So, then I just got ready for the gigs and getting myself into gear. The coughing during the night freaked me out so much I had to stop smoking all over again (yes I slipped). So breathing is better since I had stopped again, but seriously I am concerned and need to go get my lungs check.

So I called NHS helpline and they asked me all the countries I had visited lately, I gave them New Zealand, Hong Kong, Los Angeles and Scotland. She ignored all the exotic locations and dug her teeth into Scotland. “There are big out breaks of swine flu in Scotland” she shouted. After I listed all my ailments she reassured me that I don’t have swine flu but just The Flu.

The gigs have been great though, I managed to do an Edinburgh preview which wasn’t really an Edinburgh preview. I just made some stuff up and watched if it worked or not. Meanwhile, the illness was ranging from snotty thick nose goo and coughing up green kites out of my lungs, then hacking coughs during the day that almost made me pee myself.

Wednesday last week I headed up to Manchester for a casting. I made the fatal mistake of jumping on an early train (instead of 9.20am I got on the 8.20am) which apparently is evil and costs an extra £160- as if I was going to pay that because I sat on a train an hour earlier that is just mental. I told the train man to fuck off, the train was empty and I refused to be robbed by those people.

He just stared at me and said “You got on a train that is peak time and your ticket is off peak, you have to pay”.

“Am not paying, look, am sorry but this train is empty, I am not taking someone’s seat, the sheer amount of times the train I paid for never either never left the station or never quite got to its destination is many fold, so am not moving or paying so call the police, look mate I know you are doing your job but this is just wrong” I spoke. He stared at me and said “ok” then smiled. I like the train man now.

The casting went fine, and I headed back to London on a train that wasn’t actually my ‘time train’ but I was now addicted to screwing with the system and felt quite crazy. Nobody bothered.

London has been really hot, at night I was sleeping in the lovely room with a big fan in my face which was awesome but in the morning my mouth and nose were dried up.

On Friday I woke up to the news that Michael Jackson had died, I really liked his music but went off him years ago when he paid a kid not to take him to court for sexual offences. I know he was found innocent in another child sexual case, but I just didn’t like him much after that. No one likes talking about this, not many people liked my tweets about this, so I will leave it at that!

On Saturday I did a comedy stint on Loose Ends on BBC Radio 4; it can be a tough gig as you basically shout stuff at five people sitting round a table in a small studio. The lovely Gerry Anderson was there, he was the man who made the Thunderbirds puppet series amongst many other puppet based TV shows.

He was really a cool old dude and gave me a big chat about stopping smoking; really he should be doing the circuit as a stopping smoking guru as he was awesome at that. Then he went on radio and as Clive Anderson asked him about Thunderbirds etc...Gerry told him “I hated working with puppets” That made me giggle, nice man though.

The comedy slot went ok, but honestly I think I have done better before.

I coughed my way onto a bus and headed back to the flat to get ready for Jongleurs Bow.

I have been bothered by my over eating campaign that started back in 1980, I know I am too fat and decided to diet (again). This time to help motivate me, I stood naked and took a photo on my phone of me from behind with the help of the mirror and OH FOR FUCKSAKE...I am never eating again. If you ever want evidence of how bad you look take a pic of you at an angle you never see and you will soon stop eating biscuits. I am now going to get an exercise programme into action and will take photos from behind to chart the progress.

One day when I am thin enough to be acceptable to society I may show those photos to people. I am horrified, I don’t have a waist I have back fat that just goes up to my neck and what are those two big indentations? Back Boobs? I am gutted. Husband never told me how fucked I look from behind, and the amount of lumpy fat on my ass is scary. Treadmill/yoga/swimming here I come.

I get home in time to watch Ashley graduate, she wasn’t going to go to the ceremony but I talked her into it. She will wear a gown she tells me but not a hat. That’s my girl!

So it’s been a long twelve days in London, I hate being away from home and having an illness. The sun is shining today and I am all better and heading home.

By the way twitter cannot find me on its search so if you want to follow me go to: http://twitter.com/JaneyGodley

Thanks all

Anyway she emailed me to say hi and that she enjoyed my comedy set when she saw me at Tron Theatre back in March.

Anyway it got me remembering about her. I was always in awe of Maria as she wore thick black kohl pencil eyeliner and bright blue eye shadow. We were the same age but she had a curvy possibly plump demeanour with big ‘woman’ type boobs, which always made me stare at her. I had two very less -than -perky nipples that sat completely flat against my teenage ribcage with breasts that threatened to defy my sexuality and make me possibly the famous man/girl of Glasgow.

She had bigger back boobs than me and always had an ‘adult woman’ BO scent about her, it was a smell that reminded me of my mum’s drunken pals. It was a dirty smell that always disturbed me and she wasn’t a dirty unkempt person (like I was!). She was always immaculately dressed and came from a lovely home. I had been in her bedroom and it was lovely, pink and didn’t have a dog that ate its own fleas or a mum who crushed cigarette ends on the floor, like mine.

