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I am in London working, yet again. The weather is howling, the wind last night nearly made me piss myself with fear. I am here alone and have been having a spate of nightmares, so windy weather battering at my window just isn’t helping. My dreams are insane… Small weird people I don’t know who invite me into a strange looking chapel house, trap doors that open and celebrities that I have no intention of meeting are asking me for hot chocolate. That’s just a slice of the dreams that slip through the blank canvas of my mind when I shut my eyes. What part of my life wants Tim Robbins and Sean Penn to make me their favourite waitress whose milk shake does bring all the boys to the yard? I really don’t know! Last night I managed to live in India and was hording small monkeys inside a flying kite that could take me up above the sky, which was just in time for me to see India transform into the high rise flats of Glasgow. Just before husband woke me up I was singing ‘The Boys of Summer’ with Don Henley and my dead mother was insisting that I cook her a wee omelette, except I was stirring a frying pan with my leather sandal and was worried that no one else was bothered. By the way Don Henley is lovely to meet in a subconscious world. I can’t begin to tell you what happened to a small baby, but at that point the news on the radio had infiltrated my dreams and they were reporting a baby being thrown into a fire in Kenya. I must remember to turn off the radio when I sleep. So I can’t sleep and I am not sure I ever want to again. The UK news is filled with Prince Harry coming home from 10 weeks work in Afghanistan after someone leaked the news that he was on the ‘front line’ in the Helmund Province. To think of all the mammies and daddies who are watching that news and wishing their kids could come home safely makes me feel so angered. I really don’t care HOW much the PR people in the Army say our wee Ginger Prince was on the frontline and in danger, as much as the next soldier. There is NO way that boy would be harmed, he has his own security personnel with him. I do feel for him, he is desperate to be working as a proper soldier, but the very fact he is home in case he is in dire danger, proves my point! The military people say that Harry being exposed as working on a tour over there makes his whole unit in danger…well aren’t they already in danger? Isn’t that what an alleged enemy is supposed to do? Is there an elite killer team on stand-by ready to kill only the special soldiers? It is all bollocks and I actually agree with Harry, let him fucking go and do his stuff. Though I bet you he isn’t out in active duty with substandard protective wear the same way Rose Gentle’s son Gordon was when he was killed. The military budget needs to spend more to protect our soldiers as there is string evidence that many parents are privately buying armour wear for their own son’s and daughters as the stuff provided to protect them is crap. Meanwhile in Jersey the child abuse care home story is deepening and it seems there is so much more of this to come. Tales of dark dungeons being excavated where kids were chained and sexually abused are coming to light. It seems there has been a cover up about this issue for years; I hope the care authorities who hushed this get jailed. I didn’t mean this blog to be a short news report, but it seems that’s just what I have done! I am missing my family and my home…but am back in Glasgow on Monday and can’t wait to get ready for my ONE WOMAN SHOW at the GARAGE on Thursday March 6th. I promise I will be funny. |
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People watching in the London underground, is a huge passion of mine and last night was no exception, I stared at people. There were many drunken revellers on the Central Line after I finished my show and the tube was crammed. Across from me were two slightly drunk but very well dressed Asian boys, they hung sleepily on each other. They were wearing suits and looked exhausted but happy. Next to them was a young blonde skinny girl who wore a curious outfit. Her red puff ball skirt was topped with a short grey military style jacket, her legs were bare but she had on grey rumpled ankle socks and sharp high red stiletto shoes. She was passionately kissing a young man who was dressed in yellow corduroy trousers and a waxy type fishing jacket, underneath which he wore a pink cotton shirt. He looked like an over grown seven year old boy, he had such a young face but he must have been around six feet tall. They both looked liked small kids who had raided a dressing up box and took some magic potion that transformed them into adults for one night only. The woman beside me stared at them intently. I could see this as I was sat at an angle in the corner seat up against the wall of the train. This woman was blonde and maybe in her mid thirties, her eyes were droopy and she looked a bit drunk, though she was very middle class. I could tell this by her casual Boden outfit, all chic grey expensive fleece weekend wear and smart running shoes. She was reading a photocopied article about ‘Over bite problems and on going treatments’ so I sussed she was either a dentist or someone who was training in that field. Every now and then she was glance at the big enlarged photo of some unfortunate person’s giant over-hanging top set of teeth and then stares at the young kissing couple. I wasn’t sure if she was checking their dental arrangement or if she was sad that she was reading up on her job and other people got to kiss and she was left with her work to keep her company on a late night Saturday train. She looked longingly at them and I felt she was lonely. I may have been wrong, but you never saw the way her eyes clouded and blurred as she watched the couple stroke each others faces. I imagined she was some hard working woman forging a career and never had time to love someone. Or maybe she had recently broken up with a lover. Or maybe she was planning how to fix the mouth of someone and was taking her work very seriously, even after a late night drinking session she still felt the need to revise her work? At Tottenham Court Rd the young Asian guys stood up and one almost fell on me as he got to his feet. He apologised profusely and I smiled and assured him I was fine. Their seats were taken by a fat older man dressed in a big bulky coat who smelled of booze and his middle aged woman friend who wore a bright pink dress and thin blue jacket, staggered up the aisle of the train. She was very drunk and slumped into the seat, accidently head butting the fat man side on! I tried not to laugh. He shouted at her and scared the life out of everyone seated in our carriage! “You fucking dozy cow!” he yelled. “Fuck you, fat bastard” she screeched as the noise of the train squealing on the tracks joined