|
First up my Scotsman column ended last week due to the recession and a shake up at the paper, they lost a few staff in the past three weeks and have a new editor and a staff writer is taking over my column for the foreseeable future. I wish he/she all the best of luck, it’s was a lovely job while it lasted! I will miss the column and I will miss the emails from my regular readers. Thanks to all the Scotsman readers for all the support and your lively emails over the past two years. I have been away all weekend working in London. Three nights in London always cheers me up. The underground train is my all time favourite place to be, and watching the strange folks on the tube is quite entertaining. Everyone tells me I should always get cabs, but I disagree. Plus there is something anonymous and cold about cabs, though you can avoid rape, attacks and stabbing by being in a cab, they are supposed to be safer mode of late night travel, but apparently even taxis can be unsafe. “Can you be sure the mini cab driver is not a rapist?” screamed a warning in a posh loo in Soho. To be honest I don’t know if my driver is a rapist, short of asking him “Excuse me, do you force women into sex and by the way, how much is it to Chelsea?” Isn’t really a conversation opener in my books? Though one night a few years ago I did get a mini cab driver who told me he was Ethiopian, he was just so interesting, we spoke about our love for our homelands, he was very educated and I hated to think he had to drive a cab when obviously was so qualified to do a more professional job. He told me he was a dentist but couldn’t get the proper license in the UK. This saddened me and for some reason I can’t recall we ended up discussing the ‘rapist cab driver’ advertising campaign that was all over London at the time. He then explained that in his opinion there was no such thing as rape as often women were being sexually overt, they wanted sex then often complained when they realised they were bad for having sex with a stranger. Big screamy alarm bells went off my sleepy head. I did what I always do when I hear someone speak like that and I argued back, I spat anger about the young women who were forced into sex, I shouted about how women feel traumatised explaining their rape and all he could do was cite one case where one woman had recently in the news admitted that she lied about rape. Having been raped as a child, it made me incensed with anger; maybe I did dress like a Lolita and had entrapped my poor Uncle Rapey into a crime. But then I knew that was crap and wee were so poor in the 60s there was no way I was dressed like a mini beauty queen who sang sexy songs and did cute dimpled smiles that beguiled older men, as if that would have tipped some predatory paedophile over the edge into sexual assault? My point obviously is this, it doesn’t matter how you are dressed, or how you appear, rape is rape. So back to the cab driver who doesn’t believe in rape, I ended up screaming at him and getting out of the cab somewhere on the Brompton road and walking it back to the flat with big stamping angry steps. Despite that rant, I do love London and I love the underground tube trains (that was the point I was getting to). On the way to Heathrow a woman got on. She was maybe in her fifties, well dressed, if maybe a little heavy on the make up and an overly jaunty hat, but the amazing thing was she had a full three course lunch with cutlery in her bag. First of all she brought out an avocado, peeled it, pulled out a small plastic knife from a box and sliced it onto crackers and ate away happily. From the box she produced a fork, and proceeded to eat her way through a whole chicken salad, finished off with a trifle. Then she packed all her stuff away into the box, pulled out her lipstick and covered her mouth with the bright red waxy gloss, adjusted her jaunty beret and read a book. I love that woman and hope to be able to do a three course lunch and make over on a train when I am fifty-plus. |
|
