I am looking out of my window here in Glasgow and across the road there is CHRISTMAS lights twinkling in someone’s flat, they are strung across the window frame…..it is only October for goodness sake!

We haven’t even had Halloween and yet FIREWORK’S are banging making Glasgow’s West End sound like Iraq, I can’t sleep for the constant banging outside.

Why is this happening?

Why don’t we make everything months in advance and let’s have a New Year Party on Monday?

Talking about Monday, I am so bloody nervous. It’s the huge party and announcement of Scotswoman of the Year of which I am a finalist. I still haven’t figured out an outfit, I still haven’t bothered to get a hair appointment ….I am so scared.

I am really honoured to be there but it is scary for me, I know everyone knows me as this chatty outspoken stand up comic but I am crap at parties and meeting complete strangers and often end up gibbering shit about three legged dogs and squirrels! Unless Ashley is with me, or my mate Monica, I sit quiet and people think I am being stand offish …..I know that sounds odd.

 

When Ashley and I went to NZ to the comedy festival, I was pretty quiet the first weeks there as I didn’t really know anyone in Wellington and backstage when all the comics got together I sat and played with the theatre’s cat.

When Ashley and I got back to the hotel she said “Mum, you need to be less unapproachable, you ignored everyone there and sat with that scary cat, some guys there asked me if you didn’t like them”

 

I was appalled that I had given that impression, but I do get very insular in small rooms with lots of people, especially being a comic…everyone expects you to do tumbles and pull a big magical joke out of your arse every five minutes. I did like the cat, he was a big fat ginger Tom who ran after me and then I fed him raw salmon which made him love me.

I did eventually get to know the other guys and they are awesome, but I am either extremely quiet or extremely chatty….never anywhere in between!

 

I have become a strange sleep recluse the last week also, which doesn’t help. Sometimes I get like this where I just spend all day asleep with a cover over my eyes to deny me any daylight to remind me what time of day has arrived. I sleep and sleep and slop about the house all tired and un-washed….maybe I am turning into Howard Hughes, fuck does that mean I am going to have to design a flying boat? Shit- that will take weeks to put together! Can I just shove Kleenex boxes on my feet and pee my shorts?

 

Even husband is getting distressed with my appearance.

“You are going to wash your hair for Monday night’s party aren’t you?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, I am and don’t worry I know what to wear” I added as I tried to shove my toes into the end of an empty toilet roll tube (I have no Kleenex boxes).

 

Husband is not coming with me to the party as he HATES anything that involves publicity and virtually disappears when that stuff happens. I have four Film Premiers to go to in London, one meeting Ben Affleck and Bob Hoskins, husband has refused to go to any of them.

 

We go to London next week, that’s after I have survived Halloween, Guy Fawkes, Christmas, New Year, spring and summer here in Glasgow in the next three days!

On Tuesday I went out with a film crew to do the short film that will be presented to the assembled guests at the finals of ‘Scottish Woman of the Year’ dinner.

It really is just a small clip of me walking around with a voice over, giving the people there a taste for who I am.

The other five women had theirs done and the crew were lovely and knew that I was a comedian and had decided to make it a wee bit funnier.

So we took a walk down to the Glasgow Green and beside the River Clyde, I saw a big bunch of swans strutting around so I decided it would be funny if I pretended they were a comedy crowd and I addressed them as if I was doing comedy and the birds all honked and flapped at me.

“Come on swans, give me smile, tip your waitress, I will be here all week” I giggled.

 

Then a wee Glaswegian drunk wandered over in to camera shot. He was wearing a dirty tee shirt, had no teeth and stank.

 

“Why do you think that big swan isn’t joining all of those birds?” He said.

 

He was right the big bird stood a distance away from the other swans.

 

I looked at the big haughty swan and said to camera “This wee Glasgow man who is locally known as Doctor Doolittle has posed a very sombre question”

 

The wee drunk closed his eyes in a professional manner threw up one arm and shouted loudly and proudly “That’s because they are geese and that is a swan, if you are going to talk to them at least get there breed correct, Geese hate being called swans that’s why they honk at you” The wee drunk man smiled smugly to the camera.

 

He was right they were bloody geese! I hadn’t even noticed…how much of a city kid am I?

 

I went back to look at the swan with the wee drunk stumbling man behind me, still with the camera running, and as I approached the snooty tall white beast- two big fat long rats came scrambling under the swans legs and scurried towards me.

 

“Arrrggghhh fucking big smelly rats!” I squealed as the wee drunk laughed aloud.

 

“It’s ok they are water rats, they don’t bite!” He said running behind the rats that were running after me……the camera still shooting the whole thing.

 

We couldn’t have arranged this if we tried.