I can’t quite explain that smell, but it was definitely something disturbing and I recalled it immediately when I read her email. It can’t be a good sign that when you remember someone from over 30 years ago, you get instant recall on their body smell.

She always had steady boyfriends at a time when I was still thinking about Donny Osmond and dreaming about kissing a Bay City Roller. I remember one day I spotted her as she crossed the road near my home in her school uniform and an older man was waiting for her with a giant teddy bear. I thought it was her dad, but he swept her up and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ then kissed her full on the mouth, a big proper kissing. It was her latest boyfriend and he had a moustache -I decided there and then to get to know her more. She fascinated me, how did she manage to be a woman at the same age as me and grow big boobs and have boyfriends with facial hair and a car?

She was an only child and her mum and dad let her boyfriends come to their home and sit in her room with her. This astonished me beyond belief, who would have a boyfriend that came to your house? That was exotic.

One day my mum was chatting to her mum Chrissie. When Chrissie mentioned she was getting some steak for Maria’s boyfriends dinner. My mum asked her why her daughter had a boyfriend at that age and why the fuck was Chrissie feeding him.

The woman explained she’d rather have her daughter’s boyfriend in the house and get to know him. “She’s only fourteen Chrissie, too fucking young for boyfriends at that age, especially ones that eat steak” My mum said. As far as my mum was concerned steak was an adult’s meal and children didn’t eat good meat that was for ‘men’.

The woman shrugged her shoulders and walked off.

My mum couldn’t believe this woman was buying steak for a boyfriend of her fourteen year old daughter. I told mum her boyfriend wasn’t a boy he had a moustache and a car and wore a jacket with elbow patches on.

“That’s fucking Catholics for you” my crazy mum spat. My mum liked finding things wrong with Catholics, it reinforced her sectarian attitude.

She looked at me and said, “Don’t even think about wanting some fucking boyfriend that eats steak”

So I made it my business to get to know Maria more. It was hard work; she was always busy with her boyfriend. Occasionally I would turn up at her door and her mum would let me in. I would go through to Maria’s bedroom and sit there staring at all her makeup and high heel platform shoes.

“What age is your boyfriend?” I asked her innocently.

“He works on the buses, he is 24 years old” she spoke as she painted her toenails. That smell wafting towards me when she lifted her leg.

Maria would let me try on her fashionable shoes and new coat. She would dress me up and put her thick make up on my face and let me stare into her mirror as she played Rubettes on her tape deck. Then she told me I had to go as her boyfriend was coming up. I was leaving her flat with clogged black eye lashes and pink lipstick on my mouth.

Our friendship never really took off, as she got pregnant at 15 and became an old woman overnight. Literally she looked worn out with greasy hair, fat calves and pushing a big Silver Cross navy pram when I was reaching fourth year at secondary school.

I went from being fascinated by her exotic highly fashionable lifestyle to being horrified that she was a mother when I was trying to grapple the rudiments of French verbs for an exam. No more Rubettes, no more Bay City Rollers for her, it was all leaking breasts, screaming babies and stretch marks.

The last time I saw her was when I was 17 years old. She was going to the bingo with her mum and they were wearing the same coats, American tan tights and worn down smiles, clutching handbags, buying fags and heading to St. Barnabus club for the Sunday night social.

So back to present day, she told me in her email that she got married on her 16th birthday to a man in his late 20s they consequently had four kids and they got divorced after her beat her so badly her youngest child was born disabled. Turns out he was a bad lot.

She is now a great-granny herself as her own daughter who was born when she was 15 had a baby boy herself at 16 years old and that boy fathered a child when he was 17 years old. She managed to go back into the education system and became a nursery teacher.

I wished her well and sat here tonight thinking about her, and I thought it was worth sharing.

The downside of the flight was I was feeling horrid. I had a spiked fever and my throat hurt. I was convinced I had swine flu. You see, I had been in Dunoon and Shawlands over the weekend and both places have been hot spots of swine flu, so in my head I was about to die. The thought of going to the NHS and saying “I have a fever and sore throat and by the way I have just travelled through Los Angeles, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Dunoon and Shawlands over the past six weeks” I would be strapped to a bed and quarantined like a Guantanamo Bay prisoner. So, instead, I waited till I had infected everyone and did my shows. I am now fine and the symptoms have gone, I suspected I was Typhoid Mary for a few hours though.

Am staying in Westminster Crown lawn flats which are superb, the place is awesome and it has an underground swimming pool! It is just round the corner from Big Ben.

I lie in bed and can hear Big Ben chime all the time, it’s really nice to hear it.

