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I have recently toyed with the idea of getting my gigantic breasts reduced. You see, I can never really get decent clothes to fit, everything needs to be baggy on top (size 20) and a size 14 on bottom. It means dresses hang over my body but are fitted around the boob area, I am not skinny by any means, but my tits are fuck-off HUGE. I look insane in strappy tee shirts, I cant wear anything tight or I look like a candidate for ‘Readers Wives’ or ‘Slutty old chicks.com’ my boobs dominate my entire body shape and I am jealous of women who can wear fitted shirts or nice slinky tops. To make matters worse, I just read an article on that talentless self-starver Victoria Beckham and her latest clothes line, (did you know she has just invented clothes, dresses and has put style on the world map…no? Well then you are stupid!) She harps on about the perfect silhouette, that’s ok for her with her body of a nine year old boy that has had two small plastic cereal bowls implanted on the chest wall…my silhouette is reminiscent of Hitchcock’s. Well at least my hair doesn’t look like it’s just been cut by a special person with safety scissors. Who allowed that to happen? Victoria, get real and grow your hair for fucksake, you are never going to be Audrey Hepburn, no matter how much you refuse to eat or wear giant sunglasses, and gamine isn’t even a real word as far as I am concerned. So back to my REAL giant breasts and the problems they give me. In the summer heat they weigh me down and almost kill me and you try sleeping comfortably with two giant airbags that seemed to be filled with cold lumpy porridge strapped to your chest. Yes, not funny or sexy eh? So I have been staring at myself in bright mirrors and imagining how I would look with smaller perkier boobs and to be honest, it would be great. So I looked up the web for ‘before and after’ photo’s of women who got a breast reduction and screamed in horror. Fuck that! They look like some Frankenstein/ Tim Burton-esque-sewed up monster titty experiment. I don’t want big red welted scars running from my nipple to under my boob. Apparently you lose nipple sensation as well? Who would want to never feel their nipples? Not me…that’s well fucked. Then I made the huge mistake of watching a breast reduction operation on line…oh MY GOD! They basically slice an anchor style cut from your nipple down to under you boob, whip out the tissue, relocate the nipple and sew it all back up. The breast is left looking like a side of pork sewed up and not for suckling either…all grotesque and scary looking. So I have decided that big fat boobs are fine, nothing a good bra cant sort or losing some weight and exercise. Husband would faint if I had small breasts as well, why do you think this marriage has lasted nearly 30 years? It isn’t because of my sunny disposition or reasonable nature…no, it’s my big tits! |
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“Ma, can I get a Bay City Roller Jumper, they are selling them at the Co-op for £1.99?” I shouted through the toilet door to my mammy. My dog Major was at my feet begging to be taken out for a pee, his toe nails were scratching and clicking on the cold lino. Maybe he heard my Ma peeing and this set him off. “Fuck off, where will I get two quid from?” Ma shouted back over the noise of the loo flushing. Major lifted a black claw and scratched my leg, his brown eyes pleading with me. “I am taking the dog out” I whined back and grabbed the thick metal dog leash off the door handle in the lobby and clipped Major’s collar, only to be dragged off at speed down all the stairs outside. I needed to think of a plan to get two pounds to buy a tartan Bay City Roller’s jumper; everyone at school had one except me. Major stood out the back yard and peed for about ten minutes, whilst scanning the back court for pigeons or cats to attack the minute he was done pissing. He was always on the look out for a victim was Major. He was an angry dog. “Hurry up Major, I need to figure out how to get two quid” I hissed at him. Even my dog looked at me pitifully; he knew there was no chance of me getting that Bay City Roller jumper before the shops shut at 5pm. He finished his pee, scratched the ground with his back legs, flicking up pee soaked soil over my jeans and tried to pull off the leash to chase imaginary cats. I couldn’t let him free, he would bite the first living thing he spotted and I couldn’t bear to get into a dog dispute today. Our back yards were a square set of twenty blocks of flats with open closes which led through to the front streets, all the individual closes had penned off back yards which were segregated by green painted railings. Major loved getting into other people’s yards. I ran around the back letting him sniff bins, scratch at the ground and snuffle through the long grass near the railings. He looked up at me pleading to be let free, he wanted to run about but every time I let him go, he slipped his bony body through the metal railings and shot off on a bite fest and although I was wiry and fast, I couldn’t climb over those spiky fences and catch up with him, he was an expert escapist. Before I knew it he would be on the main road attacking pensioners and babies. He was mental and very