I can’t believe that London was so cold when I first arrived that I had to buy a sheepskin jacket, now it’s too hot I had to go buy flip flops…that hurt my wee scabby Scottish feet. Bring on global warming…

The gigs are going well and I am enjoying travelling all over London. This weekend I am actually off up to Birmingham to work fro three nights and am leaving husband behind in London…his quirky habits (Aspergers syndrome) means that he hates staying in so many different places so soon. It drives him nuts.

Well I have finally had my new photo shoot done and I was aghast at some shots of my boobies (are my tits really that big?) and the lovely Steve Ullathorne who designs my stuff and takes the pics is wonderful.

We have a new style of poster for this years Edinburgh Fringe and as you may know I am doing two shows a day…last year I did three shows a day…anyway I am excited about the new poster and image as my fringe has grown out and I have more wrinkles than the old pics from 2003.

I am having a rare night off and Monica and I are off out on the town…well I am limping as I have blisters on the soles of my feet as husband and I went for a river side walk yesterday that took 4 hours…and I was wearing flip flops.

I am still in London and will be for a while. I am missing Ashley my daughter so much and yesterday she called and told me she had all her hair cut into a mullet!
What the fuck is that? My beautiful girl had thick long dark amazing hair down her back…what has she done?

On another note she is almost 21 and has every right to ‘mullet’ her own hair, when I was her age I was married a few years.
I was her age when my mammy died, I was such a wee woman at that age, so why do I keep assuming she is still 10 years old in bunches?

I know she so loves having the house in Glasgow to herself. I hope she hasn’t re painted the place black and started a Rabbit sanctuary or a heroin rehab whilst she has the freedom to do so!

I am so busy in London and so far have met at least six tube loonies, normally these fuckers don’t speak on the tube that’s until I GET ON then people want to chit chat shit…how fucked is that?

Here’s one example…

Two young women got on the District Line very late, one was very thin and dressed in a really short skirt, another with pink luminous netting finger-less gloves and gaudy pink netting adornments clipped into her greasy hair and hanging off her earrings.

The pink adorned girl put a dirty finger behind her ear (I have no idea where exactly) and pulled out a small tissue wrap.

I thought she was going to show the other girl some drugs, but as she carefully un-wrapped the tiny bundle… I was agog.
Her thick dirty fingers gingery revealed a wee sapphire stone and over the noise of the rattling tube she explained that it was her grandmother’s stone and passed to her.

She then smiled over at me and held out her hand to show me this amazing beautiful tiny blue glittering stone “That’s my insurance, my granny gave it me” she grinned.

I leaned over and stared at it “That’s so amazing” I added.

Then she went into her purse and pulled out a small rubber ring with a bullet shaped plastic thing that was stuck in the middle of the ring. I looked at it with interest.

“That’s a vibrating cock ring” She laughed loudly and added “You slip it on his cock and it makes sex better”
I smiled and wondered what else she could possibly have secreted on her body.
“Nice” I laughed back.

The dark haired skinny young woman had dark very greasy thin hair and I am sure I saw blood encrusted in her scalp.
I got the feeling that the two females were ‘working girls’ they both looked stoned or smacked out if their heads and I felt so sorry for them.

“We work the streets” the thin dark haired one spoke to me in a conspiratorial whisper.
I have no idea why she told me, I wasn’t judging or assuming anything, but I guess I have that face.

“Well stay safe” I spoke.

“We will thanks, I am getting married” she added as if this information was related to her last comment.

Their stop came and they both stood up and I noticed that they were both pregnant. The one with the pink gloves saw me look, she patted her tummy and said “It’s my forth baby and she is on her second”

I stared at them and kept smiling. My heart sank for them both, poor women, poor fucking women…I kept thinking as they waved at me through the tube window.
They were pregnant drug fucked and off to have sex with strangers.

I am so blessed and lucky that my daughter is safe and well in Glasgow.

Am I the only person in the world who bought MBT trainers that hates them?
MBT trainers are these weird curved sole shoes that apparently make you walk like a barefoot Masia Warrior. It is supposed to make you feel better and your legs get more exercise…I walk like a drunken heroin addicted warrior because I keep falling over.
Outside Gloucester Road tube station for instance, I slightly went over on my ankle, but the shape of the MBT trainers meant that I could not regain my composure and I landed flat on my face on the concrete.

No injuries just embarrassment –

Then in Bond Street, again smack on the concrete…this time a big tall cute black man picked me off the ground and offered to take me for a cold drink to settle me ( I was all shaky) so I may develop a falling strategy where I drop when I see good looking men.
No I am just joking the shoes are in the bin. Fuck them.

