*flail* The Dreary is up, but I am getting that annoying error message whenever I click on it. St Tropez, the French Riviera everybody. Oh the sophistication. BUT WILL HE PROPOSE?
I can't understand why she would want him to. Or why she wouldn't do it herself if it mattered that much to her, which mostly it doesn't seem to.
Suzy_Cat, I had the same problem (up really early this morning, cat kept pushing me out of bed). So what I did was type in 'Liz Jones' to the browser bit, then up came the various links, and hey presto, got her Dreary. Also some farticle about her sex life (TOO much information).
To be honest, found it hard to keep awake while reading the latest Dreary drivel about St. Trop.
In which we set off for St. Tropez in my new convertible Mercedes – did I tell you I have a new convertible Mercedes? Anyway, I had carefully packed my pristine designer wardrobe in twenty-three Tesco plastic carrier bags but David just threw a pair of old Y-Fronts, some dough-encrusted jeans and a wife-beater vest onto the back seat … and when I was racing down the Autoroute A6 in my new convertible Mercedes, unfortunately David’s clothes blew out of the back seat and were lost.
We arrived at the lovely pre mediaeval villa where my friends were waiting for us. They were obviously delighted I had invited ourselves as their guests and they knew we wanted privacy so they gave us the converted broom cupboard with its own bucket. I did ask David not to smoke in there but he just laughed and lit up two Gauloise at once, telling me it'd keep the mosquitoes away. It didn't and I got mosquito bites in places you wouldn't believe but I keep scratching away in my Bliss Softening Gloves and I did ask my friends for a mosquito net but the one they found didn't really fit snuggly over the two sleeping bags in our converted broom cupboard. I am now wondering if my friends really realise how to treat self invited guests?
Next day, I said I’d like to have a lovely romantic lunch, just the two of us, in Paris and it wasn’t a long drive, just 439 miles in my new convertible Mercedes and David laughed.
Later, my friends took David aside and asked him if he was going to propose during our romantic lunch in Paris and perhaps, if he did, he and I might stay on in Paris and not come back to St. Tropez? They told him that Paris is really lovely this time of year? Especially for two lovers who've just plighted their troth? So why come back to boring old St. Trop? And anyway, they might need the converted broom cupboard for great auntie Mabel quite soon? But he just laughed and said ‘Vous devez être baise plaisanter’ which I think means ‘Oh yes, I can’t wait to propose and give Lizard a platinum and five carat diamond solitaire ring I've just bought from Tiffany's and make that wonderful, beautiful, generous lady my very own dearest lovely wife as I’ve NEVER EVER loved anyone before, not even my ex wife and kids, ex girlfriends and Prudence’.
Next day, I was so excited as we set out in my new convertible Mercedes, David driving as he wanted to surprise me. I was definitely surprised as we didn’t seem to be going in the direction of Paris but ended up less than one kilometre down the road outside what looked like a pizza joint. David led me in and ordered two pizzas topped with processed cheese, salami, minced horsemeat, eggs and pork sausages. I asked him if he was sure the cheese, salami, minced horsemeat, eggs and pork sausages were all organic, line caught, free range vegan cheese, salami, minced horsemeat, eggs and pork sausages. But he just laughed.
When we finished our meal, he leaned over the table and took my left hand in his … oh, he looked so adoringly at me. ‘I have something to ask you, Lizard’ he breathed soulfully. ‘It’s hard – so so hard … but …’
I smiled encouragingly,feeling all warm and loving inside, my heart palpitating beneath my Prada no-boob tube and sensing a sort of delightful tingle under my St. Laurent leggings, reaching down to my gold and diamanté encrusted Manolos – oh, was this the moment? At last, at last? After those sixty years longing, longing for him, my own true love, whom I had so adored, yearned for but who left me that night, for Another, leaving me sitting alone with my mug of vegan Horlicks in the tartan nightie my mother knitted, nothing left of him but just his bloody table tennis racquet?
