Three things happened recently, one was I was bitten by a
small child, two was the local minister burnt me with hot coffee and thirdly I
have recognised that I have sexual dreams about people I don’t like.
Ok, let’s start with number one, the small feral child.
I was in Boots the Chemist and waiting on husband getting
his eyes tested and a woman with a happy baby sat beside me. I love kids so I
leaned in and chucked its wee fat chin and the baby quickly grabbed my finger
and chomped down hard on the tip. It had teeth, God knows how the mother’s
nipples must feel, and anyway I screamed a wee bit and the mother laughed. She
was happy it wasn’t her getting attacked by her toothy baby.
Number two was simply me walking out of the local coffee shop
and a minister walking back in to get something he clearly forgot whilst
holding a cup of steaming hot coffee, he banged into me and the burning milky
liquid burnt my tits. “Fucksake my tits are burning” is what I screamed at the
Holy man of the Cloth (he didn’t carry a cloth, which would have been good). He
stared at me and didn’t attempt to pat my ample boobs; he just apologised and
walked off as I still shouted “My tits are roasted here for fucksake”.
Luckily I don’t go to church, so I don’t have to face him
The third thing is disturbing me, I keep dreaming about
having sex with folk I don’t like, what is that about. I can’t even begin to
tell you who it was but suffice to say it wasn’t anyone creepy like Hitler (he
is sexy to some people) and it wasn’t a child killer, it was people I know and
don’t really get on with or find attractive.
I recall when I was pregnant I had vivid sexual dreams about
the man in the park who used to collect the leaves and slept under the bridge
eating mouldy bread and had a three legged dog called tripod.
Every other day when I saw him and he would try to piss on
my legs (him not the dog) I would scream in horror and run away then scream
again when I though about the wild orgasms the man had induced in my pregnant
sleep…it haunted me, he was special and wore a round plaster on one eye as it
was lazy, like his brain…but in my twilight head…oh he was SEXMAN.
I tried to bring that subject up with the ante natal nurse.
I explained to her I was having wild sexual dreams and wondered if it was a
pregnancy symptom. She just said to me “Do you know the man you are dreaming
“Yes, I do” I answered
“Have you fucked him in real life?” she asked as she took my
“No, he has special needs and is homeless” I explained.
“Is he good looking” she continued without expression.
“No, he has a palsy of some sort and makes owl noises” I
She stopped at this and stared at me and said “You are sick,
that’s terrible and really offensive”
I never got to the bottom of that and the good news is Owl
Palsy man died that winter (in the park sadly) and I stopped dreaming about
So that means the only way I will stop dreaming about the
people I don’t like as I fuck them in my sleep is for them to die.
There must be higher love, well according to Steve Winwood
that’s true but to me I simply accept average height love, and after 30 years
of marriage am well versed in being average. I have tried being extraordinary
but I end up being mediocre.
My past attempts at being sultry and sexy have landed in
flat-liner heaven, with me either having stomach pains on a floor trying to
shift wind but dressed in Agent provocateur and red high heels, or husband and
I having a big fight when we get to the secluded romantic cottage. We can’t
seem to time or prepare our relationship for fun and love. It either happens or
it doesn’t, it can’t be orchestrated at all.
Usually we end up deciding to get divorced as I sit on high
count Egyptian cotton sheets, chomping on luxury chocolates and slugging
chilled Champagne in a five star hotel beside a dramatic coastline. Then again,
we have sat in a one berth cockroach infested caravanette and been stuck to
each other’s flesh for a whole 48 hours as we profess our undying love for each
other, then go eat a can of cold beans in utter happiness! What am saying is,
concocted settings don’t always work!
So on that thought, husband and I went to Fife for a night,
just a romantic one night of spontaneous love, I was being grumpy and he
suggested my favourite beach cove at Elie, I love it there.
The wind was down and the coast was warm and the sun was
setting, we ate fish and chips then we checked into a wee B&B after walking
along the beach and fell asleep on foamy single beds, especially after husband
had drunk a few pints of Guinness.
The sun dipped and the pattering rain started, then we
literally snored away happily as the coastal storm slashed the windows of our
bedroom. We both woke up at 3am, the rain had halted -the silence scared us,
then another storm battered the windows and we fell asleep again, we do love
noise! We both woke again at 4am and having no radio or any type of background
music (we both need white noise constantly to sleep, like a radio or talking book)
I decided to pretend I was the BBC world service and spoke in funny accents,
making up news stories till we both crashed out again.
