Extra Show Added
This morning I got woke up early in the hotel as the housemaid was possibly recreating her own violent life by banging the beds around in the room next to mine. The vacuum was battered off the furniture and my bed moved as she slammed the bed next door into the wall and jarred me from my sleep. I ran through there in my night clothes and asked her to keep the noise and the slamming down to a minimum as I am trying to get some shut eye!
The whole room looked like a tornado has hit it. Maybe she was having a bad day? But why did I have to suffer as a result?
The other strange thing about this amazing hotel is, in the lobby and on all of the hall way floors Whitney Houston is blared out loudly and as I sit here and type I can hear ‘Where Do Lonely Hearts Go?" quite clearly. This is EVERY day, who does that shit?
I just called down to reception and requested some Steely Dan or Bob Seger, because if there is a DJ in house who insists we listen to piped music loudly then we as guests should get to choose the songs. Whitney Houston can kiss my ass.
I am going swimming today; the hotel has a lovely indoor and outdoor pool. I am going to check the weather to see which place I go for a dip!
Speak soon.
Nearly Home
I have had such a fab time here and I do love NZ more than I can say, though a break from the torrential rain would be nice. I managed to get a really good quality webcam on my laptop and have been trying to chat to my mates on it, but they all seem aghast at my funny dancing and waving. Maybe that novelty will wear off soon?
I went shopping today in Ponsonby, which is quite nice, but never bought any clothes. I never see stuff that looks good for me. I have the dress sense of an angry teenage lesbian in her ‘sad unsure phase'. Less sexy-more practical and drab.
If only I could dress pretty? But I only dress for comfort nowadays. The thought of stropping about in high heels just to go shopping makes me want to drink bleach.
I don't understand the logic in that anymore, though I did when I was in my 20s. I would easily slip on some heels and take Ashley a walk into town, what the fuck was I thinking? No wonder my knees hurt at this age.
My show is selling out fantastically and I am so happy the reviews are all positive.
The comics here in NZ are such a great supportive bunch of people that I will truly miss them when I go.
Though I can't wait to see husband and Ashley next week. I need their big hugs.
Getting Old
All the young comics are so lovely but some of them do treat me as an elderly woman and this shocks me to the core.
For instance, I was chatting to one young guy and he was explaining how he has so much body hair that he has to wax it off as women find it off putting. I then added to this chit chat "I only occasionally shave my arm pits if they get really feral" to which he replied "Yes Janey, but you are really old, it doesn't matter with you"
I sat there agog at this observation. What do I do now? Take off my make up and start NOT wearing a bra? Should I give up the long war against my grey roots? Will I just let my tufty hair become white and start knitting bootees for poor kids in Africa and gather cats on my lap?
I am now aware that my gentle flirting might be deemed creepy. Are young boys scared of the old lady who chats to them in late night comedy bars? Has all my sexuality drained out of my saggy body?
I am still fertile; I can bear kids if I want. I can scrub up quite well when I put in the effort.
I know I no longer get second glances from the hot boys, that stuff stopped in 1990, but surely I am not confined to the middle aged car boot sale set yet? There is life in this old dog.
How do I regain my female sexuality at 47 years old and still feel needed and wanted within?
I feel about 20 inside my head. I don't see myself as an aged woman, when did this all happen?
All this is corrected in one giant leap, as husband still finds me incredibly attractive, but what happens when even he starts to see the old woman who creaks when she bends?
I am disconcerted and discombobulated today. I need a hug.
Notes from New Zealand
The women's magazines tell you how to take a ‘capsule wardrobe' where a few items can make seventeen outfits! A shirt can be tied around the waist to resemble a skirt, a scarf can be worn many different ways and nothing beats a little black dress.
All of that is great advice if you are a size 0 and never sweat.
I am a curvy size 16 and, believe me, there are no shirts invented that can wrap around my big bum and would make me look anything other than post-hostage/ pre-mental patient.
The best thing to do is to take everything you own and roll it up tight.
If in doubt, dump everything when you get there and buy new stuff in your destination country. Especially when the pound is so strong against the NZ dollar!
Wellington city is just beautiful; the people are extremely laid back and very polite, if not slightly eccentric.
They have a local homeless bloke called ‘Blanket Man' who sits around the streets naked but for a woolly cover. He has huge thick dreadlocks, likes a beer and sings a lot.
I chatted to him when I was there and asked him if he minded that people called him ‘Blanket Man' and he said, "Yes I do because, technically, I should be ‘Naked Man' and yet the blanket gets all the attention."
