Writing a weekly column for a famous Scottish newspaper has its ups and downs. My column gets printed on a Monday and the deadline is Friday afternoon. I love to see my photo and all my words printed in The Scotsman and the novelty of reading it aloud in the living room is slowly wearing thin on my family, but I am still chuffed.

The downside is this- Each Monday after the column is printed I have the shocking fear and slow drip-drip of anxiety that I have to do it all again for next week.

What the hell will I write about? Does anyone really want to know about my lack of organising skills? Shall I talk about Ashley’s lack of love life? Will she hate me? Do the readers despise me and rip up my column so they can wipe their ass on it? Do other journalists hate me and mock my words?

You see I am a stand up comic to trade (if that is an actual trade?) and I work live in front of people who show their immediate distaste or appraisal in the moment in front me….waiting to be judged over the week makes me feel itchy under my skin.

I do get comments from people on the Scotsman website and they veer from ‘We hate this woman’ to ‘Janey is right about this topic’ and once my column was even quoted on the US Fox News website, so it’s not all good or bad.

I just worry, I suppose. The other downside is that my blog has been suffering slightly as I don’t always get to write my most inner thoughts as I have been either busy on the column of have diverted the subject to the newspaper and it didn’t quite make it to the blog.

So there we have it. Today was even busier as I freelance write for other publications and had to write 800 words to deadline and finish my Scotsman column and write this blog and finish off admin for the fringe.

I am comedian, when did life get so bloody busy? I haven’t brushed my teeth and it’s nearly 2pm. I am off to Cardiff tomorrow to do comedy, so its back on the old flight-taxi-hotel trip again. Another anonymous city, with yet another strange bed and nightmares in another dark room, yet I do love my job.

Like the old hooker once said “It’s not the job that kills me, it’s the stairs”

How right she was.