I went up to see my dad, who is coping admirably since step mum’s death, I do worry about him. He is addicted to the Spotify music website! He is getting right into it and talks about it all the time!

Meanwhile on the home front Ashley is preparing to go to London for a bit and she had to graduate as well. She had organised all the graduation stuff herself, all I had to do was turn up and be a nice smiling mummy.

Ashley and her best mate Vikki were all excited and giggly in the back of the car as husband drove us through to the seaside town of Troon. It was bathed in sunshine and the beach was the backdrop to the concert hall where the ceremony was taking place.

We all had breakfast in Troon then Ashley went to get ‘robed’. We waited patiently outside the room and then there was my big girl dressed in her black cape with red sash hood and wearing her Jay-Z rapper hat on her big mane of hair.

The hall was teaming with people waiting to see their child graduate, but I didn’t care about them and just wanted to see my girl get up there! The bloody ceremony went on for ages, almost as long as her degree course. I listened to bla bla bla and me and Vikki just sat in the humid hall with camera’s poised. I was wishing that man who was dressed like a cross between a judge and a pantomime lion would shut the hell up and get this show on the road.

Finally the graduates started crossing the stage, bowing to get doffed with a black hat, have their hoods dropped across their shoulders and pick up their diploma thingy. I ran down to where the graduates were sitting in perfect rows and whispered to Ashley to turn back and smile as we were at the side of the stage where we would only see her back, and she said “Oh for the love of God piss off mum” her fellow students laughed at her.

But after about 4 million other students crossed the stage her name was finally called and she bent to get her head doffed, she got the hood over her shoulders, stood up and TURNED AND SMILED AT US then walked off getting her diploma and we caught it on camera! She was the only one to do so and it made me giggle out loud. It took me back to her first concert at school when she got up and sang “We don’t need no education” by Pink Floyd at five years old. That’s MY GIRL!

She then got back on her rapper hat and did the parade round the beach and the gents toilets outside the concert hall in Troon and the moment was over. I did shed a wee tear when I saw up there getting that diploma, I don’t know anyone in both our family history’s that even finished school properly never mind left University with a honours degree! My heart leapt in my chest and I am so proud of her.

Then on the train home whilst I was in full adoration mode she told me she had lost her passport yet again! I tried not to bite her face and just calmly said “it will be in your room darling”

She got home and under duress gutted her room out and was exhausted as the heat in Glasgow was oppressive, finally she pulled down the old bags in her wardrobe and in a black bag was an old teddy bear called popples, he has a pouch and on his back and yes...inside that pouch was her passport!

She has no idea how it got there and is still stressed as to why a teddy bear could possibly steal her identity. We all have come to the conclusion that she out it there for safekeeping and forgot where she put it.

So drama over and Ashley got the lecture about keeping her things safe and not panicking about stuff, you see she is really creative but rather disorganised in day to day life! Yet again mammy sat down and gave her the talk about closing her handbag, watching her receipts, making sure she has put her money in her purse and paying due attention to things before she skips gaily down a street with her things flying out of her pockets.

She glared at me, I continued to lecture and she stomped out of the room, dropping her IPod out of her pocket as she went.

So, back to me, I got up Friday morning at 7am to catch a BMI baby flight to East Midlands Airport as I am doing Jongleurs Nottingham for two nights and that was the only flight I could get. I was fucking tired and sleepy and the oppressive heat in Glasgow was killing us all. I literally peeled myself off the bed and headed with a sleepy husband driving me to Glasgow airport.

When I reached the check in the spotty youth told me it was £10 to check in.

“What?” I screeched.

Apparently the website where you book your flight does explain this in tiny obscure writing somewhere that if you don’t book online you have to pay £10 to check in at the airport. I was seething as I don’t see how some fuckwit checking your details on a computer can possibly cost £10, I was ready for cancelling the whole trip, but had to pay as I need to get to the gig.