He wrapped his cover tight around him and showed me some of the city's sights.
Blanket man told me that the parliament building is called The Bee Hive.
When I first heard this information in his Kiwi accent, it sounded like he said to me: "Our Government gets together ‘n' behave."
I arrived in Auckland yesterday afternoon to continue my comedy tour. I will miss The Bee Hive and Blanket Man.
Last night I was staying in a very nice hotel for one night on Waiheke Island.
The place was awesome but very quiet. It was literally in the middle of nowhere.
I lay in my room getting ready for a radio show and all I could hear was...nothing.
Honestly, I could not hear a single noise and I have never had that level of silence in my life. The quietness was frightening.
Then I heard a buzzing sound in my ears. I thought it might be tinnitus. I was unaware that I suffered from the dreadful condition.
I made an appointment with a doctor when I arrived in Auckland today, but when I hit the city, the noise disappeared.
I don't have tinnitus. I realised that I have just never had peace and quiet in my life and, when faced with it, I mistook it for an illness!
Auckland is awesome
The weather is horrendous; it's really muggy and damp and keeps raining buckets. I have been soaked twice. The shows are just going fine and I love meeting up with loads of lovely comics from all around the globe.
Last night in the front row of the late show at The Classic there was a girl who went to school with my daughter back in Glasgow....how crazy is that?
She shouted out that she was in the year above Ashley and I fell about laughing. It really is a small world.
I have been quite stressed trying to get everything done as I have to book shows into my diary, write my Scotsman column and keep on top of all the shows and media that I do. So sleep is good.
I miss my husband and Ashley. I love travelling but ultimately I spend more time away from them than I do with them and that eventually gets to you. I didn't expect to be this age and spend so much time being lonely. I do get share my thoughts with crowds of people at night, but it's not the same as curling up on the sofa with Ashley and husband.
It won't be long till I get home and get to be with them.
Today I am doing Comedy for Kids and that will be a challenge if nothing else.
I hope it all goes well.
Janey
Farewell to Wellington
Every night the people came to The San Francisco Bath House to see the show and they were such a giving audience, so many Scots turned up as well.
The weather here in Wellington is really hot and sunny; I even have a wee tan on my face.
So now I am off to Auckland to finish off the tour and perform my one woman show at the Classic comedy basement.
More exciting news...Time Out magazine in London had an online voting poll for the TOP TEN BEST STAND UP COMICS and I made it to number 3 in that list, I was the only woman and the only Scot in there! I am so happy.
First Night in Wellington
As soon as the show was done I went straight to my hotel and fell asleep and didn't wake up until the sun come streaming through my window this morning. The view is awesome my window looks right over the harbour and it is just a delight to watch the sunset, if I ever stay awake to see it.
Tonight has sold out as well and tomorrow morning I am up bright and early to do the Good Morning TV show. I had lunch today with a wonderful lovely NZ comic called David Cormack, he is very funny, and you should catch his show. David has been a wee rock of support since I got here yesterday; he gave me a mobile phone to borrow and loads of kind words when I was brain dead and knackered yesterday.
I had a bath earlier tonight; you should see the size of my bath in this hotel room. It is HUGE, I mean I could have swum a lap in its foamy waters, ok that's an exaggeration. I could lie there move around and not touch the sides or bottom it is so deep and wide.
I am off to get ready for tonight's show.
Flight to NZ went Fab
On the flight from London to Hong Kong Air New Zealand was quiet and I got four seats to myself and the on the flight from HK to Auckland I got three seats to myself, so I slept a lot. I am happy I wasn't squashed in tight with nutty people.
I am excited about getting my first night over with and a whole night in bed sounds better than sex with George Clooney right about now, that's how sort of out of synch I am at this moment.
At least I wasn't exhausted on arrival and the Museum Hotel here in Wellington is awesome beyond belief! One of the best hotels I have stayed in, right now I have a washing on as I am in one of the hotel apartments they have assigned me. I am lucky.
Speak soon
Kangaroos and Abi
I felt really odd as I have never ‘opened' anything before other than a few Pandora's boxes and clutch of Visa bills, both which scared me to death!
Anyway it was lovely and I took along my favourite wee niece Abi. She was all dressed in pink and pretty, she was so well behaved, I was very proud. She is such a wee smart intelligent social butterfly, she actually shouted out "I declare this shop open" as I cut the ribbon! What a wee star.
