Janey Godley’s blog

This past week

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 07:41:11 +0000

I don’t have a Christmas rush, because I take time to go buy food we want to eat on the ‘big day’ and contrary to popular belief, shops DON’T run out of stuff. My problem is having time to organise myself and the work, and the amazing evil deathly snow didn’t help.

Luckily I was based in Glasgow for most of December, no flapping off to foreign climes for me during the season, just good old Glasgow! Usually husband & I are snugly ensconced in a serviced flat in Leeds, Nottingham or Canada around this time of year as I do my comedy thing, but this year I stayed home and did local gigs.

Mainly because my dad is spending his first December as a widower, we lost mum early this year. It has had a devastating effect on him, luckily my dad has an awesome step family who care and love him. I do my bit by turning up, chasing squirrels from his wheelie bin or convincing him that one mouse does not equate an invasion. Sometimes we talk about stuff, or I have to cancel Virgin media yet again as he managed to go on the phone and instead of ordering one football match to watch he gets charged for a whole months worth. I love him, he is hilarious at times and his tales of old make me giggle.

His penchant for leaving the house during a snow storm to go for a newspaper makes me want to send him to punchy town, but he was a hard Glasgow steel worker and doesn’t see why he can’t handle a bit of slush!

I have yet to work out why he is obsessed by his wheelie bin, but I suppose that might take a therapist and some dolls to get through that issue.

My best mate Monica was stuck in Milan airport for three days due to the thick freeze over Europe. Husband drove me through to Edinburgh to do a few gigs, and the drive home was so scary, I wrote a note and placed it in my jacket which stated “My name is Janey Godley, if you find me in a car accident please contact (my pals name and number) and tell her to contact my daughter”. I started to freak out thinking that if we both get badly injured the police would go to my home and Ashley would have to deal with it herself, I don’t want her ever to go through that. I worried what would happen to her if we both died in a car crash!

But it felt like a sure thing in that snowy road.

Our car was sliding all over the road and giant belches of dense fog smacked against the car like flour bombs as it plummeted through the dark winding part of the M8 motorway. The frozen white trees looked skeletal and eerie as the car lights flashed on them through the darkness.

I was terrified; every muscle in my body was tensed for the whole journey there and back. I was like a coiled spring when I got home.

Luckily and clearly we both survived, but we passed loads of stranded cars and a few accidents.

So last week I went up to Easterhouse to see my old pal Janie, she is awesome fun; I have known her for over 30 years.

Both of us headed up to the big shopping mall near her home, we saw a swan stuck in the ice.

I offered to go free it and she told me “Don’t they are evil and can bite the face off you, I know a woman who got her eye taken out by a swan, they can peck their way out of the ice, it’s a Scottish swan”

I watched as the swan batted giant white wings, throwing up a flurry of snow and run towards me, it hissed and tried to bite my leg. It was an evil swan indeed. Yet looked magical with the frosted snow scene all around it, it was a big Narnia angry beast. Janie was right yet again, she knows stuff!

We went food shopping and ended up back her flat after trudging through the snow and had a wee lie down. Yes, we have reached that age that we need a nap after a shopping mission. Just as we were about to fall asleep she darted out of her bed and ran downstairs to drag in her wheelie bin, I fear that fate will get me soon. It an age thing I suppose!

She then ranted about global warming, which was funny as it’s a subject she is no expert on.

“What is global warming and why do I need to recycle milk cartons?” she asked.

It took me ages to go through it all and even I got lost in the quagmire of information, she just butted in Janie style and said “So if I stop throwing milk cartons out will polar bears stop dying?” I laughed and said “yes”.

“There are kids up here dying of drug addiction, there is now Anthrax in heroin killing folk, there are people losing their homes as bankers sit snug in castles, there is devastating poverty in Glasgow that even frightens the MPs and I have to wash out milk cartons? Don’t tell me the priorities are all wrong Janey” she said.

I found it hard to disagree with her.

“I have never seen a polar bear and don’t care about them so the milk cartons will get tossed into my big wheelie bin” she spat out. I knew we would get back to those wheelie bins sooner or later.

Well the Christmas spirit is definitely out and about, the lights are twinkling all over The West End of Glasgow and the snow looks awesome when it isn’t seeped in dog poo or dead drunks have a Happy Christmas people!

