Well the first night of Soho Theatre gig was good and the second night was awesome, if I say so myself. I love talking about this blog and the people who came to the shows enjoyed talking about blogs, coz I did ask them!
It was nice to see people like Howard come back ( Howard and his wife have been to see all my shows at Soho and Cochrane theatre) and he brought along his friends and family, they are such a cool bunch of people who basically pay to hear me swear a bit and chat, yet keep coming back! How nice is that?
So here I am at 7-3am, sitting in a beautiful sunlit room in Chelsea. I am getting ready to get a cab to the Jenny Éclair radio show, then dash off to the BBC studio’s to interview Jo Frost the ‘Supernanny’ from TV for the BBC Radio 4 Loose Ends show.
Husband is lying fast asleep on the bed and snoring gently, I never saw much of him yesterday as he was out with friends.
After the gig last night I went along to Groucho club and the lovely snazzy Bernie had a disco night! I was dancing…been fucking ages but Bernie who works at Groucho is the sparkiest dude in the world and always makes me smile. He is the kinda guy who you know has come into a room even if you cant see him, you FEEL him…big vibes of fun!
Was later joined by Brendon Burns, whom I love dearly and we had a good old natter before I caught a cab home. So I was out late and am tired but ready for another day. I love London and hope England win at football today.
On another note, talking about the blog made me realise that people put there do read this, and I feel disconnected to them which in turn has made me reveal myself more to their anonymous ears, and that has been so very good for me.
Blogging is the new therapy!
Thanks everyone for being there and sharing this with me, you made me have a show for Edinburgh this year!
Well all the shows went well, I did enjoy doing the Jenny Éclair radio show and the Loose Ends piece, all of which you can hear on my website and Livedigital.
Saturday morning I was up at 7am to get the cab to Jenny’s show. I was so fucked and tired, that’s what I get for staying out late at Groucho…when will I learn?
I showered, and ran downstairs of the fancy apartment block and got into cab. Then after that show I got a car to take me to BBC Broadcasting house and even this early 10am the sun was BEATING down and it was really really hot.
I love Ned Sherrin and Loose ends show on BBC Radio 4. It is so good to be involved in that show.
So I left the pub that Ned has his drink/lunch in and decided to walk it back to Chelsea. What a fucking mistake.
The sun was beating on my skin and I could feel the burn start.
So I headed for Piccadilly to get on the tube and walked straight into Gay Pride march…it was awesomely beautiful but there were 400 flumpty million gay people dancing and on floats and marching blowing whistles and I couldn’t cross the road to get to the tube and I was dying in the burny heat, so I decided to run through them and they all screamed and shouted at me….fuck I have upset the only group of people who actually ever accepted me BUT I had to get home! I love the gay community and support them totally! Now they were mad at me! So that was fight number one for that day.
I managed to get to the other side only to find the tube was blocked, so I decided to follow the march down near Trafalgar Square and make my way home on foot as a taxi was out of the question as the roads were blocked off.
I had now turned into Laurence of Arabia in the fucking 90 degree heat. My skin was prickly – my hay fever was nipping my eyes and I was dehydrated. The dynamics of London was interesting as there was thousands of England World Cup fans mixing with the biggest Gay march in UK and that was funny, but lovely as the gay guys were all dancing and cheering the topless fit and fat boys who were wearing their England football tops (not usually a group that would normally mix and be friendly in that many numbers!) the gay Pride march transvestites were shouting ‘England for the World Cup’ – the football guys laughed and cheered back! (Bless).
Anyway I as walked down the road I was stuck in front of the Protesting Christian Group (don’t they do anything else?).
The Christian protestors were penned in behind a barricade and strangely all dressed in woolly cardigans (in that heat?) and one man had a wee megaphone shouting ‘You will all go to hell’ this was drowned out by the sound of thousand of gay folks dancing to loud disco music blowing whistles. The police were standing round the Christians, in case nay trouble started, like as if the gay people would stop dancing and go argue? Fuck off!
I watched the protestors watching the crowds and I leaned over and asked one of the scary God Botherers “Don’t you feel like dancing?” The man in the hot Fair Isle woolly sweater snarled at me and shouted “No”.
“You know dancing wouldn’t make you gay” I added with a laugh.
The man lifted his megaphone and shouted at me “You are a lesbian and will die in hell”
I looked at him and shouted back “No I am not and you will go to hell for lying about me ya scary mad person.
A policeman stepped forward and said to me “Please stop harassing the protestors”
“I am not harassing them, he called me a lesbian, I have nothing against gay people but that is wrong and I can sue him for slander, I asked him he felt like dancing, that isn’t an accusation”
So I walked away, called husband to let him know where I am and then walked straight into flumpty million England supporters who were red and sticky and drunk all waiting for the England versus Portugal match to happen (well we know now how that turned out!...poor fuckers)…they heard me talking with my broad Scottish accent on my mobile and they started shouting “Scottish bastard” at me….I managed to get away from that fucking situation and ran down into St. James’s park. The sun was now burning my arms and neck, I tried to get shade in the trees, I was dying here.
Finally I got a cab to the flat.
So last night husband got backstage VIP tickets to see Roger Waters play Pink Floyd hits in Hyde Park! He is a huge fan and to get those tickets was amazing, we have a friend who works in the industry and she was generous. Ashley my daughter and my husband LOVE Pink Floyd and she was so upset she was missing this concert! She called me from Glasgow to tell me this, but as Pink Floyd sung her daddy held up his mobile phone from the lovely seated VIP area and let her share the moment with him.
