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Yes, bleak rainy Glasgow is good reminder of where I am from. I am glad to see the rain of Scotland batter off my bedroom window, believe me…after all that oppressive heat of NY; I am bathing in the rain! I have slept more than I should and now it is Sunday afternoon and Ashley is sitting playing her guitar and making me smile. How I missed her! I bought her G Unit rapper clothes in NY and she loved them, I was concerned about the sizes as the hoodie top was huge and I was utterly convinced that I knew no one who could wear such an overly sized item, but apparently that is how you wear the gear. I did go to the kids department and got her a G Unit tee shirt and it fits her perfectly but that was the wrong thing to do as I was supposed to get the tee shirt in the size of a tent! How I laughed when I saw my white tall middle class child dressed in big baggy rapper clothes…she looks so funny in them. Husband and I had our ‘Welcome home’ argument that always happens when I go away for ages. I had to admit three things to stop the fight escalating. 1-I am selfish and don’t understand other peoples needs. 2-I need to accept the world does not revolve around me. 3-Husband does everything to make my life easier and I don’t appreciate it. So I agreed to all of the above and the world went smoother. Underneath it all I am seething but being married means that you have to compromise your life to allow other people to function around you or apparently you are Hitler. So I am home and happy (well sort of). |
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Seems the day I had flown out of JFK, the New York police and FBI stopped a plot to blow it up! They have arrested four men who are allegedly the terrorists who had organised to explode the fuel pipes that feed that airport. I don’t know if the day I was flying out was that day they were getting ready to go to town on their explosive attack but I do know I no longer care or worry or fear terrorism. When in London on any public transport I go sit right beside any Muslim looking man carrying a backpack. I figure if you welcome death it evades you and I never intend to be scared. When I was a kid people would tell me not to go near a dog because it was biter and I would always make a point of rubbing its head and making friends with it. I welcomed the rage of the animal, as I was sure if it smelt fear it would bite but if it recognised my lack of terror it would be ok. This neither makes me brave or mad, it’s just a theory that I lived with and I have survived loads of shit in my life. A few years ago a building near my home exploded, people died and were dying in that building and I ran towards it with a camera taking pictures of the devastation. Those pics made the front page of the Glasgow Evening Times. People questioned my motives at the time and I reckoned that a documentation of the unfolding event needed to be recorded. I have no idea why I carried on taking pictures as people were running around injured, but it felt ok at the time and as I have no real first aid experience I wouldn’t have tried to administer it. So taking pictures was the only thing I could do. Carrying on regardless in the middle of a scary situation is what I prefer to do. My theory has seen me through the scariest of times and I am sticking with it. I don’t mean I actively seek danger, but if presented with a dangerous situation, I would rather fly in the face of it. The only thing that really scares me is wasps and flying beasties. Show me wasps or bugs and I will scream like a girl and run like the fucking wind. Show me a man with a knife and I will challenge him to an arm wrestle. |
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I went to Balmaha beach at Loch Lomond. It’s my favourite spot in Scotland. It’s a stony beach beside a lovely Loch and usually so quiet and peaceful. This time there were a few screaming kids that truly deserved a fork in their nasty wee foreheads…noisy fuckers. Husband and I brought along one of those throw away barbeques, you know the ones where you light a metal tray and throw on sausages? Now I loved the idea of a barbeque but in actual fact everything just tasted burnt and odd. Even the roll I ate it off tasted horrible, give me sandwiches any day. Bloody barbeques! Wish I could have thrown those noisy kids onto the hot coals. I made sure husband had enough sun block as the temperature soared, I forgot to put any on myself and today I am red and striped, I look like a barber’s pole. My neckline is rosy red and around my eyes are big white circles where my glasses sat and my cheeks look like a Halloween cake, with big bulgy red circles. I am sore and grumpy. At least I have lost weight, not sure if this is my diet working or I have bowel cancer, as I had the skits for weeks off and on now. I am living on tablets that stop me having the runs. This is not good and I need to get a docs appointment. It may be stress, I am not sure. Am off to watch TV and take Imodium… |
