Despite the long cherished and unrealisitic image of Dscrace that Liz has nursed for 30 years, she is now fully aware that he is a simple man of simple means and 'his' bakery will never fund the millionaire lifestyle that Liz literally bankrupted herself to portray. She now expects him to do the same and somehow find the money to buy a Cartier ring when for all she knows he could at any moment lose his livelihood and home. We know, thanks to Liz, that he was once homeless and to his credit he has pulled his way back and no doubt his currrent employment and simple dwelling are more than he dared to dream about back in those dark days. How vulgar, insensitive and irresponsible is she for putting public pressure on him to go into significant debt to buy a Cartier ring when she has told the world how little she thinks of him. He is only useful to her as column fodder, God forbid and he does somehow manage to buy an expensive ring and gets into a bigger financial mess than his fiancee to be. Agreed, the FRS is already waiting in the wings (he turns up at Xmas so regularly he must be modelled on Noddy Holder or Roy Wood!) if Dscrace doesn't come up with the goods. And maybe our old friend SAMM (South American Married Man) will also turn up having finally abandoned his 'teeny children' for the femme fatale Liz. Class act as ever.
Good Morning Dear Ones! I thought I'd pop by now I've recovered from *those pictures* at the weekend. What the hell was she thinking? Or did she throw herself on Dacre's carpet and say 'please! I'll do anything! I have three staff and a dirty baker to support!'.
So, for what it's worth, my thoughts on Madonnagate:
a) She must surely see that she can't write about her chronic body issues ever again, having appeared as a laughing stock, low-rent Widow Twankey. Neither can she spin the old yarn about her borderline anorexia as, from the waist down, she seems tom be particularly well nourished!
b) In order to fulfil the brief, she really needed to fill something else, and, though not entirely -er- flat, she struggles to fill a latex basque. I am beginning to wonder again about the oft trotted out claim that she had a hackotomy. Maybe she never had anything in the first place and it's her weird way (as if there could be another) of dealing with it?
c) Although I'm sue we agree that she has no talent/ability/degree/shame/scruples does she really also have no self respect? It would seem not.
c) If that's her sex face, well...
And the Dreary? Well, it does what it says on the tin... it gets drearier by the week. The whole, very strange, SATC thang at present being concocted is so transparently a steal (Carrie hated Aidan's offering in SATC) that one has only to ponder that the fictional RS will surely turn up to rescue her for Christmas!! Funnily enough, the Robert Plant herrings dropped whiffily in in the comments would appear to back this up, despite the fact that RP was very happily with Patty Griffin while he was suppossed to be bumping uglies with Mrs Jones. Still... whi make an effort to concoct something believable after all these years eh? Cheque please!
Interestingly, I believe something... interesting in terms of her status as an employer will come out very shortly.
And finally, what of the CRISIS? Well, if I were a betting man, I would say she reckoned she had someone bang to rights over some imagined 'slight', probably threatening them with the DM's lawyers, until her boss told her to do one. Now she has no leg to stand on it will be brushed under the carpet.
So... place your bets for Christmas! Engaged or stood-up? Employed or on t'dole? Bovvered or not bovvered?!
Oh, and I forgot to mention, isn't it funny that they spent £800 on botox and goodness knows how much on photoshopping but... when it came to her gnarled, fat-filled hands they just said "here you are Love... stick these gloves on"!
I don't usually wish ill on people but I really hope the Baker dumps her moody, mardy arse. She brings nothing to his life (despite the reported texts telling us otherwise). She is demanding, never satisfied, and mean. I know some men rather like that but DON'T DO IT BAKER BOY. RUN! RUN AS IF YOUR LIVELIHOOD DEPENDED UPON IT!
I don't usually wish ill on people but I really hope the Baker dumps her moody, mardy arse. She brings nothing to his life (despite the reported texts telling us otherwise). She is demanding, never satisfied, and mean. I know some men rather like that but DON'T DO IT BAKER BOY. RUN! RUN AS IF YOUR LIVELIHOOD DEPENDED UPON IT!
I agree she's feckin awful and I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy, but he is just as bad in my eyes. He's sold out his ex, his children, his business partners (bosses) and any self-respect he may once have had. He can't honestly believe she loves him, with all the dreadful things she's published about him, so the only logical conclusion is that he's in it for some cold hard cash. They deserve each other; I hope they do wed and live miserably ever after. Ideally without a lucrative fee from the DM.
