Janey Godley's Blog

The year was 1981. It was a sunny bright day and Lady Diana Spencer was marrying Prince Charles. My wee dirty old pub was pretty empty, there were not that many Royalists in the Calton in Glasgow so I had the telly switched on and watched the news coverage of the Royal Wedding.

I am a sucker for a fairytale.

Whereas my smatterings of wee drunk smelly men were invariably unimpressed "Turn that shite off" Archie the old safe blower shouted. He had one of those old wrinkled faces that seemed to be permanently chewing something. His skin was the colour of a tea stained chamois leather cloth, the malleable softness of his saggy face morphed into a host of shapes as his gums rotated constantly.

Yet his startlingly blue eyes sparkled with fun when he chatted to you. Every story started out a dull pedestrian anecdote about one night when he had just finished work on the boats and somehow ended up with him having hard core sex- the man was deeply odd, filthy and funny. According to him, he had shagged more people than Frank Sinatra; he reckoned it was the blue eyes that did it. I avoided him at all costs.

I stood at the other end of the bar where Tony the dancing alcoholic was throwing himself about, Gene Kelly style, he was about 80 years old and I often worried he would drop down dead.

The day wore on the customers came and went.

The wedding on the telly was reaching its big crescendo - Lady Diana was at St. Pauls Cathedral. I squinted through the streaming sunlight that shafted through the open door and tried to see the much talked about wedding dress.

At that moment Bella came in.

She was wearing a bright red Spanish off-the-shoulder dress; it was layered with black taffeta and swung like a wonky lampshade as she moved. She donned a pair of white plastic sling-back shoes and a really inappropriately placed fake rose stuck between her low slung floppy breasts. I stifled a sigh.

"Hello boys, Bella is here, who wants a dance?" she clattered and skittered over the dirty lino towards Tony.

Her hair was dyed the same shade of jet black that people usually reserve for painting taxi cabs and it was piled randomly on top of her head. A silver shell-like hair comb was stabbed into the crown of the loose bun.

Bella was about 70 years old.

"Janey, I will have a wee or big-wee glass of beer, but just charge me for the wee bit of it" Bella purred. This was her usual request.

The first time I had met her I was totally confused between the ‘Big-Wee' glass sizes, but I soon worked it out. You gave her a half pint of beer as that's all she could afford.

I loved Bella; she made me smile and her bizarre collection of outfits really brightened the place up. I recalled how she dressed up as a Hawaiian dancer, straw skirt and garland of flowers over a pink stretchy bikini top, scary and funny especially as it was December and the snow was knee-deep that day.

I slipped her a shot of whisky "To celebrate the Royal Wedding, its free" I smiled.

Bella downed the whisky, slammed the glass down, and then whispered "Fuck the Queen, but thanks for the drink" Her scarlet lips parted and she stuck out her tongue through tainted misshapen teeth that were the colour of fresh butter.

I laughed out loud. Bella click-clacked on her cheap heels and dropped a coin into the jukebox. Minutes later Dean Martin started crooning out through the speakers. Prince Charles was staring solemnly at his bride and Lady Diana was being coy through a bridal veil. Dean belted out ‘That's Amore!'

Tony the dancer clutched Bella by the waist and they were off. His shaking veined hands gripped her tightly.

Archie ignored them and chewed his face off in silence. He dismissed the dancers with a wave of one hand over his shoulder and stared into the distance.

Within minutes Bella managed to get away from Tony, he was good for about a minute of dancing then it usually and quickly descended into a groping sexual assault. Bella knew the routine, prised herself out of Tony's hands and threw herself into the bar seat. All flushed, her hair falling down out of the multitude of hair grips that failed to keep it in place.

Tony carried on dancing without her; he shuffled about and sang loudly. The men in my bar may have been really old, but they were constantly on the heat!

Bella went into her usual routine of asking me probing questions and quickly providing the answers herself. "Are you happy Janey?" then before I could speak she said "Course your not fucking happy, you are still here in this shit hole of a bar. Do you regret getting married so young? Yes, I bet you do of course you do, men are all fucked and use you up till you don't know your arse from your elbow" Then she leaned over and gripped my hand "Run away Janey, while you are young- go darling just fucking run away and don't look back, did I tell you my man was an evil bastard and ran away when I was pregnant?"

"Your man was a violent bastard, you were well rid of him Bella, he broke your two legs with a cricket bat" Archie hissed between chews, then he added "Who plays cricket in Glasgow? He must have been a poof as well"

"I loved him" Bella screamed, she pointed a blood red fingernail at her crepe skinned chest "he was MY LIFE" she ran towards Archie and spat her words at his face "He never hurt me in his life, he was a gentleman"

Archie raised his wiry eyebrows at me, mouthed and mimed with a shaky fist "he punched the baby out of her"

Bella screamed again and pulled at Archie's old shirt. He let her inflict the pain on him. Archie had been through this drama before with Bella.