As if that wasn’t bad enough when we landed in East Midlands the rain was battering down and BMI baby doesn’t own a concealed walkway to get you from the plane to the building (they should afford it the fucking money they charge) and I had to walk through pissing rain for about five minutes and the rain stuck my linen clothes to my skin. Then I had to get on a bus to Nottingham which took 45 minutes, yes, sitting there for all that time with wet clothes made me insane. Even my bra was wet.

Finally I arrived in Nottingham at 11am and it felt like I had just been through some evil punishment boot camp scenario. Luckily the hotel had a bed ready and I stripped and slept until five pm, and woke up to see Andy Murray stop being British and eventually revert to being a losing Scot, yet again.

Ah...life!

So, then I just got ready for the gigs and getting myself into gear. The coughing during the night freaked me out so much I had to stop smoking all over again (yes I slipped). So breathing is better since I had stopped again, but seriously I am concerned and need to go get my lungs check.

So I called NHS helpline and they asked me all the countries I had visited lately, I gave them New Zealand, Hong Kong, Los Angeles and Scotland. She ignored all the exotic locations and dug her teeth into Scotland. “There are big out breaks of swine flu in Scotland” she shouted. After I listed all my ailments she reassured me that I don’t have swine flu but just The Flu.

The gigs have been great though, I managed to do an Edinburgh preview which wasn’t really an Edinburgh preview. I just made some stuff up and watched if it worked or not. Meanwhile, the illness was ranging from snotty thick nose goo and coughing up green kites out of my lungs, then hacking coughs during the day that almost made me pee myself.

Wednesday last week I headed up to Manchester for a casting. I made the fatal mistake of jumping on an early train (instead of 9.20am I got on the 8.20am) which apparently is evil and costs an extra £160- as if I was going to pay that because I sat on a train an hour earlier that is just mental. I told the train man to fuck off, the train was empty and I refused to be robbed by those people.

He just stared at me and said “You got on a train that is peak time and your ticket is off peak, you have to pay”.

“Am not paying, look, am sorry but this train is empty, I am not taking someone’s seat, the sheer amount of times the train I paid for never either never left the station or never quite got to its destination is many fold, so am not moving or paying so call the police, look mate I know you are doing your job but this is just wrong” I spoke. He stared at me and said “ok” then smiled. I like the train man now.

The casting went fine, and I headed back to London on a train that wasn’t actually my ‘time train’ but I was now addicted to screwing with the system and felt quite crazy. Nobody bothered.

London has been really hot, at night I was sleeping in the lovely room with a big fan in my face which was awesome but in the morning my mouth and nose were dried up.

On Friday I woke up to the news that Michael Jackson had died, I really liked his music but went off him years ago when he paid a kid not to take him to court for sexual offences. I know he was found innocent in another child sexual case, but I just didn’t like him much after that. No one likes talking about this, not many people liked my tweets about this, so I will leave it at that!

On Saturday I did a comedy stint on Loose Ends on BBC Radio 4; it can be a tough gig as you basically shout stuff at five people sitting round a table in a small studio. The lovely Gerry Anderson was there, he was the man who made the Thunderbirds puppet series amongst many other puppet based TV shows.

He was really a cool old dude and gave me a big chat about stopping smoking; really he should be doing the circuit as a stopping smoking guru as he was awesome at that. Then he went on radio and as Clive Anderson asked him about Thunderbirds etc...Gerry told him “I hated working with puppets” That made me giggle, nice man though.

The comedy slot went ok, but honestly I think I have done better before.

I coughed my way onto a bus and headed back to the flat to get ready for Jongleurs Bow.

I have been bothered by my over eating campaign that started back in 1980, I know I am too fat and decided to diet (again). This time to help motivate me, I stood naked and took a photo on my phone of me from behind with the help of the mirror and OH FOR FUCKSAKE...I am never eating again. If you ever want evidence of how bad you look take a pic of you at an angle you never see and you will soon stop eating biscuits. I am now going to get an exercise programme into action and will take photos from behind to chart the progress.