Did my preview show and was worried sick as I don’t really do preview shows at all, I wait until the first night of Edinburgh fringe and that’s when I do the show for the first time. I never really have any material ready, until that first show. Scary and fucking weird I know, but that’s how I work. So, the crowd were lovely as I battered out some new stories that may or may not make it to Edinburgh and the crowd were lovely as hell. They even told me at the end what to keep and what to discard come the fringe! Well, I did ask them.

Had a staring competition in Costa Coffee when I popped in for a pee without buying a tea, a woman who had been sat down drinking watched me come in and got up and decided that she was going to use the loo before me. She stood in front of me and I stood in front of her.

“Have you bought coffee?” she asked as we waited the queue for the loo.

“Yes, I have bought coffee, just not here, and am going to pee in their toilet; do you own Costa Coffee then?” I asked her.

“You are passive aggressive” She snapped.

“So is everyone, sometimes we are aggressive and sometimes we are passive, now take your pseudo psychoanalysis bullshit and watch me pee for free”

I stared her out and got into the toilet and just for badness read a chapter of my book as she waited outside in a huff. That’s what she gets for being the toilet Nazi.

After my show I headed down to Groucho club with Fran and got to see my best wee mate Bernie. He is the vanguard at the door of the club and filters out all the celeb wheat from the chaff & Chav! He is really funny as fuck and makes me giggle when he does his thing. That club is worth joining just to watch Bernie the Prince of Soho.

Anyway Fran and I had a great time and there was some funny high jinkery going on, I didn’t get home until 2am. Feet killing and make up slid down my cleavage, that’s what happens when you dance and sing round a piano with a few gins inside you.

So onwards and upwards.

My education was based on 16 old men, two old hookers and a street fighter who all collectively taught me how to

A) Fight with a stool

B) Get Semtex off a wall without it exploding

C) Check 20 pound notes for authenticity

D) Spot a plain clothes police officer at 50 feet

E) To scam money from posh people

F) The best way to avoid paying electricity bills

G) To siphon petrol from other peoples cars

H) A great way to win at dominoes

I) The use of hot coffee in oral sex (the old hooker told me this)

J) The way to shop lift using tin foil in your bag

So my education though not formal, has been interesting.

My week has been cool; I attended a party at Film City in Glasgow with John Smeaton and Ashley. We met heaps of TV and film industry people who were all nice and a few really irritating young actors who actually used the words “nice speaking to you but I need to go network” who uses the word ‘network’ in everyday conversation? I wanted to punch their wee annoying faces. The only time I use the word ‘network’ is when my laptop fails to connect to the internet and I have to choose which network to piggy back and steal (see that east End education worked, am now stealing invisible electric waves).

On Saturday I went over to Dunoon to do a gig. I haven’t been there before.

Dunoon used to be a big draw for Glasgow women in the 70s and 80s when the American navy had a base there. They all used to get on the ferry and head over to the peninsula (most people mistake it for an island but it is connected to the land, it’s just quicker by ferry) and the women would go ‘date’ the American boys. A good few of my school friends met married and consequently divorced an American guy they had met in Dunoon. Though I know there still are thousands of Scottish women all in their 40s and 50s who live in the US after meeting their love in Dunoon.

Frankly the draw of handsome Yankee boys would never get me to go to Dunoon because the sheer amount of tiny midges that bite you to death at sun down is horrific. I don’t care how sexy, different, lovely and rich those guys were those midges would take the edge off any illicit sexual encounter as far s I am concerned. So back in the day I didn’t head off to Dunoon for a Yankee boy, I stayed at home and married the local publican’s son, the courtship was insect free and that’s all that matters to me!

Anyway I went to Dunoon. The gig was in a rugby club, which doesn’t bode well. The place was fine, there were some very drunk boys and they look like trouble, but what really worried me was- there was a woman in her 50s who looked like she regularly won the ‘drink like fuck, and scowl a lot’ Trophy. She was with her husband who looked uncomfortable. Big Graeme Mackie was onstage and the crowd were laughing their heads off but angry scowl woman and stony faced husband sat with their arms folded. The woman finally burst out “You are shit and not funny” but she couldn’t really be heard as everyone was laughing loudly at Graeme. She really needed to get attention so she waited until he was in the middle of a joke and she screamed “stop laughing”.

Her husband was duty bound to back her up so he nodded with her. Everyone stared at them, everyone knows them coz Dunoon is a tiny place. The crowd stop staring and laughed at Graeme’s punch line.

Graeme coped admirably and told her to stop yapping. The crowd carried on laughing until the break. The grumpy husband took that opportunity to grab me ( I hadn’t been onstage yet) and say “if you get up there and say the words motherfucker, I will be really offended, that’s an American saying and I really hate it”

I stared at his fat bulbous face and answered “You just said ‘Motherfucker’ to me and I find that offensive!”

