Janey Godley’s Blog

 

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Well I am finally in Los Angeles, the flight was fine, in fact it was good as I got to have 3 seats to myself  which fits my wee fat body perfectly. I am staying at The Inn on Venice Beach which technically isn’t in Venice beach but it’s not far from it and it is pretty nice. The downside is the room they gave me had an adjoining room which is separated by a thin door so at 6am I was woken by a wee old American woman who was clearly deaf and was shouting her entire holiday plans at her deaf husband. “Marlin, we really should go to the Universal Studios and then get a bus to Santa Monica, what do you think Marlin?” I lay there wanting her to either sleep or die; her husband responded by coughing really loudly, that was just a blessing to hear that early.

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Susan Boyle from Scotland has become a sensation on the web and in the media. She was the rather chubby, dowdily dressed woman who walked on stage at Britain’s Got Talent on TV last week. The audience were shown on TV looking horrified and appeared to be mocking and giggling at Susan as she explained her singing dream.

 

Though the minute her voice rose throughout the theatre the audience and judges were visibly stunned, she sings like an angel.

 

Susan lives with her cat in West Lothian. She is single and rather than looking ‘unkempt’ and ‘bushy haired’ I think Susan looked really confident and walked onstage with ease! She bantered with the judges, ignored the nasty sneers from the hip young crowd and belted out a great song.

 

Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore tweeted about her and her YouTube video is getting over 25 million hits and counting!

 

This is a woman who doesn’t bother with upper lip waxing, hair serum or fashion advice, this is a Scottish woman who does charity work, plays with her cat, eats cake on telly and sings better than Madonna and doesn’t have to starve herself and body pump her loins to get an audiences respect. She has talent and she is openly honest about her wee Scottish life and I love her!

 

I hope she wins the competition and I hope she gets a record deal and doesn’t change who she is. The last thing we want is Susan done up like a ‘Haddy Supper’ scrubbed, brushed and flashed up by some skinny make-over bitch.

 

My other deep concern is that Susan is really naïve and lives in a tiny wee village with a wee village mentality. Reading about her and watching news interviews it seems her back story is that she was bullied and laughed at as a child. Some folk have hinted that she has mild learning difficulties – which in actual fact could be translated as dyslexia mixed with social awkwardness but in small rural Scotland that would be decided as ‘special needs’ especially back in the 60s when Susan was a child.

 

In a media circus that is driven by the young and beautiful, it goes to show that a rather tufty woman with enormous talent can overcome all prejudices.

They slinky, young and extremely hip will never have the singing pipes that Susan possesses and has been keeping quiet about in Broxburn all these years! Good on her!

 

Either way she needs protecting from the media and gently eased into her new life. I was appalled to hear that Russell Brand (media whore who would sell his foreskin for attention) has announced he will have sex with Susan the Virgin. All this done in his inimitable multi- syllable style and made to look like he would be doing her a favour. I was always a big fan of Russell and defended him during the Sachs-a-phone scandal of late, but that just makes me feel ill.

 

The thing is, Susan said she had never been kissed, that doesn’t necessarily make her a virgin, in Scotland men will have sex without kissing! (Ok that was a wee joke)…either way her personal life needs protecting. Brand’s slimy boasts annoy me.

 

And that’s why I worry about her.

 

I hope they don’t change her, I hope Susan enjoys her moment in the sun and I hope we all get to hear her lovely voice pretty soon.

I am chuffed to say I personally know Bernie Katz. He has just written an awesome book called Soho Society, which has a lovely foreword from Stephen Fry.

Soho is an altogether fascinating place for me, I wandered around it when I arrived in London 16 years ago, I loved every coffee bar, club and rat trap that I spotted.

I imagined that the women who had ‘model’ above their windows were actually ‘models’ and not faded foreign hookers.

 

The hub of Soho for me is the Groucho Club. Bernie Katz is the Joel Grey Cabaret type Emcee of the club- he is the small whirlwind of a man in the centre of all the action. Bernie is about as tall as me which reaches five foot nothing to be honest, yet his presence is enormous and wondrous.

 

He is one of those wee enigmatic blokes who have been present in every century. Dickens has described him in detail, possibly picturing the Victorian Bernie as ‘The shifty Gay Jew’ as we know how Dickens loved his stereotypes and never missed a chance to display his anti Semitism.  

