Janey's Blogs - October 2006
Sunday the 1st
of October 2006
05:15:27 PM
Nightmares as always…
Am sorry I haven’t
been doing my blog, I have been dragged into the deepest nightmares
again, and I simply cannot get rid of them.
I really am trying all different kinds of ideas to solve this, but until
then I will keep being knackered daily as I relive the horror I sleep
in.
Last night I tried
hard to have really good thoughts to clear up my head before I slept,
but to no avail.
I was sitting in a dark room; noises were coming from behind the door.
I sat on a floor I didn’t really recognise, the water was dripping
from a tap into a filthy sink.
The noise resonated
loudly in my ears, much louder than a normal tap dripping. It was a
bang–bang, like a spoon hitting on an oil drum.
I sat there with
my body tensed into a cramped uncomfortable shape.
I stared at the
unusual wallpaper, it was purple swirls and somewhere in my head it
was familiar, but from where I just couldn’t work out in my fugged
brain.
Somewhere in the
back of my memory it was all very recognisable, I was trying to make
sense of the situation, but my heart beat was now as loud as the tap
dripping.
The cold floor made me shiver horribly and I was aware I wasn’t
wearing underwear as I could feel my bare bum wet and icy. I started
to stare at my knees and the scab on them was very familiar, I remember
that scab, it was when I came off my bike at the bottom of the hill
across from my home as a child.
I recalled how a
bus came trundling towards me as I managed to cycle off the hill and
onto the main road, I skidded onto the pavement and came off my bike
just inches before the wee single decker bus crashed into me full on.
Bits of the scab
were bleeding where I had picked at it. Why am I here? I tried to ask
myself with a degree of rationality but the fear in my heart and the
tap dripping in my ears was unbearable.
I was terrified
but I wasn’t sure what I was scared of, in the background I started
to hear music. It was from another room, it was Dusty Springfield singing,
the words were becoming clearer, I knew it was my living room that the
noise was coming from but not my living room here where I live but the
living room I had as a child in the 1960s.
That old living
room, with the radiogram and pink flamingos over the mantle piece, with
the old fire burning coal and the black and white television sitting
in a big wooden box in the corner, I want to run away from here but
my legs wont move.
Why am I here again?
I hear scratching at the door; I smile at this - as it is my DOG! I
know it’s my dog, Major. He is trying to get into me and cuddle
up with me, my legs wont move. I try really, really hard to move them
and suddenly I am up on my feet.
I slowly walk to the bathroom door and open it, the dog shuffles in and snuffles up to me. His wiry coat and musty smell are so good, I cry, I can feel tears on my face.
I feel so happy
to see him, I missed him so much but still the fear is mixed in my soul,
I can’t escape the noise of the tap and the music coming from the
living room.
Suddenly my body
drops to the floor I can’t see anything but a pair of shoes, I
don’t like these shoes, I know these shoes and they scare me. I
feel a hand on my hair; it is pulling me up sharply- the pain in my
scalp is searing through my brain, I get up to stop the hair pulling,
if I stand up quick I can catch up with my scalp.
The dog barks, it snarls and starts howling behind me, the tap drips
loudly, the music gets louder and suddenly I feel like my head is going
to burst, I am now absolutely frozen with fear as I see the shoes meet
the trousers, and those trousers become a blue shirt, and the shirt
leads up to a mans face that I now fully recognise.
He smiles and lifts up his other arm, the hand is holding a long pointed
sharp knife and he quickly brings it down into my face. I feel the pain
rip through my cheek, my tongue has been slashed inside and I cannot
scream, the dog is barking and skidding all over the floor behind me,
I can hear his claws on the wax floor covering.
I try to wake up, I beg to wake up but I cannot somehow pull myself
from the horror and get away.
Then I can hear
my name being called “Janey, Janey” it drowns out the music,
the dog barking, the tap dripping and the horrible searing pulsating
pain in my face.
Husband is shaking me “Janey are you ok? Wake up, you are screaming,
are you ok? Janey wake up!”
So that has been my life for the past three days, continuous nightmares
and blood dripping fear….at least I got to see my dog again. I
loved him.
Tuesday the 3rd
of October 2006
08:38:32 PM
Dreams can come
true, but hopefully not for me…
So the bad dreams
continue and despite a deluge of help from people they refuse to be
binned.
I am coping with
it all, but it does mean my energy levels are down I am afraid. So my
blog is suffering.
I am currently organising a trip to London, where I will be working
and having some meetings with TV people and stuff. It’s good to
stay focussed and on top of stuff.
The good news is, I got to see the new baby niece Julia, and she is
a lovely wee thing. Her big sister my other favourite child- Abi couldn’t
wait for me to see her ‘Wee Sister’….Abi was delighted
and slightly jealous, so she went into ‘Full attention seeking
mode’ the minute the new baby was presented to our household. My
poor husband had Abi literally wrapped around his head as he tried to
look at the new wee infant and Abi had prepared a whole new singing
and dancing routine for us to watch just in case any of us forgot she
was alive.
Then she told us
an imaginary story that came out of her wee cute lispy mouth and entailed
her meeting a zebra, warthog and baby kangaroo in a forest and the story
lasted a full 38 minutes, with enough time to breathe and carry on with
hand movements to explain her fantasy….it was so funny and that
wee three year old toddler has a great imagination. I love her.
Am going to a BAFTA premier of ‘The History Boys’ on Thursday
with my daughter Ashley, and the great writer Alan Bennett will be in
attendance for a Q & A afterwards. Ashley is super excited and can’t
wait to meet her favourite writer and director.
Husband is quietly trying to find a cure for my nightmares; I think
he may never find one, what if the only cure that will work is if we
separate? That would be awful, I have explained that I get the nightmares
whether he is there or not, but he seems to assume that he makes them
worse.