One day when I am thin enough to be acceptable to society I may show those photos to people. I am horrified, I don’t have a waist I have back fat that just goes up to my neck and what are those two big indentations? Back Boobs? I am gutted. Husband never told me how fucked I look from behind, and the amount of lumpy fat on my ass is scary. Treadmill/yoga/swimming here I come.

I get home in time to watch Ashley graduate, she wasn’t going to go to the ceremony but I talked her into it. She will wear a gown she tells me but not a hat. That’s my girl!

So it’s been a long twelve days in London, I hate being away from home and having an illness. The sun is shining today and I am all better and heading home.

By the way twitter cannot find me on its search so if you want to follow me go to: http://twitter.com/JaneyGodley

Thanks all

Anyway she emailed me to say hi and that she enjoyed my comedy set when she saw me at Tron Theatre back in March.

Anyway it got me remembering about her. I was always in awe of Maria as she wore thick black kohl pencil eyeliner and bright blue eye shadow. We were the same age but she had a curvy possibly plump demeanour with big ‘woman’ type boobs, which always made me stare at her. I had two very less -than -perky nipples that sat completely flat against my teenage ribcage with breasts that threatened to defy my sexuality and make me possibly the famous man/girl of Glasgow.

She had bigger back boobs than me and always had an ‘adult woman’ BO scent about her, it was a smell that reminded me of my mum’s drunken pals. It was a dirty smell that always disturbed me and she wasn’t a dirty unkempt person (like I was!). She was always immaculately dressed and came from a lovely home. I had been in her bedroom and it was lovely, pink and didn’t have a dog that ate its own fleas or a mum who crushed cigarette ends on the floor, like mine.

I can’t quite explain that smell, but it was definitely something disturbing and I recalled it immediately when I read her email. It can’t be a good sign that when you remember someone from over 30 years ago, you get instant recall on their body smell.

She always had steady boyfriends at a time when I was still thinking about Donny Osmond and dreaming about kissing a Bay City Roller. I remember one day I spotted her as she crossed the road near my home in her school uniform and an older man was waiting for her with a giant teddy bear. I thought it was her dad, but he swept her up and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ then kissed her full on the mouth, a big proper kissing. It was her latest boyfriend and he had a moustache -I decided there and then to get to know her more. She fascinated me, how did she manage to be a woman at the same age as me and grow big boobs and have boyfriends with facial hair and a car?

She was an only child and her mum and dad let her boyfriends come to their home and sit in her room with her. This astonished me beyond belief, who would have a boyfriend that came to your house? That was exotic.

One day my mum was chatting to her mum Chrissie. When Chrissie mentioned she was getting some steak for Maria’s boyfriends dinner. My mum asked her why her daughter had a boyfriend at that age and why the fuck was Chrissie feeding him.

The woman explained she’d rather have her daughter’s boyfriend in the house and get to know him. “She’s only fourteen Chrissie, too fucking young for boyfriends at that age, especially ones that eat steak” My mum said. As far as my mum was concerned steak was an adult’s meal and children didn’t eat good meat that was for ‘men’.

The woman shrugged her shoulders and walked off.

My mum couldn’t believe this woman was buying steak for a boyfriend of her fourteen year old daughter. I told mum her boyfriend wasn’t a boy he had a moustache and a car and wore a jacket with elbow patches on.

“That’s fucking Catholics for you” my crazy mum spat. My mum liked finding things wrong with Catholics, it reinforced her sectarian attitude.

She looked at me and said, “Don’t even think about wanting some fucking boyfriend that eats steak”

So I made it my business to get to know Maria more. It was hard work; she was always busy with her boyfriend. Occasionally I would turn up at her door and her mum would let me in. I would go through to Maria’s bedroom and sit there staring at all her makeup and high heel platform shoes.

“What age is your boyfriend?” I asked her innocently.

“He works on the buses, he is 24 years old” she spoke as she painted her toenails. That smell wafting towards me when she lifted her leg.