He clutched my left hand more firmly, the look of utter love and devotion in his little piggy eyes. ‘Darling darling Lizard’ he breathed. ‘Will you … will you … pay? Because oops - I’ve forgotten my wallet again …’
This is his view on Denise Welch. I presume he knows her really well to be so vitriolic about her. So sorry I seem to single out Bellagio - really I have no issue at all with his like or dislike of Liz Jones. I just can't stand his crappy attitude to women.
That would be the Denise Welch who, at the time of my comment, was repeatedly cheating on her husband and boasting of it in the papers, bedding anything 20 years her junior and being photographed falling out of clubs trollied off her face. I find in these matters, if it looks like a slapper, walks like a slapper and acts like a slapper, it's probably a slapper.
Anyhoo, as my old drinking buddy Oscar was wont to opine, "the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about". Ah, Oscar - a king of the one-liner, questionable playwright. I miss him. Not the absinthe, though.
Oh, the Dreary ? I swear by Collie Comber's coat of many bollocks, this is the dreariest yet and as someone has commented, utterly disjointed. The other puddle of piss is pretty positive proof* that she doesn't actually read what she writes elsewhere, as the picture of D'Scrace painted is severely at odds with the man portrayed in the Dreary.
"I have to tell you..."
No, you don't. Really, you don't. She comes across like a fifteen year old schoolkid when the talk turns to sex: "yes, of course I'm doing it, I'm doing it all the time, I'm doing it more than all of you put together !! I am, I AM !!! [stamps foot. screams]". I regard myself as an occasional journalist but henceforth I'll need to find some other term, the better to disassociate my craft from her incoherent witterings.
She must have some kind of magic sexual healing powers. I've never heard of a coeliac being cured or even semi-cured (from allergy to intolerance after the power of Jonesy's Magic Fanny?) before. If only she would STOP WRITING and use her powers for good, think of the change she could bring about in a desperate world? Please please, Liz Jones. Stop Writing.
Also did anybody else notice there's a sad little commenter on the DM who's taken the time to work out that if his birthday is this Friday and he's going to be 63, then it isn't Jim Kerr?!?!?! Bless.
She must have some kind of magic sexual healing powers. I've never heard of a coeliac being cured or even semi-cured (from allergy to intolerance after the power of Jonesy's Magic Fanny?) before. If only she would STOP WRITING and use her powers for good, think of the change she could bring about in a desperate world? Please please, Liz Jones. Stop Writing.
Also did anybody else notice there's a sad little commenter on the DM who's taken the time to work out that if his birthday is this Friday and he's going to be 63, then it isn't Jim Kerr?!?!?! Bless.
Wow, Fatsia, I really think you're on to something there. After all, in days of yore it was a known fact that a touch from the King would cure scrofula, also known as 'The King's Evil'. Yes, honestly - the King's Touch cured it. Not sure what scrofula is but yes, it looks like we now have a non-royal healer among us. You are quite right, Fatsia - the Lizard should stop writing forthwith and instead concentrate on healing the coeliacs - she could combine the practice with her book signings, two for the price of one, perhaps - W.H. Smith could set up a little curtained booth wherein Lizard could work her healing magic on the sufferer
All that needs deciding out now is what part of the Lizard should touch the afflicted. Delicacy surely sanctions her using that part of herself that cured The Baker, and in any case, quite possibly some over fastidious sufferers might decide that after all they'd prefer to put up with their affliction rather than that ... but perhaps a delicate stroke from her Bliss softened hands, or a gentle kiss from her puckered filler enhanced lips ... or a kick from her Manolos would be efficacious?
As a non-smoker married to a confirmed smoker, travelling together is hell. She's right they want to stop and smoke constantly, while I'm a fill up, empty the bladder and get driving woman.
Liz should be grateful they drove. I lost the ass I'm married to in de Gaulle earlier this year because of his need for the smoking room.
Honestly, Lizard, once they are over 55 you haven't a hope in hell of changing them.