That’s because
if I get wakened at any moment and fall back asleep they get worse and
he does sometimes wake me up by accident. I have reassured him it’s
not his fault, but he continues to blame himself.
Glasgow is in the news just now as a young Polish Student who was working
as a volunteer in the local St. Patrick’s Chapel has been found
beaten to death and her remains were secreted in the chapel, it was
the parish where my husband was raised in and there has been an outcry
from the locals.
The handyman in
the church had gone missing after the young girl’s disappearance
though he has now been found in London. It
seems he used a false name and is a previous sex offender and is being
questioned by the police concerning the death. People are outraged that
this man worked in their parish.
I don’t blame
the priest, as he wasn’t to know that the handyman had a false
identity and had convictions. I don’t know the legality surrounding
checking backgrounds on clergy workers, but the guy did have a false
name, either way it is a terrible tragedy and makes me shudder to think
of that poor young woman being buried inside the chapel as the police
were looking for her. How awful for her poor family to have to fly from
Poland to come to her death scene, the place where she had felt safe.
I am grateful that my daughter is safe tonight and at least my bad dreams
aren’t true, unlike the nightmare that Polish family are suffering
as we speak.
Thursday the 5th
of October 2006
05:49:30 PM
What an exciting day!
Today I was nominated
as ‘Scotswoman of the Year’ I am so very touched to be thought
of in this way, how amazing!
I am also off tonight to a film premiere of ‘The History Boys’, which includes a Q&A with Alan Bennett the writer of the movie.
Friday the 6th of
October 2006
11:57:05 PM
The new baby Julia is here!
Ashley holding the new wee baby niece Julia, Ashley got broody- but is not ready for motherhood yet! (thank goodness)
Sunday the 8th of
October 2006
09:35:25 PM
Meeting Alan Bennett…
Firstly I want to
thank everyone who voted for me online for ‘Scotswoman of the Year’
my nomination has left me flabbergasted. The sheer amount of votes that
have been flooding in are overwhelming and I am so grateful. Some of
you lovely people have been saying amazing things in your testimonials
and I am so very touched. Thank you.
I have yet to find
out if I make the final seven.
If I do make the
final then on 23rd October I will be attending the city Chambers in
Glasgow to find out if I have won! Hooray!
Ashley and I both went to the Scottish premier of ‘The History
Boys’ in Glasgow.
The film was very
interesting and the script was really sharp but I am afraid I had reservations
about the whole plot; though I am sure the stage version was awesome.
After the film I
had the opportunity to meet Mr Alan Bennett himself!
I was so excited
as his ‘Talking Heads’ inspired me to become a playwright,
the man never let me down. He was genuinely interesting and charming
to meet, both my daughter and I chatted with him about plays and writing.
He really is inspiring and I
was so blessed to meet him.
Still the nightmares continue but I am bored talking about them now.
I had a great gig at Kilmarnock Theatre, the most amazing thing was
a 90 year-old woman came to the show and it was lovely making someone
of that generation laugh out loud, even I didn’t know I had Second
World War gags!
I think that many
comedians balk when they step on stage and see either very old or very
young members of the audience and it takes a good decent comic to bridge
that age gap, it really did go amazingly well, the old lady laughed
her support tights off and the young 17 year-old guy at the front pissed
himself at the same funny story.
The old lady even
joined in, and added to the show with some funny anecdotes!
What a night!
So today I had a lazy day, a nice rainy Scottish Sunday, I bought some
newspapers and went up to Oran Mor (local theatre/bar/restaurant where
I have performed) and sat outside for a cigarette and a read of today’s
Sunday Papers. I hate having to sit in the rain and smoke BUT it is
Scotland and these are the laws. No smoking inside any public building,
so sitting reading in the rain is normal for us smoky Scots!
On a new note, I was offered some Folgers Coffee sent to me by the American
company for me to try and taste. So I made my coffee and sat and watched
a documentary about murders. The opening scene was about the Charles
Manson murders and I hear that one of the victims lying on the lawn
who had been shot - was an heiress of ‘The Folger Coffee Dynasty’
well I was stunned and what a strange coincidence!
Well I am so sorry
for the Folger people, but the coffee was awesome, really good stuff
and I wish I had more of it.
If anyone wants
to send me a Jaguar XJS then please do as I will keep it and let you
all know how it rides.
Good luck and good night.
Monday the 9th of
October 2006
07:08:04 PM
Back to the East End…
I went back to my
home town of Shettleston today to pick up a parcel from my brothers
son David. It was really strange being there again, seeing that bar
where I first met my husband at 16 years of age, standing on the exact
spot where at age nine I was hit by car as I crossed the road in my
Brownie’s uniform.
Back then I was
so engrossed in trying to recall all the details for my ‘Road Safety
Badge’ that I got smashed by a car as I crossed! Oh the irony.
It took almost a whole year to learn to walk again.
Shettleston looks so bloody grim, the old tenements have been cleaned,
yet still have an air of desperation about them….I can’t explain
why. New houses and blocks of modern flats are everywhere, yet feel
drab.
The shops are so
dirty looking, filthy windows with badly painted shop fronts that smack
of cheap fags and stale bread.
You can almost the
smell the mice that scurry amongst the chocolate bars as you walk in
through their front doors, so I turned around and decided to buy a juice
carton when we made it back to town.
I hated the feeling that seeped through me as I stood in my old main street.
I can never quite
shake the memory of watching my mum walk away from me on that road in
1982, her brightly coloured woollen coat, merging with other East Enders
as she huddled against the cold spring afternoon and even as I waited
and watched - she never looked back. It was the last time I ever saw
her alive.
Husband and I drove down to the main shopping Mall called ‘The
Forge’ as we needed to bank some cheques.
It is on the grounds of the old Parkhead Forge iron and steel works,
many generations of men from Shettleston had worked there, including
mine. My daddy worked there and so did his grandfather and his uncles
and brothers.