I have been in London all weekend and I loved it. I was MC at Oxford Jongleurs, and I can’t believe how many people love to ride their bike in the dark with no lights, it was almost like a middle class cull with my mate John at the wheel. “Hit him he has no chin” I shouted lots. Though Oxford is spectacularly beautiful, those buildings are amazing. I am a tit for lovely buildings and can look at them for ages, maybe I was a stone mason in a past life, or maybe just a wife beating mason? I am not sure. Sometimes when I go through Oxford I wish that when I had been young I had gotten the chance to go to university, but that’s just crazy talk, in my family you left school and you either got pregnant or married or you got stabbed for being different. So I got married. I hate being stabbed. Years down the line, even through my wistful thinking I know I could never have gone to university, for one, I had the attention span of crack head at 18 years old and I didn’t know anyone who had been to university. I wasn’t one of those bright inner city kids that some lovely philanthropic teacher takes time out to help; in fact in my school the teachers must have breathed a sigh of relief when I walked out on my 16th birthday. I was and still am very annoying, I know this as my husband tells me that a lot and he should know- as we have been married since we were 18 years old. But then he has a strange unexplained bruise on his arm and I know how he got that (in his sleep when I bit him) because we have been married since we were 18 years old. So I flew home on Sunday, the flight was delayed and that always cheers me up as I love nothing better than waiting for ages in airports watching people moan and bitch. I actually lay down on the floor near the window, which annoyed people, I am a middle aged woman, and I have no right to appear so sloppy and young, throwing my belongings about me and sprawling my wee fat body on the clean carpet. I made a pillow out of my jacket, and snoozed until I heard the flight being called. Husband picked me up at the airport and reminded me how annoying I was because we have been married since we were 18 years old and I might have forgotten my annoying personality had he not been there to remind me. Ashley was asleep but had made a big meat ball pasta oven baked dish, it was so tasty. Husband didn’t like it much but I was happy to eat hot food. Later on Ashley got up, peered into her oven baked pasta dish and said “How did he heat that up? Did he stir it? All the pasta is mashed up and broken?” She looked really angry, Ashley doesn’t like her pasta strands broken and yet the evidence was there, her dad had clearly vigorously stirred her precious pasta dish. “Did he fucking stir my pasta?” she shouted. I was scared, her hair was all bushy and she looked like a strung out Amy Winehouse. “I don’t know it tasted great Ashley” I offered. “Was the pasta all broken like this when you ate it? Did he microwave it?” she shouted and now looked like Amy Winehouse straight after her crack had run out and there was no crack left in the world to have. I calmed down my daughter, reassured her that her pasta was fine, she wasn’t happy- she went into my bedroom, woke up her dad and shouted “Did you stir this pasta?” Husband sat up all bleary eyed and said “Yes, I microwaved and stirred it and it wasn’t that good actually” I stood in the hall and shut my eyes hard and held my ears as Ashley shouted “Don’t ever fucking stir the pasta or microwave it again, do you hear me?” the slammed the bedroom door. “You shut up” shouted husband. “No, you shut up” shouted Ashley. That went on for about ten minutes. Ashley doesn’t have a boyfriend, she went to uni and she didn’t have to get married at 18 years old as we relaxed the rule of stabbing children who don’t get wed young. But she is rather intense about her baked pasta goods; I hope she finds a nice man when she wants one and I hope he is the kind of man who doesn’t mind the rule about stirring pasta. Life goes on. |
|
My husband knows when I am busy, he sees me procrastinating (or smoking heavily), picking my nails or chewing the ends of my hair (self abuse never leaves you, don’t listen to the therapists) so, my husband sees me do all of these things at once and that’s when he decides to ask me “Did you write the letter to TOP UP TV and ask for the £9.99 back that they illegally claimed after we cancelled their service”. In my head I was constructing a big 1000 word article about domestic abuse for a newspaper, which was really tough to plan out and even tougher to phrase correctly. In fact whilst I was thinking about women who get beaten by their husbands, I was actually thinking about hitting my husband on the side of the head with a half brick. Husband doesn’t know when to shut up and after 30 years of being together, you would think he would know when to shut his big annoying interruptive mouth. But alas, NO…he insisted “have you done that letter yet?” “I really hate you, I hate everything about you and I think about you dying so I can laugh loudly” I said quietly to him, then I went back into my head and thought