scary looking. “No, Major, you will run off and bite people” I answered as he stared at me. He sat on the cold ground and lifted a paw at me and gave me his best cute look. So I let the leash snap off his neck. He started walking slowly around our confined fenced yard, and then he suddenly shot off and leaped over the first fence in a flash. “Oh Fuck” I shouted and started after him. I climbed over three sets of metal railings as he slipped through or jumped over them and made off through the opened close of flats across the backyard. I saw his tail disappear through the close into the front street. I panicked and kept climbing over the four foot high railings till I reached the close he had run through. I could hear screams from the front street, my heart was pounding. I was exhausted and sweating, why did I let him go? On entering Vesalius Street, I saw one old woman pinned up against a front garden fence with Major barking at her feet. The dog spotted me and ran off in the direction of the big main road that ran through our wee scheme. He slid past big Lorries that trundled down the busy road; he sped through the traffic and made it to the opposite side of the road. It took me ages to let the traffic past before I could run across and chase after him. He barked and snarled at passers by. “Get that dog on a leash” a man shouted. The leash was wrapped around my hand as I panted and gasped my way up the road. His pointy tail was visible and the barking kept me on his track. Finally he came to a stop. He watched me over his shoulder; he sat on the pavement quietly as I approached him stealthily. I fully expected him to bolt off again as I got closer, but he didn’t move. “Major, you bad dog” I shouted as I clipped the leash on him. He just stared at me and padded off quietly. My clothes were sticking to me with the sweat of running and jumping so fast. He merely hung his tongue out and happily jaunted off as if he was the happiest dog in Shettleston. We got stuck at the main road, the traffic was heavy, buses were speeding past and I was nervous crossing that road, as I had been knocked down by a car two years previously near the spot where we stood. It had taken me almost a year to walk again, and at twelve, I still had a slight limp. I heard a familiar voice shout “Janey” from one of the buses as it drove past. The bus stopped near me and loads of people spilled out of the back opening. There was my old favourite uncle John. “What are you doing out with that fucking mad dog on the main road?” he asked. “He ran away from me” I explained. Uncle John was my pal, he was a lot older than most of my uncles and had neither kids, nor a wife and was often ‘away’ though we were never told where. He never had a home of his own and usually stayed with family members, and I loved him. He was quirky and had funny ways of explaining stuff. I once asked him why he never fought in the Second World War and he told me “Well, you see with all the men away, the women of Shettleston needed someone to replace their light bulbs in their lobby’s and I didn’t have a fight with the Germans, they never personally upset me, so I don’t see why I should be a paid killer of someone else’s son” Turns out my old Uncle John was a bit of a ‘Lad’ and traded guns with crooks and never fought with anyone unless he had a personal gripe with them. He was occasionally in prison and never really settled with anyone anywhere. “Look, here’s some money for you, now don’t tell your Ma that I have cash, say you found it” He said and pulled a TEN POUND note from his pocket. Ten pounds was a fortune to me at twelve. I stared at the note; I don’t think I had seen a ten pound note close up in my own hand. Major sat quietly and wagged his tail at Uncle John; he was about the only visitor to our house that Major didn’t bite. “That’s a lot of money, thanks Uncle John but I can’t say I found it, are you sure you can give me this? I will need to say something” I stuttered at Uncle John. “Well, learn to lie and hide it Janey” he laughed and walked off. I stared at the money in my hand, it felt so…wonderful and rich, the texture of the paper had me stroking it constantly, the swirly writing and just the overwhelming fact that I had ten pounds to myself, made me feel giddy. I immediately set off to the Co-op and dragged Major with me; I now had the dilemma of how to get into the shop with my dog. Major could not be tied up outside, he would bite folk. The big glass door to the Co-op jangled as I entered. Major growled low in his throat, he hated new places. My dog was rather autistic and anal for a domesticated animal. Things set him off, like a door bell, a floor brush and he despised goldfish and fish tanks, he attacked them viciously, he tried to bite the glass fish bowl in my bedroom. He was mad. “That dog can’t come in here” a woman with the pinched face behind the counter shouted. “I have ten pounds” I shouted back and showed her my cash “I just want a white Bay City Roller tartan jumper for my size” I added and stood at the door. She relented and I tied Major to the big pillar at the side of the counter, I begged him not to bite anyone or bark. The woman held out the acrylic top for me to see, I nodded and guessed it would fit me. She wrapped it up in brown paper; sello-taped