The brightly lit shopping mall with a smattering of high street stores,
cheap POUND stores and crap 1980’s musak was busy, mostly with
mums and kids after school.
Children wearing
a uniform from my old school were walking, moaning, crying, screaming,
laughing and shouting alongside world-weary women, much younger than
me ….but yet all looking tired and mostly very fat.
I hate that generalisation, but I cannot write this without mentioning
their appearance.
Women with short boyish haircuts, dull almost colourless clothes and
big fat legs pushing empty prams with staggering slightly drunk-looking
small toddlers ambling alongside them, passed me time and time again.
Even the small toddlers
looked bored and exhausted.
There were some women who had that burnished bronze skin that is favoured
by people who live under tanning beds.
Racism is rife in
Glasgow’s East End, Glasgow is Scotland’s sunbed capital,
and we have more tanning salons than any other city North of Carlisle.
Loads of white people in Glasgow’s East End despise Blacks and
Asians yet spend the majority of their cash on trying to look brown!
Funny? Yes.
In the main part of the mall there were stalls that sold various goods.
One sold cheap costume jewellery, one sold tee shirts with a distorted
child’s face on it- “Your Kids face Here” it announced
and another stall was hawking Native American Indian’s faces on
clocks! Who buys this shit? I thought.
I decided to stop near the food store and wait on husband coming back
from the bank.
Beside me there
was a gaudily lit stall with gold lame fabric over the table and it
had a huge white awning that shone out strong lights.
“Britt Ekland’s Bronzing Powder!!” the gold letters screamed
and the stall had two very fat ladies; short cropped blonde hair, on
the very small stools that sat at the front.
A curvy bleached
blonde, very brown looking older woman was stroking her ‘Bronze
like the Stars’ powder over the pudgy face of one woman, as a screaming
toddler sat on the knee of the other.
The two women had
a glut of plastic bags bursting with recent purchases, slung over the
various handles and hooks off the two pushchairs that sat beside them.
The saleswoman continued her sales patter, her hands flourishing over
the woman’s face, animated chatter as she bestowed the virtues
of Britt Ekland’s magic make up.
I wondered if the Famous Britt was lying on some fancy sun deck in the
South of France, sipping on a Champagne Martini and listening to the
tinkling of some classic pianist. Was she living the dream?
Meanwhile her ‘magic’ was being worked on a few hard faced
East End Glaswegians and a woman the colour of oak was speaking profusely
of her products, what would Britt make of that scene?
The heavier of the two ladies turned her face upwards to the brown-oak
coloured sales assistant and offered up her pasty white Scottish skin
to the be ‘bronzed’…just like Britt but without the Azure
coastline and fresh Martini.
The stool creaked,
her abundant bum-flesh leaked over the sides of the tiny frail metal
chair, I watched with freakish excitement….watching but worried
the stool might just give way.
A sticky faced toddler
clambered out of the pushchair and climbed onto the fat woman’s
knee, surely this added weight is not going to help this situation?
The chair held fast, the women with their rusty brown faces and white
necks were satisfied and purchases were made. More dreams sold to women
who really need that boost.
Both women stood
up, fixed their clothes and arranged small children back into prams,
complimenting each other, smiling and gathering up their shopping.
I stood quietly watching the scene when a beautiful Japanese woman interrupted
my thoughts. Her tiny stick thin frame and dark eyes covered my vision.
“Would you like to try the “Human Hair extension” she
smiled?
I turned to see I was standing beside a cart that advertised “Real
Human Hair for You, Look like a Star as worn by Jennifer Lopez”
“No thanks,
I have more than enough hair already” I answered, but she had already
clipped a huge blonde fountain of ‘human hair’ into my scalp.
I stood there shocked
and tried to quickly unclip it out, it wouldn’t move!
She thrust a mirror
into my face and the sight was horrible, I looked mental.
“You look lovely Madame” she said in her faltering English.
“I have really dark hair and that is blonde, I look like a freak,
please take it out!” I demanded.
Just at that I saw
the shocked look on my husbands face as he came down the escalator,
he had big shocked -bush baby eyes and a horrified squint in his face
at the hideous blonde slash that fell down my back.
The Japanese lady took the hair section out of my scalp, smiled, bowed
and I ran off towards my poor shocked husband “Jesus Janey, you
weren’t really thinking of going blonde were you?” he said
as I grabbed his hand and headed for the car park.
“No, I never even asked for that hair extension, and it may have
nits or lice in it, how many people had that in their hair before me?
Quick I need to get home and shower” I hissed as I dragged my fingers
through my tuggy hair.
I don’t want to be brown skinned or blonde, I am me. Janey from
Shettleston, with thick bushy- dark hair and pasty white skin and that’s
the way I will always stay.
Britt Ekland and Jennifer Lopez can sell their crazy elsewhere.
Wednesday the 11th
of October 2006
11:55:46 PM
My Brother JIM…..
My eldest brother
Jim is a funny eccentric and extremely nutty person whom I adore.
He has lived with
drug and some vague mental problems for many years and now lives alone
near Edinburgh. I often feel guilty that I don’t see him enough
but he can be hard work.
His daily accounts
of fighting with doctors, police and social workers (many of these stories
are greatly exaggerated) can wear you down and defeatist attitude can
make your ears bleed.
Jim has lived a strange life, having been an addict for many years and
now apparently doesn’t do heroin (Fuck knows he doesn’t need
it to go into a trippy world) but he still uses pills and downers etc.
His only daughter who is 30 years old has TWO sets of twins (Two girls
at a year old and a boy and girl at nine) and a teenage daughter, now
lives near London so he is on his own. He adored her kids and helped
raise them and misses then dreadfully and does nothing but talk about
them….bless. Jim has been single since 1980.
