Janey Godley's Blog

Yes, I know…over a week for a blog…I have been busy as hell. Writing and doing stuff, eating and watching movies. My life is eternally dull; I couldn’t imagine what to tell you all. Went into Glasgow centre yesterday to meet dad, who told me a big story about how years ago he went to a Scotland versus Brazil football match in Edinburgh (maybe it was the 60s) anyway he told me that a fight broke out and an Edinburgh man hit him right between the eyes with a hand held scythe, the pointed bit knocked a hole in my dads forehead. Ok a few questions here, who takes a scythe to a football match, why was he fighting other Scottish people AND when was my dad a crowd fighter?

Anyway he told me this story to impress upon me why he doesn’t like Edinburgh people….seriously? One scythe to the head and you don’t like a city? So I suppose he wont be coming to the Fringe to see my show…not with all that scythe action happening.

There are lots about my dad I don’t know, it’s all coming out slowly.

Today is the one year anniversary of my step mum’s death and we all miss her terribly, my dad most of all, I know this because if she were alive he wouldn’t tell me scythe fighting stories!

The other thing he told me was that his grandfather whom he was raised with suffered from gas injuries and a hole in his arm from the First World War, the poor old man used to walk about the house wheezing and could never settle. The old man worked as a watchman back in the 50s and one night a gang broke into the factory he was looking after and hit him with an axe to the side of his head, but my great grandfather never left his post and fought the men off.

So the men in my family often get whacked with steel implements to the skull, that’s what I learned yesterday.

Thought I would share that with you.

I am off to London this weekend, hopefully will have tales to tell you all.

Andy Murray got beat at tennis and I got a camera up my ass.

Yes, the day dawned for my colonoscopy, heres what happened, months ago I told my doc I had some bowel issues, now I would write the Latin word but my spell check is having trouble with Diarrhoea – maybe that’s the right spelling eh? Anyway…my doc got me a hospital appointment and the specialist booked me in for a colonoscopy…as fast as that!

And as fast as that my Diarrhoea disappeared, yes it did!

So, I was told to drink FOUR litres of a powder that the hospital sent in the post, not an illegal powder I hasten to add, just something called Prep-klean…I hate ANYTHING spelt with a K when it really means a C but anyway I had to dilute these evil smelling granules in water.

It said ‘vanilla’ flavour on the side, now unless vanilla tastes like battery acid, I have no idea what they added to the foul smelling salts, but I managed to get ONE litre down my gullet before I started throwing up.

I was to drink the four litres over the course of a night after starving myself before I went to hospital the next day. Great…now I was just vomiting up the cold battery acid flavoured granules…it came out of my nose!

I called the hospital to tell them I couldn’t keep four litres down and they told me not to worry as whatever I got down would work. I didn’t believe them.

That was until I felt an almighty grumble in my lower bowel and I made it to the loo in time to witness an avalanche as my very skeleton flew out from my bum. It was extraordinary to experience; just a torrent came rushing forth.

I fell asleep exhausted, it was sleep you have after child birth, trust me I know this! My body was shaking and a crashing brain tumour of a headache descended and woke me up at 2am. Finally I called the hospital to tell them I couldn’t drink their four litres of Guantanamo Bay torture juice but I had ‘passed liquid’. They assured me I would be fine for the procedure and I should come along.

My headache was banging above my eye and my vision was blurred, at this point I considered swapping a colonoscopy for a brain scan in the reception of the hospital, but I don’t think they have a swap shop for procedures on the NHS.

I was taken into a small room and stripped. They gave me one of those sexy backless gowns and told me to get ready to go through to the ‘theatre’. Now I love the theatre as you all know, but going in there to get the ass ripped out of me sounds odd and not the kind of thing I love at all.

I explained to my specialist that I am scared of sedation, he told me repeatedly that everyone loves it, then I repeated how I didn’t, and he told me I was being silly as he stuck a needle into the back of my hand and I told him his birth mark on his face looked like a foetus and finally the room went quiet. He fingered his birth mark and sat beside me.

“Janey, it just makes you slightly less angry” he spoke.

“My anger is what keeps me alive, can I get this done without being sedated?” I suggested quietly.

The nurses waited with the vial of sedative to be put into the valve they had opened on the back of my hand.

“Ok, you relax and you will feel the camera go in and if you breathe slowly you can do this” he spoke firmly.

I am scared of sedation; I once got sedated and had terrible feelings of despair and a panic attack in my 20s when I got sedated for a dental treatment and that never quite left me. So I slowly breathed and they did the whole colonoscopy without the sedation! My head was still banging like hell though.

