Portsmouth was lovely, though was awoken at 5am with a phone call because my mental manager accidentally pressed his phone inside his pocket and it called me. I jumped from the hotel bed, banged my already sore feet
into the bottom of the chair in the dark and listened to the inside of his pocket for about 5 minutes before I hung up…
I stumbled back to bed, rubbed the sore toe, dabbed the now bleeding heel and headed for my pillow.

So this morning I got ready and headed on a flight back to Glasgow. Husband was waiting at the airport for me; the house was immaculately clean which made me wonder if he had hired staff in over the weekend.
I sat today and wrote the new bits into my play, tomorrow I rehearse again.

I am also excited that my book is going to paperback- apparently TESCO’s have bought shed-loads (approximately 15,000) copies to sell and more booksellers are ordering as we speak….maybe I may not have to sell Ashley on EBay after all. Who knows, maybe a sarcastic, tall angry sexy girl can fetch a few grand? But I would miss her…so she gets to stay. Though I have prepared an advert for her see how this sounds…

Scottish tall, interesting, educated, dark haired, sexy girl aged 20. Fresh and ripe and ready for all sorts of fun. Cannot cook (unless for herself then it’s gourmet food only), Cannot- sew, nurture babies, cannot-clean, cannot-organise paperwork, cannot-take phone calls, cannot-post letters when required, can never take paper to recycle bin, refuses to wash her own clothes, cant drive, is rude to old people who take too long on staircases, gets angry at tourists, hates people with one eye for no good reason, despite liking pirates, cannot EVER recharge an IPOD, has a desperate aversion to folding or hanging clothes, is allergic to cheap shampoo and conditioner, is unconditionally unbelievably and inexplicably scared of rolled up socks, vomits when she sees hamsters, loves prison and football films, laughs at people who fall off bikes, once shouted down a major politician at aged 14 in Westminster on a school trip, punched a drunk who kicked a homeless man, tries to kill pigeons on a daily basis, is funny at all times EXCEPT in the mornings when she actually physically turns into Rosemary’s Baby and will stab you if you talk to her before midday and is really good at losing her passport.

Mmmmmmm…tempting eh? I don’t think I will have many takers to be honest so the book better sell!

My feet are fucking sore, every pair of summer sandals I have bought have cut my feet like Fu Man Chu on acid, but I discovered you can buy topless sandals from USA, they are just basic sticky soles that you stick to your feet and then wash and they get sticky again, no straps to cut into your flesh…no rubbing blisters as you walk…you can actually buy these, but I cant find a distributor in UK…I want them sandals now! Send them to me!
Am having stomach pains today and feel sore and bloated, I hope that goes away soon, can’t bear the shits.

I am having a week at home to get the shows ready for Edinburgh, and then am off to Barcelona.

Today in the Scotsman newspaper my daughter Ashley and I have a huge lovely article written of us, I love it.
Here is some quotes form the article-
"Effortless stream-of-consciousness riffs that Virginia Woolf might
have written had she only had a pawky sense of humour."

Scotland's funniest woman

"Godley's certainly a one-off - a cuddly-looking woman who sounds like
the mordantly lippy love child of Joan Rivers and Billy Connolly"
(The Scotsman)

So that was way cool!
I am currently in Portsmouth which is surprisingly beautiful, they have completely renovated the harbour and it is amazing. I am doing Jongleurs here for two nights.
I bought lovely blue summer sandals (Ashley said they were hideous) I loved them until on the walk along the sparkling sunny seafront I felt a huge blister had developed under my heel as my feet constantly rubbed against the fabric sole. By the time I got on stage I had this huge water filled pus like blob hanging off my feet that I had to lance in the break with a sharp pin and then run back on stage with strange fluid leaking out of my skin! I managed to get back to the hotel last night and soaked my sore feet.
This morning I got up and wondered what to do with the devil slashed feet I now possessed.
I have always worn my great MBT trainers, they have taken me round the world those shoes, never hurting, never letting me down. So I threw away the cheap Ted Bundy Killer shoes and slipped on my old trainers….they must have been disgusted at being discarded and developed a horrible Japanese torture personality because within half and hour they had rubbed a huge blister on my heel! What the fuck is going on? I hobbled into a shoe shop and bought a pair of flip flops that barely touch any part of my feet….and yes they have managed to cut into my instep where the fabric holds the sole on! I am hobbled!
I am hoping it all heals soon as I am off to Barcelona in two weeks time to do comedy there for the weekend.
If you want to read the whole article in the Scotsman you can see it on my website www.janeygodley.co.uk