about how some men can abuse women verbally, they can destroy their confidence just by uttering mean words. Then I thought about what I had just said and I shouted “I am sorry, I didn’t mean that” He knows when I am angry, I speak quietly and say cruel things that involve him dying and me standing by his side guffawing and shrieking with laughter. I hope to God he doesn’t die before me, I will probably laugh out of nerves and it will look like a self fulfilling prophecy and that can’t be a good thing. So I spent the day being nice to him as I think it was shameful the way I behaved. Ashley had sat and watched us argue, she was trying to take notes on a film for her university course, she got fed up and shouted “shut up” so we did. She is much better at being an adult than we are. |
|
My daughter Ashley loves to play this game and it can go on for hours...she asks you questions like this "would you rather be burnt from the waist down or the waist up to your head?" Then if you shut her up by saying 'waist down' she then argues that "You wont have any vagina" then this goes on for ages till you shout "Shut up" and she then phones her mates and they can actually have a 3 hour phone conversation about that shite. So I am ignoring her as she is now onto "Would you rather have your arms stuck to your side or your legs stuck like a mermaid" This girl got a fucking great education, why are these questions relevant? I had a lovely day at the Woman of Influence lunch, there were hordes of very well dressed women there and I looked like a bag of shite coz I don’t do 'well dressed' very well. Basically as a rule, I refuse to pay more than £20 for a handbag and won’t pay more than £30 for a pair of shoes. Now Sex and the City has told us women of a certain age that you will not get cock unless you dress in fancy frippery or Jimmy Choo shoes...I disbelieve that theory. Women will get laid if they just really want to. I don’t get paying £300 for a handbag...I truly don’t get it, what happens when you carry and expensive handbag? Do other women gasp at you and say "is that a Lulu Guinness bag? Is that worth £400?" and then do you say "yes, it is actually" and does that woman walk away saying "That woman is very fashionable for buying a Lulu Guinness handbag, I love her?" I don’t think that’s what happens, I see a new picture of Victoria Beckham leaving an airport EVERY WEEK...(she always walks out of airports, its her new job) and Victoria B is always carrying a big fancy dan handbag and I look at it and think, that’s a shame that woman cant eat a yum-yum, she is scared of food and spends her days picking handbags, then I feel deeply deeply sorry for her and wonder what airport she will be walking out of next week. Primark do great cheap handbags and they carry stuff in it like lipstick, passport, wallets and money, if a woman came up to me and said "Your handbag doesn’t match your outfit, you need some fashion passion in your life" I would probably follow her and throw a hot chip pan at her head so she would get over her handbag worry. Anyway the fancy lunch I was at had a Mulberry Handbag on auction and it made women squeal when the saw it in real life....I thought Jade had just died when I heard screams, but it was just a handbag on show that did it for them....I stared at the bag and couldn’t figure out why it costs £400. It was a fucking BAG...it wasn’t made of rare truffles or had a special compartment that when opened a sofa popped out, or had a pouch that turned into a caravanette when turned inside out, which to be honest would make it worth the cash. It was just a bag. Yes a bag, nothing else. A Bag that costs £400. Carrie Bradshaw and Sex and the City women endorse these bags and they tell you life is empty if you don’t get one, well I have a busy full life and get laid and get nice food and have a funny daughter who asks strange questions and I have never been worried that I have never owned a £400 handbag. So, there we go. |
|
JANEY GODLEY - TRON THEATRE EXTRA SHOW ADDED March 28th 10pm Hello people just a quick E-BLAST to let you all know that both my Glasgow Comedy Festival 2009 shows have sold out and we have an extra show added - see below EXTRA SHOW ADDED at 10pm at Tron Theatre 28th March Buy tickets now 0141 552 4267 Tron Box Office http://tinyurl.com/bk5xj5 Tron Box Office: 0141 552 4267 Magners Glasgow International Comedy Festival Phone: 0141 552 2070 Email: info@glasgowcomedyfestival.com Web: www.glasgowcomedyfestival.com Hope to see you all there! Much respect Janey Godley www.janeygodley.com |