Bloody hell... I think she had the coat PLUS the matching hat on this week! Here goes then: a) hands up those who really think the panting pair really drove to St T? A minimum drive of 14hrs door to door. Not me! Easyjet and a hire car. b) Can it be coincidence that, since Dominodarling reminisced about their French road trip in the 80's, Jonesey has shoe-horned in just how much they laugh together? They are evidently howling 24/7... even when they are engaged in their grim couplings! It's all such a hoot! c) Fatsia has mentioned the astounding curative effects of St Jonesey's Magic Fanny... to think there's been all that research and it all boils down to delirium and thumbing a semi into her dusty crevice. d) "The Cap d'Antibes"? Enough said. e) "Killjoy condoms". Dopy mare. f) Why has she regressed to the writing style of an eight year old? Failing to spot the difference between "and I" and "and me" as well as writing one sentence paragraphs between swigs? g) I think she should pay an editor. A lot. Dissing hot drinks one week and moaning about not getting coffee in bed the next has the faint ring of dementia...
You clearly have this thread saved as a 'favourite' and have singled out Bellagio as your target.
You are either clueless or you are...?
I used to post on this thread regularly, but have since long decided that the route to ending the Lizard's career as 'top columnist' is to ignore her.
DON'T PROVIDE THE CLICKBAIT FOLKS - it's the only reason LJ remains employed by the Wail.
Liz Jones (the proven liar), is no longer relevant as a columnist.
Ok - I'm "boring off" now-. This thread was never a favourite - just someplace I visited from time to time. And I'm sure Bellagio couldn't give a toss about my views on Liz Jones or any thing else !
Like all good psychopaths (and no, I'm not using this term lightly, she ticks ALL the boxes), Liz had long ago obviously scripted the great 30-year reunion down the last detail and marriage was always going to be the outcome whether Dscace wanted it or not. She will have planned The Diary for years to come based on this relationship. Her peak as a writer was when writing about the marriage to her ex-husband, which was also obviously a business arrangement for both of them, THIS relationship should surely provide a more gripping story for her devoted readers; unrequited love finally fulfilled, he loves her more than ANY other woman, except the dead one. Even though they have not yet been together for a year Liz is clearly panicking that David has gone off-script and not proposed yet (that should have happened on Valentine's day of course as per the script in her head). Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong though, not only is DScrace not the Mr Darcy/Mr Big she fantasised about she is not getting the gushing adoration from her readers who have on the whole not bought into this farce (they only want to hear about the fluffy likkle animals she 'rescues' or 'Jim Kerr'). As much as she is now trying to convince us that she and Scrace are bumping uglies all the time and most importantly LAUGHING ALL THE TIME she knows that she is not in control of her life and all those Diaries that have already been written in her head may have to be ammended - unless she can finally break him.
Like all good psychopaths (and no, I'm not using this term lightly, she ticks ALL the boxes), Liz had long ago obviously scripted the great 30-year reunion down the last detail and marriage was always going to be the outcome whether Dscace wanted it or not. She will have planned The Diary for years to come based on this relationship. Her peak as a writer was when writing about the marriage to her ex-husband, which was also obviously a business arrangement for both of them, THIS relationship should surely provide a more gripping story for her devoted readers; unrequited love finally fulfilled, he loves her more than ANY other woman, except the dead one. Even though they have not yet been together for a year Liz is clearly panicking that David has gone off-script and not proposed yet (that should have happened on Valentine's day of course as per the script in her head). Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong though, not only is DScrace not the Mr Darcy/Mr Big she fantasised about she is not getting the gushing adoration from her readers who have on the whole not bought into this farce (they only want to hear about the fluffy likkle animals she 'rescues' or 'Jim Kerr'). As much as she is now trying to convince us that she and Scrace are bumping uglies all the time and most importantly LAUGHING ALL THE TIME she knows that she is not in control of her life and all those Diaries that have already been written in her head may have to be ammended - unless she can finally break him.
I thought it was quite interesting that LJ's trip through the *South of France* involved so much laughing, ah ha ha, and delight despite David's idiosyncratic ways. Are we entirely sure this is written many weeks in advance and never tweaked by the author at all close to publication to reflect recent remarks on the internet?
It seems sad that Liz is not happy that David remembers her aversion to the weakness-indulging nature of hot drinks, and doesn't force her to have them.