Maria would let me try on her fashionable shoes and new coat. She would dress me up and put her thick make up on my face and let me stare into her mirror as she played Rubettes on her tape deck. Then she told me I had to go as her boyfriend was coming up. I was leaving her flat with clogged black eye lashes and pink lipstick on my mouth.

Our friendship never really took off, as she got pregnant at 15 and became an old woman overnight. Literally she looked worn out with greasy hair, fat calves and pushing a big Silver Cross navy pram when I was reaching fourth year at secondary school.

I went from being fascinated by her exotic highly fashionable lifestyle to being horrified that she was a mother when I was trying to grapple the rudiments of French verbs for an exam. No more Rubettes, no more Bay City Rollers for her, it was all leaking breasts, screaming babies and stretch marks.

The last time I saw her was when I was 17 years old. She was going to the bingo with her mum and they were wearing the same coats, American tan tights and worn down smiles, clutching handbags, buying fags and heading to St. Barnabus club for the Sunday night social.

So back to present day, she told me in her email that she got married on her 16th birthday to a man in his late 20s they consequently had four kids and they got divorced after her beat her so badly her youngest child was born disabled. Turns out he was a bad lot.

She is now a great-granny herself as her own daughter who was born when she was 15 had a baby boy herself at 16 years old and that boy fathered a child when he was 17 years old. She managed to go back into the education system and became a nursery teacher.

I wished her well and sat here tonight thinking about her, and I thought it was worth sharing.

The downside of the flight was I was feeling horrid. I had a spiked fever and my throat hurt. I was convinced I had swine flu. You see, I had been in Dunoon and Shawlands over the weekend and both places have been hot spots of swine flu, so in my head I was about to die. The thought of going to the NHS and saying “I have a fever and sore throat and by the way I have just travelled through Los Angeles, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Dunoon and Shawlands over the past six weeks” I would be strapped to a bed and quarantined like a Guantanamo Bay prisoner. So, instead, I waited till I had infected everyone and did my shows. I am now fine and the symptoms have gone, I suspected I was Typhoid Mary for a few hours though.

Am staying in Westminster Crown lawn flats which are superb, the place is awesome and it has an underground swimming pool! It is just round the corner from Big Ben.

I lie in bed and can hear Big Ben chime all the time, it’s really nice to hear it.

Did my preview show and was worried sick as I don’t really do preview shows at all, I wait until the first night of Edinburgh fringe and that’s when I do the show for the first time. I never really have any material ready, until that first show. Scary and fucking weird I know, but that’s how I work. So, the crowd were lovely as I battered out some new stories that may or may not make it to Edinburgh and the crowd were lovely as hell. They even told me at the end what to keep and what to discard come the fringe! Well, I did ask them.

Had a staring competition in Costa Coffee when I popped in for a pee without buying a tea, a woman who had been sat down drinking watched me come in and got up and decided that she was going to use the loo before me. She stood in front of me and I stood in front of her.

“Have you bought coffee?” she asked as we waited the queue for the loo.

“Yes, I have bought coffee, just not here, and am going to pee in their toilet; do you own Costa Coffee then?” I asked her.

“You are passive aggressive” She snapped.

“So is everyone, sometimes we are aggressive and sometimes we are passive, now take your pseudo psychoanalysis bullshit and watch me pee for free”

I stared her out and got into the toilet and just for badness read a chapter of my book as she waited outside in a huff. That’s what she gets for being the toilet Nazi.

After my show I headed down to Groucho club with Fran and got to see my best wee mate Bernie. He is the vanguard at the door of the club and filters out all the celeb wheat from the chaff & Chav! He is really funny as fuck and makes me giggle when he does his thing. That club is worth joining just to watch Bernie the Prince of Soho.

Anyway Fran and I had a great time and there was some funny high jinkery going on, I didn’t get home until 2am. Feet killing and make up slid down my cleavage, that’s what happens when you dance and sing round a piano with a few gins inside you.

So onwards and upwards.