the edges and held it to me. I tucked it under my arm, and carefully wrapped the change into a small bundle and bent down to tuck it into my sock. Major licked my face as I bent down. “Stop that Major, your breath stinks” I giggled. I ran for home with my parcel, Major trotting beside me and all the while thinking up a good lie to tell my Ma about the jumper. She could smell a lie and money in seconds and possessed the ability to get the truth out of anyone; I was surprised that she wasn’t an interrogator for the government. I spotted the butchers shop on the way and decided to treat Major to some scraps, as he really did get me the jumper I reckoned. Major was barred from the local butchers as he would run in and try to drag a side of beef off the butcher’s hooks and was known for his daring raids, so I tied him to the lamppost outside, he wouldn’t bite anyone as he could smell the meat and that occupied him. “Can I have a soup bone and a wee bit of liver please?” I asked. The butcher checked the door for Major. “He is tied up Mr Cross” I explained “He is sorry about the dead cow he pulled down” The Butcher smiled and wrapped up some liver and a big bloodied bone in greaseproof paper. “It’s ok, Janey, no charge for the scraps and keep that crazy dog back from my shop” Major wolfed down the wee bits of liver and chomped down on the bone and we both marched home, happily. I realised that if Major had a bone in his mouth he would never bite anyone, so maybe we have to keep him supplied with bones forever? Ma was never told about the jumper or the cash, she never saw what I wore to school and it eventually turned up in the washing bag. I had duped her! The change from the ten pounds was stuffed up the disused chimney shaft in my bedroom and I managed to eke it out for months, buying myself sweets and a chicken supper at the local chippy, all of course eaten outside in the back court with Major at my side. |
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On Friday I arrived in Pitlochry, I was rather exhausted and tired. I decided to pick the first hotel I spotted to get a room. So there was Fishers Hotel, completely clad in scaffolding, but hey fuck it! It’s just for one night. As soon as I got into the rather cold room, I sat down and husband called me. It seems my beloved step mum has taken a turn for the worse and there is imminent worry for her making it through the weekend. I felt bereft and stupid for leaving home and not being there for my dad. At that moment the hotel door got banged. “There has been a fire alarm and we are not sure if the hotel is on fire” a young woman explained quickly. My husband was still on the mobile and waiting to explain about mum. “I never heard a fire alarm” I said with tears threatening to explode as I was worried about mum. “No, it is an internal alarm” the woman said. “A fucking silent fire alarm?” my husband shouted through the mobile phone as he was listening in. “You have to leave the room” the woman insisted. I hung up on husband and walked into Narnia; Pitlochry is steeped in deep snow and resembles the movie scene of the Lion, the Witch and Wardrobe. I cried into my snotty sleeve and worried about ditching the show and going back to Glasgow. Husband called me back to check I wasn’t burnt to death, I explained that it was a mistake and I am back in the room and he then convinced me to stay and do the show. Which I did and it was awesome. People had travelled miles to come to Pitlochry and deserved fun and it was my job to provide it. They were a lovely bunch of people and I was glad to be there by the time the show was over. This morning I got up and asked about the trains, I was told there was a train to Inverness as I had a show there to do tonight (Saturday). The problem was the train would have to stop at Aviemore and then get on a bus, but that’s ok, I will go for it. So after much to-ing and fro-ing the train station decided to let me know that the train to Inverness is totally fucked and wont be going anywhere near Aviemore or Inverness, in fact it wont leave at all and a bus will take me instead. I gasped in frustration, but agreed that the bus will be fine. Then the woman in the train station says to me “There is only one problem, the bus is full to Inverness and we don’t know when another one can be here tonight, the snow is heavy, the road has problems and we don’t have enough buses” I stood in the station and just felt like battering my head off the ticket office window. I asked about trains home to Glasgow from Inverness on the Sunday. She stared at me blankly. “Look there is a train coming just now going back to Glasgow, if I was you I would take it and get the hell out of here, there is no guarantee we will get you back to Glasgow from Inverness tomorrow if we ever get you up there” She was right, so I called the promoter and explained I would need to pull the show. He agreed readily, he assured me all is well and told me to get the hell out of Narnia whilst I had the chance. So I got on the train and that when it all went horribly wrong. Just as we were five minutes out of Pitlochry, I was sitting chatting at the very end carriage to some Rail staff members who were delayed in getting trains and had all jumped on the Pitlochry escape train as I now