41 posts tagged “my life”

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.

The hotel had a wee single bed which slid along the floor when you sat on it and to top it all the fire alarm screamed us all awake and made us all stand in the sideways rain in our pyjamas, I wanted to burn to death instead.

Touring is so sexy.

I was tired when I hit Aberdeen station to get the train home. There was a big fat steely haired woman in a rail workers jacket at the ticket gate. “What ticket do I put through the machine to get onto the platform? There are nine tickets printed for this journey, I don’t know which one to slide through the machine!”

She sneered and shouted “the one that says journey ticket, why don’t you check?”

The tickets have tiny writing and there are so many of them it really is hard to figure out which one is the valid ticket.

“Listen up fatty, NINE tickets here now tell me which one? They all look alike. What is your job? Staring at pigeons?” I shouted at her.

Just then two really old people came behind me with a deck of tickets (why is there so many wee orange tickets printed out for A JOURNEY?)

“What ticket do we use to get through there are so many?” the wee old stooped man asked fatty fuckwit.

“What do you think? The one that says journey…” she started to yell.

“Ok, you annoying pedantic fat pain in the butt, I will stand here and I will show people which ticket as the TRAIN is LATE I will do your job and help elderly people with the tickets” I screamed. Pigeons flew away in fear.

So I stood there at the gate and pointed out to people who were staring at a fist full of tickets and who asked fatty sarcastic arse for help.

Every time she attempted to use her nasty sneering attitude, I butted in and helped the people. It wasn’t altruistic I was just annoyed at her and bored to be honest.

She then told me to stand back from the gates and I refused.

She got the station master bloke who came over, listened to her moan about me standing at the gate and then came over and told me to move.

I explained that she was ignoring people’s pleas for help and explained the whole situation and the elderly man and wife came over to back me up. Fatty was told off and made to go back to the hut where I hope the chained her to a radiator and let her piss her own fat legs. What a cow.

They put a young Polish bloke on the gate and he politely explained to people who were struggling to figure out which ticket to slide through the machine. Screw you Aberdeen station ticket woman.

The journey home was pleasant except I had a screaming kid on the seat opposite. I didn’t get angry I merely got off my seat and went into first class where the ticket checker let me sit the whole journey for no extra charge, see some people on trains are nice.

I went up to Easterhouse to do my one woman comedy show on Saturday and it was awesome. Lovely to see so many people turn up for comedy and the show went well; Ashley sold 25 of my books for me, what a lovely child!

This week I am off to London, I have some gigs, some meetings and another big audition. Scary stuff but contrary to the rumours, I am not going into the jungle…don’t believe everything you read on the internet.

I hate being manipulated like that don’t you?

Christmas or winter to me smells like wood burning and the frosty bright mornings remind me of the seasons changing, I don’t know anyone who boils cinnamon, makes spiced oranges or who mull wine not from present day nor my past, because I wasn’t alive in Victorian times when Christmas came into its own.

It seems we modern folk can’t have our own Christmas identity; we have to hark back to the olden days to get one. Cards and TV adverts show small Victorian dressed children with rosy cheeks and furry muffs staring through bevelled shop windows as their ankle boots are deep in crisp snow. Is there anyone alive who can recall that? NO!

To me childhood Christmas memories are of musty socks hanging over our old coal fire in the front room and my brothers fighting each other with tangerines in socks as weapons. So keep your cinnamon scented wafts, it means nothing to me Mr Supermarket psychological manipulator!

We will be having a quiet Christmas as always, just me husband and Ashley. I might go see my dad on Christmas day as this will be his first as a widower and I would hate that he was lonely. We don’t do family at Christmas, to be honest I don’t really have much contact with my family and the less said about husband’s family the better!

My own brothers and sister are just busy with their own lives, they have kids and husbands/partners of their own and I rarely see them, which is fine with us all. But when I hear of people who all get together and have dinners etc, it makes me hanker for a big family of love. Which is probably nonsense as I am sure that those big families all fight like hell, and are just being nice to each other, at least my brothers and sister don’t fight amongst themselves ( as we don’t get together!).