 

The wee drunk man refused to leave me alone to get the shot done “give me money” he demanded.

“I don’t have money wee man” I said (and I didn’t)

“Well I want money for being in your film” He stood his ground.

 

“I think you will find we never had you in the film, we never asked for you to be in this wee film and we are actually trying to position the camera to get you out of our wee film” I snapped back.

 

“Well I told you about the geese” he replied smugly.

 

“And you want payment for pointing out a swan isn’t a goose?” I asked him sarcastically.

 

“Aye I do” He shot back at me.

 

“Well, no is the answer to that, I recognised the rats and I am not getting paid for pointing them out am I?” I laughed and then he laughed and finally wandered off, but still managed to shout at me in the background.

 

After escaping the rats and drunks, we walked towards the suspension bridge that sits over the River Clyde for a shot of me walking across.

Just as I started walking, I saw a man drag himself out of the water at the bank side, he clambered up through the muddy clearing, ran in front of the camera and came up to me.

He was filthy, dripping and I thought I may be dreaming, how surreal can my day get?

“Listen if you want to film me you can, I will tell you my story for cash, I was chased into the river by gangsters, now film me” he shouted, wet arms outstretched and bawling like a mad man.

 

“We don’t want to film you actually” I replied. The camera woman kept the film going; my wistful walk amongst the red rustic autumnal leaves was going in an entirely different direction.

We then cut the shot and tried to ignore him. He ran around everyone and came back at me as I lit up a quick fag and gripped my take away coffee carton for smoke break and possibly a looney break,

“Give me a fag you bitch” he hissed at me.

I looked at him and smiled “No”.

“You fucking middle class bastards come here with your camera’s filming shite and here is me with a real gangster story, I just came out of the Clyde…now give me a fag” he aggressively spat at me.

 

I watched as the three women production crew fiddled with equipment and made a concerted effort to ignore him, I stepped forward and shoved my face right into his and said through gritted teeth.

 

“Listen you fuckwit, I am from here, I lived here in the Calton for years, I am not fucking interested in your fucked up junkie tale of woe, don’t stand there thinking I am some mumsy middle class arse that you can scare or intimidate, you ever speak to me like that again, I will fucking throw you back into the river, if you want anything from me, I will be glad to help but you have to respect me first or you can fuck right off and go drink your methadone elsewhere”

 

He looked at me, raised one eyebrow and said “Well if you are from here you know how shite it is, I have problems” he put his head down and stuffed his wet swollen fingers into damp pockets.

 

 I answered him “Yeah…fucking big problems and if you treat people like that and try to intimidate women like that then no fucking one will help you, I don’t let anyone speak to me like that”

 

“Can I have a cigarette please?” he asked politely.

 

“Yes” I said and handed him one and gave him the coffee.

 

“Do you know Shorty from the Calton? I asked him as he lit the fag.

 

“Aye, I know Shorty well, you know him?” He replied blinking through the smoke.

 

“I told you, I lived here, I used to own the Weavers Inn up on London road” I answered.

“Fucksake you should’ve said that” He smiled gripped the cigarette with his teeth and thrust out one hand to shake mine.

“You must be a Storrie” his broad smile spilt his face.

 

“Yes I am a Storrie….well by marriage but I have changed my name since, what’s yours?” I asked him.

 

“I am not telling you, I will get battered for fucking you about” he laughed loudly and he walked off with my cigarette and my hot coffee “Cheers Storrie” he shouted from a distance as he held up the paper cup and made off between the big trees that lined the river.

 

We did manage to finish off that short two minute film of me walking about and talking about my charity work. I don’t think the lovely film crew even imagined they would be staring through a camera at a nominee of Scotswoman of the Year as she argued with geese, had an animal lecture from a wee drunk and threatened to throw a drug addict into a freezing river, but then again stuff happens to me.

 

Oh and by the way, must of the charity work I do is with people who have drink and drug problems….ironic?

I have to thank Marie Leaf, for sending me her hand made dream Native American Indian handmade Dreamcatcher. She posted it to me from all the way across the world.

 

It is beautiful and the feathers that dangle from it are just spectacular. I lie in bed and watch them flutter and dance in the late Scottish Summer sun. My dreams have got better except they are now BIZZARE and detailed beyond belief. I dreamt I was working in a huge bar I am not familiar with and had a stroppy fight with Kofi Anan and the BeachBoys, whilst and old gangster I knew became a make up artist that painted mustard on babies faces! Go figure that shit out!

 

I managed to get our boiler finally repaired this week; we have been living without hot running water for months now. Boiling kettles to wash dishes, the showers worked, but the taps didn’t so I managed to at least get myself cleaned! I even washed pots in the shower last week.