My Mum died this year at age 67 and had hardly a grey hair on her head. My Dad at age 72 has not yet gone entirely grey, he has very distinguished looking gunmetal silver from his original black hair. My sister had her first grey at age 17. Myself at 46 has none. Lizs hair looks bloody awful and aging in that black dye. A softer colour would suit her better and make her look less haggard.
She does seem to have a halfway decent figure (certainly not anorexic borderline or not) but her chest looks terrible. She seems to have nothing up top at all. I know she always says she had them hacked off but didn't really believe it til now, but she really has nothing up top. On the slim willowy types (Keria Knightly etc) who are naturally small chested it looks fine but Liz is a heftier build and just looks daft with no padding up top.
My mum is 58 and still 99.9% brunette with very thick glossy hair. She looks a good 10 years younger than her real age. But her mum went fully grey in her early twenties, and I found my first grey pube aged 13! I was devastated! At least I have light brown hair so it doesn't show!
Regarding her chest, I have noticed that when breasts start to sag they look smaller than when they were pert. They also make the area above the boobs look skinny, with the weight of the breasts stretching down the skin over the ribs. Liz's upper chest and collarbone looks scrawny like that, even though she has a healthy figure. So I reckon there are still boobs under there, she just needed a good bra.
Am I going as gaga as she is, or is she seriously trying to tell us that £48 a week for food for one person is doing it cheaply? So much for the borderline anorexic claims! That's a lot of food for one person, although those special vegan eggs can't be cheap.
We're omnivourous and eat very well for not much more than that for the 2 of us. I also wonder just what 'leftovers' she gives to her dogs.
Am I going as gaga as she is, or is she seriously trying to tell us that £48 a week for food for one person is doing it cheaply? So much for the borderline anorexic claims! That's a lot of food for one person, although those special vegan eggs can't be cheap.
We're omnivourous and eat very well for not much more than that for the 2 of us. I also wonder just what 'leftovers' she gives to her dogs.
And what about the seventeen cats? Or eighteen cats, if you count the unfortunate Prudence? Funny, we never hear about them these days.
She makes David eat with the cat fork! Or more worryingly from her point of view, she prepares food for the cats with a fork the dirty Baker eats with!
You couldn't make it up.
The "long-anticipated" proposal diary entry could have been written by any of us.
Insulting Baker Boy - check.
Obsession with Carrie Bradshaw - check (by the way, no normal adult jumps up and down at the sight of the Eiffel Tower. That. Doesn't. Happen.)
Projecting personality traits onto Baker - check.
More mention of the Argos or whatever it is ring - check.
BIG OMG CLIFFHANGER - check.
The only thing that gave me pause and made my eyebrow twitch a little was Baker Boy's idea of giving up work to live in Yorkshire. Now I suppose he could be pensionable age so what he actually means is "retiring". Maybe LJ didn't want it to sound like she was going out with a pensioner. But if not, what on earth will he do for money? Also, does he realise that he'll be fed with the cats?
Liz really needs to read this comment on the diary page from someone called Caroline:
My husband proposed in our flat with me in my pyjamas making a cuppa! He had made a ring out of plaited leaves from my sister's garden and it was perfect. No big announcement, no party, no champagne. We chose a second-hand ring together and blew the budget on a £200 one. My wedding ring cost £26. Just knowing that this incredible man loves me is beyond price. Sadly, LJ knows the cost of everything and the value of nothing.
Spot on Caroline whoever you are. Can you imagine Liz's horror if the above happened to her and the scathing remarks in her column? She literally has no idea of the real meaning of things, only understands status symbols.
Unless it's all a load of baloney and the pair of them are having a right laugh at us gullible fools I really can't see why the Baker wants to marry someone who actively dislikes him, his flat and everything he does Does he have some kind of persecution complex? Is he into being domineered? (I can just picture Liz being one helluva dominatrix! )
I have noticed that she's quit mentioning his exes (apart from the girlfriend who died of cancer) and his family lately. Has the Baker finally put his foot down? Or was this the 'crisis', some ex or his family slapping her with a 'cease and desist' rather than her own family putting their collective foot down as I first thought? Or has she just been sidetracked by Lizzie's death and living her Sex and the City fantasy and she'll be sharpening her claws again soon?