I abhor going to visit because his home is usually a junk yard mess
and I have NO idea how that toilet pan can get so brown…what is
he doing?
Brewing tea down
there? Flush for fucksake….
Those who know me
know that I have huge emotional issues with dirty houses, due to my
childhood dirty home imprinting that horrid feeling on me that haunts
my soul forever.
He collects junk and dirt like no one I know…he used to have three
televisions stacked on top of one another, one with volume, one with
the picture and one for good luck. There is always a broken guitar and
a three legged cat hanging about, he has a huge collection and fascination
with knives and swords for fighting the gangs he has to encounter daily
(or in his imagination actually).
He has an array of fake guns and I suspect more fake weapons of warfare
than any normal man should posses. If ever a fake war breaks out HE
IS THE MAN to win that conflict.
He is obsessed with undercover spies, UFO’s (which is lucky because
where he lives is the UFO capital sightings of Europe which I suspect
is probably my brother making all those calls to National Aviation)
he is into conspiracy theories, he believes his TV/dial up internet
has been flagged by FBI and hates sailors, hedgehogs and kites (don’t
ask me why…?)
And I love him.
So there I was at his flat today. He has a new dog called Cooper. It
is a big gangly –tail waggy-slobbering-ankle licking-leg humping
odd animal.
The dog makes so
much fuss and constantly breaks his train of thought with its antics
and it’s difficult when my brother’s train of thought is already
so fragmented; it makes any conversation so bloody difficult to endure.
I was exhausted within minutes of arrival!
The dog jumped, sniffed and mounted me three times within seconds; I
felt raped and licked….it was gruesome and funny.
Its big powerful tail cleared the coffee table with one bushy swipe like the expert hands of some flash casino croupier who can clear a deck of cards with one glamorous movement. It then managed to head butt an ashtray and within minutes the floor was just a dump. It then clumsily stood on my brothers Playstation, knocked over a cup of tea and banged its big bushy arse into the TV.
I leaned over to
eat a cookie and as I momentarily held it in mid air to chat, it gently
opened its big jaws and just simply took it from my fingers and ate
it whilst staring at me with big brown eyes. Tail still wagging, beating
the dirty floor like a Tom Tom drum.
The dog disappeared and arrived back in the living room with a grenade
in its mouth. YES a fucking green old grenade….”Jim what the
fuck is that?” I sighed.
Normal people would
be shocked and run for cover, but remember this is MY brother we are
talking about.
“It’s a fake grenade, but it’s actually a cigarette lighter”
he said nonchalantly taking it from the dog’s wet mouth.
The dog then ran off and came back with a sock.
It then ran off
and came back with silver chrome bowl. It turned the bowl upside down
and then proceeded to chase the upturned chrome bowl all over the living
room trying to turn it over; it went crazy at this game. Teeth and legs
flashing all over the place, barking, yelping and jumping in frustration,
as it failed to get the bowl into an upright position, so I turned it
over and the dog just stood on the rim and flipped it back upside down
and chased it again…..
As if that wasn’t mental enough, a woman called Bertie arrived,
Jim introduced her “Bertie does nails, she used to do heroin she
used to be a hooker, but now she is a manicurist” Jim announced
with a flourish of his hand to indicate how artistic this new job was
that Bertie had.
“Good”
I smiled not really knowing what to say.
“Guess whose nails she did last week?” My brother asked with
a smile in his question.
Bertie glowed and
blushed as Jim spread his arms wide as a gesture of her grandiose talent.
I caught a flash
of my brother’s fingers and could see it certainly wasn’t
his grubby dirty nails she attended to.
Then my eyes lowered,
though my brain was telling me not to be so ridiculous –yet my
eyes kept going lower and… YES the DOG had pink shiny dog toe nails.
I was amazed and my brain froze with shock at seeing this golden mongrel
with gaudy claws.
I hadn’t noticed
it before, but they had a pale shell pink glittery sheen.
“Yes, she did Coopers toe nails” My brother smiled, raising
his eyebrows as if to encourage me to join in with this amazing revelation
and celebrate the work she had done on his big waggy tailed dog.
Bertie smiled and
added “He liked it didn’t he?”
“Yes, he loved
it” added my brother.
I thought I was going to laugh out loud, but I couldn’t because
my brother and the manicurist would have been offended as they thought
it was normal and nice to paint the dog’s nails.
When I finally left and sat on the train home, I laughed quietly and
giggled to myself constantly. My brother is a nutter, a harmless knife
collecting nutter….but a happy one none the less that can always
make me smile.
Friday the 13th
of October 2006
07:11:21 PM
I am in the FINAL
SIX of Scotswoman of the Year!
I cannot thank all
of you enough and a big Thanks to everyone who voted for me. I am also
very touched the way the Glasgow Evening Times put me forward for this
amazing award.
The other wonderful nominees for this prestigious award are amazing women who have overcome hardships, and went on to be inspirational to many. I am honoured to be up there with them!
I am so chuffed
and grateful, you have no idea how this has cheered me up!
Thanks everyone
for your kind words and testaments.
Much Love Janey
Saturday the 14th
of October 2006
06:16:12 PM
Native American Indians and baby Abi strikes again…
I have to thank
Marie Leaf, for sending me her hand made Native American Indian Dreamcatcher.
She posted it to me from all the way across the world.
It is beautiful and the feathers that dangle from it are just spectacular.
I lie in bed and watch them flutter and dance in the late Scottish Summer
sun. My dreams have got better except they are now BIZZARE and detailed
beyond belief. I dreamt I was working in a huge bar I am not familiar
with and had a stroppy fight with Kofi Anan and the Beach Boys, whilst
an old gangster I knew became a make up artist that painted mustard
on babies faces! Go figure that shit out!