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Mary in the stable

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 22:47:37 +0000

Just watching the Nativity scene in my local town square, I was struck by how bare it looked. Having given birth myself once, and I do say once because it was so painful and distressing, I never done it again, I was shocked at how serene Mary always looks.

Personally I would be thoroughly gutted, that after giving birth to the most important child in all millennia, the only visitors I received were a trio of Kings bringing totally useless gifts, not one women pops in with a hot mug of tea and a couple of pain killing tinctures.

It was bad enough for Mary having to go through a painful labour (She was a virgin as well, that stuff would have hurt) amongst straw and some farmyard animals, but to have to entertain guests without as much as a shower first, must have been horrendous. How does she remain that peaceful and happy looking, I personally couldn’t sit down for a week and don’t even ask me how my boobs felt, as to describe that would involve a flip chart and an over head projector.

Now let’s look at the gifts, only men would bring such obscure objects. It seems even back in those days; men still didn’t know the protocol of presents for a new born. Today’s fathers and men friends still turn up to see a new baby bearing flowers, balloon animals and fluffy toys, all of which are useless to the point of stupidity.

What every woman needs immediately after any birth, is

Big knickers that hug under your boobs.

Giant sanitary pads with at least a 10.5 tog rating.

Maternity bra with supporting straps that could dock a ship.

Clean towels, favourite shower gel and moisturiser

Drugs supplied by Keith Richards.

Mary (I don’t know her surname, does anyone? Does Jesus have a surname?) anyway Jesus’ mother Mary, must have been made of steely stuff, Joseph (her man) wasn’t that bright to start with, dragging a heavily pregnant woman to what can only be described as Vegas, Bethlehem was at its busiest time.

He never booked ahead, he didn’t plan for the birth, and he shoved her onto a donkey during the early stages of her labour, gave her a pat of the rump and headed off into the desert. She calmly agreed and headed off to Bethlehem.

At that point, I would have kicked his head and turned up in Bethlehem alone, screaming and demanding a doctor, after all this was no ordinary child that was about to be born.

Mary must have literally been an actual Saint. If it were me, there would have been swearing, bitching and at least some Joseph bashing with the local chicks round the waterhole.

But not for Mary, she calmly accepted her fate; she serenely smiled through labour pains with a beatific smile.

She simply cleaned up behind her, washed her own child, combed her hair, washed her face and pulled the blue scarf around her head and got on with job as being Jesus’ mammy. Then accepted the clumsy gifts from the strange blokes, who came to visit and thus showed up all us women as bleating, screaming whingers who couldn’t handle a contraction, thanks for that Mary!

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My Rant

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 08:17:37 +0000

Long life energy saving light bulbs are total bollocks. They don’t last ten years and they are so dull you have to buy the highest wattage, which still feels like a flickering candle and end up buying another lamp to brighten the room.

How is that ‘energy saving’? I now have two lights running to make up for the ONE light I used to have. Apparently if you use the energy bulbs on the ceiling they don’t last long with heat reflecting from the ceiling and they are only going to last ten years if you only use them for 3 hours a day, and to make matters worse, if you continually switch them off and on, THAT reduces their lifespan as well!

On top of all that, the light gives me a dull thudding headache and I end up with a battery lamp beside my laptop!

So, basically I am going through these energy saving bulbs at a rate of 2 a year!

My old bulbs lasted longer and I don’t know if that’s less energy used, but when you work out the carbon footprint of supplying these bulbs at the store on a bigger demand as they last less time, they might be just as bad as the old bulbs!

How am I going to save penguins with that attitude?

How can I stop Scotland from breaking off and floating to Norway unless I can stop using so much power? I am worried about my green house-ness.

So that’s ONE rant over, second rant is- Why does the big store Marks and Spencer insist on charging me cash for a carrier bag, yet wrap every single piece of food in acres of plastic?

Try opening their pate, cheesecake or salad boxes and you will come up against plastic fantastic wrappy ville! So come on M&S make up your own bloody mind about your commitment to less plastic and start using biodegradable cardboard boxes for food- or stop making me feel like a child killing, crack smoking, herpes ridden hooker, when I want to buy a bag to carry home your plastic over-wrapped goods.

That’s it, no more rants, its nearly Christmas.

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About Last Night

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 15:42:53 +0000

I had an awesome wrap party night at the BBC gig, just lovely and my daughter Ashley came along and made me happy.

