There is a wonderful organisation here in the UK called The Samaritans who are on call 24 hours a day; they listen to people who are on their hunkers and at their deepest darkest despair. Sometimes people just need to talk, it doesn’t have to be suicide it can be about bullying, worries about health, family…anything really. They listen. They have volunteers and do sterling work.

 

I donated a signed copy of my book and a huge painting that was part of an award winning art exhibition, the painting is called ‘One Night in New York’ and the bidding is on EBAY and it’s only up there for ten days. Here is the link

 

EBAY Auction

 

 

Please check it out and get bidding of you want a fabulous original artwork and give some well needed money to charity. It will be so worthwhile and you can stare at my painting that has some really funny swear words written boldly on it, something to annoy the in

laws and local church group with!

 

Thanks guys!

Following on from the previous blogs about what men must never do or say – here is the female equivalent!

Women must never say to men-

• Can you actually see your penis when you look down, or does your tummy hide it?

• Is that you squealing with an orgasm or has your foot gone into a cramp during sex again?

• Would you like to come into town and help me pick shoes?

• Yes, I would love to watch the football with you, but only if I get to score the footballers asses out of ten for cuteness. Is the grass muddy? I love it when it sticks to their firm butts.

• Of course I would love sex, but can you take the weight on your elbows as a punctured lung is not really considered erotic?

• Let me pluck your eyebrows.

• Wear this pink sweater with cats faces on and prove to everyone in the pub that you are safe in your own sexuality, or I will think you are gay and hiding it.

• No, there is nothing wrong with me and if you can’t actually guess what is wrong with me then that’s because you don’t pay attention, and no I am not giving you a hint as to what may be wrong with me. What do you think is wrong with me?

• I would like you to pick my outfit today for a very important meeting; I trust your fashion sense implicitly.

• Wear a bandana and faded jeans, I loved the 80s.

• Try on my pantyhose/tights under your jeans…just for a laugh.

Women should NEVER say any of the above, it’s evil and bad!

Flybe airline in the UK have driven me to near screaming. I was booked to fly out of Glasgow on the 9am flight to Southampton to do comedy from the Thursday till Sunday. So I got up at 7am and made my way to the airport all sleepy headed and irritable. (I don’t do mornings).

As I stood in the queue a man with ginger tufty hair, a mustard corduroy suit and paisley patterned dickie bow just jumped the queue and went in front of me. Normally I would have shouted, but I was too tired and all the other business men who looked like a Gordon Brown look-a-like contest all stood meekly watching. I sighed and stood annoyed but said nothing.

Then the check in desk clerk announced the flight to Southampton was cancelled. We all had to troop over to the service desk for info. Of course corduroy man was there first. He babbled and chatted in his upper class annoying accent for ages as I stood behind him waiting for the information. He then left his place, carrying his entire luggage; he banged into me and knocked my laptop to the floor. He just carried on regardless and marched through the queue.

“Excuse me, you could at least say excuse me or sorry” I finally screamed in frustration.

“I am sorry” He sneered with his head half over his shoulder, like saying sorry to the lies of me was something he never really bothered with.

“Really? Well you don’t sound sorry, just watch where you are going” I answered and I could feel the businessmen shuffle, they probably didn’t like confrontation.

The mustard suited man leaned over and bellowed “Well thank you for being so understanding” in his own sarcastic way.

That was enough for me “Listen up you middle class queue jumper, don’t look down at me and stop acting like you know how to communicate with people, the last time I saw someone dressed like you we were throwing coconuts at their head in a village fair, now piss off and learn some manners”

The men behind me giggled.

The woman at the desk giggled and informed me I had to come back at 2pm for the next flight. I was so angry and tired.

So I duly arrived back at the airport in time to catch the 2pm flight and guess who was seated in the tiny seat on the tiny wee aeroplane beside me? Oh yes mustard dickie bow man!

It was one of those aeroplanes that looks it flew in World War 11. I was horrified and annoyed, the plane was full and mustard man made such a fuss getting into the minuscule seat, banging against me, elbowing me and tried to open a broad sheet newspaper that almost covered my face as he stretched out his yellow corduroy arms.

I hissed “Excuse me, spatially unaware man, this (I indicated my seat area with my open arms) is my dance space and that (I pointed to his wee seat area) is your dance space, do not cross the line, touch me again and I will stab you with a pencil in the eye”.

He looked at me and spoke loudly “You are incredibly rude”

I answered “Yes I am, now shut up and if you speak to me again, I swear I will scream and get that air steward down here quicker than a poof running to a Kylie concert, you understand?”

He shut up.

Finally the plane landed and I watched everyone or almost everyone pick up their luggage. There was about twenty people left standing and we all realised our luggage wasn’t coming. Fucking Mustard man got his luggage though….
My luggage somehow never made it on the Glasgow plane, which I don’t understand, the plane is the size of a skateboard, and how can they fuck that up?

So there I was in Southampton with no luggage, I had to go to the town centre and buy toothpaste, toothbrush and clean knickers.

I checked into the hotel and now I have woken up and it’s Friday, I have a show tonight and no clothes STILL! I need to go into town but its cold and my thick jacket is in that case.

I called John Smeaton back in Glasgow. He is the accidental hero of the terror attacks on Glasgow airport and he is a baggage handler there and a good friend of mine, he is on the case to find my case.

So everyone feel sorry for me today, I am cold, dirty and look like a pikey.

To follow on from my last blog that I had so many comments about, so I thought I would add on.

Here are some examples of what men must NOT do.

Men must…

• Never buy Lavender talcum as a birthday present, and then after the screaming has finally abated produce ANOTHER tin of talcum because the supermarket had a two for one deal on the product.

• Never say out loud “When did your knickers start cutting into your fat bum, you have red marks, do they hurt?”

• Never stroke your wife in the dark in bed and ask “Is that your boob or that fat bit that comes round your back?”

• Never ask why after so much application of make up you look the same as you did when you started.

• Never laugh out loud when you bang your toe.

• Never …when asked an opinion on your outfit actually assume that we want the real truth.

• Never tell a complete stranger on an aeroplane “That’s my wife just farted, she ate a curry last night and always farts like this the next day”

• Never point out a spot in your wife’s face; I think she would already have guessed it is there.

• Never laugh out loud in a shop when your wife holds up a dress.

• Never tell people that your wife can’t cook and you once almost died of food poisoning when she made an apple crumble.

• Never tell a journalist that your wife doesn’t really see comedy as a job, she talks like that in the house, the shops, the car and to kids and you would rather pay to shut her up and that you cannot understand why people pay to hear her and that she talks like that in her sleep. You see… they print that shit.

• Never ask her why she married you, it was probably a long time ago and in the late 70’s skinny boys with big eyes seemed sexy back then.

So there we have some of my sage advice on what men should never say, now I know there are loads of things women shouldn’t say, but I am not about to reveal the sisterly secrets, faults and misdemeanours. Am I now?