I managed to get our boiler finally repaired this week; we have been
living without hot running water for months now. Boiling kettles to
wash dishes, the showers worked, but the taps didn’t so I managed
to at least get myself cleaned! I even washed pots in the shower last
week.
Plumbers are so
good to have in the family and they are a dying breed of workmen, no
one wants to be a plumber anymore. Loads of young people all want to
go into media and film, hardly any want to get a real trade like brickwork
and electricians etc….the Government here in UK is trying to recruit
more youngsters into these trades as there is a dire shortage.
I don’t have
any skills like that.
My dad could do
plumbing and home repair jobs; my mammy was an expert wall paperer and
painter. In the old days people were too poor to hire folk to come do
stuff to their homes, but I never managed to gather those skills. My
whole flat needs repainting and it will wait until I can afford one!
Till then I will
live with yellowing walls and dull white doors!
I am hoping one of those TV shows will offer my home a make-over….but
I suppose that will never ever happen!
My niece Ann-Margaret was telling how she is coping with her daughters
the new baby Julia and the crazy toddler Abi.
Those who read the
blog often will be familiar with the antics of Abi; she is now three
and can TALK for Britain in the Toddler Chatting Arena. I love her so
much; she is extremely funny and very sharp for a wee cute baby.
The other day Ann –Margaret finally finished breast feeding newly
born Julia, coping with sore nipples and a cranky back she finally put
Julia down for a sleep and gave herself a well earned rest.
Two minutes later she heard the baby’s “Waaa Waaa” screams
from Julia’s lacy crib in the bedroom. “Oh ….crap, please
don’t be awake wee preciousness” the weepy hormonal Ann-Margaret
whispered as she struggled to get on her feet, being careful not to
jerk her sore pelvis.
Just as she stood up Abi came running in and said “I just checked
and that wee baby can’t talk yet, I spoke loudly and clearly and
all she did was scream, when will she talk mummy?”
Abi’s big brown eyes pleading annoyance to her mum with her bubbly
jiggly curls bouncing about as she struggled to understand why a tiny
child won’t talk back, Ann-Margaret had to bite her bottom lip
and restrain her shouts as the cute toddler who had woken up the baby
again stood there waiting for an answer.
“Aunty Janey,
please take Abi till she is at least 21 years old and bring her back
for visits” my poor niece Ann-Margaret pleaded in desperation.
I am sure it will all work out in the end, but it must be madness having
a toddler and a new born still on the breast….thank GOD I am too
old for that stuff, though I wouldn’t mind having Abi till she
was 21 years old, she is such fun!
I made a new video blog on my website, it is a satirical spoof of the
famous UK Labour MP Sion Simon weblog where he spoofed the Conservative
leader David Cameron….you can see it on my main webpage if you
are interested.
Wednesday the 18th
of October 2006
11:24:18 PM
Junkie, drunks
and Swans…
On Tuesday I went
out with a film crew to do the short film that will be presented to
the assembled guests at the finals of ‘Scottish Woman of the Year’
dinner.
It really is just
a small clip of me walking around with a voice over, giving the people
there a taste for who I am.
The other five women
had theirs done and the crew were lovely and knew that I was a comedian
and had decided to make it a wee bit funnier.
So we took a walk
down to the Glasgow Green and beside the River Clyde, I saw a big bunch
of swans strutting around so I decided it would be funny if I pretended
they were a comedy crowd and I addressed them as if I was doing comedy
and the birds all honked and flapped at me.
“Come on swans,
give me smile, tip your waitress, I will be here all week” I giggled.
Then a wee Glaswegian drunk wandered over in to camera shot. He was
wearing a dirty tee shirt, had no teeth and stank.
“Why do you think that big swan isn’t joining all of those
birds?” He said.
He was right the big bird stood a distance away from the other swans.
I looked at the big haughty swan and said to camera “This wee Glasgow
man who is locally known as Doctor Doolittle has posed a very sombre
question”
The wee drunk closed his eyes in a professional manner threw up one
arm and shouted loudly and proudly “That’s because they are
geese and that is a swan, if you are going to talk to them at least
get there breed correct, Geese hate being called swans that’s why
they honk at you” The wee drunk man smiled smugly to the camera.
He was right they were bloody geese! I hadn’t even noticed…how
much of a city kid am I?
I went back to look at the swan with the wee drunk stumbling man behind
me, still with the camera running, and as I approached the snooty tall
white beast- two big fat long rats came scrambling under the swans legs
and scurried towards me.
“Arrrggghhh fucking big smelly rats!” I squealed as the wee
drunk laughed aloud.
“It’s ok they are water rats, they don’t bite!”
He said running behind the rats that were running after me……the
camera still shooting the whole thing.
We couldn’t have arranged this if we tried.
The wee drunk man refused to leave me alone to get the shot done
“give me money” he demanded.
“I don’t
have money wee man” I said (and I didn’t)
“Well I want
money for being in your film” He stood his ground.
“I think you will find we never had you in the film, we never asked
for you to be in this wee film and we are actually trying to position
the camera to get you out of our wee film” I snapped back.
“Well I told you about the geese” he replied smugly.
“And you want payment for pointing out a swan isn’t a goose?”
I asked him sarcastically.
“Aye I do” He shot back at me.
“Well, no is the answer to that, I recognised the rats and I am
not getting paid for pointing them out am I?” I laughed and then
he laughed and finally wandered off, but still managed to shout at me
in the background.
After escaping the rats and drunks, we walked towards the suspension
bridge that sits over the River Clyde for a shot of me walking across.
Just as I started
walking, I saw a man drag himself out of the water at the bank side,
he clambered up through the muddy clearing, ran in front of the camera
and came up to me.
He was filthy, dripping
and I thought I may be dreaming, how surreal can my day get?
“Listen if
you want to film me you can, I will tell you my story for cash, I was
chased into the river by gangsters, now film me” he shouted, wet
arms outstretched and bawling like a mad man.
