Ok, the flight from LA first. You all know about the debacle of me getting my finger sliced in a hotel toilet, well that’s all been resolved. The manager emailed me today and has refunded cash to my credit card regards my stay, well done Inn at Venice Beach!
So, the flight from LA. Well, I managed to get three seats together which fit me perfect. The downside was the plane was flooded by the paedophile dream that is an entire cheer leading team. A ‘Squeakle’ (the collective noun for skinny girls in pink Lycia) of these teens all gathered around my seats. It seems they were seated in my special sleepy quiet bit of the plane!
I was busy making my wee seat nest when all I could hear was the girls screeching and chattering, it was like the noise of you make when you rub a piece of damp polystyrene up and down a glass. So, I leaned over my seats and three big blue eyed 13 year old stared back.
“Listen up girls, I am going be lying down for the entire flight, I am due my period and it makes slightly killy, which is stabby but in a Scottish way, so don’t kick the seats, don’t yank on the back of my seats and keep the noise down and we will all make it to NZ”
They stared back and silently nodded. This was going to be an easy night.
I did manage to sleep most of the night and yes, my period did arrive, like a big fanfare of pain and blood. It was so bad I had to get up and wash my pyjamas in the toilet of the aeroplane. I was scrubbing at bloodstains in that tiny wee bowl, life is evil at times. Then I went back to sleep.
Anyway, I finally woke up at 90 minutes to landing. I noticed a long haired young man with smooth lovely skin sitting on the end aisle row across from me.
He chatted and asked me questions about where I was going and where I had come from, and then he told me he was from Mexico. On perfect timing the pilot came on the PA system and said “Ladies and gentlemen just to let you know on landing in NZ we will be boarded by health officials checking for swine flu”.
“Oh, well, you might get to see NZ at some point” I smiled and he made a weary face.
Finally the plane landed and I gathered up my stuff and started off towards immigration. There were people outside the plane who were passengers on our flight in paper masks and TV crews filming them. My body immediately heated up, remember I had a period, my temperature always soars at this time.
Sweat started dripping off my scalp and running down my face. Health officials were watching everyone coming off the plane. I saw the giant twisted snaking queue that was immigration and knew that if I stood there with my hot sweaty period flush I would faint and that would be swine flu hell.
I saw the empty booth ‘for invitation only’ and smartly headed right up that lane. People watched me, the immigration man in the booth watched me. My purposeful walk led me right up there. I gave him my boarding documents and my best smile.
“Do you have an invite to come to this booth?” he snarled. I sweated more.
“listen sir, I waited two hours at the NZ High Commission in London to get a work permit and I paid to come to your country, I have done waiting queues, so I just invited myself”
He stared and smiled slowly.
“What is it you do?” he then asked sharply as he flicked through my passport.
“I am a comedian at your NZ comedy festival” I answered.
“Make me laugh then” he challenged.
“I can’t, I have a big filthy sexual fetish about young men in official blue shirts with Kiwi accents, they make me think dirty thoughts and disable me from being funny” I said.
He stopped staring at my passport, looked at me- and let me through.
Life is good. So it is day Two and I am up out of bed and it is now 5am. I have a TV interview at 6am, with me is a funky spa being grilled about comedy...just hope I stay awake.
The Inn at Venice Beach has been intriguing indeed. The staff were always helpful...until today. I had to check out at midday and my cab to the airport isn’t until 7pm tonight, so I had a walk on the beach and bumble about in the sand.
I came back to the hotel and asked the new receptionist if there was a spare room in which to have a shower as I am soon to embark on a long haul flight to NZ. She quickly told me "no, you will have to go down the street and find maybe a gym that will let you have a shower". I balked at that idea. "do you have a toilet?" I asked.
She grudgingly got me a hand towel and pointed towards the staff loo. The sink had a big circular crack in it, and as I tried to wipe the sandy residue off it, my finger got sliced on the sharp edge of the ceramic break. Blood spurted everywhere. I came out - explained why I was bleeding and asked for a band aid. "We are all out of them the first aid kit is empty, if you go down the street the corner store sells band aids" she explained.