I fear that David has popped the question in a fail-worthy sort of way. If he hadn't, I can't see Liz dividing the story in two, not if she actually had any real feelings about the matter... oh, wait.
I thought it was quite interesting that LJ's trip through the *South of France* involved so much laughing, ah ha ha, and delight despite David's idiosyncratic ways. Are we entirely sure this is written many weeks in advance and never tweaked by the author at all close to publication to reflect recent remarks on the internet?
It seems sad that Liz is not happy that David remembers her aversion to the weakness-indulging nature of hot drinks, and doesn't force her to have them.
I fear that David has popped the question in a fail-worthy sort of way. If he hadn't, I can't see Liz dividing the story in two, not if she actually had any real feelings about the matter... oh, wait.
Yes, it seems very suspicious that following posts on this very forum about his former partner enjoying lots of laughs with David, Liz is now suddenly inserting declarations of the endless mirth that surrounds their blessed union, I'm sure she's requested last minute additions to the Diary before going to print. I bet David fair piddles himself with laughter with that running gag of Liz's about not drinking hot coffee, wot with it being a sign of weakness an all that, but woe betide her not getting a mugful of Illy in bed after a night of geriatric passion.
Wow, Fatsia, I really think you're on to something there. After all, in days of yore it was a known fact that a touch from the King would cure scrofula, also known as 'The King's Evil'. Yes, honestly - the King's Touch cured it. Not sure what scrofula is but yes, it looks like we now have a non-royal healer among us. You are quite right, Fatsia - the Lizard should stop writing forthwith and instead concentrate on healing the coeliacs - she could combine the practice with her book signings, two for the price of one, perhaps - W.H. Smith could set up a little curtained booth wherein Lizard could work her healing magic on the sufferer
To complete the spell, all the poor incurables have to do is believe that LJ is going out with them (was wondering about source materials of LJ's 'coat of many', as she doesn't have that many exes, TBH).
And there'd need to be room in the WHS booth to accommodate 'psychic Mairead*', and her psychic website - *as kindly plugged in this week's Dreary.
Think I'll stick to more reputable options such as Rosary Beads/a trip to Lourdes, or voodoo.
2 F1 drivers don't practice on a Friday at Monaco It's the only F1 circuit where practice in on the Thursday instead of the Friday .
Still as she keeps telling us how deaf she is she wouldn't notice the difference
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of several items of alluring knitwear, must be in want of a wife..."
“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”
- Jane Austen quotes on marriage (one slightly tweaked)
So glad to see you back here, DominoDarling. We're all on your side! You certainly seem to have pushed a button with your happy recollection of laughter and companionable car journeys on the Continent! Suddenly the emphasis of the Diary has shifted, and now it's all wall-to-wall laughing and hilarious fun in the convertible Mercedes. It can only be a matter of time before we start hearing about how he's never laughed this much with anyone else before....
This week's entry might as well been called: "In which I show David's ex that two can play at that driving-round-France-laughing-our-heads-off" game!"
On a more serious note, is anyone else somewhat concerned about the casual attitude to eating baguettes (and this comes just a week or two after the story about eating a pudding which contained wheat, and being ill afterwards)? I'm no expert in these matters, but as I understood it, being coeliac means NEVER being able to consume ANY gluten, ever again, as it would make the person really very ill indeed?
Comments
Suzy_Cat, I had the same problem (up really early this morning, cat kept pushing me out of bed). So what I did was type in 'Liz Jones' to the browser bit, then up came the various links, and hey presto, got her Dreary. Also some farticle about her sex life (TOO much information).
To be honest, found it hard to keep awake while reading the latest Dreary drivel about St. Trop.
In which we set off for St. Tropez in my new convertible Mercedes – did I tell you I have a new convertible Mercedes? Anyway, I had carefully packed my pristine designer wardrobe in twenty-three Tesco plastic carrier bags but David just threw a pair of old Y-Fronts, some dough-encrusted jeans and a wife-beater vest onto the back seat … and when I was racing down the Autoroute A6 in my new convertible Mercedes, unfortunately David’s clothes blew out of the back seat and were lost.