Then she burst into tears. This was what always happened with Bella. Dancing, laughing and then the floods of tears over the bastard husband, I felt so sad for her.

Meanwhile back in St. Pauls Cathedral Prince Charles never cracked a smile.

He spoke his vows with pure conviction as Bella, Archie, Tony and I sat in silence. We watched as the blonde Diana whispered her vows, she looked flustered.

Then suddenly the peace was broken as Bella screamed "Fuck men, all of them" and threw a half pint glass at the wee television that was hung from the ceiling in the corner of the bar.

I screamed in fright. I didn't expect Bella to throw the glass, the noise was deafening as it smashed to pieces on the tiled floor beneath the telly. The TV flickered but continued to screen the Royal couple though the volume was now gone.

Archie shouted "Fucksake Bella, calm down hen" then went back to chewing his gums.

Tony carried on dancing to a long gone tune that was playing in his head.

I rushed round the bar with a brush and pan and tried to clear up the mess.

Bella continued to scream and cry. She was pulling out all her hair grips, she was ripping at her dress, and she was going absolutely mental.

"Janey, can I get a pint of lager hen?" Archie shouted over the din.

I ignored Archie and tried to console Bella. "Come on Bella, don't get yourself so upset" I hugged her and stroked her warm shoulder. She sniffed on a tissue I gave her; she looked at me with dark heavily made-up eyes and spoke in a hushed voice "Can I have a wee-big beer?" I nodded and went round the bar to pour her beer.

Bella eventually settled down, climbed on a stool and supped on her drink, Archie lit a roll up cigarette and Tony finally fell asleep on the couch near the door.

We all watched the Royal Wedding on the telly which was now without sound, the rich and famous mouthing words, heaving crowds waving Union flags, and opera singer Kiri Te Kiwana belting out a silent song during the wedding service. I laughed as Bella opening her scarlet lips to imitate the singer's mouth but uttering no noise, Archie chewed and Tony snored.

My husband came in and stared at the scene, pointed at the television "Why are you watching it with the volume down?"

"It's not down, it's broke. I smashed a glass at the telly coz all men are bastards and I hate weddings and I think I have fucked the volume" Bella said loudly to my young husband, she shrugged and went straight back to her beer.

Husband replied "Ok, I am going upstairs, I will see you later"

Bella, Archie and I looked back at the telly and tried to guess what was happening without the commentary as the camera panned the cathedral and its royal guests.

Bella was found dead in a hostel a week later. Apparently she dressed up as sailor-girl, and was found clutching a photo of her bastard husband after taking a fatal dose of pain killers.

Archie and I cried when we spoke about her. Tony danced.

Sometimes when I lay in bed at night my mind flickers back to old memories and I replay them like worn out over-edited home movies. In my brain I think there is a big Rolodex that I click through and occasionally stop and stare at an image, depending on my mood, I may look further, or just click on.

Last night my memory home movie of choice was Ashley as a baby. I could see her wee chubby fists trying hard to pull herself up onto a chair in the bar. She could barely get her legs up; I ran over and lifted her up quickly before she fell over. My cousin Sammy was looking after her at the time "Janey, leave her she needs to learn to climb up things" I knew he had a close eye on her but I recall that deep tugging feeling in my soul each time she looked dangerously close to falling. I had to run to catch her.

Then my brain switched images and I saw Old George my barman carrying cases up from the cellar. He was a retired bar manager, but came out of his retirement to work for us. I giggled as every time George came up from the door trap as he always managed to scrape his baldy head on the underside of the cellar ceiling. He had a permanent red angry mark on his head for years.

In my minds eye view-finder I looked around and could see all my regular customers, I can hear the noise of glasses clinking, the jukebox banging out U2, the cigarette smoke is making wispy garish shapes against the day light that flooded through the big front bar window. People laughing, talking, singing...the constant background noise of my life for many years, whispered threats, dirty sex talk, angry words about the government, religious quotes, drunken slurred slander and some old woman singing sad country and western songs to crumpled photo she kept pulling out of her purse. I can still see the sad fat tears dripping down her heavy mascara-ed eyes. I often wondered who she was crying over but never bothered to ask.