We had to leave Elie at 9am the next morning, as there was a
severe weather warning throughout Fife and we didn’t want caught up in it. That’s
summer holidays in East Neuk in Fife!
It was a lovely wee break and just what I needed to perk me
I have stopped smoking yet again; this must be my eight time
of stopping smoking, who knows maybe this time it will work?
I like to pick a stressful time to stop smoking, like the
Spent two nights in Leeds and did nothing
more than sleep, and get up for the comedy gigs.
If you know me you will
know how much I despise Cliff Richard, and the first thing I saw in the hotel
room in Leeds was a photo of him next to my bed, I reckon that’s why I slept for
hours after my eyes took in the horror. It wasn’t a magazine, someone just left
a glossy photo of Cliff on the bedside table, the chambermaid hadn’t removed it,
maybe she was in on the Cliff subliminal movement, I don’t know.
stared at it, with my suitcase in my hand and I considered moving rooms in case
Cliff had haunted it even though he is alive, he can still haunt us, don’t let
that small detail fool you. I put the photo in the bin that was after I had
shredded it with tiny miniscule movements, almost robotic behaviour, I wasn’t
happy till he was tiny shredded squares in the metal bin. I knew when I slept
the little squares would pixelate, join together and Cliff once more would be
whole and come and get me, drag me onto his big Red Bus and sing about Jesus or
dolls into my face. Anyway I got shot of the photo.
The sleeping thing
is bothering me; I seem to be out of whack with my normal pattern. I end up
sleeping for 17 hours a day and staying awake all night then nodding off…what is
wrong with me? And if you think that’s bad am considering hiding in the
woodlands with a crossbow and an owl in a shoebox.
Let me explain both,
firstly despite trying all manner of ways to get some pre fringe press I am
lacking some decent publicity so I reckon if I go mad and hide in foliage with a
deadly weapon and small woodland creature- publicity will follow. People will
buy tickets to my shows solely to find out why I keep an owl in a
Ashley and did our first podcast, which was funny, because some
people complained we sounded posh, some people said they couldn’t understand a
word we were saying and others said we talked very formal and not relaxed. Trust
me; we were so strung out of lack of sleep that the podcast was bordering on
libellous, disturbing evil gossip that it took hours to edit. We will get better
at it, keep listening please?
We like it (Ashley and I) and if you want
to hear it please go to
This thing I have is basic impatience and worry; sometimes I
wake up in a cold sweat worrying that I may have picked the wrong career. I
don’t have a pension scheme, so do I invent a Ponzi scheme instead? No…I don’t
do that, its evil. I may never be famous and rich, but I get to do what I love
and that’s comedy and writing.
I worked for fifteen years in a skanky bar in the East End
of Glasgow and thought it was the best I could do, now I get to travel all over
the place being funny and getting paid for talking (something I was ridiculed
for in the past- I do mean talking- not getting paid for it!) anyway I love
doing what I do.
I just worry I am getting too old and have decided to make
myself poor, lonely and sick and live in Paris and become a bohemian writer. I
will write stories about a woman who takes a younger lover, smokes too much and
stares out of windows thinking about art. Or maybe I wont do any of that, fuck
Paris I am off to the festival in Edinburgh that will eat enough of my cash and
possibly destroy my soul BUT I will be destroyed financially doing something I
truly love. Like the man who was convinced he could invent a perpetual motion
machine despite physics proving it can’t be done and scientists mocking him, he
made a thing with an elastic band and two lolly sticks – ok that never happened
but imagine it did and the man made himself poor and exhausted just by proving
people wrong THAT is my point people! Confused? Me too.
I think I am sleep deprived and rambling what do you think?
Ashley and I did a podcast today. You would think after all
the technology invented and the sheer amount of podcasts out there it was as
easy as pissing on a priest, but its not….the bloody thing took ages to edit.
Either we need to be less offensive, stop naming people and their personal
gossip or learn to deal with an editing suite and shut up moaning about it.
Ashley says some outrageous stuff when a microphone is at her mouth, which is
not really a worry but we are doing a kids show together at the Fringe! (Worry
not parents I am JOKING).
The podcast was good fun, she makes me laugh and I believe
that’s important enough for me to expect other people to want to hear it and
The link will be up on ITunes as soon as it generates it or
whatever ITunes do to register your podcast, keep an eye on my website
janeygodley.com to check if it is up there soon.
