Saturday, December 06, 2014

The Bay City Rollers and Me

Picture the scene, it's 1975 and the girls are in the old school outdoor Victorian toilets standing beside the big radiators rubbing their hands for a smidgeon of heat and I walk in.I budge people up for some warmth on the thick painted cast iron that gives out a dull heat.
Someone shouted "The Bay City Rollers are coming to Glasgow".
I was stunned, I loved them! I wanted to go and see them. They were HUGE, everyone I know LOVED them. 
 "My dad got me two tickets and then we are going to The Albany Hotel to meet them" said this girl I knew called Donna.  
Everyone was excited at her news.
I piped up "I love them, I might go".
Donna flicked back her long hair, stared at me and laughed as she pushed me off the radiator and yelled "You can't even afford the school dinners, you eat out of bins Currie" and all her pals giggled and shoved me on the way out of the toilets. I blinked back tears. 
I hated her, she had everything I wanted like ...boobs, shiny long straight blonde hair and really fashionable clothes. I fucking hated her.
I was small, flat chested and had hair so curly and densely thick that no matter what style you got it cut, it went back to its original thicket of black matted wool. Who I am kidding? It was never professionally styled and cut, my mammy trimmed it regularly with the giant wallpaper scissors. 
How could a Bay City Roller ever fall in love with a child-like boyish girl with mismanaged hair and cardboard to block up the holes in her shoes?
I gripped the radiator hard and listened as the others all talked about getting tickets and making plans. I left the toilet with that horrible acceptance that I would never get the money to go. 
Life could be shit in 1975 for us poor ones.
Today I was introduced to Les McKeown from Bay City Rollers at a charity event "This is Janey Godley, she is great stand up comic" the very generous woman said as she nodded to Les. He shook my hand and said "Yea, I have seen your stuff, you are right funny, hiya"
That wee girl standing beside the radiator in 1975 with wet socks wishing she had boobs, untangled hair and the money for a Bay City Rollers ticket finally smiled. 
Fuck you Donna, where ever you are.

Tuesday, December 02, 2014

Being a woman comic, these are things that happen.

1. Watching the hotel receptionist ignore you and speak to your husband, explaining stuff and giving keys out, even though you are paying the bill and the room is in your name (which is entirely different from his).

2. Turning up at a new theatre gig and watch the front of house staff explain to my husband (who drove me there and is only walking me in and is not a comic) where the green room is and shaking his hand, assuming he must be the headline act and not me.

3. Computer staff asking my husband what his job is to get a laptop to suit his needs when in fact it was me who asked them for assistance and he was only standing beside me.

4. People assuming I would wet my knickers to run to the 'Prosecco and Cupcake' table at a charity event.

5. Organisers ignoring every male comic in the room to tell specifically me that 'this event would prefer if swearing was kept to a minimum'.

6. Having a woman apologise in advance for my language at a comedy/political event after four men had sworn onstage before me. She gave them great introductions with no 'bad language' comments.

7. Men asking me what my husband thinks of my job.

8. Women asking me what my husband thinks of my job and did I feel like a bad mother leaving my daughter in her father's care as I pursued my career.

9. Audience member's telling me they don't normally like female comics, but I was good.

10.  People asking me if my comedy is about my vagina and hating men.

11. When explaining my husband doesn't work, having to listen to men assume he must be secretly resentful I make money. You are not allowed to reverse that question on them, apparently that's me being defensive.

12. People asking me if being a 'woman 
comic' is actually a real job.

Come see 2 funny women at Glasgow International Comedy Festival MARCH 2015

Sunday, November 23, 2014

A Lot To Answer For And Ballater

So we have Bill Cosby, one of my favourite TV dad's. The all American dad, the man in fuzzy sweaters who could make anything funny, is now accused of rape.
Not by one woman, or another woman who 'jumped on the band wagon' as some internet trolls like to call victims, but a slew of women working in the business. What does Bill do? He refuses to discuss it. Refusing to speak seems like the best way to avoid discussion. It has been used a million times historically, the best way to avoid a situation is to 'not talk about it' according to Bill.
When my daughter was four I caught her throwing talcum down the toilet, the whole thing splattered the loo and the floor. She didn't want to talk about it. I accepted she knew it was wrong as she was four years old and slunk off looking for a teddy bear to be her lawyer who would assure her 'not talking about it' was a great defence. Her face spoke volumes.
Bill Cosby's face on the latest Associated Press's video looks much of the same. Except Bill never threw talcum about the toilet to resemble the final scene of Scarface, he is accused of raping multiple victims.
When will he speak out? The New York Daily News printed a front cover today saying "It's Time For America's Dad To Talk" so it's not going away.....come on Bill. Speak.
I am currently writing this blog from Ballater, me and my pal Shirley are having a week at the timeshare lodge at Craigendarroch. It's basically a huge complex of country lodges beside a big hotel with a swimming pool nestled on the hill above Ballater. It's Royal country, all the shops vie for who has the biggest royal seal of approval above their wee blue door. There are faded photos in windows of Diana clutching a bag of dolly mixtures as she heads towards a car and a wonderful museum dedicated to Queen Victoria in the now defunct railway station, full of wax models and mock up royal train. Very cutesy.
I think it must be hard to survive as a business in these small villages, so fair play to them. I love the village of Ballater I have to say. The butcher's has the best meat on the planet and the shops are stocked with everything from gun cleaning fluid to fags and tartan hedgehogs.
Me and Shirley have been doing art projects, I love painting and drawing and she has been joining in and encouraging me to draw things I normally feel is out with my talent scope. I even did a landscape and auctioned it on Twitter and raised £150 for Loaves and Fishes food bank in Glasgow. Am very proud and thanks to Stephen K Amos, the food bank got some well deserved cash.
The silence is wonderful, and the scenery is stunning. I go and swim most days and just lie in the warm pool and float about, so swimming is a very elaborate excuse for what it is I actually do in the pool.
I am missing Ashley, husband and my dad of course but the break is brilliant.
Shirley on the other hand, despite being a good pal likes to scare me. She has done this in all the places we stayed from London to Boston. She can stand still in a dark corner for ages just to jump out at me...I battered my arm off the door to the sauna the other night when she did it. Yes, we have a sauna and Jacuzzi in the lodge.
I don't like sauna's as to me they are one step above water boarding.
We sit out at night on the balcony in the dense darkness and can hear nothing but some birds or animal or something making a weird noise, but it's lovely. I always look at Shirley to make sure it isn't her cawing to scare me, but it's not.
Days pass in a lovely haze of swimming, eating and sleeping surrounded by brilliant autumnal colours blazing through the windows and laughing with my pal.
This is the perfect time to relax before the busy Christmas period and as we have had this lodge for 28 years, I recall Ashley as a toddler throwing talcum down the toilet in the lodge. Ah...happy memories.
So thanks for reading, if you want follow me on twitter @JaneyGodley for updates and daily shenanigans.

Sorry my blog's have been less regular than promised...been hectic.