She was only thirteen years old and the club was full of people waiting to see the UK’s youngest stand up comic.
Oh by the way she didn’t actually die physically, it’s a comedy term for having a bad gig.

Ashley had been doing stand up since she was 11 years old and was actually really good. There were rave reviews in all the newspapers and she was feted by the press.

She played some of the biggest clubs in the UK and sometimes broke the law by just being in a bar that late at night.
My daughter was raised in a bar as we used to own one, so it was nothing for her to be amongst so many adults in a boozing house.

Anyway the night she died on stage was horrid for her.

The audience were already belligerent and I was the MC and to bring my own child to the stage was the worst feeling ever, it really was like throwing a small baby to the snarling lions.

There were lots of other comics there, all supporting her and willing her to do well. They was a great feeling of camaraderie when it came to Ashley as she could ad lib and free style like the best of them and to hear a 13 year old answer a heckler and beat him was just heavenly.

The audience went quiet as this wee girl with her long hair I bunches ran on stage, she opened with her first line and just a few people laughed.

Then the crowd started chatting and they lost interest. Now she had never had this before and we all knew it would happen one day and as a stand up comic and her mother my heart stopped as I watched her struggle to get their attention.

The one thing that made me proud was- she didn’t fall apart or let them see she was upset, if a crowd smells fear then they go for your throat, especially a tough Glasgow crowd.
Me and the other comics all sat rigid with anger and fear as that wee kid in the dungarees ran about the stage trying her best to get on with the show as drunks started to shout over her.

She eventually shouted “Stop talking and ignoring me, this is what makes teenagers commit suicide” and we all fell about laughing, she got the last word.
She placed the mic back in the stand, took a bow and walked off into my arms.

I had to run on and bring the next act on, my heart felt like it was melting I really wanted to stop the show and call them all bastards but I couldn’t.
You see my wee girl wanted to be a comic and sometimes the shit hits you and you have to be big enough to weather that storm, even if you are just 13 years old.

A tough but valuable lesson to learn.

When she came off stage all the other comics hugged her and welcomed her to the ‘Real Side of Comedy’

“You aint a real comic till you die up there baby” one of the guys said to her and they all cheered. She was one of them. Her age didn’t get her away with it and her talent for sticking with it shone through and that was to be admired.

She didn’t see it that way and was crushed.

She had to get up the next day and go to school knowing that she was booked again that night as the club ran over a weekend.

I offered to pull her off the bill if she felt that bad about it.
I know how hard it can be to die like that on stage, so I sympathised and gave her an out.
“No mum, I will honour the gig and go back onstage, but I am going to write new material and do a different show”
I advised against this saying she should work the new material in slowly, this is the advice I would give any new comic.

That night she stood at the side of the stage, her heart was in her mouth and I tentatively announced her name.
She came marching on stage and grabbed the mic and did a whole new 15 minute set. The entire show was punctuated with big laughs and rounds of applause.
I could her see her face light up and I watched her lap up every moment of the joy of being laughed at.

The crowd roared as she finished her set, she took a bow and walked off.

In the green room I ran up and hugged her saying “well done that was awesome”

She put on her coat, turned to me and said “Get daddy to take me home, that is the last time I do stand up, I just wanted to get back on and prove I could do it and now I have I am done with this, I am not doing stand up again, good luck mama” and walked out of the club.

She never did stand up again until she was nineteen years old.

I still recall the night she died with horror but with huge pride as well.

This coming month Ashley will be 21 years old, she is a wonderful comic writer and performer. Her sketches are a joy to watch and I proud that I got to see her grow up in comedy.

My brother had a consultation today at the cancer clinic (he has cancer; we weren’t there for the social benefits).

I love my brother but he is nuts…in a good way.

“Janey I have a…” Mij broke off halfway through a sentence.

The women near us looked up and stared at my brother wondering what it was he was going to say, you see Mij talks loudly and is funny/mental and has a history of drug problems and kinda tells it like it is.

“I think the cancer was brought on because I have a…” he broke off again; he has a really irritating speech pattern!

“Menopause” he muttered and pointed his finger up with delight at recalling the word he had lost.