in, the noise was horrible. The last thing a drunken screaming woman needs is a screeching train noise to back her up. My ears hurt. The fat man slapped her hard on the face. Everyone looked away. I gripped my hands together. I didn’t want to get slapped next but I couldn’t bear to ignore the situation. Other people looked at the ground. “Oi, you cant slap a woman” I shouted at him. People started moving away. The fat man looked at me through hooded eyes; his big red face was like one of those grotesque Halloween cakes you see in bakers windows in late October. “You shut the fuck up” he sneered and pointed into my face. The woman held her face between her hands and cried. “No, you shut the fuck up you big fat cunt, what are you going to do? Hit me?” I yelled back. He never spoke, he stared at me and I could see he was judging whether to take me on as well. Before he got to work it all out, a big young black guy in a smart suit who was standing near the door stepped over everyone and grabbed the fat man by the collar and shouted into his face “Stop abusing women, hit me you big fucking bully” The fat man quickly grabbed the woman he hit by the hand and stood up, they both struggled through the throng of people, they side stepped the black man and ran off the train as it came into the next station. “You ok Miss?” the big well dressed young man asked me. “Yes, thanks, I am fine” “Please excuse my language, but that was really out of order the way he was being threatening” the guy smiled. “That’s ok, I called him a cunt” I said. “I know and in that accent it was just pure poetry” the guy laughed and sat opposite me. “Thanks for helping me, I can’t bear to watch a man hit a woman” I said. He smiled and nodded. The dentist lady finally stopped studying her over bite problem and stared at the big black man and she smiled at him. The black guy smiled at her and they started chatting. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying due to the train noise, but they looked like they were getting on fine. The young kissing couple let go of each others tight hug, they had been locked in each others arms since the trouble had kicked off. Like scared children who were forced to endure an adult world of hate, even if was just for a moment. I got off the tube train at Gloucester Road, the black man waved and the dentist lady leaned in further to him as the train eased out of the station. I hope she gets a closer look at those beautiful white teeth he displayed. Another night in London. |
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Yes, Glasgow is cold and frosty, yet the sun shines! I am so glad to be home. Ashley had cleaned the house for my arrival as her and her dad live like students when I am gone and use every single dish, pot and plate in the kitchen over a three day period. I haven’t unpacked my suitcase as I am too fucking tired and lazy. On arrival in Glasgow I went straight to bed for a lie down as I haven’t been sleeping due to this recent spate of nightmares. Finally I dozed off in my own bed, it was bliss but I was awoken by my own voice on BBC Radio 4. I forgot that last night I was on ‘Just a Minute’ radio show and we always leave the radio on in the bedroom. It was strange hearing myself as I lay there in the dark and I always cringe because I worry I am about to say something terribly unfunny or awkward. But it seemed to go ok and afterwards I got loads of emails from people who had listened to the show, they must have googled me and decided to either leave a message on my guest book or write me a nice note. That was cool! I am home for a wee bit. My one woman show at the Glasgow International Comedy Festival is this week and I am excited. So this is a short blog, but at least a happy one! |
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The opening night of the Glasgow Comedy Festival was awesome. My one woman show was heaving with people and it was heartening to see so many comedy fans turn up for the show. John Smeaton (The Glasgow airport hero) introduced me onstage and it was a lovely reception. I also got to meet the amazingly funny Dwight Slade who was backstage, not only is he just a wonderful guy but I am so in awe of his comedy that I am going to his show tonight at Oran Mor. I got some lovely messages from audience members who came along last night; they sent lovely comments to my blogs and website. I love doing comedy to a home crowd and it’s not very often I get the chance and this was the best gig for e of the entire year. Thanks Glasgow. |
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Life is mad at the moment. Was in Newcastle last night doing my one woman show, the crowd were so nice and really made me feel welcome. Husband and I drove down to Newcastle late afternoon and decided not to stay over as I have work today. I am doing a private gig in the afternoon and am headlining the Terrence Higgins Trust gig at Oran Mor tonight (Sunday). Am quite tired and spotty, it’s been a busy weekend. I even wrote a guest column for the Sunday Herald about domestic abuse to highlight the issue of violence against women for International Woman’s Day today in UK. It reads well and I am pleased with it. I love writing serious pieces for print. I have quite an accident prone week let me tell you… Well it was a bad mistake but I managed to Hoover over my husbands’ bare foot and ripped off his toenail, and his toes are all red and bruised. It was an accident yet he is really upset with me. I am not that used to Hoovering the carpet, it’s a new vacuum cleaner and its quiet bulky. I need to learn how to manoeuvre it without killing people I suppose. He hopped around with blood dripping from his toenail. I tried to apologise but when people are in pain I suppose its best to laugh…or giggle. He is really annoyed with me. I am quite accidental prone. I once fell down the pub cellar steps. I knocked Christmas tree on top of my baby when she was a year old. I jammed the cat’s paws in the door. I stuck a strong sucker from the bottom of a toy onto my baby’s forehead and it refused to come off, I managed to prise it off her tender head and it left a big blood sucker circle under her skin. I had to hide it with a hat. I once rode my bicycle into a marathon and knocked about eight runners on the ground. I ran onto a tube train in London and found I couldn’t stop and clattered onto a man who was in crutches. I sprayed perfume in a beauty store by mistake and the assistant got it right in the eye. I threw a dart in my pub and it flew off course and ended up embedded in a mans leg. I potted a ball in my pub at the pool table, it flew off, cracked pint glass that a man was holding and cut his face. Clumsiness runs in the family as Ashley is just as bad, she once fell off a few steps in a store and almost head butted a baby in a pram. So that’s been my week and my madness. |