A mate called me last week and as she is single she discussed certain things a man must DO and NOT DO to be on a list of possible boyfriends. Now I thought this was awful but then I realised I too have an agenda that my man must follow. For example, I know I could never have married or gave up my womb to reproduce with any man who used the word ‘Zeitgeist’ in his everyday language.

There are other words I have banned from coming out of my husbands mouth and I have made a list.

• Soporific
• Cognoscenti
• Latte double hit
• Anything that is preceded by the word ‘Uber’ like Uber-excited
• The saying ‘amongous’ like to say ‘chocolate-amongous’ as to express lots of chocolate.

There are also things he cannot wear or I will divorce him…for example-

• Wearing cuffed track suit bottoms with leather shoes and white socks.
• Acrylic tank tops with a white shirt beneath.
• Football tops of any kind EVER.
• A fake tan.
• A beanie hat.
• Leather sandals of any style.
• Jewellery of any kind.
• A tattoo or nipple ring.
• Busy Christmas sweaters with reindeer or trees.

There are also sayings he cannot come out with or I will go to a beach and fake my own death, here are a few of these examples.

• “Darling lets go to Macramé classes and make beaded pot holders”
• “Janey I adore taxidermy in birds, see my stuffed peacock?”
• “I love making seashells into lampshades”
• “Do you fancy trying dogging?”
• “Let’s go hill walking”
• “Do you like my fake tan?”
• “Madonna is a wonderful writer of children’s books”
• “Don’t you think Victoria Beckham is gorgeous?”
• “Do you think I would suit a pipe?”

He knows all of these topics are off limits and I am not saying he wants any of these things, but in my mind they are the worst things a man can say other than “ I like stabbing babies” which is horrendously off limits and I don’t know anyone who would say that…but it was an extreme example.

So my pal is right, she should have a list of things she looks for in a man.
There are good things men can say and do like…


• Cleaning.
• Ironing.
• Raising babies.
• Cleaning out a Hoover.
• Going to the late night shops for cookies.
• Hand washing your underwear.
• Cooking.

I suppose that’s a bit much to ask, but it’s worth a try.

I think I make a good friend to my close pals.

Though according to very reliable sources I exhaust people, I talk too much and I don’t really listen.
This last bit could be true as I know that sometimes when people tell me their problems I am mentally redecorating their flat or imagining what I would do with such a cute alcove. Or I am off on an Arabian adventure.

It’s a problem I call attention deficit disorder. It hasn’t actually been officially diagnosed by a real doctor but it’s my excuse for being annoying when it suits me.
I can fake interest and go away to a place inside my head and run barefoot on a sandy beach.
I have been known to speak and drift away at the same time.

No one really notices this gift except my daughter Ashley.

“Mum, are you listening to me? I just told you I broke my ankle” she said one day in the middle of a conversation about all the things that happened that day at university.

“You haven’t broken your ankle, you are fine” I muttered as George Clooney kissed me on the mouth as I lay in a swinging hammock on a beach in the Bahamas’.
“Yes but I am trying to get your attention” she moans.

I can pay attention and pay lip service in the same moment.

But she says she can see it in my eyes, I have a ‘distant’ look when I am supposed to be focussed.

When I was a child I could very easily take myself out of horrible situations and completely immerse myself in another world. Handy when you are being sexually abused or watching a screaming fight between your parents, good for distraction all round.

I call this gift ‘Drifting’ and I love it. The sheer amount of times I have been in a drudgery of hell and transported myself to another place.
Like when Ashley was a baby and was taking at least four hours to feed on one bottle and by the time that bottle was finished it was the time to start her next feed again!

I would sit there and have conversations in my head with Charles Dickens, Voltaire or have myself walking through some Amazonian rain forest looking at all the different plant life, smelling the deep earthy wet undergrowth or be simply swimming up and down a huge open air pool. The water lapping at the sides of my arms relaxing and refreshing me with every stroke, never once leaving the room or disregarding my baby’s welfare, drifting is a gift.
Sometimes I have had to sit through the worst of comedy nights as new acts or even established acts who have bored me to the utter depths of insanity and off I go…to the Great Wall of China, to tea at the Ritz, to lying on a quiet grassy headland looking out to sea, the gulls above me calling out, the water crashing off the rocks…all easily accessible in the darkest and nosiest of comedy clubs.

