We did manage to get through our wedding anniversary without a fight…well almost.
Here is what happened, we decided NOT to plan anything (coz that always starts the fight) and take the day as it came. So we got up and did some paperwork with the tentative view to go out for dinner at night, somewhere local.
As it happened I got a last minute job writing an article for a Scottish newspaper to a deadline….so that was the day screwed, it was 1000 words they needed and loads of back research involved. By the time I had finished writing and had it pre-checked by my manager John, the whole day and most of the night was gone.
No Anniversary dinner for us.
It was ok though, he understands, living with someone who has a strange job is cool with him.
Just when I thought it was all going to be cool, husband found the mail and brought it upstairs…..yes my credit card bill arrived. He almost died when he saw how much Ashley and I spent in Edinburgh…so there we have it, the ‘world’s cheapest man is married to the world’s most expensive woman’ conversation came up.

To combat this and to back up MY side, I showed him a magazine that displayed handbags and shoes that cost £8000, I never spend that much on handbags and shoes, and he merely flicked the page and shouted in despair because the magazine cost £2.50 …that’s was enough for him to get mad.
So I kicked him and ran into the bedroom. I won.
It really bugs me because this man spends NOTHING, how can he do it?
Honestly, he wears the cheapest shoes and has no reason to buy more until those ones (after three years believe it or not) wear out.
Why would he need another pair of shoes? He has one smart pair of shoes for a suit and trainers he wears daily and that’s all a man needs according to him.
He still wears clothes he had from the early 90s and would have worn the stuff he had in the early 80s but I threw them out!
He really cannot understand the concept of buying ‘more clothes’ when he has perfectly good stuff that fits…it bewilders him that men go shopping for clothes “Don’t they have any clothes at home?” he snaps, when we pass them in a store.
So imagine how he feels when I buy ‘yet another top’
“You have tops at home, don’t you have enough tops? I iron about 20 tops and at least 15 pairs of jeans, why do you need more?” he mutters when I browse through a shopping mall and he is forced to be with me.
He will never ever learn will he?
Or maybe he is right? Do we just keep buying clothes we hardly ever wear to satisfy some strange consumerism need that has been bred into us through the media?

He should be happy with me though, I very rarely buy very expensive stuff, and my best mate Monica thinks nothing of spending £200 on a pair of shoes. I am pretty cheap in that I would never spend more than £40 on shoes, I am a cheap bitch!

Ashley has her first day back at Uni and she was all tired and talky when she came home. She had made us both a lovely hand made card, which was really nice.
We decided long ago to stop buying anniversary presents, neither of us needs anything new (except some tops that I get myself obviously) and we feel it is a waste of cash.

So last night we all sat up talking and catching up with each other on the sofa, Ashley was full of excitement about her new film course (she loves Uni) and then we got a call from my niece Ann Margaret she had a wee fat baby girl. So we did get an anniversary gift after all!

We had planned on having time to ourselves and possibly having some anniversary sex, but both of us are way too old and tired and promptly fell asleep!

I woke up today (Thursday) and had a photo shoot for a forthcoming news article, the very thought of having to put make up on and dress nice that early in the day made me feel grumpy. But I did it, a whole new shiny hair-do, nice clothes and high heels, before 2pm! I looked like a hooker….
The day got completely thrown into disarray because an Aunt of my husband had taken ill and he had to go to hospital with her, he spent 5 hours in the emergency room until they finally got her admitted and settled. She is doing fine, husband realised that my niece who ahs just given birth was in same big Glasgow hospital, so he dashed off to the new maternity wing to see Ann Margaret, poor tired woman that she is, all sore and craggy.
I haven’t seen the baby yet, but apparently she is ‘ridiculously beautiful’ I can’t wait to hold her!

I am having a bad day shouting at my computer screen as I write.