This made him stare at me in confusion. I don’t have a problem with any words but I just wanted to throw it back at him. Then I added “Why don’t you like American sayings? Did something happen with an American sailor years ago?”

At this his grumpy wife jumped up and shouted at me “the comedy isn’t funny”

I suspect there are many underlying tensions between these strange wee middle aged people but I didn’t see why I had to get involved.

Then the crowd around them started telling them to leave as they were all having a great time and they were spoiling it for everyone. The look on their faces when they realised that their own neighbours and friends wanted them out and wanted us on made them so fucking angry. They just wanted EVERYONE in the room to agree that the comedy show was rubbish. Only one act had been on and he was awesome, the crowd loved him, the angry couple didn’t want to like it and wanted everyone to leave with them.

Finally scowling woman and strange husband got up and walked out as the crowd clapped. I felt sorry for them a bit as they seemed to be so unhappy and felt ostracised by their own people, that scowling woman looked like she normally got her own way, and this wasn’t going how she wanted it to.

By the time I got on at the end the crowd was fucking amazing. They loved the show and they just sucked up comedy like proper comedy junkies. It was a shame that the start was odd, but that does happen occasionally in small places where comedy comes to town. There will always be one person who decides that they don’t like therefore everyone else has to hate it and not laugh out loud for fear of upsetting their plan to destroy the evening.

The only down side to Dunoon is the fucking tiny midges who swarm into your hair and face and bite like fuckity till you cry. I think I will never go back because of that, angry women I can cope with, biting insects...NEVER!

The journey went quiet after that and I saw Glasgow come into view. Home at last. My next journey is to Dunoon this coming Saturday; I think I know people in Dunoon. Though I can’t quite recall who it is I know in Dunoon, maybe it’s an old aunt or something? Who knows?

This week my fight with PRS continues. PRS are a great agency that makes sure artistes get their dues if people use their music etc...Now I don’t have music in my past Edinburgh Fringe Show’s, so therefore I don’t owe them any money. Yet in 2007 and 2008 they took 3% of my over all takings without my permission. Finally after many emails, phone calls and mail offs they have managed to reimburse 08 cash. Of course they didn’t send the cash to me, it went to the fringe office and who still didn’t send it to me, the fringe office sent it to Pleasance office, who still didn’t send it to me, they have yet to let me know they have received it! I HATE paper chases...I fucking hate it and now I have to go back to PRS and now chase them for the cash from 07 show and hope they eventually find it for me and refund me soon as possible.


Ok, here’s something that just made me laugh, I just saw the Ladbrokes gambling advert and it depicts a big grey monkey chasing people through city streets crashing cars and destroying lives as it goes. Don’t Ladbrokes know the symbolism of a ‘monkey on your back’ when it relates to having an addiction problem? That was funny and awful at the same time.

Ok, am off to watch The Unit, I am in love with all of those sexy hard men in that series.

By the way if you want to boost my followers on Twitter my user name is:

http://twitter.com/JaneyGodley

Yes, my dreams are not always happy rainbow filled mirages.

Then I woke up with fucking evil ear pain.

Every year my left ear (that sounds like the start of a limerick)...anyway my ear is blocked up with hard thick wax; my left ear makes more wax than a hive full of bees. Then it all coagulates into one thick plug and stops my ear from hearing properly and the pain is unbelievable.

I usually have to put in ear drops until it’s all soft and then go to the docs and get it syringed out. I must admit getting that hot water scooshed into my ear hole is rather amazingly wonderful you get shivers and it could be described as sexual. Maybe my erogenous zone is inside my ear canal? Maybe I have an ear clitoris? Who knows? But the water goes clockwise in a swirl and I go woozy!

So the pain is a problem but the result is quite nice.

During this short heat wave that Glasgow suffered, I have been useless at getting things done. I am supposed to be writing a 2,000 word piece for BBC radio 4 but all I can do is lie in the sunshine and watch fat people slap babies in the park.

Why can’t I get motivated? The good news is, the sunshine is fading and it will probably snow in a day or two.

I am off to Inverness Ironworks on Saturday to do some comedy, I had to cancel the last time I was due to go there as my step mum was gravely ill and she died days after I got home.

Life is moving on, my Edinburgh stuff has all been done all I need to do now is get the posters and flyers done. And I may need to organise my own flyering team as Ashley might not be able to make the Edinburgh fringe this year. Now that she is a big script writing commissioned person, she will be too busy to work for me! So- I will have my first ever fringe without Ashley since 1996. That will be weird.

Ok, am off to start a fight with husband as I am bored and he is laughing in the other room and I want to know why he is laughing without me being near him, why is happy when I am not there? That’s a great start for a fight eh?

As it was extremely hot again in Glasgow, I headed out to The Botanic gardens which I like to call The Satanic Gardens...no good reason, I just like mixing my words up, as I am now old I can get away with kind of batty behaviour.