Abi ate too many chocolate cakes and the sheer amount of sugar made her even more chatty and animated! She stood up and told a very long complicated joke about a Red Indian who does a hard poo....I was in hysterics, it was so funny and she cleverly got the punchline bang on, she even managed to insert the pauses, the pull back and reveal technique was spot on and her wee voice was so clear. She executed the whole joke perfectly. I was outdone by a toddler. Apparently her grandfather told her the joke and she had memorised it, I was stunned!
She is such a comic in the making, watching her wee face light up and pausing for breath as she said the final line, and her smug smile as the adults all laughed was amazing.
So that's been my day. Meanwhile I am all set to go to New Zealand on Sunday. I have a sell out show tomorrow night at East Kilbride arts theatre and I can't wait to get back onstage there, I loved it the last time.
I have bought loads of new clothes for New Zealand and I just got my itinerary and believe me it's a punishing schedule! I am tired just reading the damn thing.
I am STILL waiting on someone from Qantas getting in touch to help me get an upgrade as I literally hit the ground running in NZ...anyone out there? Please?
I love my bed
There is a hollow on the mattress that hugs me like a lover. It knows all the places to caress me and keep me warm. Strange beds have no idea how to touch you and feel like a bad one night stand that refuses to accept their elbows are jutting into your flesh.
My bed has seen me through the worst and the best of times. It supported me when my marriage became a war, sometimes right there on its very surface. It held me close when I cried in pain through illness and it welcomed me every time I dropped into it travel weary and exhausted.
That bed opened up its strong comfy heart when babies like my great nephew and nieces Shaun, Abi or Julia needed hugs in the night when they stayed with me. All of these children have been newborn infants tucked up safe within its billowy borders, now they come over and bounce up and down on its springy spines!
It has comforted Ashley in the dark nights when she had nightmares and the bed miraculously seemed to grow bigger to make space for her frightened angular teenage body.
My bed is the best place in the world and I will miss it when I go to New Zealand on Sunday.
I will miss my family as well, but at least I can talk to them, I can only dream about my own bed as I lay between stiff, dry cotton sheets in a host of strange beds that will treat me like a rapist who overstayed their attack.
Marriage isn't what I expected
Maybe it's because Ashley will 22 years old next week and I have been thinking all about middle age and motherhood or maybe I just go through these periods of self reflection...I am not sure.
Either way, there I was staring at him at 5am.
He sleeps so peacefully and I wanted to wake him up to ask him thousands of questions but I didn't.
Husband was 16 years old when we met back in the late 70s and since then this relationship has suffered at least three civil wars, constant mental warfare, fifteen near peasant revolts and one Armageddon. Still we are together.
It doesn't make sense but then what does?
We were always so different and so completely opposite in our outlooks.
I recall when husband was my boss for fifteen years when we owned a bar together in the 80s and early 90s.
He was the manager and I was his wife. I looked to him for all direction and business sense and did what I was told. I cooked, cleaned, ran the pub, cared for a new baby and starved myself to look good in hot pink leggings and carefully maintained my big curly hair-do. (Forgive my fashion sins but it was the 80s). I taught myself how to make chicken Kiev embraced aubergines, garlic bread and ratatouille (again...new fashion in food in the 80s) I was a perfectly good wife.
Now the tables are completely turned and I own the business and do all the wheeling and dealing and he makes the dinner. Life is strange, if you could go back twenty years ago to 1988 and predicted I would leave that bar, become a stand up comedian, author and newspaper columnist and husband would be following me around the world, I would have probably think you had overdosed on infected heroin.
Nowhere in my wildest imagination (and believe me I even had a wild imagination back then) could I have even perused the idea of being who I am now. Not ever!
It takes some believing at times. When I do the bigger one woman shows and watch all of these people whom I have never met before, buy tickets to hear me talk, I have to do a reality check in my brain. Somewhere in my consciousness a wee voice whispers "Janey, tell these people you need to go and get the bar ready for opening time, stop fooling folk into thinking you are a comedian, now go boof your hair up and change the Guinness barrel"
My deepest insecurities creep up on me and for a second I get scared, then the lights go down and my name is announced and people applaud as I grab the microphone and the scared little voice in my head that berates me admits defeat, pulls on Lycra leggings and sits down in the back of my brain. It is joined with fear, shame and uncertainty. They all squeeze their tired little personalities into one dark hovel and listen to me be funny and they hear a crowd laugh at my stories. I have quietened the beasts in my psyche for one more night.
Husband never questioned my ability to do what I wanted, not even years ago when I would moan that I wanted to be a writer. He always encouraged me and pushed me to do what I wanted. I suppose I never believed that he believed in me.