The procedure didn’t feel sore, it felt weird as I could feel the camera wind its way around my insides! Like when a baby kicks you from the inside.

Anyway my bowels are fine, there are no lumps, bumps and nothing wrong with them at all. And the good news was, I didn’t need an hour recovery in a hospital bed or have to take a day off to get orientated again.

I walked out five minutes after the bowel investigation (after farting the biggest fart in my entire life- it was awesomely wonderful in a strange way) and went for a walk as my husband was gone, he was told to come back two hours later for me. I didn’t have a phone on me to get him to come back sooner!

So I went a wander and found an old man stuck in the loo door where he had fallen. I got him up and into one of those horrible wheelie chairs they have lying about, and that’s when my husband turned up- to find me pushing a strange old man about the reception!

Husband thought I had been sedated and took an old bloke hostage in my crazed state!

“Janey, what are you doing?” he yelled.

I quickly explained I had been out for ages, never got sedated and found an old man who was shaky and he couldn’t find his wife. After we reunited the old bloke and his wife and walked them to their car I went home and managed to eat something so I could take painkillers to get rid of my racketing headache!

All good! My stomach is making seriously weird noises though!

It felt like January was going on forever, but it has ended now, thank God!

It’s been an odd month for me all round, lots of writing work and less performance gigs which have freaked me out slightly. If I don’t get on stage I tend to be mental, husband says am like a cloven hoofed wolf prowling the house looking for faults!

My dad decided he wanted new curtains for his windows, so we bought him some (he picked them and shouted the serial number of them into my face in the street- he is a bit deaf, still…I nearly bit his face, I hate shouting). After we delivered them and the new curtain pole, I told him to give us a few days before we could come up and fix it into the wall. He agreed and spoke at length about the dangers of an old man going up heights, but as we drove away, I saw the silhouette of him erecting the ladders through his blinds! He is a stubborn old bugger!

Ashley and I have been writing hard for a radio show. People always ask what it’s like writing with your daughter or writing with your mum and we have always worked together. We did a sketch show at Edinburgh fringe in 2006 and toured New Zealand and it was awesome fun.

She has a great writing skill and am great at saying words out loud that she can type, she is very professional and I just watch her in awe.

We are not best pals, I disagree with that idea, she is my daughter but we have very similar yet very different comedy bones and that works. Also she is much more disciplined than me, she is aghast at how I prepare for shows, or how I quickly write for newspapers etc…but that’s a university education for you! As you can imagine I am very proud of her, as is her dad.

He just stands back and watches us both banter words back and forth, he doesn’t speak, he supplies the coffee, makes the dinner, irons the clothes and calls us ‘His talented girls’ and occasionally adds a word when we do a read through or he voices his confusion over a paragraph. Its great coz he has Aspergers Syndrome so when he doesn’t understand something we know an audience won’t get it either, his mental capacity is a great sounding board. Every writer should have an Aspergers Syndrome person listen to their ideas!

I am looking forward to my one woman show at Tron Theatre on Thursday 25^th March for Glasgow Comedy Festival, ticket sales are going great guns!

I am glad January is over; it felt so long and dark.

Last weekend was awesome, Ashley and I decided to head to London and have a fun weekend. We were both doing Burns poems at a Private London Club as part of their Burns Night celebrations. Ashley ‘gets’ Burns and I am not really sure of how to pronounce his work, but she taught me over the week.

We flew into London at 8am on Friday morning, both of us exhausted as we don’t do mornings well and I hate folk who fight for elbow space on the London tube. Some nasty wee man started pushing his elbow right into my side as he read his paper. Ashley was sitting opposite and glared at him, whilst making silent angry eyes at me, I waited till he got comfy and gave him a proper Glasgow dunt (a big shove) right back. He was startled but gave up trying to stick his arm under my left breast. I felt like turning round and saying “We will need a lubricant if you get any closer to my side boobs” but the dunt did it. He had the cheek to look at me as if I was wrong!

Anyway we got to the Crownlawn apartments at Point West on the Cromwell Road and they were AWESOME, seriously – a huge two bedroom flat with enormous patio! My niece Ann Margaret was coming down for two nights, but the poor wee mite was doing the ten hour bus journey as she doesn’t have a passport or is into flying yet!

Ashley was furiously learning her Burns poem and I was silently ignoring mine; it will be all right on the night!

Ann Margaret arrived on the Saturday morning after the journey from hell on the bloody Magic Bus…trust me it wasn’t magic, it was evil.

