I have never been to the Café Royal in London’s West End before. I was amazed at how swish and regal it looked, it’s not the kind of café where you can order egg and chips, that’s for sure.
When I arrived at the venue to take part in ‘Funny Women’ I was escorted into the dressing room where young women were organising hair and make up.
Immediately my hand reached up and my fingers got trapped in the thick hedge like matted bush that is my hair.
A young blonde with cropped hair and a whippets body caught my eye “You need your hair done, come sit here and we can negotiate a way to have it in an up-do”
Within minutes she was pulling extremely hot straighteners through it and then twists were happening, Kirby grips were being whipped out of teeth and jabbed into my scalp whilst other women watched in awe.
The blonde was ‘taking on my hair’ the way other people took on ‘Kilimanjaro’’ I could not see what was happening as I never had a mirror in front of me, but heads were being nodded, smiles and raised eyebrows all around as yet another section of hair was twisted and piled on top of my hair, then secured with a sharp pin. I suspect this is as close to S&M that posh women get.
Then a flourish of hairspray was added, people smiled, some clapped and I stared into the mirror and saw coils of dark smooth hair arranged over the crown of my head, it looked interesting but to touch it was crispy and concrete-like. I think the hairspray was made of wall paper paste!
So I took my new ‘look’ and let the make up girl apply her goods.
Everyone did a double take on me “Janey you look lovely” now the thing is, I do dress up a lot and can do glam-but not for stand up comedy!
It was weird being on stage dressed up, I felt like a funny hooker.
The night was great, everyone did very well and it took ages to get the stuff out of my head,
I think if cracks should appear in your walls, spray them with hairspray, trust me it will hold them in place.

I am off to London tomorrow to take part in ‘Funny Women’ show at Café Royal in London’s city centre. I asked Random House to supply some books to sell at the venue but I just found out my book ‘Handstands in the Dark’ has sold out…again!
I am well chuffed.
Today I went into town to take back a bra I bought yesterday, something strange is happening to my body, I have lost weight around my ribcage area but my cup size has gone up…like I need bigger boobs! Please -I am now 36E that is evil…I am too small to carry those jugs.
I have packed my bag, am off to shave my legs (I have hairy-ness akin to a Brazilian footballers legs, I swear to God if I run the hairs trail behind like bicycle streamers).
I am also considering moving to London for three months in September, nothing really happens here in Scotland and I do need to stay down there to maximise on my career. This worries me slightly as I don’t want to uproot my family, my daughter is at Uni in Scotland and husband will not want to move away from her for that length of time….so I have a lot to consider.
Meanwhile if anyone reading this has a cheap flat for a short let, do let me know, though the great people at Crown Lawn are looking after me and they are the best possible people. I just feel that I may need something cheaper…
I am hoping this will be my year. If not? Then nothing ventured nothing gained, I don’t want to die and wish I had taken some chances.

Husband knew I was stressed, just off a train from Manchester last night, where some fucked up Glaswegian drunk vomited in every toilet the length of the train, where smelly men pissed on their seats and despite being in first class, I still could smell all of that stuff combined. Husband decides to tell me all the emails I forgot to do concerning receipts and boring stuff, he makes lists of what I have forgot when in actual fact he could just do those tasks himself….
Anyway I woke up angry this morning as I was going back to my old pub that I used to own 12 years ago, the pub that my autobiography speaks about, the place where my life was formed and sometimes ruined, the place of my nightmares, I was going back to chat to a journalist from News of The World.
I suggested the place to be honest as I felt it would give the piece an in depth flavour. But I was stressed about it for some strange reason; I very rarely go back there, to the East End of Glasgow, except in my ever recurring nightmares, so I was slightly jagged this morning.
I washed the mad bushwhack of a head and tried to fix it looking nice as I knew there were photo’s to be done. I went into the bedroom and asked husband what he thought of my hair, he NEVER even looked and in my fragile state I shouted at him for not caring, not being there for me, not supporting me, not loving me enough, not taking on board how hard my life can get and by 11am I had decided on divorce.
By this time he was sitting up in bed startled, his hair was sticking up, his eyes were bleary and suddenly somewhere between BBC Radio 4’s ‘Woman’s Hour’ and the 11 o’clock news- his life was being dragged along a new path and before lunch time he was staring a life that would involve him being invariably single.
“Was it about the hair?” he mumbled trying to come to terms with a divorce as he struggled into his pants. I watched his half sleepy but terrified face trying to shake off the sleep mask and form some kind of semblance of conversation that would convince me he loved me and my hair was nice.
By this time, my hair looked ok and I had calmed down somewhat and started to get annoyed as he tried to hug me as I put on my lipstick “Was it about your hair? Is that why you want a divorce?” he continued.
“No? Are you now saying my hair is bad?” I barked.
His face quickly displayed three hundred mixed frightened emotions, it was like watching a scary movie slowly download on a crap computer, as his brain tried to work out his next move in this deathly mine field that is my psyche.
I knew I was committing emotional warfare on a badly prepared man, but fuck it; he ignored me in my hour of need so I had turned into the woman that even Koffi Anan would find it hard to negotiate with.
I left the house and did the interview, Anver was great, and she is interesting and sparky! Just my kind of woman!
So I am now home and husband is in the bedroom possibly sitting in a corner chewing his own hair, I may have to go and apologise….
Ok there was no sex in this blog that was the lie in the title.