My brain flickers over earlier memories, husband and I trying to heat up mince and peas out of can and onto a cracked plate in the big smelly microwave oven that sat behind the bar. I had never seen a microwave oven before and was fascinated by the sputtering and crackling of the fat in the food in the strange space-age machine. I recall the over processed taste of the rubbery food and husband and tried to force it down our hungry throats.

We gave up; I walked through the driving horizontal slashing rain and got some greasy fish and chips for the Italian chippy near the Bingo at Bridgeton Cross. We ate it in companionable silence. Licking fingers and gulping on hot fleshy fish, savouring every mouthful whilst keeping a sharp eye on the drunken old man who wobbles scarily near the juke box.

Hall and Oates constantly being threatened of having a deep scratch on it's black vinyl, then finally acquiring a strange hicky stutter like all the other records that garnered speech impediments due to the clattering drunks in our bar. Why did the pissed old men always fall on the juke box and never the pool table?

So many memories, all on a loop, playing constantly in my head, some great and some sad, yet all tucked safely away in my head for future showing.

I wonder what I will watch tonight.

I am home and safe. Ashley is slightly burnt, my poor wee girl! She managed on the first day of the holiday to fall over, tits over hair and skint her two knees, then she got her shoulders burnt despite wearing factor 50, and then she had a migraine. It was fun though. We spent hours sitting on that amazing balcony watching the sun go down over the beautiful pools, laughing listening to music and chatting. Wonderful stuff.

We had such a good time, we have great photo's to upload and will do so soon.

Its great being back home, I did miss husband. Lanzarote was so lovely and nothing what I expected at all. Playa Blanca was really peaceful and nice. The weather was really hot though and being Scottish, I melted a wee bit.

Meanwhile I need to remind all you good people in Norwich that I am doing my one woman comedy show at the Norwich Playhouse Theatre on July 25^th, do come along and see me!

Speak soon.

I am so very hot and sticky, but of course I am in Lanzarote. I never knew heat like this, it is relentless and burning every pore in my body. Thank God for the beautiful cool blue swimming pools here in our hotel. I simply wake up, pull on a cozzie, walk down for a chilled orange juice and then fall into the still flat cool pool. Now that's life!

Floating about...enjoying the peacefulness as there are hardly any guests here, let alone screaming babies or drunks who do pyramids in the pool. Just pure serenity and I love it. Though I have to admit, I am bored. Husband did warn me of this syndrome. Apparently I yearn for peace and quiet and then make enough noise within that space because I am easily bored.

Though Ashley and I have had such a laugh together, she really makes me giggle. We have dinner at night then stretch out on our balcony and chat along to our music till the sun goes down over the ocean. It would be nice of she had a chat with someone under the age of 35, as everyone at this hotel is pretty middle-aged. She still hasn't quiet gotten over missing Jay-Z at Glastonbury. She will never get over that and it's my entire fault.

We have some colour, both of us have read three books and both of us have walked some miles in the heat and came to this conclusion.

 We hate...

Beaches

Sticky limbs with sun cream

Hotel sheets

Bars that smell of burgers and bingo

Flip flops

Sangria

Insects that chase us

Angry cats

Shops that sell cats faces cut out of coconut

The fact that no one sells ceramic donkeys and that's the one thing Ashley can ask for clearly in Spanish. (Don't ask me why)

Sand that blows in your face.

So, soon we will be home from our lazy hazy holiday and I am missing husband. He is probably having a great time away from me!

I am in Lanzarote. Due to a somewhat worrying medical situation, I missed going to Glastonbury. Ashley and I have come to Lanzarote instead. It was a surprise gift from husband. He knew I would have time off after my minor surgery and decided to treat me. So he sent Ashley and me on a last minute holiday.

I would never have picked Lanzarote in my life. I hate package holidays and despise the smell of beer and kebabs. BUT this place is awesome, it is quiet and huge and the food is wonderful.

We are staying at the Gran Melia Volcain in Playa Blanca. I am stunned at how great the hotel is! Its 5 star in Lanzarote standards and trust me - it shows. I am so relaxed.

Ashley loves the swimming pools and I think our complex has four; I am not sure as we keep stumbling across more stuff as we walk about. The place is quiet and there are hardly any guests - which I am loving.

I imagined Lanzarote to be a place where people eat hot lard and sing the ‘Birdie Song' continuously as baldy British men beat their wives and kids get sunburnt or ignored for a bingo night.

I haven't had a proper holiday in years. I am so happy and though am worried about issues surrounding health and family, I am having a great time. I post up some pics when I get back.

Please remember all comedy fans of the blog I am doing my one woman show at Norwich Playhouse on 25^th July and at Eden Court Inverness on 27^th July.

More news from Lanzarote this week!