Went to the docs today and explained about my colon pain and stuff you really don’t need to know which involves my bowels. He told me I would be referred to a specialist called Dr Dover to which I replied “is his first name Ben?” To which my doctor said “No, Why?”

“It was a joke…Ben Dover...the bum doctor…its funny when you say it all together” I quipped.

“Ah, you are a comedian, I forgot” said my doctor with a sardonic look.

So, maybe I am not a comedian after all, Dr Shaw has exposed my lack of humour right there in the surgery at 10am

So life at Godley’s World is ticking along fine, been busy -had an ear infection, went deaf had loads of work and writing hard and this Saturday I am doing my one woman show at Easterhouse Platform The Bridge at 8pm. Do come along if you want, it will be fun!

As soon as I walked onto the platform at Glasgow central low level trains, I was greeted by a child’s voice shouting “fucksake” really loudly.

I spotted a young mum looking harassed and trying to deal with a wee toddler in a pram. The baby girl was about two years old and absolutely stunningly gorgeous. She had big amber eyes with thick long eyelashes, a mop of curly blonde hair and cheeky dimpled smile, she caught my eye and shouted “Fucksake” really loudly at me and giggled. I never made a move, inside I was laughing as it was really funny to see a baby say this, but I kept a neutral look on my face.

The mum bent over and tried to shoosh the baby, she then stood up and said “I am really sorry she won’t stop saying that”

“Just ignore her, don’t fuss when she says it and just keep talking to me” I replied as the baby shouted “fucksake” over the top of us talking. People on the station started to stare with disdain at the mum.

The young mum explained “my brothers taught her this and I can’t stop her, she shouted it at the woman in Marks and Spencer’s and at the ticket man upstairs, I am mortified”

“The reason she keeps saying it is because you react so violently or there are shrieks of laughter, she does it because it gets her attention, she is performing and knows her best punch line so well and it’s a solid bit of material, I know I am a comedian and that’s what we do” I said.

The mum and I kept chatting and ignoring the “fucksake” that resonated round the station, eventually the baby stopped shouting it out. She then started to point at other things that caught her eye as soon as she realised her punch line was getting no reaction. I told the mum to give her brothers a good kick in the bollocks about teaching a baby to swear and to completely ignore the “fucksake” until the baby finally gives up on it.

After my ‘parent advice class’ I got on the train to Hamilton.

At the station I spotted a poster for a beauty salon called

‘YA BEAUTY’ which made me giggle, and then there was an advert for

‘THREE BABY BEARDED DRAGONS’ which were wee lizards up for grabs. I love local adverts, they are just awesome.

My favourite was an advert for babysitting which stated in bright red ink marker

‘I LOVE KIDS AND HAVE NEVER BEEN FOUND OR CHARGED WITH TOUCHING THEM AND AM AVAILABLE FOR BABYSITTING’

I can’t think of anyone who would let that person near their kids!

To round off my week, last Friday I went up to Montrose to do a corporate gig and had a great fun night. The weather was horrific during the night, the wind whipped the trees bare and the rain battered the south east coastline of Scotland. I was worried sick, as husband and I had to get up early and head back to Glasgow for my flight to London and I hate travelling in storms.

I sat there in the dark of Montrose at about 4am and willed the weather to change, and sure as hell at 7am Montrose was sparkling in the autumnal sunshine! We managed to get to Glasgow airport in time for my flight to London.

I had a wonderful gig at the 99 club in Leicester Square, but woke up in London with my left ear totally blocked. I hate that, it is like being underneath water; it makes me partially deaf and hurts like hell.

I had an audition in London and went along half deaf, I was worried sick they would ask me questions and I wouldn’t catch what they said. It went all right and I am hoping I did get the job.

So am back in Glasgow and still have one deaf ear, husband is pissed off repeating everything, and daughter is now miming things to me and asking me questions in the form of physical theatre and dance. Hopefully my ear will unblock or the doctor will revise his ‘we don’t syringe ears’ policy and help me out OR a car will hit me on the head and my ears will pop.