She makes me laugh; she suggested that she buy me a small red duffel coat so that I can run around the river bridges of Glasgow in a ‘Don’t Look Now’ manner. She says I look like a child from behind but have a wee old wrinkly face at the front. What a nice child I gave birth to eh?

Last week I met up with my dad who told me to walk him to the bus stop, he then told me “That bus takes me home” and pointed to a big Glasgow bus. I waved him off then ten minutes later he called me shouting “This is the wrong bus you put me on”

“Dad, I never put you on a bus, YOU said it was YOUR bus” I laughed loudly on the phone.

“No I didn’t its like going to Belsen horror camp on this bus” he muttered.

Now before you get all umpity and suggest my dad is anti- Semitic, he isn’t, it’s a generational catchphrase, old Scottish people use the term ‘Belsen’ to describe any type of mildly uncomfortable situation.

Scots use exaggeration and shock to display humour.

If they see a skinny model on TV they say things like ‘she looks like she walked out of Belsen, she should eat’ I know that it sounds offensive and probably is to some people, but my dad and other elderly relatives do throw the word ‘Belsen’ about at an alarming rate. It’s a generational thing I suppose.

I had a neighbour who once described a Butlins holiday camp as Belsen, now that is just wrong, old Scottish people do have a rather savage sense of humour, yet we contemporary comics get our balls kicked for less!

So apparently an over crowded bus hurtling through the foggy streets was akin to a horror ride to a death camp in my fathers mind and guess who sent him there? Me…according to him.

I do love the crazy old nutter.

Today I got up early and went to see wee Abi my great niece in her nativity play. She was the lead part in The Bossy King, and she really did take the stage with gusto. All the other kids were mumbling, stumbling and shuffling with downcast eyes. Abi was belting out her lead role with a performance that Dame Judy Dench would have been proud of.

“I am the bossy King, everyone bow down to me NOW!” she yelled and startled all the babies in prams and on knees of the parents sitting in the school hall. I gasped out loud and laughed. Abi winked at me and a huge grin split her face, then she went quickly back to grumpy face of the Bossy King. I am so proud of her!

Baby Julia was on my knee silently waving at Abi and getting annoyed she wasn’t getting a wave back “Hi Abi” she finally yelled out in toddler frustration. I giggled and hugged wee Julia close, or almost suffocated her in my bosom…you decide!

It was lovely watching the wee school play and Abi is destined to be a top actress, I can see her Oscar acceptance as I write.

I have been at Glasgow Jongleurs all week, the Christmas nights can be really hard work, but all in all it’s been fine.

The downside was wearing a new bra I bought, honestly it felt like a torture device from the Spanish Inquisition (see my dad’s use of genocidal events to exhibit exaggerated mild discomfort has been passed onto me) and I spent the whole night in pain. How can a bra be that sore? The side bones literally cut into my ribcage, my tits looked great but my lungs were being crushed.

So it’s been a good week. Talk soon.

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About Last Night

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 15:42:51 +0000

I had an awesome wrap party night at the BBC gig, just lovely and my daughter Ashley came along and made me happy.

“Dad, I never put you on a bus, YOU said it was YOUR bus” I laughed loudly on the phone.

“No I didn’t its like going to Belsen horror camp on this bus” he muttered.

Scots use exaggeration and shock to display humour.

So apparently an over crowded bus hurtling through the foggy streets was akin to a horror ride to a death camp in my fathers mind and guess who sent him there? Me…according to him.

I do love the crazy old nutter.

It was lovely watching the wee school play and Abi is destined to be a top actress, I can see her Oscar acceptance as I write.

I have been at Glasgow Jongleurs all week, the Christmas nights can be really hard work, but all in all it’s been fine.

So it’s been a good week. Talk soon.

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Where do I begin?

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 18:51:17 +0000

Wee baby Julia is now three years old and is my great niece, she is small, blonde and the perfect Aryan child that Hitler would have shoved on posters of the propaganda type. Her giant blue eyes that peep at you under the white blonde hair are disarming; she is the wee sister of Abi (famous in her mouse killing video on my YouTube site) and just gorgeous.

Luckily Julia hasn’t started killing small mammals; her favourite thing at my house is to pull down the collection of miniature hedgehogs in my hall and make them all kiss each other on my wooden table. A lot of kissing happens and American type chatter, it’s funny that small Scottish kids use a Californian voice when they do ‘play’.