Either way, it would seem that she and the elderly baker are still together if he's travelling to Yorkshire at Xmas. Note to Baker: take your own cutlery! Is she wearing the £29.99 ebay ring? Or did it fly off the Paris balcony in a fit of pique? Oooh I'm on the edge of my seat ..... not.
The only thing that gave me pause and made my eyebrow twitch a little was Baker Boy's idea of giving up work to live in Yorkshire.
Let's hope that the threat of imminent retirement and a cheap e-Bay ring will serve as a nice reality check for her... and give him an excuse to get out. ;-)
And I find it incredibly hard to believe that she's now a fully-fledged member of North Yorkshire village society after the Dulverton episode. She'll be a distrusted, 'offcumden' for thirty or more years yet...
Some wet-behind-the-ears southern DM reporter should be dispatched post-haste to our frozen northern wastes to talk to some locals... I'm sure there are tales waiting to be told.
Why does Jonesy have a pony tattoo on her arm? When did this happen? It looks like something a 12 year old horse fanatic would get if it was legal.
She's had it a couple of years now. And very proud of it she is too - although why anyone would be proud of that defeats me. Terrible botch job in my opinion. Of course, she told her readers all about it:
I was speechless. There was the Dirty Baker, on one knee, waving aloft his hideous cheap ring in a public place. And not just ANY public place, but Kong, the place where Carrie Bradshaw had lunch with Aleksandr's ex-wife in season six of Sex and the City. The couple whose water he'd spilled all over them by rocking in his rickety fashion backwards against their chair looked angrily at us.
"Stop embarrassing me!" I said. "You are making a public spectacle of us! And ruining my Carrie Bradshaw fantasy while you are at it!"
The Baker's rheumy eyes widened. "I thought you wanted me to propose," he said. He sounded hurt. But in a snippish pedantic way.
"Not like this, with that ghastly cheap piece of tat!" I hissed. It was true that I had wanted him to propose, but why like this? Why in Paris, where I had admittedly hoped he would propose until I realised he had bought that cheap Ebay ring, and then he ruined our dinner by calling my listed Georgian home with pristine sweeping lawns the "arse end of nowhere". . The Baker ruins everything. He is incapable of true feeling.
"It's not that I don't want a proposal,. I just want you to think about doing it properly and nicely," I said. "Get up off that floor. You are exacerbating your rheumatism."
"It is you I love only you I do not deserve you it is right that I should have thought more carefully I only want to make you happy my darling," he said somewhat mechanically, as he rose wonkily. He looked about himself vaguely.
"Oh GO and have your cigarette! I know that's what you want," I told him. He has no sense of occasion. I have told him time and time again that smoking is unhealthy and that I cannot bear it. Still he does not listen.
He placed the hideous bauble carefully on my plate. I noticed it had a piece of pocket lint stuck to it from where he'd stored it, not even in a velvet-lined box or pouch.
"It is a vegan ring," he said with dignity. "I did not want to insult our love nor the thousands upon thousands of people killed in the quest for blood diamonds by giving you a real stone. Nor did I wish to think of the planet being raped for gold while tiny bunnies, birds and foxes are rendered homeless by man's thoughtless cruelty and avarice. Anyway I think I will have a cigarette while you consider your answer."
He left, his greying hair looking dusty and unpleasant against his collar.
I considered my answer. It is true that no man has ever proposed to me before. I had to ask my husband to marry me and buy my own ring AND his, and he gave me fake diamonds that were so small as to become permanently stuck in my earholes pierced by an Essex gun in a chemist's when I was a teenager because my family was too proletarian for me to know about the superiority of needle piercing. But I did not feel as happy as I had anticipated. The Dirty Baker should have wanted to marry me 40 years ago when I was still worthy of love. Now all I have is money and some assets, despite being so poor that I cannot afford to eat or have a kitchen. I don't even have boobs as they were cut off due to my body dysmorphia in my 20s.