“We don’t want to film you actually” I replied. The camera
woman kept the film going; my wistful walk amongst the red rustic autumnal
leaves was going in an entirely different direction.
We then cut the
shot and tried to ignore him. He ran around everyone and came back at
me as I lit up a quick fag and gripped my take away coffee carton for
smoke break and possibly a looney break,
“Give me a
fag you bitch” he hissed at me.
I looked at him
and smiled “No”.
"You fucking
middle class bastards come here with your camera’s filming shite
and here is me with a real gangster story, I just came out of the Clyde…now
give me a fag” he aggressively spat at me.
I watched as the three women production crew fiddled with equipment
and made a concerted effort to ignore him, I stepped forward and shoved
my face right into his and said through gritted teeth.
“Listen you fuckwit, I am from here, I lived here in the Calton
for years, I am not fucking interested in your fucked up junkie tale
of woe, don’t stand there thinking I am some mumsy middle class
arse that you can scare or intimidate, you ever speak to me like that
again, I will fucking throw you back into the river, if you want anything
from me, I will be glad to help but you have to respect me first or
you can fuck right off and go drink your methadone elsewhere”
He looked at me, raised one eyebrow and said “Well if you are from
here you know how shite it is, I have problems” he put his head
down and stuffed his wet swollen fingers into damp pockets.
I answered him “Yeah…fucking
big problems and if you treat people like that and try to intimidate
women like that then no fucking one will help you, I don’t let
anyone speak to me like that”
“Can I have a cigarette please?” he asked politely.
“Yes” I said and handed him one and gave him the coffee.
“Do you know Shorty from the Calton? I asked him as he lit the
fag.
“Aye, I know Shorty well, you know him?” He replied blinking
through the smoke.
“I told you, I lived here, I used to own the Weavers Inn up on
London road” I answered.
“Fucksake you
should’ve said that” He smiled gripped the cigarette with
his teeth and thrust out one hand to shake mine.
“You must be
a Storrie” his broad smile split his face.
“Yes I am a Storrie….well by marriage but I have changed my
name since, what’s yours?” I asked him.
“I am not telling you, I will get battered for fucking you about”
he laughed loudly and he walked off with my cigarette and my hot coffee
“Cheers Storrie” he shouted from a distance as he held up
the paper cup and made off between the big trees that lined the river.
We did manage to finish off that short two minute film of me walking
about and talking about my charity work. I don’t think the lovely
film crew even imagined they would be staring through a camera at a
nominee of Scotswoman of the Year as she argued with geese, had an animal
lecture from a wee drunk and threatened to throw a drug addict into
a freezing river, but then again stuff happens to me.
Oh and by the way, must of the charity work I do is with people who
have drink and drug problems….ironic?
Saturday the 21st
of October 2006
08:08:54 PM
Someone has put up Christmas lights
I am looking out
of my window here in Glasgow and across the road there is CHRISTMAS
lights twinkling in someone’s flat, they are strung across the
window frame…..it is only October for goodness sake!
We haven’t
even had Halloween and yet FIREWORK’S are banging making Glasgow’s
West End sound like Iraq, I can’t sleep for the constant banging
outside.
Why is this happening?
Why don’t we
make everything months in advance and let’s have a New Year Party
on Monday?
Talking about Monday,
I am so bloody nervous. It’s the huge party and announcement of
Scotswoman of the Year of which I am a finalist. I still haven’t
figured out an outfit, I still haven’t bothered to get a hair appointment
….I am so scared.
I am really honoured
to be there but it is scary for me, I know everyone knows me as this
chatty outspoken stand up comic but I am crap at parties and meeting
complete strangers and often end up gibbering shit about three legged
dogs and squirrels! Unless Ashley is with me, or my mate Monica, I sit
quiet and people think I am being stand offish …..I know that sounds
odd.
When Ashley and I went to NZ to the comedy festival, I was pretty quiet
the first weeks there as I didn’t really know anyone in Wellington
and backstage when all the comics got together I sat and played with
the theatre’s cat.
When Ashley and
I got back to the hotel she said “Mum, you need to be less unapproachable,
you ignored everyone there and sat with that scary cat, some guys there
asked me if you didn’t like them”
I was appalled that I had given that impression, but I do get very insular
in small rooms with lots of people, especially being a comic…everyone
expects you to do tumbles and pull a big magical joke out of your arse
every five minutes. I did like the cat, he was a big fat ginger Tom
who ran after me and then I fed him raw salmon which made him love me.
I did eventually
get to know the other guys and they are awesome, but I am either extremely
quiet or extremely chatty….never anywhere in between!
I have become a strange sleep recluse the last week also, which doesn’t
help. Sometimes I get like this where I just spend all day asleep with
a cover over my eyes to deny me any daylight to remind me what time
of day has arrived. I sleep and sleep and slop about the house all tired
and un-washed….maybe I am turning into Howard Hughes, fuck does
that mean I am going to have to design a flying boat? Shit- that will
take weeks to put together! Can I just shove Kleenex boxes on my feet
and pee my shorts?
Even husband is getting distressed with my appearance.
“You are going
to wash your hair for Monday night’s party aren’t you?”
he asked tentatively.
“Yes, I am
and don’t worry I know what to wear” I added as I tried to
shove my toes into the end of an empty toilet roll tube (I have no Kleenex
boxes).
Husband is not coming with me to the party as he HATES anything that
involves publicity and virtually disappears when that stuff happens.
I have four Film Premiers to go to in London, one meeting Ben Affleck
and Bob Hoskins, husband has refused to go to any of them.
We go to London next week, that’s after I have survived Halloween,
Guy Fawkes, Christmas, New Year, spring and summer here in Glasgow in
the next three days!
Monday the 23rd
of October 2006
02:18:47 PM
Tonight is the NIGHT!