I had baby Abigail today, she is my wee favourite great niece and she is only three years old. She is so cute and intelligent and full of conversation, she has an imaginary rat called Segar! She told me how it crawls up her arm and cuddles her and she took it to the zoo and it hates tigers! How cool?
Then she stood in front of my video camera and did a big take on the cult dirty joke movie ‘The Aristocrats’ you can see it on Livedigital. Go check it out.
Then today after she left and I took three hours to clean up the collection of crayons, cardboard boxes and tiny toys that she leaves here, I had to hoover the whole house and wash down sticky fingers off the kitchen units and re stock the fridge.
Honestly this tiny wee child eats like an Alsatian puppy.
She ate-
Eight wheat free cheese crackers
Seventeen cherries
Nineteen blue berries
A plate of yoghurt with honey
Thirty two pea pods
A plate of chips
A bowl of rice crispies
Then she came over to me and said “Aunty Janey, what is there for dinner?”
I swear she has a wee stomach like a ‘Clootie Dumpling’ (An old Scottish heavy fruit steamed pudding that feeds twenty people).
Finally I have time to myself; husband and I sat on the sofa and chatted as Ashley sat at the PC.
I have realised that she conducts our whole relationship and controls every conversation, even when she is not involved.
For instance, I whispered to husband and Ashley whipped her head round like an eagle eyed prison guard and shouted “What did you say to him?”
“I asked him if wanted anal” I quipped sarcastically.
“Mum don’t be gross, what did she say dad?” Herman Goering interrogator daughter snapped.
Husband is crap at lying and stumbled over his words “Well she ….er…”
“Don’t fucking tell her you daft fucking man” I shouted. I just didn’t want her to hear every single conversation we have, is nothing sacred?

“Tell me dad, what did she say to you?” Spanish inquisition type child asked pleadingly.
“Go back to your fucking Puzzle Pirates; don’t you have a fucking doubloon to earn or a ship to sink?” I argued.
“She told me she missed me when she was away” Husband finally caved under the stress of the questioning looks of his daughter.
“No you don’t miss him” Ashley argued then turned to her dad and added
“She doesn’t even ask for you on the phone dad, she tries to take you away then nags you when she does and then abuses you mentally and then makes you sad”

I laughed as she took over the whole room, I know she isn’t being horrid, she is simply stamping her territory and she loves her daddy so much. I don’t think she will ever leave here and get a man, she owns her father already!
I know that when I am away she is his whole world and I know that she gets a wee bit jealous when I arrive and take over.
I am away a lot just now; I go away again this week to Plymouth. I do miss him and do really miss her – she makes me laugh my ass off.
I thought having one toddler was hard today, my twenty year old daughter is a toddler forever with her daddy -gangster or not…she rules him.

Last night at Jongleurs I had a great time, I do really love their audiences. A lot of comics hate the clubs (although they work there and complain about the corporate feel to the gigs) I love ‘em.
Every other club I have worked serve food, serve hen parties and cater with music and does comedy, not all of them look after you and pay you like Jongleurs. The company NEVER tell me what to say, what NOT to say, they give me a stage and cash and food and let me have fun. I have worked at other clubs out - with Jongleurs who have told me when I can work and what I can say and they called themselves independent socialist type comedy ethical clubs! (Fucking irony of that!) Anyway my point was… I do love the clubs most of the time and Oxford is exceptionally good beyond belief!
I took along Stephen from the magical QI club (the place I did my one woman show Good Godley! on Thursday).
He seemed to enjoy his Jongleurs experience and we headed back to QI for drinks afterwards. Then I decided to stay out all night and party…well I say party I fell asleep in a strange bed and got up this morning, I cannot wear my knickers two days in a row, so I took them, had a quick wash and stuffed the panties in my handbag, and got the train back to my friends place in the countryside (Small thatched cottage type village where I am staying)…honestly I was the ‘racy’ one this morning, arriving with dishevelled hair and dirty pants in my bag, smoking a fag getting out of a taxi outside the beautiful 14th Century church as the bells tolled and people in pale green linen walked to Sunday Service.

The sun shone and roses grew round doors, horses clipped clopped with teenagers dressed to kill …foxes… trotted along the bridle path, the wee shop that is dedicated to jam making had people outside it staring at me in horror because I swore into my mobile and flicked a fag butt near an ancient grave stone…I did pick it up I DO NOT LITTER…I was trying to do three things at once, paying for a cab and smoking and talking is difficult.
I am the talk of the place, I wasn’t wearing linen and I can’t bake quiche and strangely I am the only person in a fifteen mile radius who can get a signal on my mobile….its sorcery! They are building a wicker man as I speak!
I had fun and am tired. Speak soon.