On Saturday afternoon we all got ready and headed into the club to prepare for the big meal and the Burns performance. Little did we know that John Landis and his wife would be in attendance, its one thing winging a poem in front of a small audience and another doing it in front of a big Hollywood film director. To make it worse there were a few very famous faces from the big screen, Ashley stared at me with a pale face and I felt my bowels do the Macarena!

There were only about 50 people in this small room…so it’s not as if you can huddle into a corner if you totally fuck it up! Anyway, after the most amazing Address to the Haggis by a lovely Scottish actor, Ashley was first up with her rendition of ‘A mans a man for aw that’ and she was really good, her clear voice and determined attitude saw it through.

I did my poem and some Burns based comedy, as did other fabulous performers, it was a lovely night. Mr Landis congratulated Ashley on her lovely poem and chatted to her, he was so bloody nice!

Then we all had karaoke, which Ashley and Ann Margaret LOVE! They sang, danced and chatted the night away, fabulous stuff!

All in all it was an awesome night out, despite having nerves performing in front of some famous people!

So I am back home and back working, writing and trying hard not to think about my colonoscopy next week, but my bowels know its going to happen and they are rebelling in a way I will never describe in words.

On Monday I had to go present myself for jury duty; I tried getting out of it by providing a valid E-Ticket from British Airways which clearly states I am leaving Glasgow this coming Friday. They sent it back by post and told me turn up on Monday and …maybe just maybe…they will let me off.

What I don’t understand is- with the sheer amount of unemployed people that we keep reading about in The Daily Mail why do the courts want people who are terminally busy?

Do busy people have better judgement? I don’t think so, I think if I had better judgement I would not work and lie in bed all day. I am a stupid twat that chose a career; if I was smart I would do piss all and sleep instead of working in an industry that still thinks women aren’t quite good enough for the job.

Anyway, I dragged myself out of bed at 8am on Monday, thought ‘suppose I better wash my hair, I don’t want to turn up looking mental….hang on…maybe looking mental is good?’ So, instead of coiffing my bunnet, I merely bushed it up further into what can only be described as a hysterical angry terrier hanging off the side of my head.

No make up either, a blotchy pale face with two red vicious spots on my chin completed the Susan Boyle effect I was going for. Husband stared at me silently, I could see him trying hard to think of something to slip out of lips, but having been married 30 years this is a man who knows to think really really hard before he says stuff about my hair or appearance. Holidays have been ruined by a sneery look at my summer shorts.

“Nice” was all he uttered.

“I am going to look mental, feels strange going out like this” I explained.

“You look like that when you sit about the house anyway” he stepped into a burning puddle of verbal hell, he didn’t know it, he was unaware of the liquid fire chasing his heels, but I let it go. I needed to get to court.

9.45am it stated clearly on the form. So I was there for 9.30am, the cold wind had chaffed my face and made my hair sufficiently psychotic, but the room they put me into was blisteringly hot. That was after they searched me and shoved me through a security arch that was set up at the front door. Within seconds I was sweating, people started filing in, before long the room was stuffed with folk. There weren’t enough seats; people were standing, nobody talking, all staring at watches and phones.

At 10.30am I lost patience, I slammed out of the ‘steam’ room and walked to the info booth. I explained to the pale man that the clerk was late, the room had 43 people and only 37 seats and that the heat was intolerable.

“Open a window then” the man said indolently.

“Well, its ground floor and it could breach security, that’s why I didn’t open the windows, you could easily pass a gun through the window and bypass the security at the doors” I said too loudly. The policemen, who were standing about laughing, stopped and stared at me…the word GUN flagged up in their head. But I was merely pointing out a fact.

Just then the court clerk Sue Perkins turned up, well she was the absolute DOUBLE of Sue Perkins and I know Sue, she even spoke like her. I was freaked out, was this Sue? Was it a trick?

It wasn’t Sue- she was the court clerk and she announced “everyone into court seven please” I was trying hard to get her attention to let her know I needed to be excused and because Sue Perkins (the real one) is so friendly I assumed her doppelganger would be as amiable. She wasn’t. Actually that isn’t fair, she was just efficient.

Finally we all sat in the court and shouted ‘Here’ when our names were roll called.

After eons of time passed she finally gave us an opportunity to come forward to ask to be excused (it was like school games time).

I was there first, I smiled my best and wished my hair didn’t look raped, then told her all about my busy life, my trip to London, my inability to judge killers, my dislike of the small over heated room, the story about being caught with guns 15 years ago, my Burns night at The Groucho, my lump near my crotch, my birthday plans and then finally told her I was a stand up comedian who tells long winded stories for a living, then I muttered the last time I was in that very court room was when I gave evidence of the child abuse I suffered when we took my uncle David Percy to court in 1996….I talked for ages then told her she looked like Sue Perkins who by the way is ‘awesome’.