I got up early to catch a train, as the replacement car Esure finally got for me (eight days late! Never get Esure insurance) is way too small and poky- so I opted for the train.
I hate sitting beside anyone so I spread my worldly goods all over four seats in the hope it would put people off joining me, but Lo and Behold…a young guy who stank of garlic breath, sat opposite me and breathed that stench constantly into my face for the majority of the journey.
I know that Britain is now anti-smoking due to the health issues but for fucksake garlic should be banned due to the honk it makes and how uncomfortable it becomes breathing it in for hours…it too should be only consumed at home and you should not be allowed out till the smell goes!
I know that’s a bit extreme but you didn’t have to sit beside someone for four hours smelling it in your nostrils.
The snow is lashing outside; big fluffy drifts of it are beating against the train windows as it speeds towards Manchester. Wee sheep in the fields that flash by my view are cowering as everything becomes white. Soon the sheep will be completely camouflaged and can move against the snow fields only being recognised by their black noses.
I watched big fat cows stumble about in a field where we stopped for a few minutes, they remind me of old portly women gathering in a huddle planning stuff, I think cows get together and plan to take over the world, I am sure they talk in perfect English and when we get near by the head Bull shouts-
“Quick! Humans are here…look daft and chew grass; pretend you are stupid and stare at the sky!”
The minute our cars or trains pass, they whip out a big game plan on a pull down flip chart that hangs from a tree and continue their evil plans to take over the human race and get us all back for that huge genocide we inflicted on them during the foot and mouth crisis.
Maybe my imagination works over time when inhaling garlic over a period of time, maybe garlic fumes are hallucagenic?
Who knows?
My last night at the ‘Confidence for Kids Comedy Workshops’ finished on Wednesday and the great wee kids/teenagers had their big performance last night. I could not be there as I was in Manchester. On the last day the kids brought in their one joke to tell at the performance night, the people (social workers) who organised the workshops came in to supervise the ‘joke content’ and that drove me mad.
Get this- one girl had a typical joke about the run down area she comes from like- a guy puts his hand out of the window of an aeroplane, he felt the heat and said’ I must be in the Sahara, then he felt the cold and said I must be in the Artic- then his watch was ripped off his wrist and he said I must be in Drumchapel’ Now Drumchapel is the area the workshops are in and it really does have major social problems (hence the workshops!) I thought it was a great joke but that was vetoed!
Another girl did the typical ‘ An Irish- a Scottish and an Englishman Joke which was banned as it took the piss out of the Irish-now I can see how that stereotypes people BUT they allowed one girl to tell a joke about ‘Blonde Women being dumb’.
So I turned to the girls in the group and said ‘That’s a lesson for life, every other subject is politically cleansed but being blonde does still make you stupid, what does that tell us from authority?
One wee guy smiled put up his hand and said “The social worker who banned it is actually blonde?”
“Yes!” I said smiling as the poor woman stood there blushing, with her hand over her dyed blonde hair!
The kids did well at the show I heard and I am very very proud of them, they are great wee kids and deserve to take the piss out of whatever gets them through the situations they are all in.
I will miss them as the workshops are done but we will meet again and I am sure they will tell filthy politically incorrect jokes till they die….and that’s good!

My daughter is bored and therefore funny. She is working hard at Uni studying Film studies and screenplay writing, in her part time she works as a DJ and karaoke presenter and she is part of a comedy/improv troupe.
She will NEVER clean her room that now looks like some tiny wee island after its been invaded and pillaged by angry pirates…which brings me to my next subject.
She constantly plays Puzzle Pirates (whatever the fuck that is) and she just told me she needs my credit card to build her own ‘rig’ and that she is now the proud owner of 1000 doubloons. Frankly I am scared.
I know most mothers of nineteen year old girls have their concerns but surely one issue I was not prepared for was that my child is secretly a pirate!
She made me laugh so much telling me if she can have a credit card she can buy her own ship and kill more people…not a conversation I as prepared for!
Ok I know she is joking and she is so fucking hilarious, we are both writing a sketch show together and she never fails to make me laugh.
She told me she is going to Christian Speed Dating at Uni to sit there and say
“Hello I love God, Jesus and Holy things, do you want sex?” to every boy in fifteen minutes…just to see the look on their faces. That makes me smile…she really is mine and if they really are Christians then they will forgive her.
I asked her if there was an emails in for me and she said “Yes, but because I am bored I will explain your mail in the medium of physical theatre and dance” So I had to watch her prance all over the room pretending to be a crocodile having heart surgery whilst explaining to me that a journalist wanted to speak to me. I laughed my head off.
I am glad she does that, am so glad she is crazy, yet intelligent and funny.
She could have been boring and studious, which I am sure is good but an untidy wannabe pirate is even better.