I read with complete and utter horror in a magazine this week that in Pakistan –women who were raped were jailed or worse….stoned to death.
The law that they have purportedly broke is called Hudood Ordinance. The rapists walk free and the Pakistani government extremists continue to uphold this law!
I really get mad at this stuff and wonder how in the so called ‘Modern World’ this stuff can still exist, I try to make my blogs funny and sometimes vaguely interesting, but today I am having a rant.
I was raped as a child, and to be told you are the bad person and deserve to die for being raped makes me want to scream and makes me re-visit the shame I felt at five years of age.
Some of these women were pregnant as a result of the repeated rape; some of them were very young girls.
I cried reading the article and feel very privileged that I live in a society that recognises child abuse and rape. If you want to join the campaign for a change in the law go to www.actionaid.org.uk

Life sucks and I can only be happy that I was born into poverty and not some extremist religion or country. Thank God Scotland’s society is based on sectarianism and alcohol problems, and not hell bent in making women full-on second class citizens. I sometimes get mad at the injustice of misogyny, but now I appreciate the difference.

On a lighter note husband got up and cleaned the house, he does this often and I have realised why I will stay here forever- he completely understands my deep psycho-need for domestic cleanliness. We aren’t meant to be together in all other aspects of personality, that’s for sure but he gets how I need a clean house and tidy cutlery drawer. The thought of divorcing him and having to teach another man why I need a clean fresh pillow case daily and washed in fresh lavender cut from my dads garden seems too much to bear. My husband gathers the lavender, crushes it up in a sock and washes it in with my bed linen for me. That’s devotion. Not necessarily love…or maybe it is?
I will be nice to him on our anniversary tomorrow 26 years and counting.

Yes all of the above are involved in today’s blog.
First of all Ashley and her dad have been locked in battle for two whole days.
Let me explain, Ashley tells her dad she likes smoked haddock fish, so he buys her it every week.
This week he bought smoked haddock the size of a small whale…it was HUGE!
Whilst I was out the town fighting with pensioners at coffee tables, Ashley asked her dad to drive her to her grandfathers house, he said yes and then he said as they were leaving the flat “Do you want to cook that smoked haddock for tonight’s tea?”

Ashley replied “No, thanks I am not coming home for tea tonight”

This upset husband (don’t ask me why, but sometimes his Aspergers skew his opinion)
He then snapped “No one eats the food I buy in this bloody house” and refused to drive her to her grandfather’s house as he felt she was being unfair (for not eating the giant whale-like fish he bought!)
He then called me and interrupted my street argument to tell me the whole fragmented weird fight he had just had with his daughter. I stood in the street and tried to make sense of the smoked haddock story but gave up and invited him to come a walk with me.
Anyway, eventually Ashley came home and refused to speak to him for TWO WHOLE days…this drove me to distraction and I wanted to resolve it.

My niece Ann Margaret (mother Sean and of famous baby Abi in my video blog) and who is heavily pregnant with her third child and READY to pop at any moment came over to visit. She lay fat and uncomfortable on my sofa as husband and Ashley tried to thrash the argument out and reach a conclusion because I had made them both sit down to talk about it.
“I want smoked haddock” Ann Margaret shouted over their voices “I have a huge fat baby that is slowly chomping on my womb, stop arguing and make me the smoked haddock”
Eventually Ashley made her dad realise that he was being unreasonable and he apologised and I cooked the smoked haddock…it was fucking huge and I had to skin it and it stank….yuk…

Three days that smoked haddock argument lasted.

So I was then called to do a live broadcast for a radio show on Saturday. I had to do three minutes live comedy and an interview in Edinburgh in front of a live audience.
When I got there, the audience consisted of one adult and nine toddlers who had faces painted in the style of cats. Yes –small kids with wee cat faces all staring at me as I tried to do comedy live to the nation whilst staring at confused sticky cat painted kids!
My life is crap sometimes, but I did manage it….in the background I could here this wee child say “Why is that lady not doing anything but talking, can’t she do a tumble, that would be funny, is she supposed to be funny?”

So that made me think that if all adults painted their faces full time the world would be a better place…, imagine it.

If you had to deal with some authority figure that had a big fat face painted as a racoon or a bright butterfly, then it would be easier to deal with, strange frightening lawyers would not seem scary if they were talking to you with a big colourful cat on their cheeks!
It would be cool, teenagers who had acne need never feel ostracised – they just need to transform their faces into wild tigers or vibrant parrots! I love this idea…
George Bush could come on live television painted as a funny monkey and Tony Blair would have the face of a bright pink pig…I am loving this idea…aren’t you?

