I saw the weirdest ever tattoo on a fat girls tummy last week. At first I thought it was ‘go faster’ type stripes she had inked into her tummy either side of her bellybutton pointing up the way.

I couldn’t imagine anyone having ‘go faster’ stripes on her belly, how fast does she want someone to go when they are on top of her.
Now these stripes were jagged looking big black electric lighting stripes that she had on her tummy and I realised that she actually had those Nazi Lighting marks.

I finally identified them when I saw the tattoo’s on a white supremist in the film American History X.

She was displaying them in the hot sunshine last week; I was stunned when I saw her big fat belly wobble in a bra top and really never understood what the tattoos were.

Now I am horrified that some young girl has big Nazi tattoos on her tummy in Glasgow!

Who the fuck does that? She is living in one of the most ethnic parts of Glasgow- here in the West End. We have a Mosque across the road and a big Jewish community near by.

The girl was dragging a hot screamy toddler along with her, she looked fat, old and tired but was just a teenager.

Maybe she didn’t know what they were when she got them? I don’t know!

I have never had a tattoo and never will. I don’t really find them interesting or attractive. I don’t even have my ears pierced. Neither does Ashley. I don’t think I need anymore holes in my body. I find the thought of holes in my ears sickening; I can’t even watch people insert earrings into that hole…Yuk…

I am sleeping too much again. It all started with the bad headache but ended up with an askew sleep pattern. I need to get back on track with my productive life. I have been working…don’t get me wrong, I am half way through my article for next weeks Scotsman and am coming up with marketing ideas for Edinburgh Fringe. I am just woozy and feeling vulnerable. Husband bought a big joint of beef the other day, coked it to perfection and we have all been slicing bits off the juicy meat and slowly working our way through it.
Honestly I had meat sweats I ate so much yesterday.

The dreams have been going crazy, regular readers of my blog will know of the scary horrid nightmares I have been suffering from for many years now. It’s truly awful and by fuck it’s scary as anything ever seen on a horror movie.

In the middle of particular scary slasher dream my phone woke me up and I think I may have agreed to a comedy gig somewhere at sometime for a price I am not sure I know of….note to Janey don’t answer phone half asleep and agree to stuff.

I need to try and think of who I actually spoke to and check the date!

Husband is annoying me with being nice; I hate it when he does this. This nice supportive helpful man worries me somewhat. We always trade in under hand double entendres, a language based on nasty evil pain and years of knowing each others weak spots…some people call it bad behaviour… we call it affection.

Lately he is nice and I lie awake and wonder why. I am being cruel here; he isn’t actually the bastard he used to be.

After 27 years of marriage to an utter cunt, he is lovely now but sometimes I wonder why. Then I realise he is a better man, but sometimes I goad him into a fight to see if he will be a cunt again and he never is. He stops the fight and questions my motives for anger and tells me to explain what I am feeling and I want to stab him in the eye with a blunt spoon…I may miss the crazy man I used to be married to.

Then I recognise its actually me who is nuts and have a big reasonable man trying to work out why I am being a cunt and then I remind him of the bastard he used to be to try to win that argument…it’s a long story, but I always win and that’s all that matters eh?

So maybe I need to be nice to him.

I will consider it…or maybe I could blame my behaviour on my headache, coz surely migraines make you mental?

I had a horrible migraine, well it’s either that or a brain tumour is slowly building up for a blow out in my head. It was like a giant dwarf inside my head banging away with a sledge hammer.
I had to take the special tablet that the doc gave me ages ago. I am not to take it if it’s just a wee headache; it has to be a stonker before I swallow the BIG pill.
The tablet is kept in a special box in the medical cupboard at my home.

The Ceremony of taking the pill was like George Bush had decided to start a nuclear war and needed the special code that opened the box that let him press the big RED button!
Husband carried the pill through to me and I swallowed it. I waited with anticipation on the impending heart attack, convulsions and swollen tongue that are detailed in the list of side effects. Nothing happened.

I simply fell asleep and woke up with a much smaller gnome in my head that cracked my temple with a tiny toffee hammer. Much better.
So life goes on.

Got my Glastonbury Tickets through, I am performing at the Cabaret Tent next week and am still without transport. I am sure I will get there!

