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I was a good barmaid, many people told me so, I never drank, smoked but spent a lot of time swearing and shouting at drunken Glaswegians, that was my one perk of the job and I used it up greedily.

When I went into stand up, I expected to make less cash (and I did at first) but I got more job satisfaction. I got to travel, got to say stuff out loud and finally got my dream come true- I got paid for talking. I talk too much and getting paid for the one thing that most people hate about me was very satisfying in a deep perverse way.

Though to put it all into perspective, I understood it was just a job. An interesting job no doubt, but when it all comes down to it, comedy is a job. Like many stand ups, I made my job my life. I was determined to get better, eager to learn and the more people told me to give it up, the more I did it. One comedy promoter even went to great lengths to tell other people not to hire me, but I suppose the less said about that the better. Again, the more they told me to shut up the more I spoke. It all worked out in the end.

My family never told me to stop, both my husband and daughter always had some strange unshakable belief that it was the right career path, but then they are both slightly mad, so maybe with hindsight I shouldn’t have taken career advice from a small child and a man with Asperger’s Syndrome.

But now I am glad I did. I am now 47 years old and cannot quite fathom out why I never did all of this comedy lark earlier in life. I suppose I was too busy being a barmaid to consider it. Life finally threw me a curve ball in 1994 that gave me the chance to leave the bar and follow my own path.

I love the job, and the great thing about comedy is your NEVER stop learning, every single gig sheds a new light on your performance. Every show teaches you something you didn’t know five minutes earlier and that’s why I adore it.

It’s not like being a secretary where you are going to know everything you need to know in the first six months. Comedy is great for reflection, it’s wonderful for learning more about yourself and it gives you the most satisfying feeling in the world when you do a great gig.

The down side is, when you have a bad night, every single tiny piece of low self esteem can bubble and rise to the surface and almost smother you in the wee small hours when you can’t sleep.

But then you get back up onstage and do it all over again.

It’s addictive and mad, but my job is my life and I realised today for the first time in that life that I am never going to stop it. I am going to be one of those really old women who still get onstage and do their stuff.

Even if no one is listening, I am determined to be the oldest woman on the circuit in the future.

I was a good barmaid, many people told me so, I never drank, smoked but spent a lot of time swearing and shouting at drunken Glaswegians, that was my one perk of the job and I used it up greedily.

When I went into stand up, I expected to make less cash (and I did at first) but I got more job satisfaction. I got to travel, got to say stuff out loud and finally got my dream come true- I got paid for talking. I talk too much and getting paid for the one thing that most people hate about me was very satisfying in a deep perverse way.

Though to put it all into perspective, I understood it was just a job. An interesting job no doubt, but when it all comes down to it, comedy is a job. Like many stand ups, I made my job my life. I was determined to get better, eager to learn and the more people told me to give it up, the more I did it. One comedy promoter even went to great lengths to tell other people not to hire me, but I suppose the less said about that the better. Again, the more they told me to shut up the more I spoke. It all worked out in the end.

My family never told me to stop, both my husband and daughter always had some strange unshakable belief that it was the right career path, but then they are both slightly mad, so maybe with hindsight I shouldn’t have taken career advice from a small child and a man with Asperger’s Syndrome.

But now I am glad I did. I am now 47 years old and cannot quite fathom out why I never did all of this comedy lark earlier in life. I suppose I was too busy being a barmaid to consider it. Life finally threw me a curve ball in 1994 that gave me the chance to leave the bar and follow my own path.

I love the job, and the great thing about comedy is your NEVER stop learning, every single gig sheds a new light on your performance. Every show teaches you something you didn’t know five minutes earlier and that’s why I adore it.

It’s not like being a secretary where you are going to know everything you need to know in the first six months. Comedy is great for reflection, it’s wonderful for learning more about yourself and it gives you the most satisfying feeling in the world when you do a great gig.

The down side is, when you have a bad night, every single tiny piece of low self esteem can bubble and rise to the surface and almost smother you in the wee small hours when you can’t sleep.

But then you get back up onstage and do it all over again.

It’s addictive and mad, but my job is my life and I realised today for the first time in that life that I am never going to stop it. I am going to be one of those really old women who still get onstage and do their stuff.

Even if no one is listening, I am determined to be the oldest woman on the circuit in the future.

I have been on more aeroplanes than an American President; well that’s what it feels like. The good news is my long haul flight home from NZ was great. On both long flights (NZ to Hong Kong and then onto London) I got three seats to myself, which is perfect for my wee body to get a lie down.

The annoying thing about the seats though, is the arm rests don’t go fully back into the seats, so you are kind of crushed lying down, but still it was better than being jammed in one seat for 27 hours.

Husband was waiting at the airport for me in Glasgow. He was lovely, all shaved and showered, suited and booted. It was so cool to see him; I ran and jumped on him!

Ashley was waiting at home and I hugged her so tight for ages, I really missed them.

My house was all clean and smelling nice, so both of them have been busy.

So my suitcase is all unpacked and broken, yes – my brand new luggage got crushed on its journey and the great news is that British Midland just called and are sending me new luggage tomorrow, straight to my door! I love British Midland.

I don’t have jet lag as I slept last night for ten hours and am back on track. Am now organising my next trip which is pretty soon and I will pack up again and go off to do comedy in another town, another place.

I lay down last night and was thinking all about my NZ mates and how much I miss them already. I always leave a wee bit of me behind in the land of the long white cloud. The good news is I will be back there next year.

Equally I can’t wait to come back to New Zealand, what a place it is!

This land of the long white cloud is my second home from home and the comics in NZ are just a delight to behold. I adore them all and will miss them terribly.

I spent the day in the sunshine up in the open air pool and spa. All the comics from last nights award show were all drunk and still awake and flailing about in the hot tub. They really are a hardy bunch!

Scott and Bridget who own the Classic Comedy Bar and who brought me over have been awesome and treated me like a princess since I arrived.

I feel a bit sad leaving my spiritual comedy home, but can’t wait to see husband and Ashley. Let’s all cross our fingers and hope I get an upgraded flight and come home in luxury and comfort?

I will blog as soon as I get home to Glasgow…until then dear friends…speak soon.

I am coming home…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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!

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