Comedy of the Week - Janey Godley: The C Bomb

Episode Date: March 25, 2024

Despite her diagnosis of terminal cancer in 2021, Janey’s defiantly not dead yet, and as hilarious as ever, even in the face of online haters who seem to think she’s not dying quickly enough.In this mix of stand-up and chat, Janey and her daughter and fellow comedian Ashley talk about why having cancer is like having an extramarital affair and what it’s like to be told you’re dying, and she takes to the stage to tell tales of loudmouths in hospital wards and the unlikely benefits of chemotherapy!Janey shared her extraordinary life story in the first series - exposing all the abuse, poverty, and trauma she’d experienced in her trademark darkly comic style.Now, with death chasing her down like a runaway bus, she’s still compelled to get up onstage and fearlessly poke fun at every escapade, encounter and event she’s experienced on her own journey with cancer, and make sure she goes out in the same way she’s lived - with nothing left unsaid.Recorded live in front of an audience in her hometown, Glasgow.Produced by Julia SutherlandA Dabster production for BBC Radio 4

This is the BBC. This podcast is supported by advertising outside the UK. This is the first radio ad you can smell. The new Cinnabon pull apart only at Wendy's. It's ooey, gooey and just five bucks for the small coffee all day long. Taxes extra at participating Wendy's until May 5th. Terms and conditions apply. So we had the initial rush of everybody feeling really sorry for me and now they're like,

Jeanette's been on Facebook? Aye. Ginny Godley's still alive, is she? It's a brass neck. I'm Junie Godley, and as you can hear, despite being diagnosed with the bad, bad cancer in 2021, I'm not dead yet. This is my show, and since I'm not known to be a woman that holds back, please be warned,

I'm going to be talking and joking about cancer, death, and some of the other traumatic balonies that's happened in my life. You'll hear me on stage in Glasgow and at home talking to my daughter Ashley Storey. Is your loins girded? Have you buckled in? Let's get on with it. I'm Janie Godley and this is Theissy Bomb. Right, so I'm going to give you all a quick update of my health from the last series. So weirdly I know I still get the cancer, or as I like to call it, the bad, bad cancer,

especially when I want Ashley to empty the dishwasher. So I think, like, for me and you, I always believed you either had cancer and then you got the all clear or you died. I didn't know there was a middle ground, and I am that middle ground. And you know what's really awkward is I'm not dying fast enough. And people are like, why? I thought she was dying. And I love Glasgow people because they say it out loud. They'll see me on the bus with the wee dog.

I thought you were dying, Jenny. And what, I thought I'd just hang on for Christmas or whatever. My sister had it and died dead quick. People say that to me. Or my favourite one, my da had what you had. What? You've da had a varying cancer. Well I respect your pronouns. I get this feeling that people have had enough sympathy for me now. They're like, oh it was dead sad, now they're like, is she still alive? Yeah I agree. What do you mean you agree? Yeah, we've had enough of that now.

It's time to stop. I think everybody should get a sanctioned amount of sympathy for all different things, ailments, cancer, bereavements, all the things and then once you've worn out that amount of sympathy that's you're done. You're not allowed to bring it up. Ever again? No, as an excuse, especially as an excuse. No, I do bring it up as an excuse. I tried it once, I tried to make my friends go with me to see an N-dubs tribute band at a brunch. Remember, nananae? Yeah. And they were like, no. And I was like, but my mum has cancer. And they were like, no. You know, you get told you've got terminal cancer. You get all the chemo, you get the operation,

you do everything. And then you still wake up and pull on your knickers and go on tour. Folk are like, hmm, she might be faking this. Oh god, I really hope this isn't one of your classic pranks, Jenny. Because it'll have gone on too long at this point. I'm playing the long game. I cannae believe I shaved my hair for it. There's nothing I can say about, oh you're not dying fast enough. I think you're dying. At a compatible rate, just at a fine rate. I mean, the Goldilocks rate of death. Just