American TV has such an effect on children, that annoying nasal voice that inhabit all the cartoon characters eventually come flooding out of the mouths of wee Glaswegians.

She asked me to switch on kids TV which I did and I was agog at the adverts for Barbie’s who were wearing what can only be described as prostitute outfits. Crotch skimming glittery skirts, high pony tails and tops that revealed pert plastic boobies, all for wee girls to dress and undress, suddenly the kissing hedgehogs seemed positively dull.

It made me think of the dolls I got as a child. We had a Tressy doll, which was a teenage skinny doll that when you pressed her tummy button her hair grew long out of the crown of her head. Long hair/short hair…that was Tressy’s thing and I managed to get ALL her hair pulled out and cut it off at the roots, my big sister Ann nearly battered me to death over that incident.

I wasn’t good with dolls, I remember one Christmas morning waking up to a stiff Spanish doll in the corner of the room, it was about 3 foot tall, as tall as me. It had a big bee hive hair do and dirty red slashed lips, it resembled a small Amy Winehouse. I thought it was a dead toddler standing beside the electric fire and screamed myself sick till they took it away. Who gives their child a dead toddler for Christmas?

So anyway I had fun with wee Julia, she makes me smile and she has a high pitched squeal of laughter when you chase her with a spatula round the kitchen. She squashed Jaffa cakes into small paper cake cases and then proceeded to hand them out for us to eat. They were all sticky and yucky looking, but she declared “I made these myself” which I loved.

Any girl who can learn about baking cheats so young is a friend of mine, good on you Julia, baking is for nutters, just buy a cake.

So tomorrow I have to get my hair cut and coloured, I have to buy gifts and get the house Christmas ready. That doesn’t mean anything, it just means that I buy a scented cinnamon candle and burn it.

I am working the majority of December and looking forward to having a wee holiday in January. I may got back to LA in January, who knows?

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Is it December?

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 18:38:35 +0000

Yes, it truly is December. I know this because everywhere I look is fake snow, bright baubles and scented shopping malls. I do love it though.

Husband isn’t a big Christmas fan, he has made it clear the tree can go up, but it mustn’t get in the way of the flat screen telly and it better not flash too much, as that exacerbates his Aspergers Syndrome.

I told him that him talking about the happy Christmas tree exacerbates my hormones and makes me feel like taking him straight to punchy town, he told me such a place didn’t exist.

I said it was a metaphor – he said he didn’t like metaphors – I said “shut up or I will poke your eye with a Christmas bauble” it went on for ages, suffice to say I won and he dragged the tree from the cupboard with an annoyed face.

Every year we go through the same crap. I don’t want a gift as I don’t need anything and I can buy stuff myself. He doesn’t want anything as we can never get him what he wants (his own house with padded corners, a butler and a Lazy-ee Boy seat) so we compromise by just buying Ashley stuff.

She loves it and has made a list of what she wants. Husband who is great at searching online for cheap deals, ends up buying two things and getting loads of stuff thrown in for free, that’s Aspergers and too much time on your hands as far as I am concerned.

He doesn’t have the ‘interesting’ Aspergers Syndrome, just the annoying type.

Why can’t he just count cocktail sticks thrown on the floor? That’s a great party trick, yet his Aspergers Syndrome doesn’t accommodate such tomfoolery, he is just good at repeating verbatim all the stuff I say in anger.

He would make a great actor if he could just tell his face which emotion his words were displaying.

Anyway I must stop saying things about him; he will find out and smile but shout fiercely, which is disconcerting to say the least.

I have just realised – that’s why he doesn’t get on well with cats! They also smile and bite you at the same time, or wag their tails and purr.

Cats are Aspergic animals and don’t mix well with other Aspergic sufferers.

The past week has been busy as hell; I gigged at Edinburgh Stand and got the most awesome review…

"The queen of Scottish comedy...A bold, take-no-prisoners type of comic... Comic gold. Brilliantly painted scenarios, uproarious and touching in equal measure.... Intelligent and skilful comedy of the highest order."
(Edinburgh Evening News, 2nd December 2009)

That is a lovely thing and cheers me up no end. It nice when you get good things said about you, especially when you work hard!

I wrote a comedy article for a newspaper this week as well and did warm up at BBC which can be tiring and long, yet fulfilling.