We arrived at the lovely pre mediaeval villa where my friends were waiting for us. They were obviously delighted I had invited ourselves as their guests and they knew we wanted privacy so they gave us the converted broom cupboard with its own bucket. I did ask David not to smoke in there but he just laughed and lit up two Gauloise at once, telling me it'd keep the mosquitoes away. It didn't and I got mosquito bites in places you wouldn't believe but I keep scratching away in my Bliss Softening Gloves and I did ask my friends for a mosquito net but the one they found didn't really fit snuggly over the two sleeping bags in our converted broom cupboard. I am now wondering if my friends really realise how to treat self invited guests?
Next day, I said I’d like to have a lovely romantic lunch, just the two of us, in Paris and it wasn’t a long drive, just 439 miles in my new convertible Mercedes and David laughed.
Later, my friends took David aside and asked him if he was going to propose during our romantic lunch in Paris and perhaps, if he did, he and I might stay on in Paris and not come back to St. Tropez? They told him that Paris is really lovely this time of year? Especially for two lovers who've just plighted their troth? So why come back to boring old St. Trop? And anyway, they might need the converted broom cupboard for great auntie Mabel quite soon? But he just laughed and said ‘Vous devez être baise plaisanter’ which I think means ‘Oh yes, I can’t wait to propose and give Lizard a platinum and five carat diamond solitaire ring I've just bought from Tiffany's and make that wonderful, beautiful, generous lady my very own dearest lovely wife as I’ve NEVER EVER loved anyone before, not even my ex wife and kids, ex girlfriends and Prudence’.
Next day, I was so excited as we set out in my new convertible Mercedes, David driving as he wanted to surprise me. I was definitely surprised as we didn’t seem to be going in the direction of Paris but ended up less than one kilometre down the road outside what looked like a pizza joint. David led me in and ordered two pizzas topped with processed cheese, salami, minced horsemeat, eggs and pork sausages. I asked him if he was sure the cheese, salami, minced horsemeat, eggs and pork sausages were all organic, line caught, free range vegan cheese, salami, minced horsemeat, eggs and pork sausages. But he just laughed.
When we finished our meal, he leaned over the table and took my left hand in his … oh, he looked so adoringly at me. ‘I have something to ask you, Lizard’ he breathed soulfully. ‘It’s hard – so so hard … but …’
I smiled encouragingly,feeling all warm and loving inside, my heart palpitating beneath my Prada no-boob tube and sensing a sort of delightful tingle under my St. Laurent leggings, reaching down to my gold and diamanté encrusted Manolos – oh, was this the moment? At last, at last? After those sixty years longing, longing for him, my own true love, whom I had so adored, yearned for but who left me that night, for Another, leaving me sitting alone with my mug of vegan Horlicks in the tartan nightie my mother knitted, nothing left of him but just his bloody table tennis racquet?
He clutched my left hand more firmly, the look of utter love and devotion in his little piggy eyes. ‘Darling darling Lizard’ he breathed. ‘Will you … will you … pay? Because oops - I’ve forgotten my wallet again …’
That would be the Denise Welch who, at the time of my comment, was repeatedly cheating on her husband and boasting of it in the papers, bedding anything 20 years her junior and being photographed falling out of clubs trollied off her face. I find in these matters, if it looks like a slapper, walks like a slapper and acts like a slapper, it's probably a slapper.
Anyhoo, as my old drinking buddy Oscar was wont to opine, "the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about". Ah, Oscar - a king of the one-liner, questionable playwright. I miss him. Not the absinthe, though.
"I have to tell you..."
No, you don't. Really, you don't. She comes across like a fifteen year old schoolkid when the talk turns to sex: "yes, of course I'm doing it, I'm doing it all the time, I'm doing it more than all of you put together !! I am, I AM !!! [stamps foot. screams]". I regard myself as an occasional journalist but henceforth I'll need to find some other term, the better to disassociate my craft from her incoherent witterings.
[* alliteration - dontcha just love it ?]