right. She's too slow, she's too fast. Oh she's... Is that such a stupid thing to talk about? We can't, this isn't a discussion or a debate. You're not dying fast enough for your enemies. When have you ever done anything they wanted you to do? Never? As you say, I'm just not doing cancer right. No you're not. You're not doing it right at all. What am I supposed to be doing? I don't know, but I've watched Susan Sarandon in The Stepmom. Uh huh. And she like, sewed blankets and sang, ain't no mountain high enough, and did wee dances ruin the house where our children? Uh huh. And we've done none of that. You mainly just get really angry, like I'm cancer, and that me not hovering

is cancer related. It is. It's not. It doesn't make any sense, ma. Okay. Every single person that I deal with, you know, in the health profession, always have to tell me at some point they've saw me on stage, why have they got their horn up my cervix? Or they're squeezing my hair in there. Like you know, I saw you, you were really good.

And it's weird because I have to deal with people who have saw me on stage. When I went for the hysterectomy, the anaesthetist came in to see me and he was lovely, but he lives locally and he knows me and he's seen me on stage and he says, oh I'm a big fan I'm terrified that I'm gonna die under anaesthetic I don't need to know you're a flippity jib that likes it doesn't look like you're focused. He's like, right, okay, so what they did was, they tell you everything they're going to do in the hysterectomy, just in case you ever think about doing it yourself. Or practising on a pal.

Isabel, do you want me to do a wee hysterectomy on you? Brilliant, you just look like a spatchcocked chicken. I don't know why they have to explain it all to me. I don't need to know that much, but then they do. And then while they're explaining it, you have to put on surgical stockings, which is the weirdest reverse strip-tease you're ever going to have in your life. You literally have no knickers on because they're going to be getting in there and while they're talking you're pulling on stockings.

Visualise that if you will. So I'm pulling on these surgical stockings. You can literally see everything. It's like, hi there, beaver time. So I'm like pulling these surgical stockings. You can literally see everything. It's like, hi there, be for time. So I'm pulling up these stockings while the anesthetist who knows me and lives locally is telling me what he's gonna be doing to me. So he says, what we do is,

is we take you into the pre-room before the theater. And you know I love a theater, so I'm all up for it. So there's an ante room in the theater. And I was like, oh, why don't you have an uncle room? That's unfair. And nobody laughed at that joke and I was like, you know that thing when you say something and nobody laughs. I'll give you an example of that right now.

I'm getting a new car and the guy says it's going to cost £700 for the paint. I went, can I just have it unpainted and I'll colour it in myself. Not one person laugh. So they take me into the ante room to give me the anaesthetic. He says what we're going to do is we're going to put a wee rod in your back and it's just going to have morphine in it and it will help you post-operative. I was like aye okay. So they get me in and then when I'm in this wee tiny room, you know that lie when you've suddenly realised somebody has completely underplayed

what they're talking about? Seven people were in that room, and I'm like, why do I need that many people for a wee tiny thing and in my back, don't worry. They sprayed antiseptic and anesthetic on me, and then they tried to put this thing in, but when they did it, the whole left side of me went on me and then they tried to put this thing in but when they did it the whole left side of me went on numbing, buzzy. I went I don't know what

you're doing but I feel as though I've just had a wee stroke and then I heard people panicking and I was like oh my god and then he finally go it he laid me down and I went you never said and he pushed that plunger knocked me clean out. He never said, and he pushed that plunger and knocked me clean out. LAUGHTER You start to get to know things that are happening in the NHS, and by the way, the Scottish NHS have so far saved my life, so I love them, but you start to suss things out that are happening, and I'm sitting there, you start to know the difference between a carer and a nurse

and a man that's just in to fix the light bulbs. You should never show him your cervix. I find it very difficult you with your medical treatments because you don't like medicine. You don't like being touched, you don't like being injected. I mean nobody does but you're more averse to it than other people. You're the adult mother who had to stand and hold your hand while you took pills because swallowing a pill was difficult for you. Also, just because of whatever weird trauma upbringing in your childhood, you see being sick trauma upbringing in your childhood you see being sick as some level of moral failing. Absolutely. And you cannot cope with the fact that you have failed at