 

Pepys no doubt recorded a night out with a 1665 version of Bernie Katz which would have left him either sterile or bisexual, but either way a heap more fashionable for knowing the firecracker that is Bernie Katz!

 

Bernie’s book ‘Soho Society’ is both touching and laugh out loud funny.

There were characters and places in the book that I recognised and will now cast a softer more sympathetic eye on super fast agents like Harrison Avenue (the character name in the book) I never knew his anus suffered so much pleasure/action/pain and or that he had a cocaine shrivelled cock, which explains so much about Harrison’s extremely odd behaviour the last time we met. His insulting madness made me almost choke him, but I did get a magnum of expensive champagne for not killing him in the upstairs bar, Bernie was right, Harrison needs to be pitied not scorned.

 

My favourite story about Bernie is a personal one. I was in Glasgow shopping and Bernie called me.

 

“Janey, its Bernie here from Groucho club, how are you darling? I need you to give me a number you may have….where are you?” Bernie’s voice became serious.

“I am in Primark Glasgow” I said.

 

Bernie simply hung up on me. The buzz down the line was ominous.

 

I could just imagine his wee face all screwed up in disgust that I was standing in Primark, Bernie does fashion, he does couture he doesn’t do Primark. I laughed and carried on with my day, I forgot about Bernie’s strange phone call.

 

Then I stepped into the Fraser’s Department store in Glasgow and wandered up to their Gucci display. I could smell the expensive leather jacket, I reached out and touched how soft it was –like a slippery moist babies cheek when my mobile rang out.

 

“Janey, its Bernie, where are you now?” he snapped at me.

 

“I am standing at Gucci and looking at a leather jacket” I replied.

 

“Good, now we can speak, I really can’t bear to have my voice be exposed in Primark, I knew you were near exclusive things, I feel comfortable speaking now” he said.

 

I laughed my head off as Bernie simply chatted. Only Bernie could know I was in close proximity to couture!

 

If you get the chance to get your hands on Soho Society do grab it, sit down and greedily read each vignette and devour the stories. You will be amazed at the content and stunned by the art it contains. A real significant slice of Soho culture.

Janey Godley’s Edinburgh Fringe Ad 2009

 

Checkout my new ad for the Edinburgh Fringe 2009,

 

I would love to hear your opinion.

 

Thanks Janey Godley & Team

 

The credit crunch must be biting hard, as my friend is no longer buying expensive cuts of meat for her dog. Sharkey was used to venison, which confused me, as I don’t think dogs can naturally bring down a deer in the wild, can they? Sharkey is now on cheap can food and seems to be holding a dirty protest at this horrific treatment. He has taken to wetting the beds!

It may go back to the old days when pets are merely given left over dinners and not succulent moist pots of rare game to choff down at tea time.

 

There are people I know who get their pet’s regular dental treatment which makes me wonder what on earth my childhood dog Major did for breath freshener. Maybe eating the lino was perfect for his gums and teeth, though it made my mammy insane and did nothing for Major’s backside. I am not saying that domestic animals shouldn’t have veterinary treatment or be cared for, I am just wondering what happened to scabby dogs; you know the kind I mean? The big odd shaped mongrels that never get ribbons in their hair or specialised shampoo, wee tufty Glasgow dogs that don’t need a sat-nav to get round the city late at night, they know their way better than the cab drivers. I miss those dogs.

 

They could often be found raiding the local chip shop bins and when caught they just stared at you disdainfully as if to say “What are you looking at, get out of my alley”. Those kinds of dogs seemed to live for years, they came in all shapes and sizes and would balk at the idea that fancy women would take to carrying wee dogs in their handbag. That’s abuse to the dog world, those folks need biting or medicated.

 

People assumed the street wandering scabby dogs were strays, but they weren’t. They knew exactly where they were going, they knew the best places to eat, sleep and copulate. Masters of their own destiny they would avoid the crazy women who wiped their doorsteps with ammonia to stop them lifting a leg and the women who plastered them with buckets of cold water when they got ‘stuck’ on a bitch these angry wifies were given a wide berth. These street hairy gangster dogs knew which butcher would throw them scraps, they were up to speed on their knowledge of the kids that like a game of catch and I am convinced they pooled that information with like minded waggy tailed friends throughout the area.

