitators in Scotland. I
have arrived!
He is a Scottish comic and he does a character called Senga McInally
and it’s based on me. I heard about it through a mate and she told
me it was hilarious, so I checked out his website and there he was in
a black curly wig and in a dress, and actually does look like me! Except
he kind of ruined the image by standing holding a beer and I don’t
drink!
He goes on stage and does a parody of me and shouts about my best selling
book! (I couldn’t pay for this kind of advertisement) I am so chuffed.
Anyway I popped down to a wee bar locally where he was gigging last
weekend and asked him personally to come on my chat show at the Edinburgh
Fringe at the Green Room at 5pm. He did at first agree but it seems
now he can’t make it and I am so upset.
Can you imagine having your very own tribute act on your very own show?
My husband told me that until you have an impersonator you are a nobody,
so at least I have discovered that I am famous enough to be recognised
by audiences without even being there and that must say something.
Even George Bush had his own impersonator on his stage at one event,
and the UK Puppet show Spitting Image proved that you had to be someone
to be parodied.
Some other comics pointed out that his act is rather cruel about me,
but I can’t see how that is true, if he goes to the bother of buying
a black wig and dress and talks about my achievements then that’s
not cruel. That’s good press.
My daughter and I did an extreme tribute to Jade Goody on my website
videos; if she wasn’t famous she wouldn’t be worth doing,
so it’s all relevant!
If he is nasty and
cruel about me, fair play to him, I put myself up to be poked at and
you have to take everything on the chin. I say stuff about famous people.
I am just amazed that I am famous enough for audiences to have that
laugh of recognition about me, that’s the amazing thing. Gobsmacked!
Anyway I don’t believe that the guy would be cruel or nasty about
me; why would he, he is my tribute guy!
So a big round of applause and respect to Senga McInally and her continuous
success is my thought on the matter.
May she live to see another day?
Monday the 30th
of July 2007
10:23:54 AM
Can life get any more stressed?
Now not only am
I having the worst period pains in my life, but I have to get packed
up and move to Edinburgh and start doing my Fringe shows. I had the
most hectic weekend as well.
On Friday night
I did my comedy preview show at Kilmarnock, then went to Glasgow Central
station and got on the late night sleeper to London. The cabin was tiny
and hot, one wee squinty bed with the covers so tightly tucked in I
had to squeeze my fat bloated body in.
I couldn’t
sleep; the bloody train rocks and shoogles all through the night and
I kept waking up thinking the train was crashing! Nice…
Anyway, managed to get to London on time to do the fabulous BBC Radio
4 show ‘Saturday Live’ with the ever so cool Tom Robinson;
he is amazing. I love the show and it was a great experience being on
it and Tom is a wonderful guy. I am such a fan of his.
Then I got in a cab and went to Heathrow to fly back home and do my
other preview in Kilmarnock. The show was not as high energy as I wanted
but after having such a heavy period and being tired….well I was
all out of sparks! Though the show went fine.
Last night I sat and watched ZULU that old 60s movie with Michael Caine
and Stanley Baker and pissed myself laughing at the accents and attitude
of those poncy British soldiers. How presumptuous of them to assume
they could colonise a nation with a stiff upper lip and silver service
tea set! I have to say though it was shot beautifully and the scenery
was stunning. I am going to watch ZULU DAWN next and catch up on my
old films.
I always do this
at Edinburgh time; I get out all my old film classics and watch them.
It takes the heat off the stress of doing two shows a day.
So it is now Monday. I am getting packed up and today I go through to
Edinburgh to do my technical run through. I am still woozy and tired
but ready to roll.
I hope the two shows go well - ‘Janey Godley’s Chat Show’
at the Green Room 5pm and ‘Janey Godley - Tell It Like It Is!’
my comedy show up at the Pleasance at 7pm.
Tuesday the 31st
of July 2007
05:26:31 PM
Dark scary dreams…
At this time of
the year, I always have deep scary dreams. It’s the stress of the
Fringe playing on my mind.
This one was particularly horrifying. It started with my daughter’s
best pal Victoria. She was standing in my living room and we were jokingly
mocking her about a boy she had met. She took it badly and ran into
my bedroom and climbed onto my bed and opened our big window. We live
on the top floor. I watched as she climbed backwards through the window
and held on with both hands onto the frame, screaming she was going
to let herself go.
My daughter was standing on the bed begging her to come back in and
for, some reason, I could hear my husband down in the back car park
shouting at her to stop the nonsense.
In the moment I stood there, I felt the utter depth of her soul and
I actually understood her need to let go. In between all the screaming
and watching my daughter beg her to stop, I actually felt the horror
of Victoria’s pain. It was disgusting and hollow. Like
a bottomless pit in my stomach. That one second of her pain was revealed
to me like she had transferred all her deepest fears and sorrow to me
in one glance and my soul had sucked it in and let it penetrate my heart.
Victoria just closed her eyes and let herself go out of the window.
My daughter Ashley fell on the bed hysterical and wept. I ran out of
the bedroom and ran about panicking, then ran back into the bedroom
and the scene that faced me made my heart stop. Ashley was standing
up on the window ledge. She made eye contact with me and she never spoke.
She smiled and her eyes twinkled and then she waved and then let herself
drop into the emptiness.
I ran to the window paralysed with fear and watched her fall and then
she bounced off a parked car and her broken dead body lay stiffly beside
her friend Victoria who was splattered all over the concrete. My husband
was screaming as his daughter lay in the backyard dead.
I woke up screaming and ran into Ashley’s room and there she was
all sleepy and tangled up in her duvet. Her favourite teddy was snuggled
up in her arms and her dark hair was spread around her head like a dark
wavy halo. Her pale face was serene, her dark eyelashes sat thickly
on her cheeks and that beautiful pouting rose coloured mouth made her
look like a baby.
I stood in the silence of her bedroom and watched her for a few moments.
I was recalling
the sheer horror that I had felt seconds ago and knew in that moment
that, if she died, I would have to go to my death to; I couldn’t
bear to live my life without knowing she was there.
I know grief. I felt it last week.
The rest of the Fringe will be piss easy.
I have my daughter safely hugging me as I write this.
Life is good.