I do not really need a husband or a boyfriend, and it upsets me that the Baker is angling to live off my coin in my pristine Georgian house. He will want to eat off my silverware and not only the cat fork. He claims that he will be lonely when I go away for work. The Rock Star used my London flat and pillow spray for an assignation with someone else - what is to stop David from doing the same? He claims there are no people in Yorkshire but I am certain that would not stop people, like Garnier Fructis. from visiting him in my absence. I suppose he could make himself useful in the kitchen,. If only he would not spend so much money on ingredients.
He is certainly not worth showing off at Fashion Week. But he does love me and after all nobody has ever loved me, except for Lizzie. If only David were a horse I think I would be completely happy.
I enumerated his faults and good points once more. He loves me but he smokes in bed. He sends romantic texts but does not get a light in his bathroom. He is frequently mean to me and wears hideous clothing. He is no longer the 30 year old I fruitlessly bought Siouxsie tickets for.
He returned, a hopeful gleam in his eye. I looked with revulsion at the ring. When Carrie's e Aidan proposed with a ring she hated she immediately vomited. I had not done that yet. I only felt a little dyspeptic. Perhaps that was a good sign.
I opened my mouth to give my answer. Just then, my phone rang. A text. It was from Nic. "Shelter horse in desperate need of care," she texted. "Only has one leg. A beautiful gelding called Jim, former racehorse under name New Gold Dream, horribly abused. Will go to knackers if we don't act! Pretty please??"
OK, place your bets. I think she will accept him, and then whinge and moan throughout the wedding preparations, break up with him a couple of times, and if they do actually tie the knot, continue to moan about him for the term of his natural life.
"Fake diamonds that were so small as to become permanently stuck in my earholes pierced by an Essex gun in a chemist's when I was a teenager because my family was too proletarian for me to know about the superiority of needle piercing."
Honestly, it makes you want to weep (with laughter)
Comments
So, for what it's worth, my thoughts on Madonnagate:
a) She must surely see that she can't write about her chronic body issues ever again, having appeared as a laughing stock, low-rent Widow Twankey. Neither can she spin the old yarn about her borderline anorexia as, from the waist down, she seems tom be particularly well nourished!
b) In order to fulfil the brief, she really needed to fill something else, and, though not entirely -er- flat, she struggles to fill a latex basque. I am beginning to wonder again about the oft trotted out claim that she had a hackotomy. Maybe she never had anything in the first place and it's her weird way (as if there could be another) of dealing with it?
c) Although I'm sue we agree that she has no talent/ability/degree/shame/scruples does she really also have no self respect? It would seem not.
c) If that's her sex face, well...
And the Dreary? Well, it does what it says on the tin... it gets drearier by the week. The whole, very strange, SATC thang at present being concocted is so transparently a steal (Carrie hated Aidan's offering in SATC) that one has only to ponder that the fictional RS will surely turn up to rescue her for Christmas!! Funnily enough, the Robert Plant herrings dropped whiffily in in the comments would appear to back this up, despite the fact that RP was very happily with Patty Griffin while he was suppossed to be bumping uglies with Mrs Jones. Still... whi make an effort to concoct something believable after all these years eh? Cheque please!
Interestingly, I believe something... interesting in terms of her status as an employer will come out very shortly.
And finally, what of the CRISIS? Well, if I were a betting man, I would say she reckoned she had someone bang to rights over some imagined 'slight', probably threatening them with the DM's lawyers, until her boss told her to do one. Now she has no leg to stand on it will be brushed under the carpet.
So... place your bets for Christmas! Engaged or stood-up? Employed or on t'dole? Bovvered or not bovvered?!
I agree she's feckin awful and I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy, but he is just as bad in my eyes. He's sold out his ex, his children, his business partners (bosses) and any self-respect he may once have had. He can't honestly believe she loves him, with all the dreadful things she's published about him, so the only logical conclusion is that he's in it for some cold hard cash. They deserve each other; I hope they do wed and live miserably ever after. Ideally without a lucrative fee from the DM.
My mum is 58 and still 99.9% brunette with very thick glossy hair. She looks a good 10 years younger than her real age. But her mum went fully grey in her early twenties, and I found my first grey pube aged 13! I was devastated! At least I have light brown hair so it doesn't show!