Last night I dreamt I was a giraffe and was eating roof
tiles from my dad’s garden hut, two pigeons pecked at my eyes. I woke up with a
sore neck, am not kidding! You maybe slightly concerned that by reading this I
sound slightly mental, but I just haven’t been sleeping well and my brain is a
bit like a bag that’s left outside a charity shop and smells funny just now,
still thought I would share my madness with you.
I may go to New York and be one of those old women who used
to disco dance and hangs around old clubs talking about the ‘old days of disco’
whilst sprinkling crushed valium on my coffee and sniggering at happy couples.
Or I may now go to bed as I have to get up and go to Leeds and be funny for
people who paid to hear me talk funny…who knows what will happen on the train?
The podcast will be out soon….hope you like it people…good
Ashley has decided that I need more exercise, so much so,
she makes me do sit ups on a machine thing that I found in a skip.
Ok, you want to know about me in a skip don’t you? Here’s
what happened – I often pass a skip and see things in it I can use. Its my old
hand me down working class roots coming to the fore, anyway I saw an exercise
machine FULLY BOXED and untouched and needing assembled so I took it. Ashley
was mortified because she is middle class and can speak French and has been on
a pony. I have walked in plastic sandals to school in winter so my attitude is
different. I take stuff off the street and out of skips.
Once I saw a cracking standing lamp on the Great Western
Road and started dragging with me until a man chased me screaming “what the
hell are you doing lady?” I didn’t know he was moving house and not throwing
out stuff from a student flat did I?
I am known for my skip hunting technique, I once found a
baby in skip, and how did you think I got Ashley? Ok, that was a joke.
Anyway the exercise machine is one of those sit up curvy
things and its good and hurts like hell, I know this as Ashley MAKES me do it
and then she does it, but she doesn’t have giant breasts that threaten to
muffle her mouth when she does sit ups and I do!
My side and back ache like hell and I now wish I had left
the machine in the skip.
Meanwhile I am getting ready for my Edinburgh shows, as you
all know by now Ashley and I are doing a kids show at Pleasance Dome at 12.45pm
and I am doing my one woman comedy show at Pleasance Dome at 7pm every night of
the fringe which starts on 4th of August.
I send photo’s to mates, I look at other people’s lives on
the web and I realised it’s been ages since I actually held a photo in my hand
and stared at it. That’s the power of the internet!
Who knew when we were kids climbing trees and making cars
out of old prams that one day we would all be sitting on buses, trains, at
work, in bed and even in theatres looking at tiny hand held metal boxes and
telling the world in 140 characters what we are thinking?
People like me who grew up in the late 60s and 70s spent our
summers playing on the pavements, hiding in tree houses and could only dream of
having something that would let us watch the Banana Splits on demand. We ran
home from school desperate not to miss our favourite TV shows, and back in
those days no one bothered to ask us each morning ‘What are you thinking?’
Now every kid worth its salt has a Facebook account. No one
does anything without taking a host of inane photos and showing all their mates
what they were doing last weekend. I am guilty of it too.
We needn’t imagine what Steve did when he met an angry
bulldog, as we can all see it recorded on an IPhone and posted on YouTube.
Friends are everything on the internet, we gather them on
Facebook, Twitter and that old woe begotten wayward pal My Space…remember My
Everyone will either ‘Like’ or ‘Dislike’ your recent
comment, that’s what friends do nowadays.
When I was a kid, friends came round to your house, shared
their Toffo’s with you, sang along to Donny Osmond songs and decided which Bay
City Roller they would snog first. You waited a full week for photos to be
developed and then you would carry them to school to show your best pals and
image of you, your mum and dad and big brothers and sister all lined up like a
mismatched smiley group beside a tiny rounded caravan as the rain whipped your
hair across your happy face.
No one could imagine that a photo could be sent to a whole
host of people in a matter of seconds. That’s what the future gave us. But do
we nurture those photos and experiences as much as we used to? I think we have
become numb to the vast array of content on the web that we no longer nurture a
photo of a baby; we no longer stare at an image and wonder what happened next?
Or try to envision what the people in the picture were doing as the photo was
taken...like we used to.
This all sounds like I am disillusioned with the internet
but I am not at all, it’s awesome.
I love that there are so many people connecting across the
world, I enjoy reading other people’s blogs and content.