Now, he is not in the least bit amazed at anything I do. He simply smiles and puts on the dinner and waits for me to come home. Where did he get such confidence in me?
What if I fail spectacularly? Will he still love me?
I never woke him up to ask, I let him sleep, he has a washing to do, shopping to get in, packing to organise and breakfast to cook, so I let him snooze more.
Munich and beyond
Munich looks nice, though I saw nothing really! I don't even know what part we were staying in.
I did ask a local person what the area the club was situated in was known for and he explained "It used to be a slaughter area" - I never asked what was slaughtered, though I am hoping it was cows.
The club is awesome, it is so long and the stage was at the bottom of the room. It was really hot and the lights were blazing on the stage. Then when I was onstage an odd thing occurred.
The strange thing that happened was this. I was onstage for over 30 minutes and had over 15 minutes left when I felt slightly dizzy. I thought I was going to faint. Inside my head I was completely blanking out BUT my mouth continued with the act. All of these words I vaguely recognised were streaming out of my gob and yet my brain was screaming "Janey you are going to faint"
People laughed at my punch lines, yet my body was totally spaced out - I held onto a table onstage and asked for a drink of water. I explained quickly to the audience "I feel a bit dizzy, I am going to sit down for a moment and have a drink of water" which I did and then stood up and got on with the show. All the while feeling really faint. It was the strangest thing I have ever experienced. I finished the show without incident and went straight back to the hotel and slept all night.
I was aghast that I had fucked up but everyone told me they never even noticed, they were aware that I sat down for a few seconds- but they really enjoyed the show.
Last night I was back in London and I performed at Comedy Camp and I worried that my ‘stage illness' might secretly return. I was fine and the show went fine.
I assumed that the room in Munich had little oxygen that far down in the room, that mixed with the strong lights made me slightly faint.
Tonight I am in at the Vauxhall Tavern in South London and appearing in the Topping and Butch School Assembly comedy night with Neil and Christine Hamilton. I am excited.
Speak soon all....Janey
Soho was Fun
My best mate Monica came to see my show and it was so funny to see her sitting there in the audience. She told me that my scoop neck tee shirt made a funny weird optical illusion as I held the microphone close to my cleavage when the lights illuminated me from above - basically it resembled a big black penis nestling between my boobs, every time I held it close to my chest and that made her laugh all night!
I am off to Munich to work tomorrow and will miss London - and my man- he has been wonderful keeping me well fed and watered as I run from the flat and go to work night after night.
I am never back at the flat until way after midnight, as I always end up at The Groucho after my gigs. I met some cracking comedy people and had great nights hanging out with Simon Pegg and his lovely Glaswegian wife Maureen. On Friday night I caught up with my old mate Allan Carr (Friday Night Project TV show) and even shared a quick ciggie break with Tim Roth! (Who was lovely and very down to earth, he is a top guy)
The best part was meeting all the people who came to the Soho Theatre shows after the gig. The audience were the best I could hope for and are such a great crowd.
On Sunday night I was on at the Komedia in Brighton with the delicious Topping and Butch, their show is just a joy to behold.
I am having a great time here - talk soon!
Janey in London
I was tired from running around all day, you see I had to get up early (again) and head off to the NZ High Commission and organise my work visa, which I did.
Though I had some trepid thoughts about this week, as the second of April was the day I finally outlived my mammy. She was murdered in April 1st 1982 and died at age 47.
I am finally 47 years old and have lived past her death date. That is a wonderful thing, although when I mentioned this to my husband he merely said "the night isn't over yet" like I could be dead by midnight! He was joking and I am still here!
I am staying in Westminster in the amazing St. Johns flats and I adore this place. You can lie in bed and hear Big Ben clang its ancient bells, it's so peaceful. Husband loves it as well. He likes the area.
I have two more nights at Soho Theatre then am off to Brighton on Sunday, then Munich on Monday and back to London for the rest of my working trip.
Life is good, I am older than my mum and I never had a nightmare last night!
Air New Zealand
Here is the performance dates-
April 22nd-26th Wellington San Francisco Bathhouse
April 29th- May 10th Classic Basement Theatre Auckland
The flight is extremely long and how I would love it to get an upgrade!
I can't be the only person who ever wished this. I could never really justify the costs of going club class - so maybe- just maybe; some nice person who works for Air New Zealand would read this blog and kindly upgrade me?
I know it's a long shot! But you never know?
I will give you a signed copy of my book, I will kiss you, I will leave you my best shoes in my will when I die...I will donate my kidneys to you!