called it. One was called Tam; he was a train trolley bloke finally getting home after being stuck in Pitlochry. He was telling me that the station person should have got me a taxi to Inverness if they couldn’t provide a bus. “A bit late telling me that now Tam” I snapped. The train came to a sudden halt. “Fuck what now” Tam hissed. Then I spotted a staff member running alongside the outside of the train, he climbed into the end carriage and slammed the door behind him. He then opened the door into the aisle I was sitting at and screamed “Kate! Kate! Kate!” it was slightly disconcerting to see a middle aged train driver look so frightened and screaming down the train aisle. Kate was the catering girl; she was slightly out of his ear shot. Tam stared at him, then at me. “Mate, is everything ok? You screaming is worrying me” I said to the man. I didn’t expect him to answer me so candidly “No, everything is not alright, I just hit a person at the crossing back there” The poor man was deathly white. I just put my head down on the table and shut my big stupid mouth. Kate turned and headed back to him. “I have hit someone” he shouted again. Kate ran to him and I could hear them in the back staff carriage making calls to the police and rail networks. The young train worker Tam looked at me and immediately got up and hugged me. I didn’t need hugged, I wasn’t dead and I wasn’t in shock and I didn’t know him well enough for spontaneous hugs of sympathy. “Are you ok?” he poked his big face near me. “Yes, I am fine mate, I am worried about the driver and the person on the line, I am absolutely fine” I pushed him gently off. The train was sat on that line for over an hour as police and transport people were called to the scene. Apparently it was an elderly man who got knocked down by the train, but I am not sure of exact details. Tam then sat opposite me and told me at least six stories of people who got smashed by trains, he was the death train expert and I just wanted him to shut up, but NO…he had more stories about people who threw themselves or fell onto train lines. He was the goriest wee bloke and it now made sense why he wanted a hug. He was mental. The train finally set off and of course it couldn’t go straight to Glasgow now, for reasons I am not sure of, it was now stopped at Perth and I had to grab my suitcase and run up and over a metal bridge to catch a train to Glasgow. So I am home, the gig got cancelled; the man died on the level crossing and my mum is still in hospital. |
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After last week’s debacle trying to get trains to Inverness and then trying to get home, I finally made it my step mum Mamie’s bedside in hospital. She was so weak and sickly from various illness and predominantly lymphoma cancer. Mamie was 78 when she passed away on Wednesday morning at around 2am with her daughter by her side. I don’t know what to say about how I feel. She was my step mum for 25 years and was my daughters beloved Nana and grand and great grandmother to many of her own and the extended family’s kids. I have had to cancel my trip to Bristol Jongleurs at the weekend as her funeral is on Saturday. I don’t mind that as I would be distraught without my family at this time and sitting in a cold hotel and doing comedy isn’t the best way to deal with pain. Though I am happy Mamie had a good long fulfilled life and that’s what we all need to celebrate. |
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My flat has been very neglected over the past week due to recent circumstances. I am behind in my West Wing watching schedule and I need to get writing next weeks Scotsman Column. I have to start designing this years fringe poster and working out the PR for the show. I am going to be at The Pleasance again this year but before all that happens I am Glasgow Comedy festival at Tron theatre on Saturday 28th March. The tickets are selling well, so that’s a great sign. So I need to get my finger out of my ear and clean my flat, and get organised all round. By the way I have been getting fashion and beauty tips from some bloggers and I just want to say that the photo of me with the green shirt on and long dark hair is two years old. My hair is shorter, lighter and my dad says I am just beautiful, but then he is quite old and his eyes are wonky. So quit telling me how to look, I have perfected my grubby image over the years and I am happy with my slightly dishevelled façade. Put it this way…I still get laid. Ok, it’s from my husband and he too has dodgy eyesight, but that’s a mere technicality. I am surrounded by blind folk who think I am gorgeous. Life is getting back to some form of normality after my step mum’s funeral. Last night as I sat writing I heard a strange noise coming from the kitchen at 2am. “Ashley are you sanding the kitchen units for no good reason or scraping toast?” then I smelled the burnt toast and realised that my silly child had fucked the toaster again. Like me she has a tendency to break anything electrical. Soon she will just break men. Life has been rather dull since I haven’t been on public transport or anything that makes me collide with the public. But next week its all systems go as I get back on to my gig list and start climbing onto trains, planes and cars. |