The park was already full of young mums and babies who could now walk, albeit like wee drunken Scottish men. I saw one pink dressed girl with wee croissant type chubby legs, she wobbled about, got into her stride and then the slight slope of the grassy verge took her into a speed that gathered momentum, she was practically sprinting. She surprised herself at the speedy gait she was going at, her upper body was trying to balance and catch up with the bendy robotic legs that just swept her all the way. Her mum dropped a full picnic bag and belted after Zola Budd the baby. I watched wondering how it would all end and it did end, the baby tumbled full tilt into a big blue flowered bush head first and screamed! It was fine, the mum picked her up and the chubby legs speed off again in another direction.

It was funny for a wee while; I got quite broody watching the baby, and then recalled how every time we went to the park Ashley always managed to run in the direction of the only moving car in the park or the only rabid dog in the park or managed to run into a bees nest in an old tree trunk. So, with that in mind I pitied the poor mum who was constantly chasing fatty leg the sprinting baby and lay back for a snooze.

Then annoying students turned up with an electronic glider plane that made girls scream like referee’s whistles as it dive bombed their heads. I sat on my blanket reading happily but silently decided if that glider hits me I would ram it up the ass of the skinny boy with emotional hair, who is running about trying to control it with a small black box. The box seemed to have no control over the object whatsoever. It was pitching and dipping all over the place.

A brood arrived beside me, all middle class moms with Boden clad babies, wooden ethically approved bikes, raffia mats and followed by cucumber eating kids who sported tie dyed tee shirts and fat t-bar sandals.

Couscous, quiche, carrot sticks and organically grown fruit was scattered on a scabby looking blanket (it was probably very expensive and hand hewn, but to me it look smelly) and the kids all gathered round chomping into the grub. Two mums breast fed as the other women organised a sing song. Just then the black glider came out of nowhere and belted a baby on the neck.

It was a joy to behold watching Middle Class Mummy goes mental and snaps the expensive looking electronic aeroplane over her gypsy-skirted knee. The student tried to protest but the breast feeding mummy was rubbing ‘Hugo’s’ neck and screamed “Are you trying to kill our children?”

People stared and people giggled, I watched and hoped middle class mum would ram the broken aeroplane up his ass, but that didn’t happen. Skinny student skulked off and the mummies had a rousing sing –a- long of “Incey Wincey Spider”.

But things then perked up when a bunch of really fat women in strappy yellow and pink vests, with random tattoos over their arms and chests, threw themselves on the grass and cracked open a case of cider. They shouted, swore and started singing “I see you baby shaking that ass” to the park keeper who was cleaning up the grass.

The mummy’s, the kids and the babies were all dragged off to the corner of the park under a big tree and hopefully out of earshot of the fat singing tattooed ladies.

The heat cranked up and before long everyone on the grass slumped down and snoozed for a while. It was like some sleeping drug had been sprayed over the crowd. Even the chubby babies who had been screaming shut up and lay back.

Finally I gave in and headed off home. It got too hot for me, even in the shade I was started to melt. Hope it sunny tomorrow at the park, or maybe I should stay home and write that thing I am supposed to be doing?

Julia tottered about; she is so cute and is two and half years old. She spotted
a wee fat woodlouse on the concrete tiles. “Look a wee bug” she pointed. “Go say hello to it Julia” I said.

She bent down, her wee bum in the air; she put her face near the louse and said loudly “Are you out here for a wee smoke?”

All the adults who were puffing on a ciggie and quaffing coffee stared at each other and stubbed out their fags. I laughed loudly; I could just imagine a wood louse having a wee fag. Julia decided to ‘touch’ it to see how it felt and I think the wood louse became a squashed dot on the tiles, but we ignored that bit.

I headed home and tried not to think about sleeping as my jet lag is a killer.

So now today I up at 6am.

After spending a whole month in freezing cold New Zealand, I am now bathed in glorious hot Glasgow sunshine, and I still complain. I have realised that the weather and I are never going to be best friends. Though I must admit Glasgow
looks great in the bright hot sun, we do wear a yellow day well.

My jet lag still persists in dragging me down, I am falling asleep at 8pm and waking at 5am, this will continue for another week then will probably be my sleep pattern for life when I hit 50 years old (which is soon), so am just practising for getting old and going to bed early.

But yesterday I got up, and did some paperwork, house cleaning and got some early shouting at family done, it’s always good to get the shouting done before midday,
I feel. Husband and Ashley are avid bathroom cleaning avoiders; they both don’t
see the need to scrub toilets or tiles. Which means it’s MY job to get that done.