not being sick. No, no, my mami took lots of tablets and there was always a lot of medication and tablets and illness in my family and I saw back then I associated emotional trauma with weakness. Yeah. You know, which is wrong. I'm not saying it's right. Mum, it's a hundred percent not anything real. I don't have that thing where I hate hospitals, I hate the smell. It's not that. I just can't understand how I just kind of be fixed and then move on. This prolonged constant having to go to the hospital,

having to go and get my blood done, having to take phone calls for the hospital, having to discuss my medication, I even hate, absolutely hate, that I've got a wee box with pills in it. That makes me physically cringe inside. I know, but it's not, you act like this should never have happened,

like this is a freak thing that should never have occurred, but statistically you're gonna get something. Yeah. You spent your childhood suiting copper wires. I know. And stealing lead. Like it was bound, something was bound to happen. I've been healthy all my life though, that's the problem. But you've not. You've been healthy all my life though, that's the problem. But you've not. You've not. You're physically not because I'm the person who watches you. You've been emotionally sick, physically sick, your whole life, but you've went, oh it's not that bad because that's how your brain works. Yeah.

Because your mum was murdered, so it's not as bad as that. The same thing I have of, well I wasn't molested, so it's not as bad as that, so I can't complain. But you just went, oh no it's fine, oh don't talk about it. Just carry on. Just carry on because I'm not weak. Because if you were weak, that would be in your sad head a moral failing. And that makes me sad that you... And it's Katie Roos with cancer so now I'm having to make sense of... That you're angry at yourself. I am angry at myself. That's the saddest part because this isn't anything that anybody has any control over. I don't know how I'm supposed to navigate this because your brain logic is wrong and

I can't go in your brain and fix that. I wish I could, I wish I could pull out the wires and I'm very good at- I'd probably sell them. But I'm really good at knowing my brain logic is wrong. It was a very funny joke mum Mum. It was just ill timed. OK, sorry. Classic you. It's just, like, I know my logic.

But your logic is flawed. No, I know. And I wish I could fix that for you. I do. I wish you could as well. You cannae be positive all the time. You just can't. I was in the ward and I was getting a blood transfusion. There was me, a woman, a woman, a woman, a woman and a man.

And we were all behind curtains and it was the day that they were getting all the trainee nursing staff to go through your history. And you start to get used to this. They ask you questions like, have you got diabetes? Do you have any pain? Have you ever had mad cow disease? Have you ever had an illness from abroad? They're doing a big extensive medical history and they're teaching the new nursing staff how to do it and it was mostly females so she comes in to me and she's like have you had it? I'm like no and the

woman next bed next bed no yes no yes no yes yes yes no no no yes yes no no yes no that's how we all are we no, eh, eh, three, no, yes, no. That's how we all are. We're all used to it. We're all like, oh, crap, that's quite a lot of questions. But we got through it. Poor wee lassie. Learning their jobs. Man, who are there behind that curtain? No, I've never had mad cow disease, but I'll tell you for why, yeah, that's an interesting question.

Every woman behind the curtain all rolling with her eyes. And I'm lying there going, mate, just yes or no. I actually did try and get an appointment for my blood pressure through the app and because the wee young woman is new, she's no go. The kidney buzzed to say to say shut up you dick. She's been at University of Ann Arseneve told her to be nice. So we've got all the curtains pulled back me and other one they're all looking at each other and he's like so no I've never had diabetes but I'll tell you it does run in the family even though they

say it doesn't because my great-grandfather heard it and she's like, oh that's right and then, oh I heard this staff nurse is coming she's had enough of this cutting back, it's just yes or no she's still got all day to listen to this waity go nurse Cradget go Go! She's still got a day to listen to this! Waity!