As I was walking through sunny scary hotbed of terror that is Leeds, I sat by the little river and took in the view. A man approached wearing inappropriately short shorts, you know what I mean, over 40s mens shorts should be below knee, under 20s men shorts can be showing some clam if they want, they are young and their skin still fits them. This man was in his 50s and was grossly over weight, the shorts were disgustingly tight, and I couldn’t stop staring at his crotch which is disturbing to say the least.

Of course saggy ball man sat right beside me on the lonely tow path, what else do you people expect?

“Lovely day isn’t it? Do you like robin red breasts?” he shouted into my face, I realised he look a bit detached and possibly slightly special needs.

“Erm…yes they are nice” I stuttered.

He then pulled out a Christmas card with a robin on the front and shoved it in my face. “Nice” I said and prepared to leave. He grabbed my arm to sit back down; I looked anxiously around for some help as tight short baggy ball man might throw me into the river.

“My name is Barry and my mum is dead” he whispered.

Now, in my head all I could think was ‘has he just killed her?’ or is he disturbed because she died years ago?…I was getting scared by the minute…I always imagined how I would die, but I never thought I would end up in the river at Leeds by a fat man wearing shorts wielding a robin red breast Christmas card.

“My mam died years ago and she gave me this card” he said as I sat back down and his arm was gently now resting on mine.

I suddenly didn’t feel scared, I felt sad for him. We chatted for a while and he told me things about his mam and how she used to sing to him and after she died he lived in a big home and made pottery.

His speech was rather stilted and childlike and I didn’t feel threatened. Then we just sat in the quietness and he had a wee sleep! Yes, he napped as he clutched a Christmas card in his hand. After about half an hour I heard a woman shouting at us along the pathway. She hurried up to us as he jolted awake.

“Barry, what have you been told about wandering off?” she shouted at him. She wasn’t being angry more concerned and I explained he had been sitting with me chatting. Barry was all confused and stuttering out sentences trying to explain himself.

“Barry was having lunch with us at the river side pub along there and just disappeared, didn’t you Barry?” she calmed down, but still looked harassed.

He got up and staggered a wee bit, I think he was tired. The woman just took his arm and walked him off. They got about 30 feet away when he turned and shouted “Bye Katherine” at me. Nice to know he paid attention when I told him my name! I hope Barry had a nice day.

I walked slowly back to the flat and noticed that Leeds has its Christmas decorations up in the town centre.

IT ISNT EVEN HALLOWEEN PEOPLE!

Either that town is obsessed with Christmas or they want to shove Christianity down everyone’s throats and wipe out their reputation as a town that breeds bombers of the Muslim fundamentalist nature.

Now don’t everyone comment and write hateful things about me slagging off Leeds, just don’t shoot the messenger, by the way as an addendum to that four counter-terrorism detectives have been arrested for allegedly abusing corporate credit cards to claim up to £120,000 in fraudulent expenses while gathering intelligence after the 7/7 bombings.

Is everyone corrupt?

Either way I had a great weekend in Leeds, and I had fun.

Luton is the kind of place where you land and run away from as fast as you can, but I couldn’t get a flight into Heathrow Terminal 5 which I adore and love, it has a tube station that takes me practically to my door when I stay in Central London.

My mate John came and picked me up and drove me out of the orange Easyjet painted hell hole.

I saw newly arriving Eastern Europeans take one look at the place and pour petrol over themselves and go up in flames with despair in the outside smoking area “this is what we gave up our shanty but happy homes for?” they said in a language I couldn’t understand but could tell from their actions, that’s what they meant.

Guantanamo bay has a better vista and more interesting facilities than Luton, the mere fact that everyone who asked me where I flew into does a Lorraine Chase face and shouts ‘Luton Airport’ in a Cockney Accent cements my opinion of the place.

Anyway I made it into London and had a great weekend. I was performing at The Groucho Gang Show which was just amazing. I sat on an expensive carpet and watched The Feeling, The Alphabeats and The Waterboys (technically it was A Waterboy as the band wasn’t there -just him) sing live! They were great and I love the Gang Show.