After moaning at people, I packed a bag and went out to the park. The Glasgow Botanic gardens were mobbed out! There were people sprawled out on almost every single patch of grass as far as the eye could see! The ice cream van was doing
a roaring trade and old people leaned against fences and mopped their faces with cotton hankies. I found a wee shady spot, camped out and read a book in the warm
sun for about ten minutes and then got bored. I don’t do outdoor sitting very well.
I get uncomfortable; I get jittery and then start wandering about. I may have developed some mental illness that prevents me from sitting still for ages, or
maybe I was always this way? I don’t know.

A wedding party were being photographed, some poor bride picked today to get wed and her photos will be full of semi-naked fat Glaswegians in her backgrounds. I watched a drunken man throw an empty beer can at the bride and then watched as the garden ‘police’ threw him out. This is the West End of Glasgow, people don’t throw cans at brides!

I continued watching Glaswegians in the hot sun and it was fun. The park was dominated with students as the park is close to Glasgow University. Big over grown yet tenderly young gangly boys with under developed white concave chests crouched beside studious looking girls whose startlingly white legs look strangely lumpy in childlike shorts. Just heaps of very young kids who looked like they had grown up too quickly were wearing badly fitting clothes and trying hard to pass off as cool sun drenched adults.

Books were strewn around them and all I could hear were boy/man voices trying hard to impress the scantily clad girls. I watched the group and then saw all the boys watch one girl approach them; I followed their gaze and spotted a tall lithe girl who wore a bikini top and a short tie dye skirt. She had the kind of body that got Norma Jean to change her name. Her curves and easy sway of her hips had now mesmerised the clutch of boy/men who gathered round the awkward girls. The pale girls watched the tall girl swing her bag over her shoulder, one boob almost came out but just jiggled a bit and stayed encapsulated in her pink bra top.

The girl dropped to her knees and joined the group. The boys stared, the girls looked away and the bra top girl threw herself onto her back, threw her legs
up in the air and shouted “I fucking love the sun”.

The girls all started to cover up their lumpen white bodies and the boys all managed to move their skinny chests in the sexy girl’s direction. It was fun to watch their gauche teenage ritual dance.

The park soon got boring, the sun got hotter and I gave up and headed home. Ashley and her mates had been out in town annoying the geeky men who work in an obscure comic book shop. She must drive those blokes insane with her mad carefully rehearsed questions about comics she has researched on the web, but has no intention of buying.

So another hot day passed me by, I scrubbed bathroom tiles, I watched people in the park and I got some sunburn on my foot.

(Three hours later)

So this morning after I wrote this blog, I believed I had finished it but NO...
I went up to see my dad as it was 8am and I was awake and he is alone and I miss him. He ate toast with crystallised ginger (Yuk) I ate normal toast with butter.

Dad is recently widowed and I miss my wee step-mum and so I go up and keep him company sometimes when I can. I never realised what a cantankerous old grump he can be, he does the death stare and completely ignores me when I suggest stuff to him and that makes me giggle.

I spotted a coffee stain on the kitchen floor and I took a hot cloth to wipe it, the old man deftly ripped it out of my hands, threw the cloth on the floor, stamped his foot on it and used his feet to rub the cloth and then flicked the cloth with his toe upwards and caught it. I was fucking amazed at this, my dad can do keepy up with a hot cloth. “I can wash the floor and I can manage without bending” he muttered. I laughed loudly at his independence and his footwork!

Anyway we both headed out to the bus stop as he was meeting some pals and I was heading back home. Glasgow is really hot today and even though it is early, you can feel the sun really burning already. Glasgow has a history of violence when it gets too hot, this is a fact! To confirm my theory, I spotted two women and a fat man punching each other’s heads outside the old butcher shop at 10am on Maryhill Rd.

Not only were they fighting, swearing and sweating, they had dressed for the weather. Big fat sausage arms, wobbly pot bellies and chunky blue veined legs in strappy vests and too tight shorts were on show...nice! I stood and watched as the fat woman punched the big tattooed fat man round red bulgy face.

Then something struck me (no, not a fist) but I just realised that all big fat drunk women in Glasgow have the identical same haircut – The short shaved grey hair at the sides with curly short waves on top, it looks like a man’s hair style from the 50s. They ALL have that style believe me, none of them had long wavy clipped up hair with maybe a red flower at their ear or blonde wavy tresses pinned up in a bun...no they all had Brenda The Spot- Welders hair, I was momentarily distracted from the early morning fight by this hair phenomenon. Then I got back to watching them punch each other and swear loudly. I so miss The East End of Glasgow and am somehow pleased that Maryhill has retained the tradition of street fighting in summer mornings for me to reminisce.

I left the fight and walked down twenty yards onto The Great Western Rd where posh Aga shops and Clive Christian kitchen designs all sit cheek by jowl; we have loads of Asian jewellers, Asian dress maker’s shops and fancy upmarket cafés, great bars and designer clothes shops- no street fighting there.