Go, nurse Cradget! Go! Away back, hoot with your wee shoes on. So that day I was sitting there and then I was getting a blood transfusion and then they came back and they told me that the cancer had arrived again back on the scan. And she told me in a good way, and she said, you know, the cancer's back. Does that mean I'm going to die?

She's like, no, right now. I was like, but does it mean? She went, well, you know, there's a reason that it can happen. And then this may happen. And then we've got other... I was like, they're the only words that I want to hear. But she's probably saying it right, but my brain is buzzing. And then she leaves and I go,

oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. And I cry in this wee cut and room. brain is buzzing and then she leaves and I go uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh and I cry in this wee curtained room. I'm lying crying and I'm feeling that sorry for myself. Then I hear whoosh, the curtain gets pulled back and there's a wee old woman like stop crying before I get cancer I don't deal properly with illness. You talked me into getting therapy. I mean, it took 30 years. It took a literal catastrophic breakdown of your life, you had, for me to get therapy. I have done and it's helped me. But I am dealing better with my mental capacity and state over the illness now. He's helping me go through the stages of accepting that I do have a life-limiting

disease that will eventually end my life. So he's helped me a lot with that. You're looking at me like I never really took it on board and I've just said that to keep you happy. Pretty much that's how I feel, well done, well observed. No, I really have been taken on board. I don't think you have. I think that you go to therapy and I think it's good that you have somebody to talk to about how you feel that's not me and you can vent about your feelings in a way that you're not going to have to worry about hurting anybody's feelings, which is a good thing. I don't think you believe in the therapy I took.

No, you don't. And I know you don't because I don't believe in it either because we're too self aware to deal with it mum. We can't go into therapy and go, here's a problem. And they go, oh, you've got trauma. I know all that. I know what the problem is. I've already delved in there. I've seen it. I know it. What's the fix? There is no fix. Well, then what's the point in this? Don't need to sit and whine for an hour and a half. I know you and I know me and I know that you're going in there unloading and that's good and that feels nice. And that man's telling you, take half an hour to catastrophize and you're trying that. But I know that you're not, we're not journalers, we're not people who can wake up and set an intention for the day and then while we stare at our amethyst, we're not

they people, we don't deal well and we're probably ickier for it but at the same time ... But I am learning more about how I'm coping. I mean, I do feel different from what I felt before. Good. Definitely I do feel different. And I know that when I think about things, my bad brain doesn't go, oh well, I hope you die quite soon, because sometimes I would say that to myself. No, I'm like, it's going to happen and I'm just going to pace it out and see what happens. So I'm starting to look at it differently.

So I have a therapist and he's told me that I'm allowed half an hour a day to stress out. So for half an hour I can catastrophize. I'm gonna die. What if I die? What if I die too soon? What if my husband can't he cope? I have a half an hour a day of that. So I do and I put that time aside and I sit in the bedroom and go Right, and just so that my husband comes in and my husband's got autism so that makes him a pain in the arse. Absolutely no self-awareness whatsoever. I'll tell you how much his lack of self-awareness through his autism is. The very first time I get chemotherapy the nurse has to sit in with you to make sure you don't have a heart attack

because it can be quite you know distressing or a special reaction to it. I'm not joking I'm lying there getting this chemical pumped into me and the nurse went, Janie are you in any pain? And my husband come over and went, I have staved my finger. Her and I made eye contact, I grabbed his finger and bent it back. Not now, not now. Wish I was joking. So I'm in the room, gone, right, I might die soon, this is quite frightening, how am I going to cope?

How am I going to tell Monica and Elaine and Gabrielle and Ashley and all my friends how are they going to cope? Then the door opens and my husband's like, do you know that white paint isn't actually just white? I'm like, what? Get out! Door shut. Right, and then I go back to it. Oh no, I wonder how my family's going to feel. This is going to be horrible. What if I die really slow in pain? The door opens, Ashley's like, you'll never guess what, Taylor Swift's got a new boyfriend. I'm like, and then,

the dog is at the door now, so the dog needs attention. And all I'm thinking is, I've got 10 minutes in lieu. I had 10 minutes left in my anger, but now I cannae have it because I have to deal with them. And I'm like, I've still got 10 minutes left in my anger but now I cannae have it because I have to deal with them and I'm like, I've still got 10 minutes left of panicking!