Is there anybody out there works for Air New Zealand? (Janey gets off her knees).
Boycott the Olympics
Yet western leader and heads of Government will still attend the charade of the Olympic Games in August. Who would have thought the Berlin games with Hitler's attendance could possibly be recreated? It will when China, pretends to smile to the world in unison and makes it people square dance and fly flags in their thousands - something they are well used to and possibly wont need much rehearsal.
There has been so much written about the facts of the Chinese and their politics. Facts and figures that make most human rights organisations go numb to the core, but the basic truth is, the Chinese government are liars and violent liars to boot. They have manipulated and terrified their own people, yet we in the west still trade with this economic giant. We still sit at their feet and play Geisha.
I will be disgusted if any governmental figures from UK attend the Olympics this summer.
I am appalled that we are still sending athletes. The press statements in support of the athletic organisation state that "We should not let the athletes suffer; they deserve their chance at glory"
What utter bollocks. What the fuck is a gold medal for running with a spear got over standing up for your fellow woman/man?
A few elitist swimmers will be able to show off how fast they can cut through water as Buddhist Monks are being beating to death by the same people who will be hosting your sporty party.
How sick is that?
Stop the athletes from going; explain to them that it's all to do with honour and respect.
Think of the Scottish people who gave up their lives voluntarily to fight Fascism in Catalonia. The people who had no access to live press or radio reports back in 1938 took up the cause, caught trains, buses and boats to catch under ground passage to Paris then onto the South of France. There they crossed the Pyrenees' on foot to fight for the freedom of other people. That's worth a gold medal, don't you think?
Meanwhile we are training up men and women to run fast and show off their skills in a country that prefers to jail journalists that don't agree with them and kill ordinary people who peacefully protest. I am sickened.
It's a fucking pity the Chinese aren't more poverty stricken, Muslim or have a secret cache of oil, or the US would be bombing their borders as we speak. After all the American government loves to remove dictators and free people who are held under siege by their own government ...don't they?
I hate the Chinese government; stop the Athlete's going to the Olympics NOW!
I need a Campervan
I have a mate who will drive it down for Ashley and I into the Cabaret Field and I just need anyone out there who knows of a decent priced company who can help me out?
Anyone out there got a campervan for hire?
Thanks Janey Godley
Trying to write
It can be hard being creative and trying to get some writing done.
In the middle of me getting fantastic ideas shit happens like my niece will call and say “Please come and take my three kids before I fake my own death, they are making me insane and I am considering tying them to a chair, the baby has managed to squeeze the rabbit into a sock, it may die” or my best mate will call and shout “Why did that guy not call me back? Am I hideous and unworthy?” or my daughter will stomp through and scream “Who ate all the fucking cheese?”
Husband usually breaks in with a “Can you organise all the bills to be paid and tell me why the DVD’s are all scattered over the table? Can’t you put them away and why the hell does the wire come out of your bra and get stuck in the washing machine drum? Cant they stop that from happening?”
At that point my dad chooses to call and explain he has finally mastered Photoshop and verbally explains every picture he has ever taken and describes the ‘framing he has done on a picture of a squirrel that ate his washing line, he managed to get a really good shot of it, isn’t that amazing?’
As if that’s not bad enough my nutty brother Mij calls to tell me he has decided to become a musician and do I think U2 are interested? “No, I don’t think they are” I say back. He then says “But if I play guitar good they might” I simply hang up and pull out my hair, then worry about what the hell I am going to write in this blog.
Life is mental in my home, Happy Easter.
Jerry Sadowitz
Jerry did his first comedy gig in my bar in the Calton back in 1983. This bedraggled grumpy bloke came in with my crazy brother Mij. He was all hair and pale skin but Mij adored his wicked sense of humour "He can do magic and comedy, put him on" Mij demanded.
"Well we have never had comedy...so...erm...yes ok lets do that then" husband replied. Jerry skulked around, did some amazing magic tricks and left the building.
The Weavers Inn had truly never had a comedian on, we only ever had shit singers with cheap guitars and that first night of comedy was explosive.
I remember clearly standing onstage with a cheap microphone and announcing to the small startled audience "Ladies and Gentlemen - please welcome Jerry Sadowitz"
Jerry burst onto the stage carrying a fake ‘bomb' it was a black ball with the words ‘BOMB' written on it, with a fuse string out of the top which was fizzing with flames. People had never seen anything like this before. But they waited to see what would happen.