She simply smiled and said “ok”.

I ran out of there like one of the Guildford Six celebrating my freedom.

So life is sweet! I am all packed for London and it’s my birthday today!

Have loved the cold weather, so much so I went on ‘STV The Hour’ show and declared my love of the snow, it was funny- to me. 

I did have a blocked up nose during the broadcast and was sweating slightly. The snow has been a double edged sword in my household.

On the one hand, we are all getting cabin fever, on the other we are all talking more and huddling together.

Ashley and I are writing together, I have to sit in her room as we do it and I get all distracted by staring at her book collection (why does she have Dirk Bogarde’s biography?), the bundles of clothes (are they clean or needing ironed?), why is there make up bottles mixed with bank statements and a basil Panini? (Should I sort them out?) Things come into my head and she shouts “Mum, stop looking at my stuff and bloody focus on what we are writing, we have a deadline!”

I am easily distracted. So after all this week of writing, learning a new programme on the laptop and dealing with a lump that I haven’t yet let the doctor look at, I headed up to Bingham Pond on the Great Western Rd and joined in with a skating/curling event. It was very unorganised yet totally organised at the same time- nothing to do with the council, this was community spirit at work- a bloke had gotten heaps of skates for people to have free, a lovely woman had brought hot food and the kids brought their enthusiasm!

The Bingham Pond was totally frozen over, expect for one big hole cut into the side where the ducks and birds sat sullenly around a chilly patch of freezing water.

They didn’t look happy, I have never seen so many emotional, sad angry ducks- they did look totally disenfranchised. They stared at me, sniffed and waddled off in a stumpy huff. This was there pond, why on earth why we walking on their water? What were we Jesus?

I met loads of nice people, drank heaps of hot tea, ate home made brownies, and did a bit of slipping about, perfect Sunday.

I have been keeping constant contact with my dad, despite his age he is determined to get out into the slippy ice and snow and damage himself.

“Dad, please stay in, we will come up with food” I said.

“Och, I will be fine, am just off to get myself a newspaper” he quipped.

Meanwhile I got an ear infection; it made my ear pulsate with pain. I called the NHS helpline and they directed me to the out or hours clinic, they faxed them to let them know I was coming.

The clinic was at The Western Infirmary, with pulsating itchy painful ear I hobbled in.

Husband dropped me off to go park his car, I was sitting there reading a book and trying to imagine having sex with George Michael (I do this when I am in pain- it takes a lot of concentration) when I noticed a fat young bloke snarling and muttering at his skinny young girl friend.

“They cunts should have listened to you Shania, I am gonna punch that fucking nurse, she is a cow” I could hear him despite my ear being half blocked.

Great- all I need is a fat dick in a bad mood as my ear threatened to explode, where was husband?

There was a nice Asian looking bloke opposite me, we both made eye contact and raised our brows at each other. Then the nurse called for the Asian bloke- fat acrylic clad fuck wit shouts “How come that paki cunt got took?”

This made me glare at him, the yellow NHS room felt menacing, and the skinny girlfriend looked at me with pleading sorry eyes. Fat man huffed louder and answered his loud mobile phone whose ringtone was ‘Rule Britannia’ I was amazed he liked orchestral music.

“Turn your phone off; it says so on the sign” the girlfriend spoke mouse like but adamant.

“I am dyslexic and cannae read” he sniggered. I didn’t doubt it, but I suspect it was illiteracy not even sarcasm.

Then the nurse called my name, just as I was getting up he snarled “Why is she being taken?”

At this I snapped my head round and said “I had an appointment faxed in by my doctor, did you? Shut up, you might be able to bully her but not me ok fatty boom boom?”

He just stared open mouthed and put his head down. I was only getting seen by the nurse before I go to the doctor. I was out in seconds and husband was now on the chairs waiting on me, he didn’t know husband was with me and was complaining about how some woman and a paki got it before them. I sat beside husband and glared at fatty boom boom.

Husband ignored all the words coming out of fatty’s mouth- he doesn’t like strangers talking to him, far less racist annoying ones.

Just then a skinny blonde girl and her young spiky haired boyfriend came in- she was painfully thin and vomiting into a grey hospital sick bucket.

“Fucksake Tam, I feel ill” she bleated.

The fat arse immediately recognised what he thought was his own kind and started telling them how his girlfriend was waiting ages “I am gonna punch some cunt soon” he spoke gruffly. I stared at him.