I have been increasingly worried lately about my lovely wee step mum who hasn't been well. Then I had a medical thing of my own which meant I had to cancel my appearance at The Glastonbury Comedy Tent, so life sucks a bit.

I am just back from Nottingham, I was MC at Jongleurs and I loved it. We stayed in serviced apartments with Urban Self Catering who really went out on a limb for me, they are amazing people and just wonderful hosts. The big two bedroom house was

I do like Nottingham and am looking forward to my big one woman show at Norwich Playhouse. Comedy is going well.

So, considering all this medical stuff goes well, Ashley and I are going to have our first holiday together in years. We are hoping to go to Turkey to Olu Deniz. I saw it on the web and it looks amazing. I really need a beach holiday and time to myself...and with Ashley! Husband hates beaches and holidays in general, so he is staying at home.

I really need a break just before the Edinburgh Festival.

I am hoping the hotel or destination does have internet, as I need to write my column for The Scotsman from a beach! That will be cool.

So I am off to sleep and wake up tomorrow and find a travel agent that will organise my wee holiday.

Unfaithful marriages are what keep gossip columns alive; it needs stupid people to read about it and feeds like barracuda's on every detail of some unfortunate couple's life to survive.

The most recent and enduring story is of footballer Ashley Cole and Cheryl Tweedy of Girls Aloud fame. This yarn is still being hocked out round the glossy mags.

You can't pick up a magazine without seeing the angry Mrs. Cole is in a basque with the by-line "Would you cheat on this woman?"

It's an old story; stupid man cheats on gorgeous sexy wife. Why would he do that? Have you seen the woman he had a dalliance with? Is the wife not fragrant? Is she not beautiful? Why would he stray when he has this hottie at home?

When did straying in a marriage have anything to do with looks?

Unless you are married to the Hunch Back of Notre Dame and have a quick one night stand with Brad Pitt does that theory come into play.

Society dictates that if you have a sexy partner, you have no right to go off and sully that relationship by having sex with a plain person. Which means that if some overpaid footballer had a one night stand with the latest Miss World, would that make the unfaithful act ok in his wife's eyes? ‘I don't mind you shagging around, as long as she is pretty?'

We all recall the Beckham alleged affair with Rebecca Loos, the pouty Posh One screamed "David wouldn't touch a fat ugly woman" Which leads us to believe that if Mr Golden Balls screwed Eva Longoria then at least he wasn't batting below his weight and Victoria could fully understand why he did it! Who makes these rules up?

That theory is all nonsense and the media is naïve to use beauty as a means to be staying faithful. As if sexy women or hot men never get cheated on!

If that were the case then why is Hollywood full of divorced beautiful people?

Most psychologists will tell you unfaithfulness has nothing to do with how sexy the wife or husband is, the whole episode hinges on the persons own self worth and how they feel being in a committed relationship.

The mistress isn't always a sex bomb that came along and hooked he bedazzled man.

We all recall the hoots of horror when it was revealed that the Prince of Wales had chosen the slightly haggard Camilla Parker Bowles over the poised and perfect Princess Diana, who at the time was apparently the words most beautiful woman. What was Charles thinking?

We all know what he was thinking now, he loved Camilla.

Diana could wear all the pretty frocks she chooses, and her man still wanted the bushy blonde who smoked too much and lived in her wellies.

It gave the ordinary women all over the world a glimmer of hope, Princes can love the not so pretty girls as well, and the ugly sisters among us can win the kings heart. Prince Charles empowered us women more than Diana ever did by choosing Camilla over his glamorous wife, though we never really thanked him for it.

People are unfaithful because they want to, it doesn't matter how attractive or ugly the wife or secret partner. It happens.

Hey all, I will be at The Norwich Playhouse on July 25^th doing my comedy show.

If you want tickets or any other info please click here http://www.norwichplayhouse.org.uk/viewshowdetail.php?id=349

I have been to Norwich on boating holidays in the past and I LOVE the place, hope to see some of you there! Janey

I have been burnt, exhausted and scorched by the hot sun in London and thank God, it's beginning to get cooler! Husband and I are still in here in Westminster. The gigs are going great, life is good. I miss my daughter like a piece of me has been cut off.

I woke up this morning and had one of those moments where I felt incredibly old and my life had passed me by. I worried that I was too old for stand up, too ancient for TV to even give me a chance, too ugly and fat to be considered for any film. It was a horrible empty evil place to be. Maybe I should have done all this years ago? I spent my entire twenties and a good chunk of my 30s running a bar, why should I get a second chance at life? My mammy didn't she was dead at my age.