Later on I met David Thewlis who is a very interesting and lovely bloke who adores comedy! Then my mate Monica turned up with Heston Blumenthal (she owns her own PR Company) and I got papped outside hugging the lovely chef as we made our way in (I was outside waiting for them to arrive). We had a good old giggle as the gang show wound down; Hamish and the Groucho House band are just brilliant musicians and they had the place jumping.

I got home on Monday night (after suffering the horror of getting back to Luton fucking Airport 2 trains and 2 buses to be precise) and promptly fell asleep at 8pm and didn’t wake up until Tuesday at 10am. I am like a baby who ‘is going through the night without waking up for a feed’ its awful -who sleeps that long? Coma victims that’s who!

Husband watched me trying to get dressed today for a meeting and said quietly “Do you know there is a big clip in your hair sideways at the back?”

“Yes, I do, its fashionable” I retorted.

“It’s sideways and makes you look like Susan Boyle who can’t see the back of her head and clips random hair accessories without checking” he answered.

“Well you fuck a woman who looks like Susan Boyle so the jokes on you fella” I said as I struggled to get the clip out of my tufty mane, it got caught and eventually husband had to use nail scissors to free it out of my head. I now have a bald patch, that’s how fashionable I am.

I brushed my hair up and tried to put it in an up-do and managed to look like Chaka khan on crack, am sure the woman at the BBC meeting didn’t mind me looking mental. I am whacky and funny, that’s what I do!

I know I am not fashionable as I did comedy for an event last week where women who were really rich, successful or married to footballers bought handbags for £400 a piece. I nearly gagged on my champagne when I saw the cash flow for HANDBAGS…but it was all for charity so that’s ok, but seriously I couldn’t cope with the pressure of a fancy bag, I throw handbags on the grass and sometimes sit on them. I have been known to keep a Greggs pasty in a handbag for emergency steak bake moments.

Ashley got a £2,000 Bottega Venetta handbag as a graduation gift from a lovely rich friend and I get scared just looking at it.

It knows am from Shettleston and shouldn’t be near it, the bag shudders visibly when I pick it up. It literally vomits when I open it to look in.

“Get your grubby council house hands of my exclusive Italian leather you spam sucking caravan dweller” it whispers when I finger its clasp.

I am ok with an Asda long life plastic bag, don’t give me expensive leather or designer couture – I get nervous and burn it accidentally or spill red wine onto it.

Anyway the hand bag event was at Loch Lomond Golf Club and honestly the place is awesome, you should see the spa there…I was gobsmacked and one day I am going to save up and buy a bar of soap from that place.

I am joking, but go to www.lochlomond.com  and check this divine place out for yourself, its just spectacular.

Click on Spa and tell me that doesn’t look heavenly?

I think we should have a ladies blogger day there what do you think?

So last week I had some very interesting meetings and am very happy with the outcomes of them. Tide is turning in my direction for a wee change! It’s all swings and roundabouts as we all know but am enjoying the new stuff I am working on and Edinburgh provided great breaks for me, though I remain unconvinced that it was their -‘BEST SELLING EVER FRINGE’.

The sheer amount of act selling 2 for 1s right up until last weekend was frightening, and even some of the comedy award nominees never sold out on their last Saturday, that’s shocking!

People need to remember that 2 for 1s and free tickets given away COUNT as sold tickets in the final round up countdown, so it is misleading.

The last two weeks of the Fringe were very quiet and I witnessed some big promoters pull shows near the last weekend, I saw TV named comics struggle getting a sold out on that board and I know heaps of poor comedy bastards that will loose serious cash this year, fucking shame all round, especially when the venue and promoters get their cash off you upfront and NO MATTER HOW BADLY your show sold…I am glad I did it all myself and don’t leave Edinburgh Fringe owing anyone cash. In fact I did make a good profit this year, and am glad I took the risk again, especially with the TV and radio work I got out of it.