He looked away; husband laughed loudly and stared at the wall. The room felt menacing, the spiky young haired guy looked at husband and immediately smiled and stroked his blonde sick girlfriends back- he was not alleging himself to fatty.

Then fatty’s girlfriend was called in by the nurse and as soon as she went off fatty said “her period is two weeks late fucksake and she is bleeding clots fucksake and it might be a miscarriage and these cunts aren’t taking her seriously fucksake”

Husband laughed loud again and stared at the wall and the said “Yuk” out loud at the ‘clots’ comment. The spiky boy and sick girl stared at us, the sick girl smiled at me.

“You ok?” I offered some friendship at her.

“I am just pregnant 3 weeks and I can’t stop being sick” she muttered.

I told her I had that when I was pregnant and offered her sympathy she, I and her spiky haired boyfriend all chatted about sickness in pregnancy.

Fatty was left in the cold. Just then his girlfriend came out and he shouted “What happened?”

She was whispering and didn’t want to share with the group and they both left in a hurry.

“Maybe she will get away from him?” I ventured and the sick blonde girl laughed and said “I hope so” we all sat in silence until my name was called. The upshot is- I got anti biotic ear drops and need to keep using them. I was glad to get out of that place. The ears are better and am hoping the thumping infection clears up for London next week.

So Ashley and I are currently learning Burns’ poems as we are doing a wee turn at The Groucho club for Burn’s night next Saturday. Ashley is really good at it, I seem to stumble over the old Scots dialect and can’t quite get my head around it, those odd Gaelic-type words flow from her wee lips…me? Its like flip flops falling out of my mouth…I need to practice more.  

Both of us are hoping that the snow clears up so we can fly to London when needs be!

Yes, it is the end of the year. That time when we look back and think…screw that… I am looking forward!

I am NOT looking back to see what I could have done differently, I refuse to mull over old shit and worry about it. I am old enough now to just look ahead!

I have just discovered the delights of PS3- Ashley got it for Christmas and I love watching her play, I may even try to do it myself. The last time I played a ‘video’ game was at the Weavers Inn pub in the early 90s. It was a space invader game and the sound effects made me nervous, so I am not that great at them but am willing to give it a go.

I was watching Ashley create a digital image of herself on the PS3, then she entered this digital city centre and seemed to ‘run’ around meeting strange folk who wanted to either fuck her or swap sex files with her, not much different from real life I suppose. Except that smart city scape looked very clean and didn’t have dog shit or have drunks vomiting into unattended baby buggies. There was no mini bingo, sunbeds shops or a chipvan so I reckoned it wasn’t anywhere in Scotland that they used as the template for the virtual city.

Though everyone who was online and in virtual form in her strange online city seemed to be obsessed with her vagina or they were desperate to show her online cams with their cock out. They all looked sexy and young in their virtual image as well. Well, not all were sexy, there was one man dressed as an armadillo with three swords over his back constantly chasing her shouting about his penis. I wanted to climb into the telly and kick his face hard.

I told her to ‘get out of that town quickly’ and go play space invaders instead.

I suspect the online world of meeting virtual strangers is liberating for people who like rape, fucking dogs and punching babies…I wish Ashley wouldn’t go back to that strange game she was in. I may introduce her to real life needle point, you rarely meet an armadillo dressed man who carries pictures of his erect cock in the world of cross stitching, cushion making and stretched canvasses.

Why don’t they invent a video game where you have to learn to set up direct debits, manage a budget, shop for a mortgage and understand house management? That would be more conducive to young people instead of running about chatting about your titties on live cam and could actually teach you stuff that makes sense!

Or maybe I am just really old and need to get with the times!

Happy New Year everyone and may 2010 be the best ever for you!

We are about to go into 2010, how was the last decade for you? Here are the highlights of my last decade.

2000- I watched the Millennium firework display on a balcony overlooking the Thames in London on the eve of the year 2000 with my daughter Ashley, she was the youngest stand up comic in 1999 and was finishing the year by retiring from stand up- she was 13 years old.

I was running a comedy club at Mansions Café Bar in Glasgow’s West End, it was great fun but it closed suddenly due to non payment of bills or tax problems, whichever is easier to believe.

My cousin Sammy died due to infected heroin.

2001- I hopped over to NZ and did the Comedy Festival for the first time. I ran a comedy club in London at The Atlantic Bar, it closed due to the terror attacks in New York on September 11^th, which resulted in a lack of tourists or non payment of bills & tax problems, which ever is easier to believe, you decide.

No one died, in my family.