Plumbers are so good to have in the family and they are a dying breed of workmen, no one wants to be a plumber anymore. Loads of young people all want to go into media and film, hardly any want to get a real trade like brickwork and electricians etc….the Government here in UK is trying to recruit more youngsters into these trades as there is a dire shortage.

I don’t have any skills like that.

My dad could do plumbing and home repair jobs; my mammy was an expert wall paperer and painter. In the old days people were too poor to hire folk to come do stuff to their homes, but I never managed to gather those skills. My whole flat needs repainting and it will wait until I can afford one!

Till then I will live with yellowing walls and dull white doors!

 

I am hoping one of those TV shows will offer my home a make-over….but I suppose that will never ever happen!

 

My niece Ann-Margaret was telling how she is coping with her daughters the new baby Julia and the crazy toddler Abi.

Those who read the blog often will be familiar with the antics of Abi; she is now three and can TALK for Britain in the Toddler Chatting Arena. I love her so much; she is extremely funny and very sharp for a wee cute baby.

 

The other day Ann –Margaret finally finished breast feeding newly born Julia, coping with sore nipples and a cranky back she finally put Julia down for a sleep and gave herself a well earned rest.

 

Two minutes later she heard the baby’s “Waaa Waaa” screams from Julia’s lacy crib in the bedroom. “Oh ….crap, please don’t be awake wee preciousness” the weepy hormonal Ann-Margaret whispered as she struggled to get on her feet, being careful not to jerk her sore pelvis.

 

Just as she stood up Abi came running in and said “I just checked and that wee baby can’t talk yet, I spoke loudly and clearly and all she did was scream, when will she talk mummy?”

 

Abi’s big brown eyes pleading annoyance to her mum with her bubbly jiggly curls bouncing about as she struggled to understand why a tiny child won’t talk back, Ann-Margaret had to bite her bottom lip and restrain her shouts at the cute toddler who had woken up the baby again stood there waiting for an answer.

“Aunty Janey, please take Abi till she is at least 21 years old and bring her back for visits” my poor niece Ann-Margaret pleaded in desperation.

 

I am sure it will all work out in the end, but it must be madness having a toddler and a new born still on the breast….thank GOD I am too old for that stuff, though I wouldn’t mind having Abi till she was 21 years old, she is such fun!

 

I made a new video blog on my website, it is a satirical spoof of the famous UK Labour MP Sion Simon weblog where he spoofed the Conservative leader David Cameron….you can see it on my main webpage if you are interested.

I cannot thank all of you enough and a big Thanks to everyone who voted for me. I am also very touched the way the Glasgow Evening Times put me forward for this amazing award.

The other wonderful nominee’s for this prestigious award are amazing women who have overcome hardships, and went on to be inspirational to many. I am honoured to be up there with them!

 

The article in tonight’s newspaper is here

 

JANEY GODLEY

Comedienne Janey Godley proves laughter really can be the best medicine.

As a child, she was sexually abused by her uncle, which she recounted in her book, Handstands in the Dark.

She then married into Glasgow's gangland and watched as many of her friends and family were sucked into a life of crime and drugs.

Yet she was determined to take a different path in life. After 30 years she found the confidence to prosecute her uncle.

Today, the 45-year-old has become the inspiration for victims of abuse from all over the world.

"I am a great believer in trying to make the best of a bad job," she says.

Her award-winning play, The Point of Yes, tells the story of the 80s heroin epidemic.

She runs comedy workshops for 15-18-year-olds and drama workshops for former addicts, using their own experiences as inspiration.

Janey has worked unofficially with abused women at court, telling them what to expect, and this year, on International Women's Day, she contributed to a Fighting Violence with Comedy event in London.

This month she hosts the Emma Humphreys Memorial Awards, which recognises women who work against male violence.

 

If you haven’t voted yet and WISH to VOTE click on this link

 

http://www.eveningtimes.co.uk/lo/features/7025084.html

 

I am so chuffed and grateful, you have no idea how this has cheered me up!

Thanks everyone for your kind words and testaments.

Much Love Janey

My eldest brother Jim is a funny eccentric and extremely nutty person whom I adore. He has lived with drug and some vague mental problems for many years and now lives alone near Edinburgh. I often feel guilty that I don’t see him enough but he can be hard work. His daily accounts of fighting with doctors, police and social workers (many of these stories are greatly exaggerated) can wear you down and defeatist attitude can make your ears bleed.

Jim has lived a strange life, having been an addict for many years and now apparently doesn’t do heroin (Fuck knows he doesn’t need it to go into a trippy world) but he still uses pills and downers etc.