Onwards and upwards is the name of my game! I am off the fags and working like a wee Scottish devil, that’s what life is all about.

I went back to The Calton where I used to live in Glasgow’s East End with Michael Portillo (I know -how odd?) to take part in a documentary about the area. I sat outside my old pub and stared at the old red bricked building above it that was my home for 15 years, it was where Ashley grew up and where I started out in married life. It was rather emotional especially when you consider how we left it in 1994.

It looks really bad, despite being renovated. There is so much filth and clutter round the side of the building and the brick work looks dull, the windows look filthy, there are parts of the balustrade up on the roof missing and the pub itself looks like it was transported back to 1975 in a pub time machine. And I don’t mean the good part of 1975, I mean the awful drunken fucked upness of 1975.

There were a whole collection of drunken people all dressed in stone washed double denim, all who looked like some evil familial DNA had robbed them of the possibility of a chin since time began. Seriously no one there had a chin, the chubby faces all dissolved into their necks with out the interruption of a chin type facial structure to halt the journey southwards. I even stared into my make up mirror in my bag, to check I do have chin, turns out I have three chins, but that’s fine, the evil chin monster hasn’t stolen it the way he did to these poor people. He even took their teeth as well, people in the Calton outside that pub, lacked teeth and chins….that’s fucked up.

I don’t recall swathes of customers without chins or teeth back in my day!

A black youth walked past me and as he headed across London road I heard a chinless denim clad man shout “there’s Bobo the darkie” and other deformed faced denim clad men giggled. I clenched my teeth and stared at the ground. I hated the cunt faced man and hated that this was where my child grew up and hated that old men were actually not old really and smelled of beer and piss and I come from those people. I hated everything, I tried to remember good times in the Calton.

So I sat on the red fencing pipe opposite the bar and reminisced about Ashley learning to walk on that pavement, just as my golden glow of memories were over taking my brain, a car drew up, the man rolled the window down and he asked “You looking for business?”

I forgot about the kerb crawling bastards who surf the Calton looking for hookers, this man didn’t have a chin either, that disturbed me more.

“Fuck off chinless weirdo” I shouted at him as I waited on the camera crew arriving. He actually spat at me and drove off; to think I had glowy memories of this fucking street, what was I thinking of?

A wee drunken man from my old bar came wandering across to ask me inane questions that I can bear to write down or repeat as the dullness of the conversation was only saved by the fact he didn’t have a chin and I got to look close up at the chinless facial structure of this creature. It was amazing and really worth staring at.

Then Michael Portillo and the crew turned up and we all got microphones clipped on and started the shoot. The chinless man in double denim came out of the bar and walked purposely very close to the camera and shouted loudly “Don’t put me on camera, I don’t want on camera”

“Fuck off out of the shot, go back into the bar and don’t come fucking near a camera is the way to cure your worry about being caught on camera isn’t it you chinless fuck?” I shouted back coz I used to live there and I recall that’s how people spoke to each other.

Michael Portillo merely stared at me and then carried on regardless as though nothing had happened. I think politicians are good at pretending shit hasn’t happened and can smile through any storm, and he must know that as he was a Tory when Scottish people hated Tories and were allowed to cull them legally in honour of stolen milk and miners or something like that, I can’t totally remember!

The day brightened up, we finished the shoot and wandered home. All my glowy memories of the Calton were shot to fuck, people were nuts, double denim is SO HUGE in the Calton and I don’t want to go back there, all the good people are dead and the useless chinless cunts are left behind.

We are on the home run now people! Had some lovely people come to see my show, some Glasgow Celtic players (who I don’t know), Dean Freidman, Jimmy Carr and Roland Gift, his wife Louise and the actress Diane Quick, all lovely!

Though Jimmy Carr’s distinctive laugh had me giggling throughout my own show, it really is infectious! The crew from BBC Scotland’s comedy department came in as well and we all went off for drinks. They are awesome now that they are under the helm of a new head of comedy and it seems they like me…how unusual! Took an English woman to introduce them to me! Maybe one day I will make it onto the Fred McCauley show (he did keep promising, but it never materialised) never mind I was on BBC radio 4 this week with my Comic Fringes Short Story and I did a Just a Minute on BBC radio 4 as well!