I am sitting here
with tufty squirrel hair, but my hair appointment is very soon, I have
a big fat spot on my chin, I have the period from hell but I will go
to the ball tonight.
It is the Scotswoman
of the Year final dinner award at 6.30pm and I am not sure what I am
wearing.
I couldn’t sleep last night with excitement, I finally drifted
off at 8am this morning and woke up panicked after midday, dreaming
I had slept through the whole day and missed it!
Husband was awake
also and said to me this morning in bed at about 5am “If you had
a chance to do that ‘Peggy Sue Got Married’ thing would you
do it?”
I lay there, my brain all fuggy and said “What the fuck are you
talking about?”
“You know, if you woke up tomorrow, came out of the shower and
it was 1980 and you were about to marry me and knew everything that
had happened since then, and had the power to change it all -would you
still do it all the same and marry me?” He answered.
I lay there for a few seconds and fifteen million images flew through
my head, me in a white cheap dress standing at the altar, me crying
in the back shop of that pub we owned, me running the streets of the
Calton where I used to live in my bare feet to get away from him, me
holding Ashley moments after she was born, me pretending to be fine
as I served customers, me screaming at him to leave me alone, me sitting
in a police cell after the police found the guns and weapons in his
fathers house and we got charged for it….the images were like one
of those fast digital galleries…all flashing and fearful.
“No, I wouldn’t, but I hope I still get to have Ashley”
I said succinctly.
“Ok so tomorrow you wake up and get to be nineteen again and your
life goes your way” He giggled.
“Why? Mr McFly, Have you always had some freaky power that can
turn back time and you chose today to use it?” I hissed.
“Yes, I do I could always alter the time barrier, but I hid my
power from you, are you serious Janey? You wouldn’t do it all again?”
He sounded hurt.
“Probably not, I wouldn’t want to live that life all over
again would you?” I spoke.
“Yes I would” He said.
So I got up this morning and I am still 45, yet again he lied. I hate
it when people pretend to have secret powers and they don’t actually
have them.
I stood in front
of the mirror and looked at my giant bushy head, saggy skin and south
bound breasts.
“I am still 45, where is my lovely tight nineteen year old ass
and pert boobs?” I asked him.
“You haven’t had a shower yet, it happens when you come out
of the shower” He giggled.
I am off to have a shower; I will let you all know in 25 years time
if I did get to go to USA and discover 50 Cent and prematurely kill
George Bush in the early 80’s. I will tell you all my tales of
how I was there the night Oasis played that famous Glasgow gig and I
signed them to MY record company, how I had sex with Tony Blair in 1981
and exposed him as a drug dealer therefore fucking up his political
career, how I made George Michael love me and become straight (I still
love him) how I chatted to Freddie Mercury all night and stopped him
sleeping with a strange guy who looked like he had a disease, how I
went to NY in 1980 and punched a guy who drew a gun on John Lennon and
most of all, how I convinced my mammy to leave the guy who we all knew
would kill her…..and this time she listened!
So there we have it, if I don’t go back in time today I will go
the Scotswoman of the Year party tonight…..maybe there is time
to change the world?
Love ya Janey
Tuesday the 24th
of October 2006
01:47:57 AM
I didn’t win…
Scotswoman of the
Year was won by ANNA DOMINICZAK, a Polish professor who works and lives
in Glasgow and has made amazing progress with heart related disease.
She has also been awarded an OBE in UK. She is a beautifully well dressed,
well travelled and well educated woman who fought to get a heart unit
come to Glasgow which is the ‘The Heart Disease Capital of Europe’
If you ask me who I think should have won (I am allowed my opinion!)
I would have loved to have seen a wee battling woman called Helen who
was also a finalist pick up that award.
She works tirelessly
with drug addicts in an severely under funded area in Dumbarton, she
gives up hours of her spare time to offer love and help to people who
have been ravaged by the drug that has wiped out a generation of young
people in that part of the world. She doesnt have a formal education,
nor is she dressed in the fanciest of clothes, she has a face that looks
like it has seen too many dark nights and if I needed a woman on my
side, it would be her.
I am not taking anything away from the good Doctor, but I am known for
speaking my mind and my heart sank when I saw heard her name announced.
I watched the wee
woman Helen applauding the Doctor and I wished I could turn back time
and give her the £5000 charity money. I wished she’d won
it.
I have never and probably will never devote my life to charity and be
that hands on with people whom society normally shun and help to that
extent with a problem that will never be fashionable, drugs are seen
to be a symptom of weak people who harm themselves.
Helen was never
taught how to do the job she does, she just gets on with it.
Tonight Helen McKenzie you are my Scotswoman of the Year, the majority
of the people I spoke to agreed when we all chatted outside, you work
hard and with no pay and will probably never get an OBE, Bless your
wee Scottish heart, you are an example to every one of us.
Friday the 27th
of October 2006
09:10:04 PM
Lost IPod, missing
deadlines and dead babies in my dreams
Only I can get myself
into a big state in two whole days. Here is the story, flew to London
on Wednesday, went to the most amazing flat organised by Crown lawn
as usual (they are immense people and their apartments are awesome).
The only problem was- I was as exhausted as I hadn’t slept the
night before, so on landing and packing I went to bed.
Monica my best mate
called to take me out to dinner in one of the fancy restaurants that
she does PR for. So I did finally get up and drag my sorry ass to go
eat the best food in the world and have the best ever company to eat
it with.
Finally at midnight
I staggered home, slightly tired and slightly tipsy (I had two glasses
of wine which technically to me is a binge drink as I am a lightweight).
“Hello I am off to bed” I told husband who had been sitting
in the Westminster flat whilst I was out.
Fell fast asleep
(how sexy is that? Husband lay there in the dark wondering why his wife
is 106 years old).
In the morning I
was all dazed and confused as I had horrific nightmares again but I
was aware the house phone had rung and could hear husband chatting.