The following 30 minutes are ingrained in comedy history, people from that day still say to me "Remember the night Sadowitz did his first gig?" and we smile. We saw something that was the very beginning of ‘alternative comedy'.
We saw the birth of a whole new comedy genre sprout life right there in that wee East End bar.
He was shocking, offensive, frightening, genius and hysterically funny all in one moment.
I stood there transfixed at this man, this shambolic creature, haunted yet clever, scary yet funny and his magic tricks were so insanely wonderful that they made you question your very existence. How did he get that smashed up watch into the apple?
Years went past and we all would chat about how we recalled the man, he was on TV, he was on Theatre's and became a cult comic, but we saw him first. He was ours.
I became a stand up comic in 1995 and met Jerry on the comedy circuit and was still awestruck at his wild outrageous act. But he is clever and intense and his material was ground breaking, way before anyone else on the UK comedy circuit even thought about being politically incorrect. Jerry broke the rules and there have been many imitators to his crown. But no direct heir can truly claim his throne.
So last night after 25 years we finally shared a stage again. I had a great time, the audience laughed; I lapped up every second of the atmosphere and then left the stage.
Jerry had a great show and the Glasgow audience left happy, some offended, some converted fans, some thinking about what had just happened! That's what he does to your senses.
It was nice to come full circle with Jerry Sadowitz.
Flights and Fights
Now I know its all about security and I understand why we have to walk through the driving rain over rough terrain, almost get killed by walking through a busy car park and have to share the few rain shelters they have deigned to give us...but what is with the "Move your car!" screaming from Glasgow's finest?
When husband turned up to pick me up, we barely had time for me to get into the fucking car. What was the policeman expecting me to do? Jump on the back bumper and get dragged out of the airport?
I was so tired from my epic journey from London which took six hours if you consider the cab journey (two hours) to The City Airport (which was like a holding room for exhausted hostages) then the flight was delayed, there were NO seats as the room was full and I wanted to punch a screaming toddler, who was conveniently parked beside my head as I sat on the floor.
I had been through an exhausting day as I was filming a pilot for a show idea in London. Suffice to say it took a lot to get through. It was great though and I am so excited about it all.
Though I had been at the Groucho Club the night before and had a late night, not a drunken night as I am not a big drinker at all, just a late chatty night.
So here I am in Glasgow and I am the warm up act for Jerry Sadowitz tonight at the Theatre Royal and I am very excited to get going.
Speak soon.
My Cat
His favourite thing was to stand at the window, and then walk up and down with his big fat body knocking everything off the ledge as he made a turn to walk back along the opposite way. He would stare at the fallen objects with disdain and simply leap off the window ledge and strut out of the room. His work was done.
He was so loving and attentive, but I really didn't need a big fat cat draped across my throat like an expensive fur wrap as I slept. But he liked doing that. He would shove his big belly onto my neck, with his head and front paws snuggled into my right shoulder and his big hairy tail and ass tucked into my left. I could feel his cat heart beat on my flesh.
He loved to sleep with Ashley as well. She was around seven when we got him. He was already an adult cat from a cat sanctuary. He didn't take much time to make friends, on his arrival he sniffed me, looked at Ashley and went for a sleep. The next day he curled on Ashley's lap and demanded she stroke him by head butting her hand every five minutes till he got her attention. She was addicted to him.
He immediately became one of us. He joined in with chase games up and down the hall, jumping on Ashley as she tried to escape me. He would crouch like a tiger and leap out her, claws withdrawn but paws big and strong enough to box her. She would squeal with delight and he would run behind her like a dog.
He learned how to open a cupboard, knock over his cat food box till the contents spilled out and eat at his leisure. Other times he simply sat inside the cupboard and cooled off in the heat of our Scottish summer. Occasionally dipping his fat paw into the box and pulling out some cat biscuits. I like to imagine he was lying there like enjoying the peace and having a sneaky feed. He was clever.
His favourite time was summer when big dragon flies would stupidly come in the through the windows and fly around in a dizzy manner. Whiskey would smile a special cat grin and leap into the air and snatch them, and then he chewed them indiscriminately. Sometimes keeping a few insects under his paws as he nibbled slowly through his prey.
He liked them, he would watch for them as the sun set over the tenements of Glasgow's East End. His slanty eyes fixated on the open window...just waiting...and grinning with anticipation.
He caught wasps, flies, bluebottles, mice and once he dragged an absent minded pigeon right off the window ledge and onto my kitchen table. The poor bird was screeching and flapping all over the floor, Ashley was hysterical and I had to prise open Whiskey's jaws and rescue the bird. It was fine, a bit stunned and managed to flap off cawing for its friends. Whisky hated me for a whole day. He skulked about my ankles, tripping me up, getting in my way and generally spitting at me for taking his prey.