I walked to the post office yesterday to post my book to a mate. Outside the post office were two guys in a van who I recognised as the gardeners that work round our estate. (No I don’t own an estate, I live on one!)
“Hey you are Janey Godey!” one guy called out to me. My hair was a mess, I was pale due to the brain tumour I am growing and I wasn’t quite sure I was wearing a bra, in fact I was still in my pyjama trousers. I grimaced at the thought of meeting anyone when I look like Scary Mary the Mad Cat lady.

“Yes, I am” I smiled through gritted teeth and a dry acrid mouth.

“Listen to this” He waved me over to his van.

Then I heard my big annoying voice belt out of his cd system.

“We have you on cd” he shouted over me swearing on stage.

I was aghast. I haven’t distributed a cd, where the fuck did he get that from?

“My pal taped you onstage at Edinburgh and we listen to you all the time” he smiled.

“That’s a bootleg cd of me, I haven’t sold or made a cd” I answered.

“Shh, this bit is funny, wait to you hear her say this” he told me.

“Mate I fucking know what she is going to say because it’s ME” I shouted back.

They asked me for an autograph and I walked off hearing my own voice laughing in the background. I have been bootlegged.

I may have another migraine.

Back in the 1960s in inner city Glasgow we used to have a man who came round the streets with a big horse and cart. He would blow on an old brass horn and all the kids would come running out of their houses and head straight for the Ragman.

His big horse was old and smelly with more flies in its eyes than an African baby but we thought it was awesome as we never got to see a real live horse.
Its matted coat stank yet we would all clamber round to pet it and the big bastard of a horse hated kids and would try to kick us.

The Ragman would take clothes from us and give us in return one of three things.
1. A stretchy elasticised bracelet made from multi coloured panels that usually broke as soon as you stretched it.
2. A bat with an elastic string and ball that always banged you in the eye
3. A blue plastic whistle that startled the horse as soon as you blew it

To us kids though he was a magical man with a horse and we aimed to give him as many clothes as we could find.
We were really poor, so spare clothes were thin on the ground and the Ragman knew the kids were giving away stuff that really wasn’t supposed to be handed over. He would quickly swipe it from you, stuff it into his bag on the cart and let you choose your gift and a quick pet at the horse.

There was a woman up the next close to us who knitted handmade jumpers and cardigans for the community and I really hated the stuff my mammy got off her.

Once she knitted me a muddy brown cardigan with big black wooden buttons. The reason I despised this item was it was really scratchy and very tight, in fact so tight it actually ‘squeaked’ when you raised your arms, I think it was knitted with twine!

The squeaky cardigan made me so uncomfortable I used to throw it off as soon as I got out the house and run around the street in my wee cotton underwear vest. Even if it was cold, the cardigan had to go.
Once when the ragman came I saw my ultimate opportunity to get rid of the offending squeaky top and ripped it off and swapped it for a stretchy bracelet.

My mammy spotted this exchange and came bolting down the stairs and made the Ragman hand it back as she threw the stretchy bracelet back in his face.

I had to wear that bloody annoying cardigan till I finally grew out of it.

I wonder where all the Ragmen went?

I went to Balmaha beach at Loch Lomond. It’s my favourite spot in Scotland. It’s a stony beach beside a lovely Loch and usually so quiet and peaceful.

This time there were a few screaming kids that truly deserved a fork in their nasty wee foreheads…noisy fuckers.

 

Husband and I brought along one of those throw away barbeques, you know the ones where you light a metal tray and throw on sausages?

Now I loved the idea of a barbeque but in actual fact everything just tasted burnt and odd. Even the roll I ate it off tasted horrible, give me sandwiches any day.

Bloody barbeques! Wish I could have thrown those noisy kids onto the hot coals.

 

I made sure husband had enough sun block as the temperature soared, I forgot to put any on myself and today I am red and striped, I look like a barber’s pole.

 

My neckline is rosy red and around my eyes are big white circles where my glasses sat and my cheeks look like a Halloween cake, with big bulgy red circles.

 

I am sore and grumpy.

 

At least I have lost weight, not sure if this is my diet working or I have bowel cancer, as I had the skits for weeks off and on now. I am living on tablets that stop me having the runs. This is not good and I need to get a docs appointment. It may be stress, I am not sure.

 

Am off to watch TV and take Imodium…