Regarding her chest, I have noticed that when breasts start to sag they look smaller than when they were pert. They also make the area above the boobs look skinny, with the weight of the breasts stretching down the skin over the ribs. Liz's upper chest and collarbone looks scrawny like that, even though she has a healthy figure. So I reckon there are still boobs under there, she just needed a good bra.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2872990/Argh-Look-s-invasion-caped-crusaders-LIZ-JONES.html
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2872990/Argh-Look-s-invasion-caped-crusaders-LIZ-JONES.html
This is 2015. 2001 hardly reflects fashion wise
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2873066/Luxury-bag-nuts-shells-not-five-bird-roast-writes-Liz-Jones.html she does have a point on how Christmas has changed over the last 50 years. Quality Street and Pop were treats to be looked forward to. The rest is the usual drivel
And yes, Dear Reader, he proposes in Paris and she leaves us hanging, not!
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-2871469/Liz-Jones-s-Diary-finally-pops-question.html
In which she says he complains about everything...
Seriously??
Am I going as gaga as she is, or is she seriously trying to tell us that £48 a week for food for one person is doing it cheaply? So much for the borderline anorexic claims!
We're omnivourous and eat very well for not much more than that for the 2 of us. I also wonder just what 'leftovers' she gives to her dogs.
And what about the seventeen cats? Or eighteen cats, if you count the unfortunate Prudence? Funny, we never hear about them these days.
You couldn't make it up.
Insulting Baker Boy - check.
Obsession with Carrie Bradshaw - check (by the way, no normal adult jumps up and down at the sight of the Eiffel Tower. That. Doesn't. Happen.)
Projecting personality traits onto Baker - check.
More mention of the Argos or whatever it is ring - check.
BIG OMG CLIFFHANGER - check.
The only thing that gave me pause and made my eyebrow twitch a little was Baker Boy's idea of giving up work to live in Yorkshire. Now I suppose he could be pensionable age so what he actually means is "retiring". Maybe LJ didn't want it to sound like she was going out with a pensioner. But if not, what on earth will he do for money? Also, does he realise that he'll be fed with the cats?
Spot on Caroline whoever you are. Can you imagine Liz's horror if the above happened to her and the scathing remarks in her column? She literally has no idea of the real meaning of things, only understands status symbols.
Unless it's all a load of baloney and the pair of them are having a right laugh at us gullible fools I really can't see why the Baker wants to marry someone who actively dislikes him, his flat and everything he does
I have noticed that she's quit mentioning his exes (apart from the girlfriend who died of cancer) and his family lately. Has the Baker finally put his foot down? Or was this the 'crisis', some ex or his family slapping her with a 'cease and desist' rather than her own family putting their collective foot down as I first thought? Or has she just been sidetracked by Lizzie's death and living her Sex and the City fantasy and she'll be sharpening her claws again soon?
Either way, it would seem that she and the elderly baker are still together if he's travelling to Yorkshire at Xmas. Note to Baker: take your own cutlery! Is she wearing the £29.99 ebay ring? Or did it fly off the Paris balcony in a fit of pique?
Let's hope that the threat of imminent retirement and a cheap e-Bay ring will serve as a nice reality check for her... and give him an excuse to get out. ;-)
And I find it incredibly hard to believe that she's now a fully-fledged member of North Yorkshire village society after the Dulverton episode. She'll be a distrusted, 'offcumden' for thirty or more years yet...
Some wet-behind-the-ears southern DM reporter should be dispatched post-haste to our frozen northern wastes to talk to some locals... I'm sure there are tales waiting to be told.
She's had it a couple of years now. And very proud of it she is too - although why anyone would be proud of that defeats me. Terrible botch job in my opinion. Of course, she told her readers all about it:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2210486/LIZ-JONES-I-thought-tattoos-sluts--I-branded-4-inch-high-prancing-horse.html
I was speechless. There was the Dirty Baker, on one knee, waving aloft his hideous cheap ring in a public place. And not just ANY public place, but Kong, the place where Carrie Bradshaw had lunch with Aleksandr's ex-wife in season six of Sex and the City. The couple whose water he'd spilled all over them by rocking in his rickety fashion backwards against their chair looked angrily at us.
"Stop embarrassing me!" I said. "You are making a public spectacle of us! And ruining my Carrie Bradshaw fantasy while you are at it!"