"Isn’t against the law to have an empty first aid kit ma'am?" I asked. She stared.
"Can you get me my luggage as I think I have a band aid in that?" I asked her.
"It looks heavy can you come and get it yourself?" she answered.
I struggled with a bleeding finger and bloodied cloth and my luggage.
Then I spotted the lovely Spanish room maid and asked her "do you know where I can get a band aid?" the blood seeped through the small white face cloth. The maid got me a band aid and the receptionist asked me "can you please throw that towel away, it has your blood it and I am legally not allowed to touch your blood"
"I think legally you should have provided me with a band aid after your sink sliced my finger, I may sue, and yes I will get the towel in the bin thanks" I uttered.
So I finally got cleaned up and I not only will post this to my blog but I will post it to the survey that the Inn on Venice Beach asked me to fill in this morning.
I am about to get on the flight to NZ and will no doubt talk when I get there.
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.
Where are LA crime lords and old people killers when you need them? I spent the night having insane dreams that there was a hole in the arch of my foot in the sole and I was squeezing out of this hole a tube like substance of putrefied fruit! Yes, rotten sticking peaches and bananas were seeping out of this evil painful hole in the bottom of my left foot! What the fuck?
So back to the noisy room.
The management moved me room after I explained about old Shouty woman. I am now in a suite with a balcony. So I headed down to Venice beach and called my daughter Ashley and told her that I was standing in front of the Venice beach webcam. She logged on and text me to say she could see me but I was merely a blob in the distance! I got a lovely piece of guerrilla art for her done by a cool street artist.
The weather is really nice, the sun is shining and I miss my family already as I know I am off to NZ for a whole month and it can get lonely, but I do love my job!
Speak soon.
A great title I know but it’s not erotic. I forgot to tell you all this when I was in London. I was pondering a new bra at a shop in Kensington that caters for women with breasts the size of small inflatable dinghies, and I spotted a good bra. I picked it up and went into try it on. Just as I got my baps out and attempted to get the big babies under control a wee women threw the curtain back and said
“Right, so let’s see if this will be a good fit”
I wasn’t that worried, I have had an Australian doctor pull a whole baby out of my vagina with two big salad tongs or forceps, I am over shame and shyness, but this woman had wiry steel wool hair and was wearing K Skips shoes and jeans with an elasticated waist and that was what scared me. I am not suggesting she was a lesbian, or a sexual deviant, that wouldn’t bother me either I once spent a night in a prison cell with a girl who was gay and whacked men’s cocks with a spatula I know this coz she told me that, what worried me was this woman was juggling my over sized tits and looked like she was trying to catch giant jellies from the sky in her hands.
She wasn’t capable of doing the job was my issue, that and the fact I didn’t ask for a woman wearing acrylic handing my tenders.
She then finally got the hang of me.
She then showed me how to ‘lower’ myself into the bra from the front and not drag it up my body, she then showed me how to arrange my nipples for comfort, and it was quite interesting. It was when she started rearranging my nipples through the material, I got worried.
“I think I can manage” I spoke briskly. She left in a hurry and swished the curtain fast behind her. The bra fitted ok, once I got my juggly bunnies into it. I went to pay for the bra and said “can you tell the woman fitter in the lemon jumper my bra fitted ok and thanks for her help”
The till assistant looked at me and said “We don’t have any bra fitters on today, who are you talking about?”
I left the shop and realised that I was touched up by a frizzy haired woman who happened to be in the bra fitting section, is that sexual assault?
I don’t know but she did give me some good advice, despite being crap at handing my boobs.
Anyway back to today, I met up with John Smeaton; you may recall he was the bloke who kicked the airport attackers in Glasgow’s only Taliban attack at the Glasgow Airport in 2007! Well realistically speaking the guys were actually two local doctors from the general hospital who were shite at terrorism and ended up with their hair on fire and dying, anyway John Smeaton was the accidental hero and is my mate.
We had a good old natter, both of us have stopped smoking and we are going to Kelly Cooper Barr’s Style night at 29 in Glasgow tomorrow. We caught up and had coffee and spoke about John’s upcoming nuptials. He is getting married in July!