I just feel that something is lost along the way; people
don’t pull out a wallet to show a photograph (other than my husband who still
carries a picture of Ashley at age 6 and age 20 side by side!) everyone has a
slide show of photos on their phone (like me).
In many years to come, there wont be boxes of photos on top
of wardrobes or in closets, they will all be stuck in someone’s hard drive or
archived on various image hosting websites.
I don’t see photographs proudly hanging on walls anymore,
constant images of smiling kids staring from flowery papered walls- that will
soon be all gone.
Yet we do get to see more photographs through the web, we
get to see a baby’s first steps and your kid’s graduation live as it happens,
that’s all amazing stuff.
So, I am off to print off some photos and start putting them
in boxes and the good news is, maybe in years to come someone will find them
and wonder who they are!
My latest trip in LA had me take the underground subway or
Metro as they call it- to downtown. I love the trains and buses as you already
So I headed down to Union Station, the sun was burning hard,
remember this place is hot as Mexico (which technically it is all but for a
border line!) anyway my misplaced geography aside, I was covered in factor 60
which is basically a Burka.
Union station is awesome and old. I have been there years
ago when husband, Ashley and I once took a train trip to San Diego. The great
hall of the station is beautiful and very reminiscent of the ‘olden days’ as I
like to call things when am not sure of their age nor can be bothered googling
for your information.
Anyway it really does look stunning and of a day when train
travel was afforded the name ‘elegance’ and not hundreds of people squeezed
I walked from the station and onto the Mexican bit where the
oldest street and museums sit. It’s called Olvera Street and if you like
Mexican wrestling gimp masks, fried things, Jesus beads; taco’s and Hello Kitty
things then you are in heaven! If like me you don’t like any of that stuff, you
start walking in the opposite direction and go find the museum which basically
tells you that the house belonged to Mexican people then American people turned
up and made Los Angeles their own and left the Mexican people to clean their
houses or become bad drivers….or any other stereo type that American comics
like to bang on about.
Further along the street there was a protest about Americans
not letting Mexican people live in Los Angeles and also a big speech about
stereo typing Mexican people, but they were drowned out by Mexican people
selling chewing gum, Jesus beads and a group of Mexican people dressed as
ancient Inca’s doing a tribal dance to drums. It was awesome.
I got bored with that and headed back on the train to Little
Tokyo which was really cute and they had hundreds of Hello Kitty stuff and
waving golden cats. There is only so much of that you can look at; it’s a bit
like walking down Princes Street in Edinburgh and thinking ‘really more
I headed back on the train where a drunken man fell on his
back and pissed himself, am convinced the stain was in the shape of Hello Kitty,
or maybe it was just me.
Finally I decided to get off the train at MacArthur Park, I
loved the song so I must love the park eh? I didn’t know that outside the
station were at least 80 Mexican people trying to sell food that looked
incredibly odd, and came out of a vast array of boxes, bags and wheelie bins.
They thrust this stuff into your face as if smelling it would make you want it.
I didn’t like it but I come from a country that eats haggis and deep fried
pizza so am not one to mock. Yet again the Jesus beads came thrown at
me….Jesus? What is it with the beads?
Anyway MacArthur Park is a park in a town with squillions of
old weather beaten Mexican men who gamble at concrete tables, I tried to get
near them to see what the game was but they shouted at me. I don’t know what it
was they shouted but in unison it was basically ‘Fuck off’ so I wander off to
get a seat in the shelter.
I didn’t know sitting down meant “please try to sell me
beads, fried crispy wormy looking things and shaved ice with neon coloured
liquid” I managed to beat off the constant food vendors (who needs that much
food in a park?).
I spotted a skinny tanned looking boy with a ghetto blaster
walking towards me; I thought ‘maybe he has fried goods in that music box, I wouldn’t
He sat beside me smiling gently, he was followed by a tall
thin Chinese/Asian guy, and they both looked about 20 years old at a push.
The brown faced boy smiled and said “hello”
I said “hello”
He said “I am Israel”
I said “really? This seat is occupied”
He never got the joke, he sat down, the tall Asian boy
stayed standing, I noticed he was clutching a bible.
Israel said “How has your day been going?”
I said “Fine what do you guys want, if its Jesus am not up
for crazy, am all done on crazy today”
Israel smiled and said “Have you read the bible?”
I lit up a ciggie and said “yes, are you going to quiz me on
The Asian boy and Israel started telling their good news, it
wasn’t really good news to me, but I didn’t want to appear unfriendly so I sat
nodding and smoking and watching the Mexican men gambling in the distance.