The other women in the waiting room looked up and smirked.

“When did your period stop then?” I asked sarcastically and added “Does your ovaries hurt?”

“Shut up Janey-stop saying the word ‘period’ really loudly, fucksake that’s embarrassing and aye my ovaries do hurt” he hissed. The women across from us started to giggle; I caught their eye and smiled with them.

“Mij, you need to know that you don’t have ovaries and only humans with a womb can have a menopause…you know like WOMEN” I spluttered through my laughter.

His face was crimson, he dropped his head and mumbled “Not menopause, I meant something else…I canny remember now” he started laughing and the women joined in.

I shook my head and went over to the tea bar in the hospital and ordered two teas.

“That will £1.11 please” the lady put her hand out.

“That’s a really unusual amount, how much is it for one tea?” I asked with confusion in my voice.

“It’s the way the till works one tea is 55 pence and two teas is £1.11” she answered.

I cannot begin to tell you how much that sum of money played in my head, why was it one pound eleven pence for two teas? How can that be? This conundrum went round and round my head till I heard my brother’s name being shouted…at last his menopause can be attended to!

Mij and I went into the consultation room. The cancer specialist opened a clean sheet of paper and started asking medical questions.

Doctor- “Tell me how this all began”

Mij- “Well one day Calum looked at my neck”

Doctor- “Who is Calum? Is he a doctor?”

Mij- “ No he is my grandson, he is eight years old, but he saw a lump on my neck and said it was cancer and then Cooper looked at it…”

Doctor- “Is Cooper a doctor?”

Mij- “No he is my dog and then…”

ME- “Mij get to the point”

Mij- “Yes I had a lump on my neck and I went to the docs and he sent me to the hospital and it was diagnosed after a biopsy”

I breathed a sigh of relief at this, you see Mij is funny and chatty and likes to spin a yarn and can make a small story into War & Peace (sound like someone we know? Yes me) anyway the very lovely patient doctor asked another question.

Doctor- “Do you suffer from any other illnesses?”

Mij- “No I am really fine”

ME- “Maybe the HIV is worth mentioning” I hissed.

Mij- “Oh aye my sister is right, I am HIV since 1986, but Calum says I am good at taking the medicine but he lives far away now but I am going for a visit because Cooper is being looked after by Simon and he had OCD and can actually stick together letters that have been shredded…”

ME- “Mij the point…please stick to it” I nudged him as he was off on a big tirade about his mental pals and nutty dog.

Doc- “Did you get the HIV from dirty needles?”

Mij- “No I never shared a needle in my life but my girlfriend at the time forgot to mention she was a hooker” Mij smiled as he threw this information into the ring, he is good at delivery of some lines I have to admit.

At this point I felt the only way to lighten the mood was to say something funny so I added “Mij thought he was having his menopause” and I giggled.

The doctor looked at me like I was really imbecilic and Mij kept an incredibly straight face, leaned over and said “Janey only women have a menopause that’s not even funny, especially as I have cancer and HIV and you are trying to crack silly jokes”

The doctor looked at me really distastefully and Mij shook his head in derision at me, then turned and winked.
I couldn’t stop laughing inside as he had managed to make me look a fool.

How funny is that?

Mij got through the whole consult and came out and we fell about laughing in each others arms, recalling the menopause joke and Mij talking about his dog.

I miss him and he makes me laugh like no one else.

Get well soon Dear Mij.

“Auntie Janey, can you take me to the zoo so I can stroke a mermaid, coz I have never seen one yet” baby Abi pleads with big penny eyes as we did a jigsaw of a beautifully drawn mermaid.

The stunning green shimmering tail enchanted wee Abi’s imagination and she traced her finger round the swishy bright fish tail and told me how much she loves mermaids and wants one …just a wee one…even a baby one…for Christmas.

I really didn’t have the heart to tell her mermaids weren’t real…she looked so passionately at the mermaid that I was tempted to fashion a green sequined tail from fabric and lie in the bath for her with two big clam shells on my boobs tied with string, but that would be tantamount to abuse.