 

We don’t get those animals anymore, if we see a dog out walking alone, without a collar or a companion, we assume it’s lost or needs arrested, just in case it has a warrant out on it for biting kids in the face.

 

I am sure there was a valid reason for clearing scabby dogs off the streets of Glasgow, but somehow I miss them and Glasgow is duller place for it.

I love the underground tube in London. The way those people squash their unclean bodies up against you, the way they ignore old people standing and crush their bags instead onto a much needed seat…I love London! I end up just shouting at people and telling them to move out the way or move to let a pregnant woman sit down! I am a grumpy old woman on transport. I just hate the way people ignore others and become ignorant to others needs in public. I always give up my seat; help with prams and heavy luggage, and by writing this I now sound like a really old lady who learnt lessons during the Second World War.

 

I particularly hate the way twenty five Italian teens with backpacks cram onto the pavement and refuse to let anyone through, so the only way along the street is to step onto the dangerously busy Cromwell rd. Not me people, I simply gird my wee loins and push my way right through the middle of these irritating folks, they scatter like cheap ten pins and some of them even fall onto the dangerous road and realise how scary walking into the traffic can be! I love London.

 

London isn’t frightening, despite people trying to constantly worry bus about terrorism. The news is full of scary stories.

Is it just me or are you still wondering what happened to all those dangerous people the police pointed guns at in Clitheroe in Lancashire last week? Apparently a ‘Big bad thing was going to happen’ after they caught some Asian men taking photo’s of a shopping centre in Manchester. Turns out the Police and government didn’t have enough evidence to have these dawn raids. But at least we know the ‘Big bad thing’ hasn’t happened. Fear, people, that’s what they want us to suffer…fear!

 

I am not scared, I have been on buses and trains since I arrived and I won’t be put off. London city is amazing and you need to get round it to enjoy it!

 

The gigs have been great fun, especially Tiffany’s gig at Girls with Guns at the Phoenix, EdComedy at the Hob in Foresthill and Downstairs at the Kings Head in Crouch End, such supportive and great intimate gigs. Tomorrow I will be at Comedy Camp in Soho and that is just a lovely wee room as well.

 

Other than doing comedy, I have been getting my posters, images and entry’s done for the Edinburgh fringe. The deadlines scare me, I worry myself sick about it and get really fractious over every single word in the brochure, and turns out people don’t actually read the fucking thing and go see comedy on either a whim or a recommendation, so all the worrying was for nothing!

 

Ashley is happy at home and is still determined that I buy her a birthday present on my homecoming, but she doesn’t want – jewellery/electronic goods/handbags/shoes/clothes/furniture/books/DVD’s/gift vouchers/cash…so am fucking stuck! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO GET HER! Ashley if you are reading this...help?

London has unusual folk in it; I was in Sainsbury’s on Cromwell rd and saw a wee man who had a giant growth hanging off his neck. It was bigger than his actual head and rested on his shoulder. I was gobsmacked and horrified that I looked at this giant ball thing. But I couldn’t stop staring; basically it was a big bloated shiny taut skinned beach ball of human skin and fluid just sitting there on the man’s shoulder. He seemed ok and was happily fingering some broccoli as I stared at him from different angles.

 

I wondered how he managed to get through his day with a big cumbersome fluid filled human growth hanging off his neck everyday. I can’t leave the house if I spot a blackhead in the magnifying mirror. I will dig into my own flesh till I get the fucking thing out and here was a wee man with a ball bigger than his head being accommodated easily! There was a lesson there but I couldn’t quite learn it as I was too busy staring.

 

Then I had a meeting with Francesca the wonderful make up artist at Kennington tube station. We were headed to Steve Ullathorne’s studio for my new pics to get done. Kennington tube station doesn’t have much near it to hang out in but I did find a bar.

 

The pub had just opened and a middle aged looking woman was screaming at her wee kid as I entered the bar. The wee boy stuck up two fingers at his mum, she ran round the bar grabbed him and said words in real cockney that I didn’t understand, but I think she was calling him a fucking wee bastard…I am guessing.