It always amazes me how the two roads (Great Western Rd and Maryhill rd) are parallel and just yards apart but are so very different.

One has upmarket shops that sell fridges that Elton John would buy and the other has a second hand shop where drunken people lie on the sofa in the street.

I once got my hair trimmed in a hair dressers on Maryhill rd and the woman who owned it told me she hated the Great Western Rd as it just catered for ‘Paki’s’

I left with my hair wet and walked home in disgust, no wonder people punch people on Maryhill Rd.

I would have sold my soul to stretch out and lie down, I started getting grumpy. I occasionally get so grumpy I need to sleep properly and I get mental, husband and Ashley and maybe best mate Monica have seen me in full swing ‘GRUMPY and MENTAL’. I go very quiet and become secretly determined to annihilate everyone in a five feet radius. I usually start on the small people and work my way up. Luckily just as I was plotting everyone’s murder, I fell asleep!

I finally arrived in London, got off the plane and immediately lay on a flat floor to stretch out my back, people stared at me but I didn’t care.

I almost pushed the flight to Glasgow with all my will, I never knew my mind could control an aeroplane, but I really believed that driving my thoughts forward that plane would go faster, I was sleep deprived and tired beyond belief.

Glasgow was sunny and happy to see me, the M8 looked beautiful, much in the same way the Serengeti looks good to a lion that was re-released into the wild.

Husband smiled and helped me with my luggage. I was excited to see him.

“I was so cramped and pained in that seat I feel deathly” I leaned into him.

“It could be worse, you could be taller and that would be worse” he said.

“Welcome back Janey” I thought to myself, welcome back to the man who will always point out how things can be worse if you ever complain about something; I forgot he did that and it annoyed me.

We sat quiet all the way as he drove me home. I wanted some sympathy not a sermon about how worse things can be.

“My neck has been sore for weeks” husband said as he stroked his neck and drove with one hand.

“Could be worse, you could have neck cancer and it might be ready to kill you” I said. He stared at me, recognised that I was batting his comment back at him and we both knew...welcome home Janey! Let the games begin.

Well anyway I got home and was so happy to see my own bed. I immediately threw myself flat on my back and it felt great. Ashley was out at the University end of term showcase awards.

Husband had made a big pot of mince and potatoes and it was great to eat the hot food.

Finally after all the travelling and eating I headed into my own bed. The covers were all freshly washed and my pillow was just divine. I woke up the next morning to hear the news that Ashley had won the Script Writing Award and I am so proud of her!

Husband and I managed to get some paper work done, we visited my dad and we got flights and trains booked. Things just work out when your busy.

So since last night I have been sleeping on and off for hours, husband has been rubbing my sore legs and back, I have been elbowing his sore neck when he snoozes, that’s marriage!

One comic got so bladdered he had to be physically carried to his hotel room, I twisted my ankle dancing, and that’s how hard core I am! I was fine; I didn’t need escorted home with a cold compress. I did however manage to catch up with Fiona O’Loughlin who is a wonderful OZ comic and mate of mine from Edinburgh Festival. I had stared at her twice during the day thinking “She looks familiar” Bloody Fiona thought I wasn’t speaking to her, I am getting old that’s all.

My flight out is at 11pm NZ time and the amazing PR lady MEL who has looked after me like a guardian angel extended my stay so I wouldn’t be homeless half the day in Auckland. Mel has been a Godsend to me, she just has the magic touch to make things happen and good Karma will follow her everywhere.

So NZ was awesome. Scott and Bridget had a beautiful baby, my show sold out, I mock married a puppetry of the penis man, I pole danced in a brides veil, I invented a knew filthy lesbian hand signal with Hannah Gadsby and I got make friends with Jason Cook’s mum who is just AWESOME!

I never did anything exciting, like jumping off towers or bungee jumping off a bridge, I did do 6 kids shows and the last one a wee boy shouted out “My dad’s arsehole” when I asked them to suggest rotten ingredients for manky soup. That made me giggle but I did say “what happens in the kids show stays in the kids show” the parents were fine, I giggled more.

I am quite tired and this is starting to resemble a posh girls fake diary, so am off to pack up but when I get home I will write a full account of the madness I witnessed.

I tried to watch an in house movie, it was a romcom called Zak and Miri make a Porno – but the sound was out of synch slightly so I had to go downstairs and explain to the reception.

The girl was tiny Asian and we were both having a slight accent problem, so I had to shout (coz I am a dick) “My film I paid for ‘Zak and Miri make a Porno’ didn’t work properly” and all everyone in the reception heard in my big Scottish voice was “My PORNO film didn’t work in my room”

The wee tiny Asian woman stared at me with startled eyes. “Did you not get to hear the voices ok? But was the picture ok?”