I am excited about this week, hopefully I will have some big news to tell you all that I can’t really mention just now -till it gets released in the press….speak soon

Today in Glasgow the weather was really weirdly hot, I mean full on sunshine, warm breezes and sweaty backs as you walked through the humid city streets. It was weird. It is mid-September, this is Scotland.
I sat outside in a street café and could feel some strange African-like breeze pick up napkins on my table and flop them onto my knee with a warm draught.
Yet the weather man says- Hurricane!
I must tell you what happened when I actually sat down at the café table.

The place was busy as I said- the weather was unseasonably hot, I approached one table where a younger guy in a blue tee shirt sat alone, he was facing an elderly man in a white shirt, but the elderly man was at an opposite table with an elderly guy in a bright red shirt.

I spoke to the younger guy as I held my coffee and sandwich on a tray “Excuse me can I join you at this table?” There really was nowhere else to sit.

The younger guy nodded and indicated to the empty seat beside him and carried on chatting to the elderly gentleman.

Just as I put the coffee on the table the elderly man in white shouted loud enough for the whole outside café area to hear “No you cannot” and laughed very loudly at his ‘apparently funny’ comment.

I simply smiled and said “Actually I wasn’t talking to you, this isn’t your table” as I sat down and placed my bag on the floor. The younger guy looked uncomfortable as the elderly man was being very loud.

“Oh she is very tough, I would watch her!” the old attention seeking white shirted interrupter added and laughed (yet again) at his ‘funny comment’. “I bet she could make your tea go cold with a stare, tough woman at the table” he added and laughed again.

“Really…you call me tough? I would thought being assertive is what I am, but I suppose you would never confound stereotypes and any woman who speaks out must be very scary, well thanks for that” I stared at him full on and went back to stirring my coffee. I then completely ignored him and started flicking through my newspaper.

He was not to be ignored, he was clearly one of those old men who had to have EVRYONE listen to his fucked up Victorian opinion.
He then took a big breath and shouted “I wouldn’t like to come home to you with an opened pay packet!” (Followed by his annoying loud guffaw) people around us started to look uncomfortable.

I merely flicked another page and said without looking at him “I don’t need a man to bring home money to me as I make my own cash, and even if you brought home all the money Bill Gates owned, I would still fake my own death to get away from you”

This enraged Mr Misogyny “I see you are not wearing a wedding ring, that’s because there isn’t a man alive who would be stupid enough to marry you”
By this point he had stopped being ‘Jovial Old Scottish Bloke’ and had turned into angry old man who hates any woman who talks back.

I didn’t even look at him, I simply plugged in my horribly expensive outside-noise -reducing earphones, switched on my IPod and listened to 50 Cent blast into my ear canals. I could see the old man getting red and angry, pointing, shifting in his seat, ranting and banging his fist on the metal table that rocked his tea all over the surface.
Still 50 Cent rapped my brain senseless.

Eventually I pulled out the earphones and caught him practically screaming at me
“Women like you are the reason kids today are beating pensioners”
I lifted my head and spoke “Obviously not enough” and smiled to myself.

He then stood up and said “I despise women like you, you are destroying the very fabric of Scottish Society, you think the world owes you a living, I bet you have robbed lots of very good men of a job with your lesbian militant ways, women like you were put in mental institutions when I was a young man” The people at the nearest tables started whispering and gasping loudly at his outburst.

At this I burst out laughing and looked at around at the horrified looks on the coffee drinking Glaswegians who were shocked at the transformation of happy old man to angry Hitler bloke.

I looked at him, leaned over and said “Listen old man, I have been married 26 years, raised a daughter, and been self employed since I was 17, in fact I gave more men more jobs than you have ever lost. I have never had to justify myself to any man as to why I have every right to have a voice, so I don’t see why I have to start now. Sit on your old arse and stop making a big show of yourself, you are frightening people around you and I am listening to some sexy black gangster rap, why don’t you go home and shout at your wife?”

“My wife died four years ago” he said with a degree of glee at the thought of shaming me in front of people.
“What did she die of…boredom?” I answered “She must be really proud of you, standing there shouting at a woman sitting alone, calling her a lesbian and making assumptions about her life when you know nothing about me”

He then stood up; he looked at me and went really red.
He looked around at people wanting their support, at that point a man with bright red hair and a smart suit leaned over holding a piece of paper and a pen and he said to me “You are Janey Godley, I loved your book, it was such an inspiration to me, can I have your autograph?” I was stunned, I thought yet another bloke was about to hurl abuse at me.