I spoke to the previous producer of Fred’s show and he said “Maybe they couldn’t have you on because you swear” that made me giggle as I must be the ONLY comic to swear onstage in the world! I am truly unique indeed, but am glad BBC radio 4 don’t worry about such things, they must be really cutting edge is good old radio 4, especially as I have NEVER sworn on radio or telly in my life.

Have had such a good week numbers wise as well, I never succumbed to giving away free tickets or gave up 2 for 1’s either, people come to see me because I am a decent comic and NOT a bargain cheap away day ticket! I feel that it can demean the festival when big acts are giving away tickets this late in the run; it creates a cheapening of the entire spirit of the festival in my own opinion.

I would rather play to 60 full paying punters during the week than half full of uncommitted punters who don’t really invest in your show mentally; full payers also tend to value the show more as well.

The 2 for 1s and free tickets also discourages full payers coming in as they know some people in there got in for free and that annoys them, I know this coz I asked my audiences how they would feel knowing they booked in advance for a show at full price and then found out had they waited they could have got the tickets 2 for 1 and they agreed with me that it was insulting to them! I think am right which what I always think when I am having conversations with myself!

Have some great radio and TV work in the future as well, which made me happy, the Fringe isn’t about what happens in Edinburgh but what happens AFTER it all and therefore this one has been a huge success. I got more FIVE star reviews this year than ever! Though I might be wrong as 2004 garnered a huge swathe for Good Godley as well, am too tired to go check my website! That’s the other great thing about talking to yourself; you are under NO conditions to correct yourself!

Well technically I am talking to you lovely people but because I am quite tired it feels like am talking to myself and you inadvertently get to listen in! But I like that as well.

It was my husband’s birthday during the week and we never got to share it. I did call him up and remind him how I recalled every detail of his 17^th birthday back in 1979 and how we shared that, I recall that I made him spaghetti Bolognese and we ate it on our knees in my grandfathers back bedroom. Then we went straight to work in his dad’s pub. Was that really 30 years ago? Did we ever think that 30 years later I would be performing comedy and he would be celebrating his birthday alone as I stood onstage making people laugh? I don’t think we could have ever foreseen that!

Life is good; I have stopped being sick and made new friends!

I am MC at the Malcolm Hardee award show on Friday night, the man behind it all is John Fleming who sponsors the show, and he was a good mate of Mr Hardee. Come see my show at Pleasance Dome 7pm every night till Monday 31^st August, no free tickets but you get to see a five star show!

“Easy done” she sniggered. She will suffer for that remark, when I start vomiting again and she has to hold a pot for me to puke in. that’s what friends are for.

My illness started on Friday night, I did my show, it was great fun, Monica clapped loudly, Dean Friedman (my lovely friend and musical hero) laughed loudly and we headed out of the venue. Monica and I walked up to the Gilded Balloon loft, I had some tea, Monica had a gin and immediately I got horrendous cramps in my lower abdomen. “Ok, maybe I need a poo” I said to Monica and headed for the toilet, the cramps continued, I broke out in a hot sweat and I decided it was time to go home. Poor Monica was on holiday and I just cut the night short by organising diarrhoea and stomach cramps. 

When we got back to the flat at around 9pm as we are total rock and roll, I stripped half naked and headed for the loo. I sat there for ages expulsing everything from both ends whilst Monica mopped my brow.

I felt so guilty that this was her holiday and I was ruining her day with my personal colon problems.

I must have eaten something crap and my stomach rebelled. I really didn’t need that on a Saturday morning. I hardly slept a wink due to cramping and shitting my skeleton out, but I had to go do the Breast Cancer Pink comedy show.