Am off out today to get myself a pair of leather gloves, as this is what I am buying myself for Christmas.

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Don’t let me look back in anger

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 02:03:49 +0000

Things are happening in my life that keep making me look back, its not good news. Recently when I was in London it happened. I immediately recalled the first time I went to London to stay with my pal Finlay.

It was 1994; I was hardly doing any comedy and was running my pub at the time. Just the sheer excitement of being away from the pub, husband and my child made me giddy with happiness.

Soho looked like the most amazing place in the world; the big bright lights of Piccadilly dazzled me like the oik I was back then.

It was fantastic to be free from domesticity and just be me and just be with my pals. I recall looking in Time Out magazine and wondering how I could possibly contain my bursting exhilaration at the thought MY NAME one day might be in those listings as a comic at a club, it just made me foam at the mouth.

Years later when I wrote articles and was featured in Time Out, I giggled and had a wee heart warming feeling, recalling the Janey who thought that was THE DIZZY heights of fame, and it was a good feeling.

But somehow I now feel a bit flat, it might be because I am getting older and am becoming tired whilst travelling, I am not sure what this feeling is, but I miss the excitement of being so amazed at doing stand up.

Does that make sense?

You need to know I LOVE doing comedy; I feel I am finally me onstage. It is the best feeling in the world and I honestly am blessed that I get paid for doing something I think is easy and wonderful; I know I shouldn’t say that. I should say how comedy is so technical, a skill that takes years to hone and blah blah about the art- but I love comedy and I it doesn’t feel like hard work to me.

Please don’t take from this that I am poo-poohing my art, or being flippant about all the years its taken me to get to a decent level, but I just get worried someone is going to walk up and say “you are just talking, why is that a job?” and I am scuppered! I have been told be many people in my life growing up to ‘shut up’ and now I get paid for talking, that makes me giggle inside, yet there is this awful foreboding feeling inside me.

Do I finally have depression and my brain can’t compute what that actually means? Can that happen?

I have never had depression before and always rail against it as I have been surrounded by depressed people my whole life and they really annoy me (sorry if that’s sounds unsympathetic, but if you live with someone with depression it basically means when they are sad and don’t want to go out- you are NOT going to the beach either and You don’t have depression) There is nothing for people who DON’T have depression but live with people who have depression –they get therapy- you get moaned at.

So I don’t know why I am feeling strange and odd lately. Maybe I am just going through an odd phase, yet the only thing that makes me happy is going onstage.

Ashley is all grown up and writing for a living and doesn’t need me so much, husband is happy and fine and I might be suffering from some empty nest thing. As everyone knows how much I love being with my daughter and I talk about her all the time. I know I do…but you have no idea how proud I am that she is just lovely and funny and such good company to be around.

I think I might be having a mid life crisis, I may end up like those women who get their hair cut like Suzie Quatro and start wearing fringey leather jackets and start visiting the Hard Rock Café’s all over the world collecting beer mats, tee shirts and getting photos taken with Jimmy Hendrix’s guitar. Can that happen to women overnight?

Why is looking back to me being all glowy about comedy and visiting new cities not making me happy?

Or maybe I shouldn’t write a blog in a damp Manchester hotel room with a really bad period pain and a colonoscopy to look forward to? It might be that then eh?

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Mr Pigeon go away

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 19:17:34 +0000

I haven’t had a decent lie in since London. Honestly you would think I had a proper job or something, having to get up early and be places is the very reason I became a comedian. I do nowt!

This morning I had to get up and go see the specialist about my ‘bowel’ issue suffice to say I am getting a colonoscopy quite soon which I am sure is sexual to a few hard nosed politicians yet evil to me.

I have NEVER found excitement in shoving things up my back bottom, seriously -its exit only- and those folk who shove hamsters and lava lamps up theirs need executed or put in a special ward. Ok that might have sounded extreme, but I am having a strange day as a pigeon attacked me as I slept.

Here is the story; my bed is beneath my window, so my pillows are basically where your knees would be if you were hanging out of my top floor windows. I like it that way but sometimes I push the windows open full and birds come up under the eaves, spot the gaping window and do a wee peep in. They see me in bed two feet away from them then don’t understand they need to be quiet and let out a big loud squawk or make a pigeon warbly noise. We stare at each other as my eyes open, big fat bird sitting on the inside of my window ledge, me lying on the pillow hoping it doesn’t come any nearer. I throw up an arm it shits on my pillow and flies out into the back court. That what usually happens, but today was funny.