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Back in the 1960s in inner city Glasgow we used to have a man who came round the streets with a big horse and cart. He would blow on an old brass horn and all the kids would come running out of their houses and head straight for the Ragman. His big horse was old and smelly with more flies in its eyes than an African baby but we thought it was awesome as we never got to see a real live horse. Its matted coat stank yet we would all clamber round to pet it and the big bastard of a horse hated kids and would try to kick us. The Ragman would take clothes from us and give us in return one of three things. 1. A stretchy elasticised bracelet made from multi coloured panels that usually broke as soon as you stretched it. 2. A bat with an elastic string and ball that always banged you in the eye 3. A blue plastic whistle that startled the horse as soon as you blew it To us kids though he was a magical man with a horse and we aimed to give him as many clothes as we could find. We were really poor, so spare clothes were thin on the ground and the Ragman knew the kids were giving away stuff that really wasn’t supposed to be handed over. He would quickly swipe it from you, stuff it into his bag on the cart and let you choose your gift and a quick pet at the horse. There was a woman up the next close to us who knitted handmade jumpers and cardigans for the community and I really hated the stuff my mammy got off her. Once she knitted me a muddy brown cardigan with big black wooden buttons. The reason I despised this item was it was really scratchy and very tight, in fact so tight it actually ‘squeaked’ when you raised your arms, I think it was knitted with twine! The squeaky cardigan made me so uncomfortable I used to throw it off as soon as I got out the house and run around the street in my wee cotton underwear vest. Even if it was cold, the cardigan had to go. Once when the ragman came I saw my ultimate opportunity to get rid of the offending squeaky top and ripped it off and swapped it for a stretchy bracelet. My mammy spotted this exchange and came bolting down the stairs and made the Ragman hand it back as she threw the stretchy bracelet back in his face. I had to wear that bloody annoying cardigan till I finally grew out of it. I wonder where all the Ragmen went? |
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I had a horrible migraine, well it’s either that or a brain tumour is slowly building up for a blow out in my head. It was like a giant dwarf inside my head banging away with a sledge hammer. I had to take the special tablet that the doc gave me ages ago. I am not to take it if it’s just a wee headache; it has to be a stonker before I swallow the BIG pill. The tablet is kept in a special box in the medical cupboard at my home. The Ceremony of taking the pill was like George Bush had decided to start a nuclear war and needed the special code that opened the box that let him press the big RED button! Husband carried the pill through to me and I swallowed it. I waited with anticipation on the impending heart attack, convulsions and swollen tongue that are detailed in the list of side effects. Nothing happened. I simply fell asleep and woke up with a much smaller gnome in my head that cracked my temple with a tiny toffee hammer. Much better. So life goes on. Got my Glastonbury Tickets through, I am performing at the Cabaret Tent next week and am still without transport. I am sure I will get there! I walked to the post office yesterday to post my book to a mate. Outside the post office were two guys in a van who I recognised as the gardeners that work round our estate. (No I don’t own an estate, I live on one!) “Hey you are Janey Godey!” one guy called out to me. My hair was a mess, I was pale due to the brain tumour I am growing and I wasn’t quite sure I was wearing a bra, in fact I was still in my pyjama trousers. I grimaced at the thought of meeting anyone when I look like Scary Mary the Mad Cat lady. “Yes, I am” I smiled through gritted teeth and a dry acrid mouth. “Listen to this” He waved me over to his van. Then I heard my big annoying voice belt out of his cd system. “We have you on cd” he shouted over me swearing on stage. I was aghast. I haven’t distributed a cd, where the fuck did he get that from? “My pal taped you onstage at Edinburgh and we listen to you all the time” he smiled. “That’s a bootleg cd of me, I haven’t sold or made a cd” I answered. “Shh, this bit is funny, wait to you hear her say this” he told me. “Mate I fucking know what she is going to say because it’s ME” I shouted back. They asked me for an autograph and I walked off hearing my own voice laughing in the background. I have been bootlegged. I may have another migraine. |