Even sexual imagery is a wonderful escape; I can be with any man in any place at any time. The amount of times I have made Brad Pitt exhausted on a train to Edinburgh is obscene. Daniel Craig, the new James Bond has kept me well entertained on tube rides through London, and 50 Cent my favourite rapper doesn’t mind I am 46 years old as he drags his big leather belt off his jeans and strips, dances and lays me down on his bed whilst I have been sitting through a mortgage meeting with my bank manager.

I call it a vivid imagination; my mates call it ignoring them, but who can tell?

Would you rather listen to an hour of ‘What shoes should I buy?’ or go fuck Justin Timberlake in the back of his limo as he begs you for more?

As Einstein once said “Imagination is more important than knowledge”.

The latest news in the Team McCann story is gripping the UK.
You will probably know the story about Madeleine McCann.

Madeleine went missing from her holiday flat in Portugal on May 3rd when her parents left her and her two younger siblings alone as they had a dinner date across at the tapas restaurant 50 yards from their bedroom.

Madeleine has never been found since that fateful night.

The parents Gerry and Kate have had an audience with the Pope, they had millions of pounds in a fund to help find her, they have had major TV and media stars pledge support to their cause, they had MP’s in the UK come out wearing yellow ribbons to remind people of the missing child.

Madeleine’s father even spoke about child safety at the Edinburgh International Television Festival, they have flown around the world in private planes, and been courted by the press from all over the world.

Yet no one asked them why they saw fit to leave three kids under four alone in an apartment in a foreign country with no baby sitter or carer to keep a watchful eye on them.
Who leaves small babies alone in a flat? No one I know.

They could just as easily choke on their vomit if they were sick, fall out of bed, scream from a nightmare and wake up hysterical and possibly be sick (again), wet the bed and want Mummy…a host of things that can happen when small children are left alone…never mind intruders trying to snatch them.

I don’t know anyone in my family who left their kids alone in a flat and walked off to have dinner in another part of the street and I have alcoholics and drug addicts in my family. The people I am talking about may not be the best parents in the world but they don’t leave their kids alone and none of the kids have ever gone missing.

The UK charity the RSPCC advise parents that it’s illegal to leave kids under ten years old alone in a house and parents can be prosecuted for negligence if this occurs.

The McCann’s left twins aged two and toddler aged three alone in an unfamiliar room in a foreign country.

The McCann’s are white middle class doctors, from a professional background in the UK, so no one has challenged them on their decision to leave three toddlers under four years old alone to fend for themselves as they ate tapas with friends.
It’s a class issue through and through.

Imagine the horror of reading about some overweight, flip flop wearing single mum from Essex who left her three babies alone in Butlin’s as she went off to eat a burger 50 yards from the chalet and one child went missing. Pictures of the tubby woman in her white shell suit and cheap jewellery would be splattered over every tabloid that would scream

“I left my babies to get a burger and my child is missing”.

We would hang the worthless woman for sheer negligence.

Her crying fat face on TV begging people to help find her child would be met with derision and pain for the poor kid.
The other babies would immediately be shipped off to a foster home whilst the burger scoffing bitch had to account for her bad parenting skills to outraged authorities.

There would be no outpouring of pain, or candles lit or locals supporting the woman as she held a teddy bear in grief for her missing baby.
Pop stars would not be flocking to lend supportive and heart wrenching songs to the website of the child, politicians would shun her suggestion of a meeting, football teams would give no minutes silence for the missing child’s remembrance.

There would be no free flights or television chats and millionaire celebs would not offer a penny to a fund.

The Pope would have condemned her as an unfit parent and David Beckham would never have given her two minutes of his precious money charged time.

The fat burger muncher from the spam sucking society would have to live the rest of her life in penance for deciding to eat alone and not caring for her kids properly. She will get what she deserves.

Do you honestly think the world famous author J.K Rowling would pledge money to a clumsy stupid fat woman who left her kids alone to go eat from a burger van 50 yards from a holiday flat whilst one of her kids got abducted?