The Baker's rheumy eyes widened. "I thought you wanted me to propose," he said. He sounded hurt. But in a snippish pedantic way.
"Not like this, with that ghastly cheap piece of tat!" I hissed. It was true that I had wanted him to propose, but why like this? Why in Paris, where I had admittedly hoped he would propose until I realised he had bought that cheap Ebay ring, and then he ruined our dinner by calling my listed Georgian home with pristine sweeping lawns the "arse end of nowhere". . The Baker ruins everything. He is incapable of true feeling.
"It's not that I don't want a proposal,. I just want you to think about doing it properly and nicely," I said. "Get up off that floor. You are exacerbating your rheumatism."
"It is you I love only you I do not deserve you it is right that I should have thought more carefully I only want to make you happy my darling," he said somewhat mechanically, as he rose wonkily. He looked about himself vaguely.
"Oh GO and have your cigarette! I know that's what you want," I told him. He has no sense of occasion. I have told him time and time again that smoking is unhealthy and that I cannot bear it. Still he does not listen.
He placed the hideous bauble carefully on my plate. I noticed it had a piece of pocket lint stuck to it from where he'd stored it, not even in a velvet-lined box or pouch.
"It is a vegan ring," he said with dignity. "I did not want to insult our love nor the thousands upon thousands of people killed in the quest for blood diamonds by giving you a real stone. Nor did I wish to think of the planet being raped for gold while tiny bunnies, birds and foxes are rendered homeless by man's thoughtless cruelty and avarice. Anyway I think I will have a cigarette while you consider your answer."
He left, his greying hair looking dusty and unpleasant against his collar.
I considered my answer. It is true that no man has ever proposed to me before. I had to ask my husband to marry me and buy my own ring AND his, and he gave me fake diamonds that were so small as to become permanently stuck in my earholes pierced by an Essex gun in a chemist's when I was a teenager because my family was too proletarian for me to know about the superiority of needle piercing. But I did not feel as happy as I had anticipated. The Dirty Baker should have wanted to marry me 40 years ago when I was still worthy of love. Now all I have is money and some assets, despite being so poor that I cannot afford to eat or have a kitchen. I don't even have boobs as they were cut off due to my body dysmorphia in my 20s.
I do not really need a husband or a boyfriend, and it upsets me that the Baker is angling to live off my coin in my pristine Georgian house. He will want to eat off my silverware and not only the cat fork. He claims that he will be lonely when I go away for work. The Rock Star used my London flat and pillow spray for an assignation with someone else - what is to stop David from doing the same? He claims there are no people in Yorkshire but I am certain that would not stop people, like Garnier Fructis. from visiting him in my absence. I suppose he could make himself useful in the kitchen,. If only he would not spend so much money on ingredients.
He is certainly not worth showing off at Fashion Week. But he does love me and after all nobody has ever loved me, except for Lizzie. If only David were a horse I think I would be completely happy.
I enumerated his faults and good points once more. He loves me but he smokes in bed. He sends romantic texts but does not get a light in his bathroom. He is frequently mean to me and wears hideous clothing. He is no longer the 30 year old I fruitlessly bought Siouxsie tickets for.
He returned, a hopeful gleam in his eye. I looked with revulsion at the ring. When Carrie's e Aidan proposed with a ring she hated she immediately vomited. I had not done that yet. I only felt a little dyspeptic. Perhaps that was a good sign.
I opened my mouth to give my answer. Just then, my phone rang. A text. It was from Nic. "Shelter horse in desperate need of care," she texted. "Only has one leg. A beautiful gelding called Jim, former racehorse under name New Gold Dream, horribly abused. Will go to knackers if we don't act! Pretty please??"
'Liz Jones Other Diary' is urgently required and there are clearly talented writers around here that would be happy to administer an antidote.
OK, place your bets. I think she will accept him, and then whinge and moan throughout the wedding preparations, break up with him a couple of times, and if they do actually tie the knot, continue to moan about him for the term of his natural life.
"Fake diamonds that were so small as to become permanently stuck in my earholes pierced by an Essex gun in a chemist's when I was a teenager because my family was too proletarian for me to know about the superiority of needle piercing."
Honestly, it makes you want to weep (with laughter)