So I got dropped off at Banbury rail station to get the train into central Oxford where I would be hosting the Jongleurs comedy gig. Sitting at the station I started to much into crisps. They were yummy as I hadn’t eaten all day.
I noticed a middle aged grey haired man sitting beside me in the station concourse.
“You will spoil your tea eating them” he said in a Glasgow accent. I smiled and carried on as the last thing I wanted was to do was chat to a Glaswegian. He insisted I talked back and as soon as he heard my voice he chipped “Where are you from in Glasgow?”
So I filled him in quickly and explained that I was a comedian etc etc…
He went quiet and listened as I told him that I travelled the world doing my job and that’s why I was sitting in Banbury station.
He looked straight at me, his old Glasgow teeth crookedly smiling and he asked in all seriousness “Does your husband let you do this?”
I just looked at him, took a breath and eighty million images flashed through my head, scenarios’ where I am in a crinoline dress, batting a fan and begging my husband’s permission for me to go to a hat shop without an escort. I laughed out loud and couldn’t even begin to explain the dynamics of my life, and why should I? Then over the intercom came the announcement that my train to Oxford will be delayed with no time limit on when it would arrive.
I immediately got up and headed for the information desk. I quickly ascertained that a taxi was needed to get me to the gig.
After realising that there was no other way to go I stood amongst about 79 people and said loudly “Does anyone want to taxi share to Oxford?”
A young guy with dark hair and headphones piped up “Yep, I am in” and a well -dressed quite distinguished man in a suit came forward and said to me “Yes, I am in”.
The bunch of strangers but taxi chums that we had become headed for the exit of Banbury station.
We got in the car; got the price that we had to split between us all and belted up. I sat quiet in the cab still laughing to myself that there were still men who thought your husband ‘allowed’ you to work in a job that I have created and am good at!
Just then the distinguished looking man in the front seat turned round to me and said in a really lovely posh accent “I know you, I have seen your show at Edinburgh”
The black haired guy sitting beside me looked at me full on and I smiled at the front seat man and said “Really?”
“Yes, you are Janey Godley; I am Ed Bartlam’s dad”
I gasped and laughed out loud, Ed Bartlam is the co owner of the Underbelly Venue at the Edinburgh Fringe where I have been performing for the last four years, and will be performing two of my three shows this year.
Ed is a lovely posh middle class educated guy who I love loads.
I quickly said to Mr Bartlam Snr “Give me your mobile phone please!”
He looked at me and then fished out his phone and held it to me.
I quickly scanned his address book and saw Ed’s number; I pressed call and waited as it rang out.
“Hello dad” Ed said.
I spoke slowly and clearly “You are probably wondering why a woman is on your dads mobile aren’t you Ed?”
“Janey Godley is that you?” Ed sounded surprised.
“Yes, it is - now listen up you wee posh fucker, I have your dad in a fast moving car in Oxford, we are going to kill him unless you agree to let me perform at the venue this year for free” I shouted.
Ed went quiet, “Why are you with my dad?” he muttered…shocked.
“I told you, it took me ages to work out his movements and now I have him, so if you want to see him alive agree” I snapped back. I took a picture of Mr Bartlam Snr and sent it to Ed by text.

“Is your husband there Janey” Ed sounded terrified.

“Yes, he has a gun at your dads head; you wanna speak to your dad?” I asked him.

I handed the phone to the now laughing but pretending to be scared Mr Bartlam Snr
“Hi Ed, Janey is right, they have me hostage Ed so just agree” He spoke.

I took the phone back and heard Ed agree to my hostage terms and handed the phone back to his father.
Mr Bartlam Snr sat in the front seat and hung up on Ed. The young guy sitting beside me looked shocked and scared throughout this whole conversation, it was fucking funny.
The taxi driver sat quiet.
Mr Bartlam Snr and I laughed our heads off.
We did eventually explain to Ed the whole coincidence of us both being together in a cab in Oxford, we did all laugh at the situation, but Ed did agree about the venue terms….so it was a fruitful journey, and I love Mr Bartlam Snr, he said he was witness to the agreement and it is legal and binding…looks like I will have a cheap venue this year and possibly free drinks and food the whole run!
The cab hurtled towards Oxford as my deadline to get on stage was drawing near.
I got out of the cab and ran towards the venue, there were loads of people outside waiting to get in, I could see the venue manager standing outside waiting on me.
As I negotiated pavements and cobble stones in Ancient Oxford, I tripped stumbled and fell flat down on the pavement with palms smacking the concrete and just lay there, all sore and shocked.
Two Chinese people came over and tried to help me up, the crowd stared, the venue manager laughed and I simply looked up and muttered “Just roll me on the road and let the traffic kill me ….please?”
Everything hurt, my fat ass, my twisted ankle, my stinging bleeding palms…my ego.
So it was an eventful night, I met a cranky misogynist old Scottish man, an influential hostage victim and left my skin in Oxford – a good night all round.