I had to re-explain that the film wasn’t a porno but a US romcom and seriously if I was watching a porno I really didn’t need the voices to match their mouths, it was a long conversation and ended in me just nodding and walking away looking like a fuckwit.

Gok Wan the TV host was staying at the hotel and we ran into each other a few times and had a beer at the bar and a good old natter, he is lovely really.

Other than that I am happy as a fat pigeon. I go home Monday night and get back to Glasgow sometime later (not sure, really I go back in time two days, come back into the international dateline -age three days forward, go back two days and look like a skanky rabbit with hepatitis B by the time I get back home).

Good news, I got to go over to Scott and Bridget’s house and hug their new born baby Nicholas. He is SO adorable and my big warm boob was the perfect place for him to snuggle into and fall asleep. There are photo’s which I can’t wait to see.

So now I am awake and the sun is streaming through one of my many hotel room windows! I watched guys jump off the Sky Tower in a bungee type thing and decided I will never do that. Having once had a gun at my head in my past, I reckon I have had enough adrenaline rushes in my life. See you all soon.

The shows at Classic have been going great guns, lovely busy shows with nice Kiwi folks and a smattering of Scots swinging by to hear me talk, all good. But the weather has been shit so I was in lockdown mode at Sky City Hotel, which although is nice, I don’t like living in a casino. The hotel staff is wonderful and the lady PR is awesome and so well connected, more about that later.

Then more good news, Scott and Bridget who own Classic and brought me over for festival delivered a bonny baby boy last week. He is ridiculously beautiful and just such a delight to us all.

So, back to my high jinkery, Dan Nightingale is here and I adore him. We never met much in UK but he is just such a funny wee fucker to hang about with and his infectious humour cheered me up, so I drank shots. Yes, shots. I got rather drunk spoke shit and ambled back to the hotel at 5am basically every night over the past weekend. Time catches up with you, trust me,

So Saturday was party night at the Classic and after THREE shows I ended up back at the bar. Mickey D, Jason Cook, JJ Whitehead and all the guys were doing their late night show in the basement, which was just a bunch of folks high on life and ...booze, it was intense is all I am saying!

Yet it is funny to watch performers at varying degrees of fun-ness do their stuff, made me chortle a bit. So we all ended back up at Classic, I had at least two drinks, but that mixed with tiredness tipped me over the edge. You know it’s bad when young people come up and say “Janey are you going to drink tonight?” Apparently I am hilarious on booze, fucking should go onstage more drunk then? No, that’s just sarcasm and tiredness talking.

The blokes from Puppetry of The Penis turn up, I for some bizarre reason ended up dressed in a bride’s veil, pole dance and had a mock wedding to a penis bender and got dry humped from behind. Strange that everyone was pissed drunk one minute yet managed to have HUGE cameras flashing when I slid down a pole dressed in a bride’s veil (where did that veil come from? Who was dressed as a bride?). The barman shouted “I have a photo and we are off to Facebook Ashley” that sobered me up quickly!

The night ended in all decent behaviour my new fake husband was a gentleman and treated me lovely (after dancing like a horny dog at my bum for a wee while, can’t wait to see the pics!) To be honest he got very drunk and wandered off with another woman (men can be cruel) and I got into bed in enough time to get five hours sleep, which was enough to get back up and do another kids show. I love screaming kids; I never knew my ovaries and kidneys could actually twitch. But they do when kids scream that loud. Yummy, my favourite thing!

Today, I moved to The Sky City Grand Hotel Suite (thanks wonderful ladies in my life), which is awesome and just amazing. I have two plasma screens (one in each room) and a full working kitchen. Thanks Sky City, you make me smile in places people can’t see.

I bought fresh lamb, salmon and salad...no more living on cheese Grain Waves for me, real food is on the cards people.

It’s the last week in Auckland and then I get to go home. My drinking and marrying strange men days are over. Jason Cook, JJ Whitehead, Mickey D, Carey Marx, Dan Nightingale and everyone else I have missed out have been a great support network of buddies and I have had such a fun festival this time around. Jason Cook is going to swim with sharks and then jump off the Sky Tower, I am thinking of buying socks. People like different things.

I wish the weather had been better as I holed myself up over the past few weeks watching the rain batter down. All I needed was two dangerous dogs a dead junkie and I was back in Glasgow.

Ashley had a busy week and I missed it all, I am missing my family like hell – but here is a tip, booze does NOT numb the pain, it only makes you mock-marry men who can make the Cutty Sark with their cock. Just a warning people, just wanted to put that out there!

My Twitter count is going up as well, I gained 100 people in the last week...I am touched.

Missing husband and Ashley and my daddy of course, will tell you all about Auckland when I get there.

So tonight in NZ the comedy gala is aired and I am hoping I am on it and someone in NZ can record it on DVD for me.

Ok, its early am on the Skype to husband and Ashley and I am off...speak soon.