I sloped off back into mental Soho hell to do my last night of Janey Godley blog Live! At Soho theatre…..by 9pm the place looked fucking trashed…there were millions of broken bottles, plastic cups, heaps of trash, drunken people and squillions of glittery sprayed pink flamingoed drag queens, tottering drunkenly over the cobbled stones of the ancient London street.
Gay Pride culminated in the same street as my theatre…..great!
All in all I got a really good audience and had a really nice show. I am lucky, loads of comedy clubs shut last night as we all know England got booted out of the world cup and people were so despondent and sad….but I made some of them laugh.
So I finally got to the airport in London to fly home to Glasgow. The heat in London is a fucking killer. As I lifted my bag at the check in with good old-my favourite airline who lost my luggage and once abused me- British Airways, I mention to the assistant that my case looked unsafe on the conveyor belt she tags it at-“Let me put it on its side” I say “No its fine” she answers, clicks the belt to move and the heavy square case tips forward to me and tumbles right off the belt and lands on my ‘chaffed by new shoes’ ‘TOE!
“Holy Fuck! I told you it wasn’t safe there, ya mad woman!” I scream.
She came running round the check in desk and looks at my toe apologetically and says “Is it broken?”
“I don’t know I left my x-ray specs with Zoltar the ice woman back in Chelsea! How the fuck would I know if it’s broken, do I look like the freaky Russian child who can see through flesh?”
“I am sorry” She muttered and adds for full Janey blast of anger effect “It wasn’t my fault, the conveyor belt jolted it forward”
I look her right in the eye and forget all pain in my toe and shout loud enough for ‘the wee woman in terminal four toilets who has tinnitus in both ears, and once stood beside Concorde and asked what the champagne pop’ was- to hear clearly “Yes and I told you it looked unsafe and I wanted to move it forward but you decided to not let me do that and it fell on my toe! So don’t blame the conveyor belt that you pressed to move as my case was still able to be made safe!”
Apologies were made and I hobbled off to gate five to await my plane.
Finally we boarded and as I entered the aeroplane and handed over my ticket to check what seat I would be jammed into, a bottle fell of the galley area and bounced onto the tip of my sandal, narrowly missing my toe by a crotch hair, I think British Airways are desperate to break one of my toes in time for the Edinburgh festival.
Maybe there is a huge conspiracy between the PR people at Edinburgh (by the way Fiona Duff my PR is fucking great-best ever PR for comedy in the entire world-not like the PR that Scottish tennis player Andrew Murray has- his PR let him write on his blog that he would support ANY team that played England as he is a bitter Scot- he wrote that as he is playing in ENGLAND he has shit PR) I believe there is some strange thing where I get my toes broke and cant go perform at Edinburgh and Fiona loses some strange bet!
Anyway I am sitting on the flight and husband puts in the overhead locker a plastic bottle of ginger beer I have been drinking. I made sure it was shut tight but as we landed it seems some escaped the bottle and it couldn’t have been much as I checked how much was left.
Some had seeped into the handle of my laptop and some had dampened the bottom of a German bloke’s computer bag. I know this as I apologised when he showed it to me on the plane as we were leaving.
I got to the luggage carousel the German bloke started huffing and moaning holding up is slightly Damp corner of his bag. Now I know how inconvenient that can be so I asked him did he want me to soap that wee bit and dry it in the toilets.
“No it is completely ruined” he shouted at me. (Not a fucking good thing)
I snapped. “Look mate I apologised and I will dry it for you, is the stuff inside ruined?”
“Ok where is it completely ruined then?, is the stuff inside damp at all? Is it just that wee corner of the outside that is a wee bit damp?” I asked him.
“I need your name and address to claim” He snapped back.
“Fuck off its not a fucking car accident, look you claim BA, it is NOT completely ruined now shut up, it’s a wee bit damp and I have apologised and I have offered to dry it…get over it…” I shout at him now.
“It is completely ruined” he repeated.
This was it, I had had enough “Look mate the Germans bombed Clydebank, a wee bit of Glasgow got damaged but the whole city was not completely ruined –so fuck off and take your damp un-ruined corner of the outside of your bag and fuck off” I dragged off my luggage and took my extremely stressed and now totally racists attitude to the taxi rank as husband thank God someone else had did more than him to annoy me.
Sorry German man, wrong place –wrong person to shout at.
So I made it to Swaylcliffe, I am not sure how to spell it, but that’s how it sounds. It is just near Banbury-near Oxford. I did a lovely gig last night at QI club in Oxford, the place is divine and wonderful and the food is amazing. Monica and her sister and a mate came along and watched Good Godley! (My show) and we had a really nice night.
Monica sister lives here and that’s why we are in Swaylcliffe, the house is a big L shaped converted barn with a real thatched roof and roses round the door. The only draw back is the amount of tiny wee flies that come and descend on your entire body when you step outside; it’s like a fucking plague.
I am not used to the countryside or the amount of wee tweeting birds and whistle constantly.
Tonight I am doing Jongleurs Oxford and when I saw the town last night I was gob smacked, honestly the architecture is breathtakingly beautiful. I am loving my wee sabbatical country retreat; though finally getting the internet was cool.
I waited till the house was empty and against all the rules ( I am a rebel) I figured out how to wire up the broadband. You see the house is being re decorated and everything is upside down and I was advised not to touch electrical stuff, but I DID IT! Hurrah…may get electrocuted any minute but fuck it I have finally reached the world! You get no signal on your mobile phone or anything here.
So till tomorrow….
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.