Maybe I am wrong and society would get behind this poor uneducated woman, but it’s an odd state of affairs when questions were raised in Parliament when the infamously and achingly common Jade Goody and Danielle Lloyd made racist comments on a reality TV show in the UK, yet no questions were raised when a nice middle class couple through blatant neglect and misjudgement managed to lose a child as she was left alone in a holiday flat.

The images of the slummy Jade Goody dominated the headlines for weeks, many media giants predicted her fall from grace and sure enough her career was over. Yet the McCann’s will go home to be doctors. What does this say about us a society?

Still the image of the slim blonde pretty mummy McCann and well dressed daddy McCann seem poignant and acceptable.

They only went off to eat tapas, they are doctors and come from a clean middle class house and wear nice coordinated clothes, their hair is shiny and they are devout Catholics.
How can they be judged badly?
They must be good people underneath.
They just wanted dinner and some local wine with friends, leaving their kids alone isn’t really a bad thing is it?
We have all done it ourselves haven’t we? When on holiday after working hard all year, mummy and daddy deserve a little ‘me’ time don’t they?

NO! They can pay for the onsite baby sitting service more than the burger eater.
They could easily have taken shifts on eating dinner the way millions of parents do every where when on holiday and babies need their bed time.

Now the gears have shifted.

The parents of Madeleine McCann have been named as suspects in her disappearance.

So much has been said about the alleged evidence gathered by the Portuguese police, apparently Madeleine’s DNA has been found in the boot of the car that the McCann’s hired six weeks after Madeleine’s disappearance.

Team McCann is screaming that evidence has been planted; this is confusing for me, as I can’t imagine how the police can plant evidence when there is no body to gather evidence from. And why would they do such a thing?

The McCann’s swore blind they would not go home to the UK till Maddy was found. They are at present back in the UK after being named as suspects.

Their respective families are screaming to every newspaper that will listen that ‘It is an outrage to believe Gerry or Kate could kill their own child’

How can they know this for sure?
I don’t know if they are capable of killing their own child, I don’t know anyone capable of killing their own child but statistically it has been proven that kids are more likely to die at the hands of a family member than a stranger.

We have to ask ourselves why we believe the McCann are incapable of killing their child.

Is it because they are doctors?
Is it because they wear nice clothes?
Is it because they both have university degrees?
Is it because they don’t look like killers?

Or do the middle classes of the UK want to believe that the parents are innocent as they have all joined in this parading of grief from the start?

All those politicians who hugged them on TV, all those media stars who lent unbridled support… surely they didn’t get it wrong?
Surely all those letters of sympathy and hope they sent the McCann’s will not be held up to them as reminder that good people like them can do bad things.

But now so many people who leapt on the Madeleine bandwagon are now systematically jumping off.

Being middle class educated people is not a good enough reason to omit them from suspicion; the only thing that will omit them from suspicion is evidence. The crime scene from where Madeleine was taken was contaminated right from the start. The McCann family invited loads of friends and family round to the flat where the child was taken and allegedly refused to leave.

The casualty of this debacle is the child Madeleine. She seems to be forgotten in the whirlwind of publicity. Hopefully she will be found alive and well at some stage.

Now there is uproar from the trustee’s of the Madeleine McCann fund. The parents want some of the gifted money to hire the lawyer who had defended General Pinochet to defend them.
That money that was raised to help find the child, some of it came from ordinary people across the world, some of it was gifted by the richest people in the UK…no wonder the trustee’s are angry.
It was never assumed to be used as legal fees to defend the very people who were supposed to protect the child in the first place.

Only a middle class mentality can have two Doctors who leave their kids unattended on holiday, have one child go missing, get the world’s press at their feet, be horrified at any suggestion of foul play and get millions of pounds and a meeting with the Pope as a result.

The McCann’s may prove their innocence of the accusations of killing their child, but in my eyes they will always be guilty of neglectful behaviour of leaving their kids alone in that flat.

On Saturday husband and I drove through Anstruther; it’s a small fishing village in Fife. 

Home to the UK’s best fish and chip shop and near enough to St Andrews’ for us to seek accommodation for the night when I was playing the Byre Theatre.

 

We decided to stop when I saw sign saying ‘Hotel’.

It was a bar that had self catering apartments attached.