“Don’t you like God?” the Asian boy (I think he was Chinese
or Asian, not am not sure…he could have been some other race…I wish I had paid
more attention now am trying to tell you the story).
Anyway I said “I don’t like that bad people might be in this
heaven you speak of”
This gave them grist for the mill; they were now desperate
to get into this.
“Don’t you believe in forgiveness?” the standing boy said as
he rubbed the cover of his bible.
I took a breath and said “well, its like this, if Hitler at
the last minutes of his death begged for forgiveness and gave his heart to God
and was truly sorry then according to your bible he will be in heaven and I
don’t want to go there in case I meet him, coz I will have an issue with that
and might start a fight, would you like to die and go to heaven and the first
person you met was Hitler?”
“Then that would be Gods will” Israel said.
“And you would be cool with that? Spending eternity with a
really contrite sorry Hitler?” I asked him. He struggled for an answer.
They changed the subject “Do you want to hear our good
“if your good news is that Hitler is sorry and is waiting
for me to be sorry so I can spend eternity with him, then no, that good news
better be more interesting than that” I said. (I will decide when this subject
The standing boy tried a different tack.
“Were you raised in Christianity?” he asked.
“No, poverty” I answered.
Then I said “Do you believe that homosexuals are evil?”
Israel got excited at this “I used to be gay…”
Before he finished his sentence I gasped “Used to be? Come
on don’t tell me you were gay and found God and you are heterosexual now!”
Israel smiled beatifically and said “Yes”
“No Way! You poor lamb, surely God didn’t make you straight,
you are gay and that’s cool, God is forgiving remember? He gave us Lady Ga Ga”
I shouted, it startled the Mexican gamblers.
“God made Adam and Eve” the boy who was standing butted in…
“Ok, so God can forgive Hitler but not homosexuals?” I
This wasn’t going as planned.
The standing boy added “eighty five percent of gay men were
raped by homosexuals as children”
Israel added “I was raped as a boy that made me gay” and
then he nodded.
I hugged his arm and shouted at the standing guy “That’s
bollocks total bollocks, gay men are the smallest percentage of child abusers,
I was raped by a heterosexual man, so that means I was destined to be a lesbian
and God had me raped so I would be heterosexual…GOD saved me from
homosexuality? Is that what you are saying?”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
I turned to the ‘used to be gay’ boy and touched his wee
cute face and said “Mate you are gay, its nothing to do with abuse, accept it,
stay away from brain washing Christians, go out and there and embrace your life
and…dress better again and give Kylie songs another go, for the love of GOD
Lady Ga Ga is here, that’s a sign surely”
He laughed a loud lovely chime of a giggle, hugged me and said
“I wasn’t happy as a gay”
“That doesn’t mean your not gay I know lots of gloomy gay
men, they aren’t supposed to be happy all the time, but they don’t need to deny
their true self and find God to please others, God made you according to your
bible, stop being something you are not” I said.
The boy standing said “he doesn’t want to be gay, he heard
I switched my head round to Israel and said “maybe it was a
chemical imbalance? Maybe the voices were schizophrenic and it wasn’t God just
a mental illness, buzzing poppers could have done that, you can still be gay” I
just didn’t want the team to lose one, is all am saying.
He smiled and hugged me, I genuinely warmed to him but then
I do love most gay men in general.
They continued talking to me about their tolerant God and
all I could think was- what God hates gays? That’s not a forgiving man is it?
They then bowed their lovely shiny heads and prayed for my
soul. I sat there staring at the grinding poverty of the wee Mexican women
selling funnel cakes with four dirty toddlers at their feet and wondered if God
was sitting there in MacArthur Park with us, maybe he was sorting out the gays
from the straights or maybe he was going to perform a miracle for the kids who
would grow up in an unfair society or maybe tell the Pope to allow
contraception…or maybe he would whisper into Israel’s head that being gay was
fine by him and let that young man live his life his way.
The boys got up, and I said to Israel “Maybe in years to
come you will wake up and say ‘that crazy Scottish women was right, I am gay
and that’s cool’ and you will be free to live your life as you want and God
will still love you”
Israel said “Maybe one day you will wake up and remember me
and take God into your own heart and go out and spread the good news yourself”
I laughed and said “I think you will find Kylie before I
find God but thanks lovely man, go in peace”