2002- I returned to New Zealand comedy festival and won Best Concept Show; I also went to Edinburgh Fringe and got no reviewers through the door, but sold out the ten day run. Ashley passed loads of exams which made me think she was adopted.

The Gilded Balloon venue in Edinburgh burnt down, due to non payment of bills or an accident which ever is easier to believe.

2003- My baby niece Abi was born and made us all smile.

I did my first full length show at Edinburgh Fringe and performed my first serious play which I wrote called ‘Point of Yes’ at the Underbelly.

It never closed or burnt down, which made me suspicious of them.

I had all the comedy award Perrier panel into my comedy show, but they deemed me to be ‘making all look too easy and not sticking to the same show everyday and improvising too much’ so after much debating they chose not to nominate me and instead told me to theme my shows and stick to them. I was offered a book deal with Random House and wrote what became my best selling autobiography.

Nobody died and nothing burnt down, but a man tried to jump off a building during the fringe and I talked him down, he later set fire to his house, so that was mildly interesting, he hadn’t paid his bills.

2004- Ashley turned 18 and left school to have a year out, she passed all her exams and that made me proud and further convinced she wasn’t my child. She then became a DJ, a care worker, a catering assistant, a shop floor worker and a secretary, she hated all of that and decided to go to Uni.

I took a show called Good Godley to the Edinburgh fringe and it got hordes of FIVE star reviews, everyone liked me for a short while.

It tackled subject matter about death, child abuse and gangsters and was called confessional comedy. Some comics mocked it but it did become a specific genre at the Fringe later on in the decade.

People who never spoke to me crossed roads to say hello, it was an odd experience. My book was finished and the publishers were happy with it.

I went on a TV reality show called Kings of Comedy on channel 4 and managed to grab Russell Brands face live on telly, because he was being awfully annoying and loud. But he is a nice man, he was just shouting in my ear. I learned that reality TV and sober people don’t really go hand in hand. I started writing my blog.

I did my first run at the Soho Theatre in London and appeared on 100 Greatest Christmas Moments on Channel 4 and I did Glastonbury for the first time.

A plastics factory near me exploded, many people died and I was so close to the event I took photos of it and they made the front page of The Glasgow Evening Times.

2005- My book was published and made it to number 3 in the Sunday Times best seller list. I did a show at the Edinburgh Fringe called ‘Janey Godley is Innocent’ it got great reviews but some people didn’t like it because I didn’t have anyone killed in the show, who knew?

I also took my play the Point of Yes to the Soho Theatre.

I appeared on BBC radio 4 ‘Loose Ends’ and met the late great Ned Sherrin. Ashley started University and studied screen play writing.

Nothing burnt down but the amazing Godfather of Comedy Malcolm Hardee died in London.

2006- My daughter and I took 3 shows to the Edinburgh Fringe, a sketch show, that we both performed, my one woman play ‘Point of Yes’ and my stand up show ‘Blog Live’. We also did Glastonbury again.

Ashley and I toured New Zealand together and had great fun on the road. Reviews were good and I appeared on BBC radio 4s ‘Just a Minute’. My favourite printer Tam made all the posters, but had been printing his own cash (again) on the side, that ended badly. My wee niece Julia was born.

I was nominated Scotswoman of the Year, but lost out to a Polish woman.

No one died and nothing burnt down.

2007- My favourite printer Tam became famously known world wide as Hologram Tam (due to his expertise in making bank notes) got caught and put in prison. I was photographed by the cops going into his shop late at night during their long stake out. I needed to find a new printer, and I did.

I landed my weekly column in The Scotsman newspaper.

I performed my play and my comedy show off Broadway at the Bleeker Street Theatre and performed 2 shows at Edinburgh fringe, called Janey Godley’s Chat Show and ‘Tell it Like it is’, both got five star reviews.

No one died and nothing burnt down.

2008- I won the Fringe report award; I won Nivea Funny woman and my Edinburgh show Domestic Godley went great guns. I got my haircut, stopped smoking for three weeks and tried not to fight with everyone in three mile vicinity. I also headed back to NZ comedy festival and got nominated best international guest. No one died and nothing burnt down.

2009- At the start of the year, I appeared in the Scottish soap on TV called River City, it was great fun and scary. I headed back to NZ and got nominated again and met Wayne Brady who was presenting the Gala TV show we were on. I dressed up as Susan Boyle and asked him “Are you Kanye West?” he pretended not to know Susan Boyle and we all giggled at him behind his arrogant back. I had a great time with my comedy show Godley’s World at Edinburgh Fringe.

Life got difficult for us all as my step mum died and left a huge hole to be filled in all our lives. The good news is nothing burnt down.