I slept after the hospital appointment and I woke up at 11am to see two pigeons pecking at my jewellery box on my window ledge. They clearly fancied a wee wander in and tapped across the shelve ten inches above my skull and then sat there warbling to each other.

The noise woke me up, I gently lifted my head, the bigger bird panicked and just fell out of the window…screeching…like it forgot how to fly, but the sassy smaller bird pecked my velvet jewellery box and eyed me side on. It was challenging me! I am sure it was a ‘she’ as ‘she’ gaily tip- tapped across my window shelf, shit on it and deftly flew into the grey Glasgow sky.

This is what I miss about Glasgow, the sheer audacity of its pigeons.

It is good to be home though despite the colonoscopy and the pigeons.

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Comedy can be hell

nobody@vox.com(Janey Godley) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 17:24:21 +0000

Late blog – I know. Sorry, I was either really busy or asleep in London.

The time just flew past and I didn’t quite catch up with myself.

And I have been partying a wee bit, I do that in London – I rarely go out in Glasgow and save all the time up and end up staying out at The Groucho Club till 2am, then sleeping in like a fat old dog.

My trip here has been really interesting, firstly on arrival in London I decided to call up Gordon Smith who is the boss of the Scottish Football thingy and I applied for the job as Scotland football manager. The fact I called it ‘thingy’ should indicate I am not really suited to the job. But the press were touting Sean Connery as the next manager and because I actually live in Scotland, I thought I should be more in the running so to speak. I can order men about, I can actually play football and I am great at strategy, what’s not to like?

“Do you have a valid coaching license?” Gordon Smith asked.

“No, but I do know Hologram Tam and he is the worlds best forger and he can get me one” I laughed.

Well, they never called back, so I guess the job is not for me.

London is wonderful at this time of year as the Christmas lights are up in Oxford Street and I LOVE the lights, I am such a sentimental twat at times, but I just love the wintry feeling and the twinkling lights.

Hyde Park is just a carpet of crisp golden leaves and the sky at teatime over London is scudded with crimson smudges that reflect onto the oily surface of the Thames, it’s just amazing!

It’s as if someone had taken a whorey pink lipstick to the sky and had dragged it over the dappled clouds.

The pale blushing sky creates an inspiring backdrop to the Houses of Parliament; you have to see it to know what I mean. I love London.

I don’t love drug fucked alcoholic men with skinny hard faced blonde women who come to comedy clubs to scream at comedians. I hate those bastards more than anything and yet Camden seemed to draw them in on Friday and Saturday night.

It can be exhausting verbally fighting with coke fuelled men in front of 200 people for money, but I am an MC and that’s my job. I won, they were thrown out and the comedy went good. Ok, heres some tips for anyone who fancies coming to enjoy a comedy gig.

Don’t snort Peru up your nose; it doesn’t make you amiable in a crowd of quiet people listening to one person.

Don’t patently ignore someone with a microphone speaking to you and try not to carry on foaming at the sides of your mouth as you scream at other comedy goers asking you to shut up.

When 200 people shout ‘LEAVE! LEAVE!’ accept that they don’t like you and just fucking leave. The people have spoken my friend.

Don’t abuse someone for being Scottish then try to cover that abuse up by declaring you are half-Scottish, that’s just mental and invites some of the best retorts from a Scottish MC.

Never go anywhere where you want to talk more than the people everyone else has paid to listen to. It really is that simple, stay at home and shout at yourself, is all I am saying.

Other than that life is good. Meetings went well and I now have some serious writing to do.

I got to hang out with Monica my best mate in the world and it was so good to see her, we get to talk really fast Glaswegian and not worry about pronunciation or slowing down for other people. Though she does speak amazing Italian, French, Spanish and possibly seven other languages in a fabulously funny Scottish accent, I hear her talk to some of the European chefs she represents and piss myself laughing – she is amazing.

Nothing strange, funny or weird happened for me to write home about, am sorry- I feel as though I am letting you all down if I haven’t punched a Politician or fell down a flight fo stairs in front of a Hollywood superstar, but sometimes my life is dull and is all about looking at the awesome skies over London. Am home tomorrow…speak soon.

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