When I walked out on stage I noticed that there were two wee kids sitting there, Jenny Éclair had been onstage and done some pretty adult material, swearing and rather sexual content. I can’t swear in front of kids, fair play to Jenny, she is a top compere and the other mostly female comics weren’t prepared to face toddlers, yet they still put on sterling show and made the gig shine like a perfect beacon, but believe it or not, I just can’t be ‘nasty’ in front of small kids.

So I held in my vomiting and got the wee girl up on a chair and the whole audience got to hear about her albeit very short life, she was 3 and ¾ and wanted to be a vet when she grew up.

I love entertaining kids and adults at the same time. I did six comedy for kids show in NZ and it was a huge success. So the audience had a lovely time with me playing up to the kids, I even got a nice email from the organisers thanking me for my patience with the babies, that made me very proud of myself.

I am a bit sick of being labelled a ‘vulgar’ ‘sweary’ comic when in fact when it comes to it, I can do a whole hour without any expletives at all and small kids don’t throw me off the mark.

So after that I went back to some expert shitting and some sleep before my own show at 7pm, which was just awesome fun. I managed to stay out late and not vomit or deface any Edinburgh toilets with my nasty colon.

Though I did manage to embarrass myself when I chatted to a man who I thought was an old pal of mine called Ashley, who wasn’t the bloke Ashley at all -but Stephen Merchant! I am such a knob, I don’t know who he is as I have never seen Extra’s or anything he is in, and I really don’t watch much telly. He was gracious and we giggled and I walked away still semi convinced he was my mate Ashley from London! Maybe all that vomiting had expelled some of my brains. Life is ok, I feel better, I got rave reviews, I got great houses and I am not longer squeezing yellow bile out of my throat.

The good news is I feel better, and due to the illness may have lost some weight there is always a positive side to Dysentery.

During the week, I recorded Just a Minute and Comic Fringes for BBC Radio 4, the comic fringes was a short story I had written and read out to a live audience. The short story is broadcast on BBC Radio 4 at 3.30pm on 25^th August 2009. Hope you like it!

Life at the fringe is ticking along wonderfully, my twitter followers alert me to any press they notice and they send other twitterers updates about me, who needs PR? I love Twitter!

The show has been going great guns, I did a whole show without swearing which was nice, as everyone likes to point out how much I swear (but never mention the boys, because this is still 1953) So I proved I can be funny without being ‘cursy’. I was going to dress in a floral frock and bake, but I guess that’s been done to death.

I love the fringe -Though the stinking rainy weather in Edinburgh makes me want to blow up the castle and kill all the happy jugglers. The folk who stand still dressed as statues fill me with hatred and vile- my brother used to down methadone and he could stand staring at a dead fly for eight hours after his dosage, we didn’t call it art, we called it a ‘habit’.

But today the sun is shining and we all know tomorrow is set for a tsunami of epic proportions as the puddles overwhelm the punters in the street. Why can’t we have the Edinburgh fringe in Barcelona? That would be awesome. Why do we have it in a city where we need a canoe to get to the venue?

In my show I talk about being on a train when a man gets killed, and funnily enough my mate Monica is late getting into Edinburgh as a man died on the line during her journey today, she is like that, she copy cats everything I do. (Ok that was a rather heartless remark about a death, I am sorry but I have a headache today and feel somewhat nasty, forgive me).

Ashley is still in Amsterdam and husband is still at home in Glasgow, he is happy without the constant madness of the Fringe, I know how he feels when I hear loud comics projecting their voices saying “My sitcom in LA is awesome, the writers just cant believe my life when I explain stuff, seriously, I am so off the chart edgy, anyway one night I was with these models and they were so into me…blah blah”

It can make your cranium vomit blood…The best fun to be had is getting a reviewer to tell you what she has been to see, then hear the gossip about whose show is 30 minutes long and who is repeating old shows and who is boasting about sell outs when ten people are in the room, its evil but funny and am sure I will go to hell for giggling.

Life is mental in Edinburgh, I still haven’t drunk a drop of booze, as I am not really a drinker and keep planning a late lie in and getting scuppered as people keep asking me to do things early in the morning.

This week I am going to take it easy, life is good!