I thanked the suited man and quickly signed my name, I held it to him and he then spoke to the elderly man and said “You really should be ashamed of yourself standing there shouting at this woman, she wrote a book about her life, she was abused as a child and she is now being abused as an adult, you really should mind your attitude”

I watched the old man stand there, not really dealing with the situation and I actually felt really sorry for him. Old guys like him have set attitudes that are ingrained into them since childhood and it must be hard to shake them off and to have a woman answer you back in public must be the biggest insult of all time, then again the old bastard started it….so I smiled as he stumbled through the tables muttering to himself.

This just goes to prove that warm weather in Glasgow in September makes people fucking crazy, before tonight there will no doubt be seven murders….hopefully none of them by me.

So as I write this, I look out of the window and the trees are blowing all over the street, the wind is howling and that promised hurricane is checking into Glasgow.
I don’t like strange weather cycles, it makes me scared and snappy.

Husband and daughter Ashley came to meet me today after a meeting.
As they both entered the bar, they passed in the entrance an elderly couple (mid to late 60’s probably) who were locked in a passionate kiss….seriously into a massive big clinch and my daughter was horrified “Arrrggghhh pensioner porn” she screeched as she threw herself into the seat opposite me!

I saw the couple at the door and thought it was not nasty but very nice in a lovely way.

I mean , if they were a couple of scary old drunks mauling each other, I would be worried it was going to end badly, either in violence (Glasgow drunks veer from affection to hostage situation very quickly ) or worse -full on open air sex! (Yuk).

This was a very well-dressed middle- classed –looking couple and they really were wrapped around each other, completely oblivious to the school kids and human traffic that occupied the busy West End street.

I imagined that they were an elderly couple who once fell in love in the 1950’s but were somehow tragically torn apart and finally 50 years later meet up and declare their undying love for each other!
Or maybe it was just a happy couple celebrating their wedding anniversary in public….why did that seem so alien to me?
Why could I not consider that two people would still want to kiss in public after being together for 50 years?

I can’t imagine being with someone that long EVER….yet I am married 26 years next week….I still think we are dating and I am not too sure about him yet, I haven’t decided if he is the ONE.

When husband came to Edinburgh during the Fringe he drove me mental. I recall going up to a bar to meet Ashley after one of his particularly bad Aspergers syndrome episodes (my husband has mild Aspergers).
Here is a typical conversation my daughter and I had, it really does sound like a scene from some cheesy sitcom.

Ashley- “Where is dad?”

Me- “Dad?....oh sorry he died in a horrible fireball accident”

Ashley- “Are you trying to plot his death again?”

Me- “Yes, its true I am, he sat tonight after I did three shows, one radio show and one interview and decided to teach me binary numbers and explain why logarithms are important in society, and I never really got into it but I did realise that you should never marry the first man you have sex with, so I did learn something”

Ashley- “Mum tell him to go home please”

Me- “I did, apparently he lives with us, how did that happen?”

Ashley- “I mean back to Glasgow, leave him alone”

Hopefully Ashley will never marry young, never believe that marrying any man will get her away from the hopelessness of her family, because that’s why her dad and I got married. I am not being horrid, that’s the truth, we were only teenagers.
His family were a male dominated gangster type Glasgow crime clan and mine were dirt poor and broken emotionally.
I just wanted to find a boy and make a lovely wee family unit, a wee house and lots of love, just create what I didn’t actually have.
We were a couple of train wrecks waiting to crash into each other and WE DID!

Thank goodness the one important amazing thing that came from both of us un-educated, emotionally trashed, sexually abused and mentally crippled kids was that beautiful daughter.

Yet we are still together….still looking at each other like strangers in the dark, still scared the other will leave, still holding onto each other like a broken boat in a swollen river, still spitting and hating, loving and crying, kissing and biting, shaming and smiling, still waiting….yet still hoping they will kiss in the street when they are pensioners?

Maybe we will or maybe we won’t. I really don’t know.