I walked into the pub and there was a wee skinny young woman called Kelly, who told me she was in charge. “Do you have flats for one night?” I asked.

“Aye, we do” she answered.

“Can you show me the room?” I asked her.

She had thin greasy blonde hair, looked tired and pulled out some keys and told me to follow her.

 

She opened a door which revealed a disabled bathroom in front of us and two rooms either side. In the wee hallway, stood a wee greying dog, it had white eyebrows, a white tufty beard and a milky eye.

It whined constantly and limped about.

 

“What’s the dog called?” I asked, secretly wondering if we had to stay with an aged crippled dog, did it come with the room.

 

“Erm…I am not sure I call it Skippy” Kelly said.

 

I looked at the dog and thought to myself ‘That dog hasn’t skipped since 1978’.

 

“There is one problem, the disabled toilet here belongs to the bar, and so if someone comes in on a wheelchair, we have to bring them through here to use the loo” Kelly told me. The dog whined and limped more behind us.

 

“So at anytime you may be in here, in the flat where I am staying with some poor disabled person who needs the toilet?” I asked incredulously.

 

“Don’t worry, you will have plenty warning” Kelly assured me.

 

“People in wheelchairs don’t often have much warning when they need to pee” I added.

 

The dog stared at me and whined again.

 

“What is wrong with that dog?” I asked as I had a quick look in the 1970s styled living area. All cream plastic sofas, nylon carpets and cheap wood fire surrounds.

 

“Its owner died last week” said Kelly as she carried on showing me how to work a microwave oven, which I suspect was new technology to her and the locals in Anstruther.

 

“Look I am sorry but I don’t want to stay here, but thanks” I smiled and went to leave, husband had just arrived as he had been parking the car.

 

He took one look around and shook his head at the room.

Then the dog huddled at my feet and tried to sleep on my flip flopped feet.

Husband looked at the old grizzled dog and raised an eyebrow in question at the whole scene.

 

“Ok, then” Kelly said and started to walk out the door.

I tired to follow but the dog started walking with me laboriously and I felt compelled to walk slowly to let it keep up.

 

Husband and I got outside and I opened the car door to get in and the wee greying dog hobbled at my side and tried to climb into the car.

I looked at its one clear eye, its wee bearded face and wiry coat and felt sorry for it; I leaned down to stroke it and heard Kelly say  “Excuse me; do you want to keep the dog?”

 

 Husband made a huffing sneering noise and I looked at the dog then at Kelly and said “Tempting but actually…no…I don’t think it has long to live” I tried to shut the car door and heard her shout.

 

“It really likes you and its owner died and it’s really sad, you should take it Mrs” She pleaded.

 

Husband leaned over, gently pushed the wee dog out of the car entry and slammed the door; he revved the engine and drove off. The wee dog stood on the pavement as I watched it disappear in the car mirror.

 

“We are not collecting old nearly dead dogs Janey” he shouted as I pleaded for him to go back and keep the old dog.

 

We spotted another B&B place “You go check I will go park the car” Husband muttered.

 

I stood at the glass door and knocked lightly, I really did want to stay over so I could get a shower and go do my show in St Andrews that night.

 

I heard loud violent barking, a shape through the mottled glass door looked like it was coming down a flight of stairs, it sounded like a mental dog…again.

 

An elderly woman with the bluest eye shadow I have ever seen opened the door at a peep as a big black dog popped its head round to bark and growl at me.

 

“That’s Shelia, he is really a pet of a dog, he was beaten so badly as a pup” she said as I tried to get the dog away from my leg, it was snapping at me.

 

‘Shelia’ I thought…an unusual name for a male animal, and as far as being beaten? It almost bit my thigh; it may need another punch to the head I thought to myself.

 

“Do you have a room for the night?” I asked, convinced I could now play the part of Joseph in any contemporary Nativity Play to the full effect.

 

“Yes, but the dog doesn’t like you so I am not sure if it will work out” she said without any sarcasm. Her blue pasted eyelids scared me and her incredibly black eyebrows were drawn way up higher than her natural ones should be, giving her the look of a very surprised transsexual.

 

“The dog up the at the hotel near the shop liked me so much the owner almost gave her to me, I am good with dogs” I tried to convince scary eye woman to let me stay.