Stay out the room! The thing is, when you do therapy they also suggest workshop. I can't do a therapy workshop, I can't do that, I can't go into a group therapy because I'm a comedian. If I'm in a group therapy and there's a poor lady there going, and then my husband died and then I get cancer, I'll be like, right, okay, Bunty, that's enough. I need to tell a funny story and then everybody will just be like, she's a monster. And that's how you see it. To me, group therapy isn't a situation, it's an audience.

It really is, you've no idea. I mean, I stood at a bus stop and done a show. Five mer people, that's a fringe gig, so... I think the hard thing about it is you can't make plans. Yeah. You can't think about, oh, like I've got such exciting stuff happening this year and every time I think, oh in two months time this is going to happen or in four months time I'm going to do this and it's hard to think about that because then I have to think, will she still be here or will she be in a hospice or will she be... I'll probably wait to my impeccable timing and

wait until something really big is happening to you and then that's when I'll start going circling the drain. 100% I know it's gonna be true. I've seen it in my mind's eye. I'm finally gonna win that BAFTA and you're gonna die three minutes before they say my name. I do think I should be allowed to be cremated in my wedding dress. I do, I'm looking forward to that. And I know that... You can't fit in in that wedding dress mate. I might.

Oh you're 100% no. I'd listen, I might get into my target where I am. Don't think so. Right, okay, so I'm gonna have to get... Maybe just place the wedding dress over the top of me. And just tuck it in, nodding my neck. Like you're a paper dress up doll. Like the back of the bunty. Maybe you just put the wee bits round it.

First of all, I'm not cremating you. No, Ashley, I want to be cremated. I don't care your deed, you don't get to decide. What? I'm getting you stuffed and I'm putting you in the people's palace, where you belong. But it's weird, there are so many things you have to think about when you're dying. Like subscriptions need renewed, you know you get the things that go how long would you like it for one or five years?

I'm like you're making me decide that right now! I have to decide if I want to have that for one or five years. And I have to make a mental note of all the things, the chances of being alive for a wedding invite coming through the post or these are things people say can you RSVP? Don't know if I'm gonna be deed. Sorry I cannae make your wedding, I'm deed. And it's hard. I mean people were really really sad for me now. I'm so busy I've got a book coming out, I've got a film coming out, I've got a radio show, I've got a tour. I don't have time to deal with everybody else's anxiety for me.

You know, I don't have time to go, it's alright Catherine, don't cry, I'm no deed to noo. You know, I'm living with cancer. I'm not dying of it. Well, I am, but I'm also living with it. And as I say, I'm not dying fast enough, especially for the film that was being made. I think they thought that I would have cancer, they would come on tour, then I would slowly die and then I'd die and that'd be the end. She's still alive. I'm like, weird eh? You know, people say,

oh you look well, are you sure you're dying? I'm like, no, I made it all up. How long have you get left? Two days is normally what I say to that. And the thing is, I've got so much hair, people keep on remarking on my hair, when I went. And the thing is, is I've got so much hair, people keep on remarking on my hair. When I went bald with the chemo, folk like you should wear a wig. It's like, no, the more times people told me to wear a wig, the more I defied it and wouldn't do it. I thought, no, I just want to be really bald to just annoy everybody. I think that's what I'm going for. My other favourite one is, is during the summer, my pal, she stroked my leg. she went, oh my god, you're

really smooth, what do you use? I went chemotherapy. Having cancer is like investing in a huge side piece affair because I have this other thing and sometimes it's secret and sometimes I hide my feelings about it and sometimes it's dead public and it takes up a lot of my time. See this is why I could never have another man. Such a weird metaphor. Does that mean Dads are cuckold to cancer? Possibly. So it just means that... That's so weird! I know but it does feel like I have got this other life. Oh, if he was a comedian that'd be a great friend show title. Cut by Cancer.