So that really is a quick rundown of my decade.

Dear Janey, you are probably sitting listening to a Donny Osmond LP on your big record player and dreaming of becoming a Mormon, flying off to Utah and marrying the toothy singer…it won’t happen, stop crying and dreaming of Salt lake City and swoony Osmond kisses, he marries his teenage sweetheart and she has all her teeth, you have nine missing.

Oh, by the way, buy a toothbrush, I know you have hardly any cash but seriously that stuff they say about decay is right, a toothbrush is important. By the time you are 40 years old you will have paid £2,000 in veneers and bridge work at a private dentist.

Yes, you will have private health care; I know it’s hard to believe right now.

So, get the record player turned off and start staring at school books. Try harder to understand maths and don’t give up on art or English, you will be good at both in future, just try to understand me when I say you will write, paint and you really need to understand percentages when you get older.

I know it’s the 70s but please don’t wear a plaid shirt tied at the waist with your curly fringe hanging over your eyes, and if you do have to look like that please don’t get a Polaroid photo taken in Mr Woods garden, I have seen the picture and it made my eyes water. It is even on the internet, something I can’t quite explain right now, but will be really big in the future.

The 1980s are just around the corner and hair perms get really fashionable. Please DO NOT get a perm, you have really curly hair and it will result in you being housebound for three days, and a hair-do that makes Gladys Knight and the Pips jealous, no white girl should have hair bigger than Diana Ross.

If you are still not convinced of this advice, go to the local library and look up a boxing promoter called Don King and never ever forget that that’s what you will look like if you get a cheap perm in a Parkhead hair salon called ‘Hair Flair’ in 1981.

Also just to save you a lot of time, money and energy, you CANNOT skateboard, play the violin, do yoga, cook soufflé, wear strapless bras, pink eye shadow and you will never enjoy ballet performances.

Oh, by the way, that dream you had about a TV being made into a wrist watch? That actually gets invented. You were a visionary!

So Janey, don’t go into school tomorrow and declare that you are leaving, I know you have a shoe issue, but take up your mums offer to wear her slip on sandals and get through the week. Having no shoes is not good enough excuse to screw up your life.

Your dad will buy you shoes next week. Go there in your bare feet if needs be as you really need to go get an education, get into university and leave with a degree, if you do that, me getting into jobs later in life will be a hell of a lot easier, people are snobs and TV companies prefer folk with a Uni degree, even if they are shit at the job, it helps on paper.

Just on another note, your breasts will grow, I know they look like two moles poking their noses through pizza dough, but they really get big, seriously big and it is amazing how much they get big, have I emphasised that enough? Big boobs Janey will be a nickname.

Don’t throw a medicine ball at a guy called Craig Armstrong on your hockey pitches, he is a wee bit older, geeky and likes music. He really becomes the most famous person from your school and is an amazing composer. You will love his stuff and download it (don’t ask what that means suffice to say you will never use vinyl records forever, but do keep them safe anyway). Just avoid hurting him, especially his fingers, they are his life and don’t call him a tweedy fuckwit, its makes him never want to speak to you again. He has a really long memory.

Tonight when you watch Sale of the Century on the telly, don’t let your mum slag off Nicholas Parsons, when you get older he will become a nice friend and you will feel bad about your mum shouting at the TV and calling him an ‘English Toffy Nose Bastard’.

I know you are wondering what the hell happens later in life, so far I have scared you with dental work, big tits and Nicholas Parsons, but bear with me.

Sometime soon, you will get a boyfriend called George; he is really quiet, drinks too much and has deep psychological issues. What you think is a quirky attitude is actually a dark violent streak; he likes to stab men with a knitting needle.

He might be a good kisser and doesn’t push you into sex, but he really does get into needles later on in life and they aren’t for knitting with. Who knew heroin would be such a big hit in inner city Glasgow?

You will break up with him when he asks you to marry him, one suggestion -don’t laugh out loud, remember the violent streak?

He doesn’t take rejection or laughter in his face very well.

Ignore him and walk away. But worry not -you do make a lucky escape.

I do really want to warn you about the next man, but if you don’t marry him, go through the scary shit you don’t get to produce a beautiful daughter and become a funny comedian.

I suppose you need to tread that crap to be the woman you need to be, but the husband is ok. It’s amazing how annoying he can be, but here’s a clue, don’t talk too much. I think you need to know that the talking thing bothers people, keep some of that inside but if and when you meet your husband’s family and feel like being cheeky, go right ahead.

You actually develop a really good repertoire for arguments and you usually win.