How can you explain to social workers that you dressed in shiny taffeta and let a three year old stroke your flappy fins without it sounding creepy?

And trust me Abi would go to nursery and tell everyone how Auntie Janey is a mermaid, who lies half naked in the bath and loves to get petted; she is the master of telling tales.

Abi told me once that she gets locked in a cupboard, has no toys and hasn’t been fed since Tuesday.
She is really convincing and despite the fact it was me who had been looking after her since the Monday I actually believed her, till I shook my head and broke the spell of the wee brown eyed tall-tale-telling three year old.

I do love her and her wondrous stories that involve meerkats, monkeys and wee fairy that bites babies.

‘Imagination is more important than knowledge’ Einstein said and I believe him.

This one is in Dunfermline though, which is the birth place of Andrew Carnegie, the wee town is awesome.
The hall was amazing and the crowd were wonderful.

Dunfermline is a pretty town and the architecture is stunning.

Though I did come across and annoying bastard.

I walked to the local café ironically called “Fresh” because fresh for a fight was what I got from a pedantic man who owned it.

The café boasts internet at £1.50 for 30 minutes. Now those of you, who know me, will recall my never ending fight with the internet and it’s not always reliable.

So I sat down outside the Fresh café to check if I could actually get online.

The waitress came out and asked me if I wanted to buy something.

“Would you mind waiting for a moment, I need to check I can get on the web, because if I cant get online, I will need to go as I have a deadline to meet, so please bear with me a second” I answered and she smiled and agreed.

Before I could even check the online status a tall skinny man who was unloading stuff into the café came over and said “You are cheeky”

I looked at him and people around me smirked at his comment.

“Excuse me but I did say to the waitress that I need to check if your web works before I make a purchase, as the only reason I will buying something is to get online, which costs £1.50 and I will have to pay for so I don’t think I am being cheeky” I answered back.

“You are sitting in my seats so you need to buy something” he quipped back.

“Yes, I will be paying for the web IF IT WORKS, so I am checking that it does before I sit here with a £3 coffee and no internet” I argued back.

I stood up and lifted my laptop and added “You know what Mr nasty pants, I will just go elsewhere, I am a journalist writing about Dunfermline and how it treats its visitors, you obviously know how to do that so you can stick your FRESH Café here in Kirkgate Dunfermline right up your own back door…thanks”

I marched four steps to the café next to it called ESCAPE.

There the lady told me to sit down and check the web, she wasn’t sure if it worked and offered me a comfy seat to try it. The place was busy and smelled nice and the people didn’t have that air of ‘Snootiness’ about them.

The web came on FREE! I was so happy; she even gave me a free coffee because I looked so upset.
I found out from a customer in the Escape that the guy who owns the nasty Fresh café next door is a local Labour Politician and apparently he is cheeky to everyone in Dunfermline and often has that air of superiority about himself.

Well what a surprise!
So if any of you want to go to the pretty wee town of Dunfermline that gave the world the wonderful philanthropist Andrew Carnegie and houses the best café called ESCAPE in Kirkgate…do go and say hello to the lovely woman behind the counter.

Give the man next door in fresh café a sneer from me.

Standing in front of a huge bunch of 13 year old kids and a hall full of students was not the ideal location for my Monday afternoon.
The McEwen Hall in Edinburgh played host to the election debate and I was the comedy warm up.

I was slightly worried that my comedy would either go right over their heads and alienate the younger people OR my comedy was just frightening everyone.

Turns out it all went fabulously well, everyone laughed and then the debate began and all was well in Godley world.

I have to say listening to politicians waffle for a while can be brain numbing and I was amazed at the patience of the people, maybe with my comedy upbringing I need punchline-laugh-interesting story-punchline-laugh-funny observation ….
I could hardly bear to listen to the running around the subject and never getting to the point type chit chat…that’s so fucked up.

I had that screaming urge to just get up and shout “For fucksake answer the question and stop wittering” I never did that but the urge was positively Tourette’s Syndrome-ish for me.

I am still so happy about my Scotsman column, or should I say ‘page’…I get the whole bleeding page and its great fun!
I the readers are enjoying it as much as I am writing it.