Cut by Cancer? That would win whatever they call the perrier now. But that's what it feels like. It feels like I've got this whole other life and I don't have time for it. It's, I have to go for blood tests, I have to find the paperwork, I have to take the medicine, I have to go to the beats soon, I have to say hi to everybody and then sit down in the bed and then get all my cannula done and then I have to have the phone calls and then we have to discuss the scans and then they phone me up to see what they think the scan means and then I

have to get my cancer number. And it feels like a really big affair but it's an awful, awful lot of work with no pleasure. I suppose it'd be like having Jeremy, what'd you call him that we don't like that had a farm? Jeremy Clarkson. It'd be like banging Jeremy Clarkson on the side, really an awful lot of hard work and no worth the bother.

Yeah! You know that's my thing. See him and that old guy that used to do the horse racing? Aye. With the weird shaped head and the hat with the flaps? Aye. Oofed. He looks like a wee old man from Emmerdale. Why would that be your thing? Dunno, I like what I like. Don't kink shame me.

Oh right, okay. Can we move on to another subject? I'm gammonsexual. Gammonsexual? Take me for a pub lunch. I want plowmans. Please send pictures of your weird dad. Send me your wedge of cheese and your apple. That's a weird norm.

That made it bad. It did sound, that's a bit salt burny. I want a salt burn funeral. Oh, do you want me to hire Barry Keegan to come and grind up on your grave? I do. Or just get somebody even a lookie likey. Get Barry Keegan. Nah, if I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna keen to come and grind up on your grave. I do. Or just get somebody even a lookie likey. Get... Nah, if I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna get Barry.

Do mind and tell him, but I'm in there in my wedding dress. LAUGHS But the other thing is, is people want to give you a cure for cancer, not knowing that chemotherapy's already doing its best. Um, and you know, chemotherapy's been tried and tested for years, and it took millions of pounds to try and get cures for cancer but apparently Big Jeanette on Facebook knows fine well that turkey tail mushrooms is the thing that I should be doing. Have you tried burning sage?

What about sucking a pigeon feather? And then you get people who tell you that they've got a cure, and privately, on Facebook, and I'll go, I'd rather we didn't have this conversation, I'm done. Oh, so you really don't want a cure, do you? I was like, no, you're right, I'd rather slowly die of cancer. I don't want to suck a bath sponge, but thank you for the offer. The absolute crap that people tell you, like a positive attitude is very important.

Is it? Is it? Really? No, I've thought really, really, really positive and I still have cancer. So see that happy, happy, happy thing? Ram it, bunty. I'm not saying that you shouldn't be positive. I'm just saying it's no gonna cure me. Okay? Doesn't matter how many rainbows

I look at and poems I write and bunny rabbits and candles and holy Mary mother of God water that somebody sent me. I did, somebody sent me baby Jesus water. I'm like, what's baby Jesus water? It's holy water. I said, how is it holy? It just is. I'm like, okie dokie, I'll tell you what, it tasted crap.

It's like swimming pool water. Have you tried cannabis? Have I tried cannabis? No, but it sounds like you should start smoking it right now. Maybe it'll calm you down. It's no like, I want to listen to Pink Floyd, I want rid of cancer. Thank you so much for listening. I have been Janie Godley.

Next week tune in and you'll hear more from me. Thank you so much. Thanks for listening to the Comedy of the Week podcast from BBC Radio 4. If you want more, check out the Friday Night Comedy podcast, featuring the news quiz, The Now Show and Dead Ringers. Hi, I'm Izzy Judd and I'm quickly dropping in to let you know of an incredibly calming podcast which I think you'll love. The Music and Meditation podcast is a place where we press pause and give ourselves some brain space to step back from life a bit. With the help of inspirational guests, wonderful guided meditations and stunning music. Honestly, I think you'll really enjoy it. Why not give it a go? Join me, Izzy Judd, for the Music and Meditation podcast on BBC Science Now.