It's strange, but I don't see the older men in comedy worry about this. I am quite old amongst the female stand ups, but am not older than a lot of the guys. Why do I get so insecure?

Maybe I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and give myself a good kick up the ass?

I walked through Westminster today and joined the Liberty protestors who were trying to support the MPs who were against the latest law that the government decided to pass through Parliament. They wanted to raise the detention time of suspected terrorists up to 42 and the bastards managed it. It is a sad day for liberty in the UK.

I am beginning to hate the one eyed Protestant Gordon Brown more than I hated that closet Catholic Blair, stupid insecure men that seem to believe they have the ear of God yet cause more wars. Don't even get me started on the Christian Bush!

If he exists, God must be sitting ‘up there' saying "Hey, I know nothing about this and believe these men don't hear my voice!"

I need to stop procrastinating and start being a bit more proactive about my life.

On a lighter note I was chatting to a woman I know in the street in Soho, I noticed in the harsh sunlight that she had a big brown ring around her chin and jaw line where her make up stopped abruptly.

It was like she had drawn a big brown pencil around her hairline and head and from ear to ear and simply coloured in her face with dark brown cream, her foundation was coffee coloured and her neck and décolletage was white and pasty.

I was really tempted to blend it all in and rub it down her neck line! It made me rush to a mirror and check mine, but I knew that was futile as I wear very little make up and for once I was pleased about that!

I was frustrated with myself that I didn't tell her, but I didn't know her well enough to be able to explain it to her, she may have taken offence.

It made me recall the time I met Rachel Weiss the actress in a toilet. Her beautiful black Chanel dress had chalk all over her bum area. Other famous women stood and stared at it and said nothing. I looked at her smiled and said "You have a big white chalky ass" she was horrified and I stood and patted her pert bum and cleaned it all off. She was so grateful and the other women looked away. "Only a real woman and true sister would have pointed that out, thanks" she kissed my cheek and left the toilet.

I feel bad I never helped the scary make up lady now!

So remember girls, blend-blend-blend! I never thought I would ever give out make up tips on my blog!

Sorry the blog has been late, I am a lazy person.

I am in London for a few weeks work and it is amazing. I am staying at Westminster in the lush Crown Lawn flats again; I am not used to such luxury! Just lying in bed hearing Big Ben strike is awesome.

The weather here has been so sunny and hot. Yesterday husband and I went walking and I have a burnt neck. We inadvertently walked into a BBC outside broadcast in Battersea Park and my flip flop noises ruined the take, I had to walk back over and apologise to the crew. I was so embarrassed, they laughed and explained it was all fine, but I felt like a dick.

I have been to Corby doing a show and that was rainy and smelled, felt and sounded just like Glasgow. The car journey was hellish as the poor man who owned the car had dampness ad the windscreen was all smeary and vision was difficult. So we spent the whole journey wiping the inside as he drove through the dark rainy roads. Not my ideal journey, but I tried not to panic.

Headed down to the Groucho Club last night with Monica and chatted to some old mates and had a few drinks. It was a cool night out! I realised the best way to work out if you are famous is if the homeless guy outside recognises you and last night as soon as I stepped out for a ciggie he said "Hello Janey, how was New Zealand?" I know this has less to do with me being famous and more to do with me chatting to him months ago before I left London. But it felt good! Then I gave him some cash, it is a form of me paying a fan to recall me now....not a good thing I suspect!

Not much else has been happening, all in all a fine trip so far.

I miss Ashley; she is back in Glasgow doing her thing.

Meanwhile I have been glued to the news about the voting in the USA.

Has Hilary Clinton done a disservice to women in America by failing to beat Obama?

Did she gild her lily too far? Was she a victim of her own pretentious connections?

Some political analysts have commented as much, but with the word anal in your title makes me somehow doubt your job.

Hilary hasn't taken women any further or taken us back by trying hard to get to the White House, by the way Mr Obama, there is a reason it's called the White House and it's got nothing to do with paint on the wall's, it aint over till the fat men sing!

Women in any political arena going for the top potato title will always be faced with adversity and nit picking. Mrs Clinton was clawing her way through every single state like a well dressed beggar. A cookie seller in nice shoes.

I felt sorry for Hilary, much in the same way I felt pain for poor Obama, because he wasn't dark enough for the black vote and not white enough for the average Americans. The USA finally got a black man who wouldn't threaten the whites yet couldn't quite get the confidence of his core black voters.

The guy really is stuck between a rock and hard face.

The whole situation divided people; they were either racist or sexist, not a good basis for a Presidential candidate.

In my opinion, a one legged blind asthmatic donkey can only improve on Bush.

Let's see what happens next?