He sat with Ashley as she was colouring in and drawing on her room floor.
I thought he was going to pick up a crayon and draw a picture of his missing pigeon and sketch me with an arrow through my head.
He was amazing and had such an open personality. He adored Ashley; whenever I came into her room to check on her, he would be curled around her legs, and he would sit up, wink at me as if to say "She will be safe on my watch"
I trusted him and he knew it. He would nod his big ginger head, look at my sleeping daughter and then look at me, then snuggle back down into a fat ginger coil. One eye opened watching for me to leave and let him stay on guard of my precious baby.
The day the police came to our house to search for weapons (At that point we were living in my dead father-in-law's home and he had been a known criminal) Whiskey immediately leapt to attention. He hissed at the police men who entered Ashley's room and stood in front of her, his ginger fur stood on end and his tail twitching.
The police asked me to move him but Whisky jumped in front of them and tried to ward them off. He was so protective. There was a female police officer and she told me she was scared of cats, so Whiskey immediately leapt on her shoulder from the top of the stairs! She screamed her head off and the cat would not let go.
I miss Whisky, we had to give him away to another family when we moved from the ‘gun house' life got complicated but he needed stability and an elderly woman took him in. I cried but had to find a home for my family and that took priority over everything else.
I haven't forgotten him though.
My Soho Theatre Comedy Show
Hey everyone, if you are in London around 3rd 4th 5th April I am doing my award winning one woman comedy show ‘Tell It Like It Is' at the Soho Theatre in Dean Street. Do click on the link for tickets please
It would be a great chance for me to catch up with bloggers down that end of the country, do let me know if you are coming along, Janey.
My Own Fault
The noise and screaming was enough to drive me insane and tearful, lying in the dark at 5am, wishing I was with my husband tucked up in bed in Glasgow.
So there I was sitting in a taxi, tired and grumpy. I had just came off my mobile as I contribute to the Tommy Sheridan Radio show every Sunday and had to sound chirpy and nice, when I was actually exhausted.
I should never have got into a conversation with the Asian Taxi driver...but I did.
The lovely interesting man told me that he was going home to arrange a party for a religious festival celebrating some major Muslim speaker and he was happy.
"It is the birthday month of Mohammed" he explained.
I congratulated him on his religious festival thingy and sat quiet.
He decided to tell me that in his opinion, the reason people misunderstand Islam, is because people don't get told the facts.
Now I know I should have put my IPod in my ears as planned, but I gave it a shot and said "Well give me a fact about Islam please, I am interested"
His opening gambit was this "Most women are raped because they are not married and they tempt men into disrepute"
Now Dear Reader, of all the people this man could spit this nonsense to - he picked me, and I was a bit grumpy.
"Is that right?" I asked him wide eyed and crackling with seething quiet rage.
"Yes, you see if women are married and wear decent clothes, then they would be safe, because their husbands would always protect them and teach them how to dress appropriately which keeps them safe" he nodded and smiled smugly through his mirror at me.
"Ok...what happens if a married women who dresses very nice is in her home and her husband is a taxi driver and he isn't there to stare at her and make sure her skirt is long enough and potential rapists are out of reach, lets say he is on the road driving someone and that poor respected married woman gets raped in her home by an intruder, how would that work then?"
The cab driver managed to lurch the car, it was his one clear reaction to my statement.
"Well this doesn't happen" he merely added.
"Yes, it does, women get raped in their homes quite a lot, not all rapes are drunken women wearing short skirts staggering around the city centre and incidentally that doesn't give anyone any excuse to the rape them, women should be safe despite what they wear and where they are" I smarted.
"What do you think men do when they see these women in tiny clothes showing off their bodies like that? It makes men feel sexy and they have problems controlling themselves" he started to shout.
"Ok, so you are saying to me that you cannot bear to take your kids swimming at a local pool, because bikini clad women make you want to rape? Or are you saying that men cannot be blamed for getting sexually erect in a city street when they see women in a short skirt and such is this uncontrollable urge they have to pull the short skirted woman up and alley and rape her? Is that what you are saying?" I shouted now.
"Women make men rape them by such behaviour" he screamed back.
"Mohammed would hate you and your stupid words and I am not even a Muslim, I know that if he is such an almighty gracious man he would know you are talking crap and he is possibly ashamed people like you represent his words" I shouted at him, grabbed my bag and got out of his cab.