John walked me to Fraser’s department store and headed off, he will have enough time to shop when he becomes a husband, and the poor fucker doesn’t need to suffer me shopping as a practise run. I need to get some decent flat shoes as I am to Los Angeles this weekend and then onto New Zealand on Monday to do the NZ Comedy Festival, I am excited and can’t wait!
Husband cant wait to see the back of me either I imagine, we just spent three weeks together in London and he is quite fed up of my annoying face and voice.
I will no doubt let you know how the fashion and style night goes with John.
I had a late night Saturday. My mate Elaine and I headed off to Oxford Jongleurs, it threatened to be evil. There were nasty stags all congregating and being cuntish. I quickly got them ready for the first act, I was the fastest, microphone mistress in the world.
Susan Murray went on first and slayed them, her no holds barred attitude won them over, we were all pleasantly surprised, and the crowd were fine. Then Anthony King went onto have one of the best gigs that I have seen him do! I love his quirkily intelligent wordsmith creative act and the potentially annoying crowd LOVED him as well.
The whole night was topped off with the energetic Richard Morton, the crowd carried on being lovely and responsive, which goes to show that first impressions aren’t always good to judge things on.
Elaine and I went straight from Oxford to Groucho Club in London’s West End. Elaine had yet to be introduced to the Groucho and she walked straight into the enigmatic Bernie Katz dancing wildly to ‘More than a Woman’ in the reception. “Dance or leave” Bernie shouted. Elaine danced, we laughed and Bernie hugged and kissed ‘members’ by members I mean club members not penis’s which Bernie would happily kiss at any given moment.
I love his madness.
We ended up drinking and dancing and finally getting home at 3am. Both of us are on the wrong side of 40 for that kind of high-jinkery!
This morning I got up at 9am, husband and I had packed and got ready to leave London. Fuck, I was tired…husband snickered at my groggy grumpy state.
We got on the Piccadilly line and I sat sleepily on the first seat I could find. Opposite me sat a well dressed Oriental man who decided to really dig into his nose, I mean fucking really dig into that beak of his, he was pulling out slimy snots and eating them. I was disgusted and people just averting their eyes. He sat there in tweed coat, fine woollen trousers and shiny leather shoes eating finger full’s of crusty snot! He then bent his head back and got his pinkie up there as he knew there were tasty morsels yet to be pulled down for noshing.
“Oh fucking stop it now!” I eventually shouted at him.
People around me looked at their feet. I had had enough, I wanted to have a snot eating free journey and that wasn’t too much to ask was it? He looked at me and sat there staring. His finger was slightly poised “Stop picking snot and eating it will you please? It is a Sunday morning and I really don’t want that to be what I see today, so fucking stop it please?” I yapped into his staring face. I noticed him whisper across the aisle to a woman, she was saying something in a language I didn’t understand and won’t guess at in case it will sound racist. It could have been Cantonese, Japanese …I really don’t know but it sounded like angry wife berating nose picking husband in public. She gave him some verbal abuse and he aggressively snapped back at her whilst pointing at me. I don’t think he has been reprimanded in public about his beak picking antics. He was annoyed at me, she was angry at him and he finally stopped eating the contents of his nose. Husband finally caught my eye from the seat on the other side of the carriage. We were separated by the entry space and doors area, husband gave me a look that asked “what’s wrong?”
“That man kept picking his nose and eating it” I shouted down the carriage, the oriental man sneered at me, his wife tutted at him and everyone sat uncomfortably. But at least we didn’t have to watch him eat groggy snotters. People in husbands’ end of the train craned their neck to see snot choffing man.
We finally got to Heathrow, got on a plane and ran into a hug from my daughter Ashley in Glasgow. It is her 23rd birthday and we missed her so much. We got her a Warren Zevon vinyl LP (she is a fan), a book about producer Stanley Kramer, a book about Coen Brothers, a DVD box set of Party of Five (she loves 90s TV) and a bottle of vodka. She was delighted at our obscure gifts.
Am happy to be home, I go off to LA on Thursday and then onto NZ for the comedy festival.
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
SHOESMAKE 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.