 

“She likes anyone that dog, her owner died and she is looking for a new home, she would stay with a dog killer” she sneered at me.

 

“Ok, can we stop talking about dogs and tell me if you have a room for the night?” I butted in.

 

“No” said the crazy woman and she slammed the door, the dog barked through the glass and I heard the mad lady say “Don’t worry Shelia, I didn’t like her either”

 

Husband laughed at the story and convinced me to sit on the harbour and he would go get us fish and chips from the famous chip shop. The queue was fifty deep at the front, as people from all over come to buy their fish and chips there. The place has won all sorts of awards for its tasty deep fried goods.

 

I sat on the warm stones, took in the late summer sun and wondered where we were going to stay.

 

I came to the conclusion that we wouldn’t get a place to stay, we may get a dog but no room, so I would head to the Byre Theatre in St Andrew’s have a shower, do the show and head for home.

 

Husband waited an hour to get the fish and chips and YES it was worth waiting for, so yummy and delicious, so crispy with thick fluffy fresh fish and chunky fat chips.

We sat happily at the waterfront, boats bobbing in the sparkling water, the ancient stones on the harbour wall holding their heat for our fat chip eating bums to rest on.

 

We arrived at the Byre Theatre in plenty time, the place is so wonderful. I had a great shower in my dressing room, fresh towels and fully stocked green room to have a good cup of tea and a sit down before the show started.

 

The theatre was almost full when I stepped out at 8pm. I love comedy, I love being onstage…I did 1 hour 25 minutes and that was good value for money for an hour show!

 

The audience gave me a really good cheer at the end and I walked out front and thanked them for coming along, I love meeting the people after the show.

 

Some people brought along my autobiography for me to sign, luckily no one brought along a dog for me to keep.

 

I wonder what happened to wee old Skippy, and who knows how that crazy eye shadow lady gets guests based on her dog’s dysfunctional personality, but what a great day!

Husband and I took a short break down to the beautiful Lake District. The weather was awesome and so amazing. The place is so startlingly lovely.

The rolling hills that line the stunning lake make a great backdrop to Bowness in the Lake District.

 

The down side is that Beatrix Potter lived there and after the success of the movie Miss Potter- the place is awash with the biggest amount of Japanese tourists you have ever seen in the UK in one small town. Japanese people LOVE Beatrix Potter more than you can imagine.

Now before you jump on the content of that statement and declare it racist hear me out.

 

I am not averse to Japanese people or any tourists whatever their nationality but squillions and squillions of them in swarms trying to walk in groups through the tiny wee winding crooked lanes of this teensy wee town is really hard to cope with, especially with the sheer amount of traffic that trundles through the place.

 

I was almost knocked down twice trying to walk around groups of Japanese people who didn’t think to walk in single lines along skinny pavements that lined the major road through Bowness in the Lake District. It was scary.

 

Portraits of Jemima Puddle duck and her friends in a shop window made huddles of tourists scream in the street and stop to take umpteen photos of them. How bizarre is that?

 

After the dodgy walk through the town we decided to stay over for the night and we found a lovely hotel with big views across the water. We both sat there and took in the amazing panoramic sight in front of us. We eventually went down to the hotel swimming pool and had a wee swim around.

After I went down under the warm water, my ear popped and I came up to the surface DEAF in my left ear!

My left ear had managed to compact all the wax it makes and jam itself into the ear drum. I could hear nothing but an echo inside my head and it was infuriating.

 

So today I got a docs appointment and got my ear syringed, its where they squirt warm water deep into your ear canal at a fast rate, then the wax comes gushing out with the water.

The whole experience isn’t uncomfortable at all...in fact it’s quite…erotic in a way. I am sure there is a G Spot inside my ear and as the water gushes around it, it was quite sexy and nice in an odd way! I may get addicted to it.

 

Now my health complaints have increased - I have discovered that I have a lump the size of a small pea on my wrist. It’s called a Ganglion or something like that.

Ashley called it a Porpoise as she forgot the word Ganglion and told my dad I have a porpoise on my hand- and the doc told me I have to have it cut out.

 

So now I have to arrange surgery. Whoopee…I am falling apart slowly.