Who knows this number?
Who the fuck is he speaking to? I tried to get my foggy head to work.
“Janey we need
to vacate this flat, Crown Lawn people called the owner of this flat
is coming in today as there has been an accident in his family and he
is flying back into UK today, we have to move flats as soon as possible”
He said as he started shoving clothes into a suitcase.
We live in these serviced flats when I come to London and get a different
one each time (which I love, so exciting). I got up but my head was
gluey and wouldn’t function, I was still suffering from the effects
of the nightmare and couldn’t orientate myself at all.
The other flat was
very local but I had never been there before, I was hauling a case up
the stairs when my phone rang.
“Janey can
you write a guest column for our newspaper this week?” a journalist
spoke “The only problem is the deadline in Friday 5pm”
“Yes, no worries” I said as I took the details. It’s
a wonderful broad sheet newspaper, but my brain was still full of half
baked cookie dough and dead babies….trying to locate a flat, with
keys that don’t fit any door, a pen that can’t write and trying
to take the spec for a job that has a last minute deadline!
Husband managed
to unpack the case and connect to the web (I do love that man, but apparently
I was like a wolverine in that moment he told me later). I fell into
another new bed in another new flat- I slept and slept, blood running
down my legs, my eyes blind, my fingers sore with dragging them against
a wooden door I didn’t recognise….dreams that kill your soul.
I awoke at 5pm as I had to rehearse a song I am singing on TV for BBC
Children in Need show, trust me it’s a fucking nightmare
I am not a great
singer and need to get these words down into my head! Then I realised
I had left my IPod in the other flat, I had to call Crown Lawn to locate
it for me (which they did), I also left a tee shirt and possibly a pair
of knickers …oh dear….
I was doing the presentation at the Emma Humphreys Awards at 7pm. It’s
a wonderful event to celebrate the work done by women who fight against
male violence and work in the health and voluntary sector. Loads of
women who help protect prostitutes from Eastern Europe who are enslaved
through crime lords, women who help stop female genital circumcision,
women who work with the Muslim community who help ensure equality for
the females …I mean the list goes on…so inspirational.
I was doing comedy there and was so worried that my outspoken politically
incorrect attitude would offend some of them BUT they were an amazing
bunch….even when I did mange to mention letting Victoria Beckham
starve herself to death as she is a bad example to young women with
her skeletal frame (the room went quiet, these people deal with anorexics
and self harmers) they did LAUGH….and make me feel welcome. I was
so touched by the sheer enthusiasm of the women in that room, it was
inspiring to say the least.
When I got home I was too tired to write that article so I just wrote
a quick outline of it and fell asleep, safe in the knowledge that as
I flew home today I could finish it (today is Friday deadline day) my
plane lands at 2pm and I will home at 2.30pm at the latest.
My flight was delayed,
my laptop refused to connect to the web in the airport. I started to
sweat….fuck I am going to miss the deadline…..the plane eventually
took off….still delayed….we landed in Glasgow at 3.30pm…..shit
my deadline is 5pm that is not giving me much time to get it done.
The motorway was blocked, I was still sitting in a taxi on the road
at 4.20 pm….I called the journalist and she extended my deadline
to 6pm!
So I got home wrote
fast and emailed! Hurrah! The article is home and dry!
I am off to Brechin near Dundee tomorrow to do comedy then after that
we drive to Manchester for Sunday night, perform there at Laughing Cows
show and then drive back to Glasgow Sunday through the night to FLY
to LONDON on Monday afternoon for two weeks of London work!
I am a wee bit stressed. In my hall are three different cases, one for
Dundee, one for Manchester and a big one for London. I am taking husband
on the tour…prepare for divorce!
Tuesday the 31st
of October 2006
03:02:30 PM
My First Newspaper Column!
So in between all
the dashing through the night in cars/planes and taxi’s I am finally
in London. Brechin was awesome, Manchester was amazing….I am so
pleased that the gigs went well. I even managed to meet up with people
who check the blog and have read my book! That’s an amazing feeling…trust
me.
I am currently practising
singing for my live TV appearance on BBC for Children in Need…
I am not a Madonna, well she isn’t really a good singer either
but I wish I was better.
On Sunday past my
very first own column went in the Sunday Herald Newspaper Magazine!
I was so chuffed to see it and you have no idea how proud my father
is, he loves that I write for a newspaper, you see comedy is great but
JOURNALISM is worthy. I wrote about Sacha Baron Cohen, his latest film
and the validity of offensive comedy. You can see it on my website.
The flat here in London is wonderful, we have a huge two bedroom flat
with a balcony, and it is so central. I love the people at Crown
Lawn, and they are my fairy Godmothers!
I must tell you about Brechin, it is a Cathedral town. It’s a very
cute wee place just beyond Dundee.
I went to see the
ancient Cathedral, it was built in 9AD originally and like all Catholic
chapels, it became a Church Of Scotland after the reformation, not that
you need to read that on any tourist documentation, the crucifix above
the tower door had Jesus’ head hacked off and that always gives
a good indication on the religious persuasion of any building. Protestants
are not big with religious imagery…That makes me giggle.
The people were lovely and very welcoming and the area surrounding is
just beautiful at this time of year. Those trees that are turning golden
brown, burnt sienna, russet, copper red and dark burgundy would give
New England in the US a run for its money!
The sun shining
through the crisp leaves is breath taking. I was speechless, we often
forget how lovely and scenic Scotland is and take that surrounding beauty
for granted. Come to Scotland at this time of year and be wowed!
Castles, monuments,
Roman Ruins, eye popping mountains….the list goes on.
So I am getting ready to do my gigs here in Old London Town, I do love
it here and have brought along my video camera and hope to do a video
blog here.
I will keep you all posted on my singing progress, don’t expect too much though!