Don’t worry about jobs, you actually become self employed from a young age and that continues throughout your life, and stick to your theory about not drinking, not smoking and never touching pills or drugs. You were right about that, and in later years if someone offers you something called ‘smack’ you will be right to refuse to smoke it off a foil tube, it kills most of your friends. That sounds scary but trust me it is over in a blink and you eventually write a play about it. Yes, you will write a bit, did I mention that? Just try to remember everything as you need to recall it to write it.

Just so you know, you will produce a tall wonderful child, and she will get everything you never had. She will be clean, educated and never need to worry about fresh underwear, your vow for the future of your child to be happy, well fed and educated will come true.

Don’t worry about labour pains; they aren’t that bad as everyone tells you and you recover quickly.

Something else I want to tell you, enjoy your body, you have wee skinny legs, so go show them off. Stop worrying about thinking you are fat, your not, be confident and when those boobs grow take time to watch men stare at them, savour that moment when they are up high and firm, it will feel like a distant memory when you are older…enjoy the pert tits.

Don’t wear baggy shirts to disguise them, get a good bra, a tight tee shirt and get them out there, they look amazing (I know I saw the photo’s) but you will suffer from self consciousness over them, try to enjoy them Janey, it’s a time to relish and it passes before you know it and you will spend your middle ages kicking yourself for hiding them when they had looked their best!

My last big thing I need to tell you, get to know your mum a bit more. She is a bit scatty, but just look at her; make sure you embed every single facet of her face into your memory. Don’t give her a hard time, hug her. Climb into bed and let her read to you, I know you are 16 years old, but she is a great reader and you grow up and take that skill with you.

Breathe in the smell of her, even the strange ones. Touch her face, smile and hold her. She had a crap life and you really want to share some time with her, if possible get that Polaroid camera out and get a photo of you both together. It would be nice, but probably won’t happen.

She needs you, you don’t know that, but she isn’t good at saying stuff that scares her. Let her dance with you, get her to sing a musical with you, let her pick which song she wants and get up and dance around the room.

Hold her tight Janey and don’t ever forget how the skin on her face feels, or the thickness of her hair or the flecks of amber in her brown eyes.

Most of all Janey, don’t give yourself a hard time for wanting more than she had, so go get shoes, get ready for a bra fitting and always brush your teeth, you have a long way to go and I will be here when you get there!

Yes, Christmas has a particular scent, its cinnamon and spices and supermarkets pump it out discreetly in case we forget what the spending season smells like.

I hate being manipulated like that don’t you?

Christmas or winter to me smells like wood burning and the frosty bright mornings remind me of the seasons changing, I don’t know anyone who boils cinnamon, makes spiced oranges or who mull wine not from present day nor my past, because I wasn’t alive in Victorian times when Christmas came into its own.

It seems we modern folk can’t have our own Christmas identity; we have to hark back to the olden days to get one. Cards and TV adverts show small Victorian dressed children with rosy cheeks and furry muffs staring through bevelled shop windows as their ankle boots are deep in crisp snow. Is there anyone alive who can recall that? NO!

To me childhood Christmas memories are of musty socks hanging over our old coal fire in the front room and my brothers fighting each other with tangerines in socks as weapons. So keep your cinnamon scented wafts, it means nothing to me Mr Supermarket psychological manipulator!

We will be having a quiet Christmas as always, just me husband and Ashley. I might go see my dad on Christmas day as this will be his first as a widower and I would hate that he was lonely. We don’t do family at Christmas, to be honest I don’t really have much contact with my family and the less said about husband’s family the better!

My own brothers and sister are just busy with their own lives, they have kids and husbands/partners of their own and I rarely see them, which is fine with us all. But when I hear of people who all get together and have dinners etc, it makes me hanker for a big family of love. Which is probably nonsense as I am sure that those big families all fight like hell, and are just being nice to each other, at least my brothers and sister don’t fight amongst themselves ( as we don’t get together!).

Went to the docs today and explained about my colon pain and stuff you really don’t need to know which involves my bowels. He told me I would be referred to a specialist called Dr Dover to which I replied “is his first name Ben?” To which my doctor said “No, Why?”

“It was a joke…Ben Dover…the bum doctor…its funny when you say it all together” I quipped.

“Ah, you are a comedian, I forgot” said my doctor with a sardonic look.

So, maybe I am not a comedian after all, Dr Shaw has exposed my lack of humour right there in the surgery at 10am

So life at Godley’s World is ticking along fine, been busy -had an ear infection, went deaf had loads of work and writing hard and this Saturday I am doing my one woman show at Easterhouse Platform The Bridge at 8pm. Do come along if you want, it will be fun!