 

His only daughter who is 30 years old has TWO sets of twins (Two girls at a year old and a boy and girl at nine) and a teenage daughter, now lives near London so he is on his own. He adored her kids and helped raise them and misses then dreadfully and does nothing but talk about them….bless. Jim has been single since 1980.

 

I abhor going to visit because his home is usually a junk yard mess and I have NO idea how that toilet pan can get so brown…what is he doing?

Brewing tea down there? Flush for fucksake….

Those who know me know that I have huge emotional issues with dirty houses, due to my childhood dirty home imprinting that horrid feeling on me that haunts my soul forever.

 

He collects junk and dirt like no one I know…he used to have three televisions stacked on top of one another, one with volume, one with the picture and one for good luck. There is always a broken guitar and a three legged cat hanging about, he has a huge collection and fascination with knives and swords for fighting the gangs he has to encounter daily (or in his imagination actually).

 

He has an array of fake guns and I suspect more fake weapons of warfare than any normal man should posses. If ever a fake war breaks out HE IS THE MAN to win that conflict.

 

He is obsessed with undercover spies, UFO’s (which is lucky because where he lives is the UFO capital sightings of Europe which is I suspect is probably my brother making all those calls to National Aviation) he is into conspiracy theories, he believes his TV/dial up internet has been flagged by FBI and hates sailors, hedgehogs and kites (don’t ask me why…?)

 

And I love him.

 

So there I was at his flat today. He has a new dog called Cooper. It is a big gangly –tail waggy-slobbering-ankle licking-leg humping odd animal.

The dog makes so much fuss and constantly breaks his train of thought with its antics and it’s difficult when my brother’s train of thought is already so fragmented; it makes any conversation so bloody difficult to endure. I was exhausted within minutes of arrival!

 

The dog jumped, sniffed and mounted me three times within seconds; I felt raped and licked….it was gruesome and funny.

Its big powerful tail cleared the coffee table with one bushy swipe like the expert hands of some flash casino croupier who can clear a deck of cards with one glamorous movement. It then managed to head butt an ashtray and within minutes the floor was just a dump. It then clumsily stood on my brothers Playstation, knocked over a cup of tea and banged its big bushy arse into the TV. I leaned over to eat a cookie and as I momentarily held it in mid air to chat, it gently opened its big jaws and just simply took it from my fingers and ate it whilst staring at me with big brown eyes. Tail still wagging, beating the dirty floor like a Tom Tom drum.

 

The dog disappeared and arrived back in the living room with a grenade in its mouth. YES a fucking green old grenade….”Jim what the fuck is that?” I sighed.

Normal people would be shocked and run for cover, but remember this is MY brother we are talking about.

 

“It’s a fake grenade, but it’s actually a cigarette lighter” he said nonchalantly taking it from the dog’s wet mouth.

The dog then ran off and came back with a sock.

 It then ran off and came back with silver chrome bowl. It turned the bowl upside down and then proceeded to chase the upturned chrome bowl all over the living room trying to turn it over; it went crazy at this game. Teeth and legs flashing all over the place, barking, yelping and jumping in frustration, as it failed to get the bowl into an upright position, so I turned it over and the dog just stood on the rim and flipped it back upside down and chased it again…..

 

 

As if that wasn’t mental enough, a woman called Bertie arrived, Jim introduced her “Bertie does nails, she used to do heroin she used to be a hooker, but now she is a manicurist” Jim announced with a flourish of his hand to indicate how artistic this new job was that Bertie had.

“Good” I smiled not really knowing what to say.

 

“Guess whose nails she did last week?” My brother asked with a smile in his question.

Bertie glowed and blushed as Jim spread his arms wide as a gesture of her grandiose talent.

I caught a flash of my brother’s fingers and could see it certainly wasn’t his grubby dirty nails she attended to.

Then my eyes lowered, though my brain was telling me not to be so ridiculous –yet my eyes kept going lower and… YES the DOG had pink shiny dog toe nails. I was amazed and my brain froze with shock at seeing this golden mongrel with gaudy claws. I hadn’t noticed it before, but they had a pale shell pink glittery sheen.

 

“Yes, she did Coopers toe nails” My brother smiled, raising his eyebrows as if to encourage me to join in with this amazing revelation and celebrate the work she had done on his big waggy tailed dog.

Bertie smiled and added “He liked it didn’t he?”

“Yes, he loved it” added my brother.

 

I thought I was going to laugh out loud, but I couldn’t because my brother and the manicurist would have been offended as they thought it was normal and nice to paint the dog’s nails.

 

When I finally left and sat on the train home, I laughed quietly and giggled to myself constantly. My brother is a nutter, a harmless knife collecting nutter….but a happy one none the less that can always make me smile.