Astor, what age are you? 12?
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-2661174/Liz-Joness-Diary-St-Tropez-French-Riviera-one.html
Ahhh, sensitive on so many levels ..
She must have some kind of magic sexual healing powers. I've never heard of a coeliac being cured or even semi-cured (from allergy to intolerance after the power of Jonesy's Magic Fanny?) before. If only she would STOP WRITING and use her powers for good, think of the change she could bring about in a desperate world? Please please, Liz Jones. Stop Writing.
Also did anybody else notice there's a sad little commenter on the DM who's taken the time to work out that if his birthday is this Friday and he's going to be 63, then it isn't Jim Kerr?!?!?! Bless.
Wow, Fatsia, I really think you're on to something there. After all, in days of yore it was a known fact that a touch from the King would cure scrofula, also known as 'The King's Evil'. Yes, honestly - the King's Touch cured it. Not sure what scrofula is but yes, it looks like we now have a non-royal healer among us. You are quite right, Fatsia - the Lizard should stop writing forthwith and instead concentrate on healing the coeliacs - she could combine the practice with her book signings, two for the price of one, perhaps - W.H. Smith could set up a little curtained booth wherein Lizard could work her healing magic on the sufferer
All that needs deciding out now is what part of the Lizard should touch the afflicted. Delicacy surely sanctions her using that part of herself that cured The Baker, and in any case, quite possibly some over fastidious sufferers might decide that after all they'd prefer to put up with their affliction rather than that ... but perhaps a delicate stroke from her Bliss softened hands, or a gentle kiss from her puckered filler enhanced lips ... or a kick from her Manolos would be efficacious?
Liz should be grateful they drove. I lost the ass I'm married to in de Gaulle earlier this year because of his need for the smoking room.
Honestly, Lizard, once they are over 55 you haven't a hope in hell of changing them.
Ok - I'm "boring off" now-. This thread was never a favourite - just someplace I visited from time to time. And I'm sure Bellagio couldn't give a toss about my views on Liz Jones or any thing else !
Calm down dear, it's only a message board.
Or pay him enough.
It seems sad that Liz is not happy that David remembers her aversion to the weakness-indulging nature of hot drinks, and doesn't force her to have them.
I fear that David has popped the question in a fail-worthy sort of way. If he hadn't, I can't see Liz dividing the story in two, not if she actually had any real feelings about the matter... oh, wait.
Yes, it seems very suspicious that following posts on this very forum about his former partner enjoying lots of laughs with David, Liz is now suddenly inserting declarations of the endless mirth that surrounds their blessed union, I'm sure she's requested last minute additions to the Diary before going to print. I bet David fair piddles himself with laughter with that running gag of Liz's about not drinking hot coffee, wot with it being a sign of weakness an all that, but woe betide her not getting a mugful of Illy in bed after a night of geriatric passion.
To complete the spell, all the poor incurables have to do is believe that LJ is going out with them (was wondering about source materials of LJ's 'coat of many', as she doesn't have that many exes, TBH).
And there'd need to be room in the WHS booth to accommodate 'psychic Mairead*', and her psychic website - *as kindly plugged in this week's Dreary.
Think I'll stick to more reputable options such as Rosary Beads/a trip to Lourdes, or voodoo.
2 F1 drivers don't practice on a Friday at Monaco It's the only F1 circuit where practice in on the Thursday instead of the Friday .
Still as she keeps telling us how deaf she is she wouldn't notice the difference
Is she starting to think outside her box?
- Jane Austen quotes on marriage (one slightly tweaked)
That's the spirit, Dominodarling. She's making herself and Sprace look absolute tw*ts.
This week's entry might as well been called: "In which I show David's ex that two can play at that driving-round-France-laughing-our-heads-off" game!"
On a more serious note, is anyone else somewhat concerned about the casual attitude to eating baguettes (and this comes just a week or two after the story about eating a pudding which contained wheat, and being ill afterwards)? I'm no expert in these matters, but as I understood it, being coeliac means NEVER being able to consume ANY gluten, ever again, as it would make the person really very ill indeed?