"You have to pay me now" he argued.
"No, I had to listen to your pro-rapist shit for ten minutes so you can go rape yourself for the cash, call the police do what you want, but you are not getting a penny of my money" I walked away and he drove off at a screech.
I caught the bus to the airport. It was nice and I listened to my music all the way.
How Happy I am
Now I never bothered to read any of the emails to check what the hell the event was about. Luckily husband made me pack a full length dress and high heel shoes. I argued that this wasn't needed and he was harassing me, he insisted.
So I packed the fancy gear, bearing in mind I was flying out the next morning from Glasgow to East Midlands.
We were staying over night in the Roxburghe Hotel in Edinburgh where the event was being staged and he planned to get me up at 6am to drive me through to Glasgow to fly out.
Anyway on arrival I noticed that the hotel was all geared up for a very special event, it was black tie and evening dress event. Yes...you guessed it -that was the party I was going to.
So I got all dressed up and was still unaware what the night entailed. I thought I was going to do ten minutes of comedy and then slip off for the rest of the night.
No, that's not what was going to happen. The other speakers included Tommy Sheridan, a lovely Scottish Actress called Joyce Falconer, an after dinner speaker and entrepreneur called Kenny Harris and the Scottish football legend Gordon Smith.
This charity dinner is famous (though I was in the dark) and the speakers have to compete against each other to win the WAG of the Year award.
The speakers were awesome and I was nervous, I hadn't prepared anything at all, and just decided to wing my ten minutes and see where it took me. Husband nagged I should read my emails more and pay due attention, so I really did my best.
The night went onto raise over £60,000 for Epilepsy Scotland. And guess what?
I WON! I am WAG OF THE YEAR 2008.
The trophy is beautiful and I was so excited when I ran up to the hotel room and showed it off to husband. He is very proud and he took the trophy up to my dad today for me as I am now in Nottingham.
Ladies Who Lunch
I was at a charity luncheon organised by influential women in Glasgow. It was illuminating and entertaining, if not ever so slightly patronising, when the hostess suggested that their ‘poor husbands' were left dealing with the babies for the afternoon.
If I thought my husband was incapable of looking after a baby, I wouldn't have given him the task. In fact my husband was better at dealing with our baby than me, he could open doors and carry her at the same time, it took me till she was toddling before that happened.
I was there in my role of comedian; I certainly wasn't there to display my tightly toned thighs, expensively coiffed hair or exclusive handbag. This was Glasgow's glitterati at its best.
There can be nothing more infuriating than standing in front of a room full of people who are there to celebrate strong hard working women and have a female MC apologise for you before you even speak. How empowering is that?
"This woman coming up is a dynamo, she is incredibly rude and uses strong language so if anyone here has a nervous disposition please leave the room now" was the words I came onstage to.
You would think a naked Dorothy Parker on crack was about to be unleashed on a nun's tea party and to top it all the venue was actually a church! I am perfectly capable of performing comedy without using bad language. Comedy isn't always about cursing. It can be funny and clean.
There can nothing more disconcerting for a comedian, when Jesus is staring at you in His full glory through a fifty foot high stained glass window and ex- Scottish First Minister Jack McConnell is sitting in the front row and you have a brilliantly funny joke about Gordon Brown that involves religion.
I have to say it was a great gig, Jack laughed, Jesus didn't strike me down and Kelly Cooper-Barr even forgave my black outfit with brown boots ensemble. Kelly is the doyenne of Scottish fashion and she looked effortlessly fabulous. She is one of those women who could wear a sheet of crumpled polystyrene bubble wrap and make it hip.
The event included a charity auction and someone paid £2000 for a handbag, I was impressed. In my entire life span I don't think I will spend more than £100 in total on handbags - not when charity shops have a great selection and Primark stay in business.
The highlight of the event was a George Michael tribute act. This bloke was amazing, he really did look like my favourite musical hero George Michael, he sang like him and danced like him, but I think his really name was Barry. He really was awesome, I was on my feet dancing to his music.
Women screamed and ran to have their photo's taken with the lovely talented Lookey-likey.
I don't really get the whole lookey-likey thing, if my husband died but had an identical twin that looked like him, sounded like him and had his wee idiosyncrasies, I wouldn't fall in love with him and use him as a doppelganger. It's not really him.
It was an awesome event and I loved doing the show. Jack McConnell even came over to congratulate me on my comedy performance.
The day was wonderful and the event had raised over £60,000 for National Children's Homes.