Went gigging in Cambridge the other night and the journey there was horrific, just fucking miles and miles of traffic problems…so horrible.
I never actually got to see Cambridge as it was really really dark. The gig was small, but a really nice wee club and the audience were just amazing.

Getting home to bed that night after being in the car forever was a blessed relief.

Crown Lawn who arranges my flat really deserves the gold star for best-est people in the world. Yet again my luxurious apartment is the one thing that keeps me sane in crazy London. I love it here.

I miss Ashley like hell and I am sure most of you know that her 21st birthday is coming up and I will not be with her for that occasion. I wish she would come down to London for a few days so I can see her again. I hate nit seeing her.

Husband is behaving himself and not irritating me too much.

Last night big Reginald D Hunter came over to the flat and we all stayed up till 4am and I had to get up early for BBC Radio 4 Loose Ends show…am tired.

There is a Scottish pub in Fulham, lets go round and watch the Celtic match” Husband suggested as we walked through Chelsea in the sunshine.

“I hate football pubs and hate anything Scottish in another country, it’s all too patriotic for me” I moaned.
So we went there as my words mean nothing.

It was a tiny wee bar, on entering we saw loads of small fat people in Celtic football colours and we knew they were Scottish as that’s our national shape and sport.
We got crushed up against the bar and I stared at the screen that took up the whole wall as I was quite into the football.
I do love football as a sport, but being raised in sectarian Glasgow, it always makes me feel anxious, due the violence that it caused over the years.

Catholics and Protestants, Green and Blue, Celtic and Rangers all hating each other….that shit never goes away.

I was five minutes in the place when an Oriental man came in with big bag and scrambled his way through the crush.

“Oh Chinky Chonker come here” the wee fat man with a big stretchy green and white hooped Celtic shirt shouted and clawed his way through the throng to get to the Oriental man.

I was aghast…I looked at husband and we both gawped at each other with huge astonished eyes…who speaks like that to people nowadays?
Clearly Glaswegians in London is the answer.

The Oriental chap merely smiled and pulled out of his bag a bunch of bootleg DVD’s, it can a stereotyped view but in the UK the majority of bootleg DVD sellers that go round bars selling their goods are from The Far East.

Fair enough but to call him Chinky Chonker man is hideously insulting.

The Oriental man chatted to the fat bloke and they swapped cash and DVD’s.

“This better work better than the last shite you sold me Gonga Din ya Chinky Bastard” the wee fat man laughed and the Oriental man smiled and stuffed the cash into his pocket.
“You Japs need a good talking to my man” the Scottish bloke added.
He was clearly unsure of the man’s nationality and went for every pop at his roots. The man could have been an Eskimo for all he knew.

I sat there ashamed at my fellow Scot and really wanted to scream.

Then the irony of the situation kicked in because there on the football screen was the wonderful Celtic player Shunsuke Nakamura scored a goal for the Glasgow team and the whole place went crazy.

“The Man from Japan is a genius” a woman screamed as the people jumped up and down in the crowded bar in joyous celebration.

The DVD seller threw up both his arms and shouted in the best English accent I heard that day (including mine)
“Yes! Go Nakamura; show the British how to play football”

He hopped around in excitement and said to the gathered and now astonished crowd “That’s how you win games, hire a Chinky to score for your team”

The man left the bar yelling with happiness that his countryman had scored for a Glasgow team, the Glaswegians in the bar had no idea how to deal with that information and I thought I was going to piss the seat with laughter.

Now that’s a result a football match that will take years to beat in my opinion.

London is cold and bright, I am tired and husband is so bloody efficient that I may enter him (not physically) but for Husband of the Week.

 

He has packed, moved and organised our trip to London.

 

We are down for three weeks and I have gigs all over the south of England.

Mostly London but I do have three nights in Birmingham. I have meeting and radio stuff to do.

 

Usually when we both go on these wee mini tours together all we end up doing is arguing, but this time we seem to have cracked it. Ok that maybe a premature statement as we are only into day 3 of the trip but I have devised a new way to stop bickering fights.

 

Every time husband says something that really irritates me, like when he singsongs an answer to a question (he does this a lot) OR when he starts to find fault in the little things that I do….I just sing a really good song in my head and ignore him totally.

 

It works! But it does freak him out slightly as he knows that when he does something he expects a reaction, where as I just smile and hug him.

 

This is making him scared...but at least we aint fighting like fuck every five minutes, the down side is…my brain is becoming a West End Musical and husband is walking around bewildered.

 

The answer to a happy marriage is not to understand each other but to devise ways to ignore every word that comes out of each others mouth.