 

She smiled at me and said “Fucking school holidays innit?”

 

The bar was empty but for me, her, her annoying son and a black skinny woman who was cleaning the floor. The skinny woman, finished her chores, got a glass of beer, sat down and drank up. I looked at her from the side and she had the biggest bulging eyes I have ever seen on someone. I began to think this was the week for meeting people with strange body anomalies.

She turned to look at me and I gulped down my cola, as full on her eyes were truly scary. I know it must be some medical condition that bulges the eyes so big to the point of almost bursting out of their sockets, but it was really worrying to look at.

 

The skinny black lady with bulgy eyes was now surrounded by the other females who worked in the bar. The women were recalling a nasty situation that had happened over the weekend and the bulgy –eyed lady basically ranted and called everyone a cunt that had upset her group of friends. She was hopping up and down on the damp lino, re-enacting what she would actually do to these ‘cunts’ that had ‘fucked’ her mates about. I was worried that all the stomping would make her eyes fall out, so I stared more in case I missed that.

 

Then the women ripped out a photo of Jade Goody from the Sun Newspaper and made a wee shrine and stuck it on the wall. They cried a wee bit and hugged each other as they recalled their favourite Jade moments and I watched on.

 

Luckily Francesca arrived and we left the bar to go find somewhere to eat as that pub didn’t ‘do’ food, which to be honest I was happy about. It was a very scuzzy looking street and that’s rich coming from someone who comes from spam sucking scum Glasgow.

 

That area looked really run down BUT we basically walked up ONE street and there were middle class people playing Boules on a small grassy square as a woman groomed a horse!

Ok, it wasn’t a horse it was a chocolate brown Labrador, but it looked like a horse to me. There were restaurants that served food that Francesca and I didn’t even understand!

 

We still don’t know what a ‘tart dulexe with black cabbage friguay’ is!

 

How can an area be so divided by such small geography? One street had bulgy eyed screamers crying over Jade Goody and the next street had men in mustard yellow corduroy trousers talking about Japanese sculptures!

 

Anyway, we ate food we did understand and headed off to the studio where Francesca made me look ravishing.

Except I do have a big wrinkly eye lid and in my magnifying mirror no amount of make up was going to hide it.

My stomach sank as Steve got up close with a big lens into my face; I know he will catch the wrinkled eye lid.

 

So after I got over my own facial disfigurement I headed off to the Bafta offices where I attended the Comedy Debate, which was less of a debate and more of a moan about Ross/Brand. The good news is, I got to see lovely Bennett Aaron and Michael Legge (who has a rapey type shaved head) showed me a nice picture of Jerk on his phone, she looks lovely and all pointy nosed, pointy toed and cute. She looks like a ballerina dog.

 

So, finally I got home downloaded Steve’s photo’s of me and there as big as fuck is my big wrinkly eyelid!

The photo’s were awesome, and yes my wrinkled eye lid is there in full blown glory, but I need to understand that it can be concealed a bit, unlike the poor man who had an extra head in the Sainsbury’s or the scary lady with the bulgy eye illness in Kennington.

 

When I left Glasgow last week, Ashley begged me to get her something nice for her birthday on April 19th, I mostly always give her cash, as she hates me buying her

SHOES
MAKE UP
HANDBAGS
JEWELLERY
ELECTRICAL GOODS
CLOTHES
FURNITURE & ART

So, I am stuck knowing what to get her? She is too old for toys, too old for games and not interested in traditional things like rings, bracelets or any other crap like that...I am worried.
I may have to steal something like Dizze Rascal as she likes him. I wonder where I can find him? Does these rap boys just hang about darkened clubs? Can I just drug him, put him in a bag, chain him to a radiator and keep him fed and watered till I fly home? I can put him in the suitcase?
Imagine her wee happy face when she opened my suitcase and found a rather groggy Dizzy Rascal?

London is fine, my headache has gone and I am still off the fags big time. I have a brown birth mark/mole that has started bleeding on my back and may need attention. Husband has the cold which is like the gay AIDS on a man. He is actually limping, how can the cold make you limp? Fuck off!

Am going to get my photos done at Steve Ullathornes tomorrow and lovely Francesca is going to help me with my make up, then its off to the Comedy Debate at BAFTA offices.