Re. 70s songs LJ might have in her collection.
Witch Queen of New Orleans (looks like one)
Crazy Horses (never shuts up about them)
D.I.V.O.R.C.E. (never shuts up about it)
and finally, Hair of the Dog by Nazareth (self explanatory)
Yeah, in her own world. There's something really creepy when she mentions sex and related subjects. That about Ian Anderson's bits was yuk. I watched the clip you posted BTW and was amazed by the special effects - sheer wizardry! And to think I used to have to watch in black and white in the seventies; didn't know what I was missing.
Re. 70s songs LJ might have in her collection.
Witch Queen of New Orleans (looks like one)
Crazy Horses (never shuts up about them)
D.I.V.O.R.C.E. (never shuts up about it)
and finally, Hair of the Dog by Nazareth (self explanatory)
Good list /me claps
Forgot the imagined bits about Ian Andersons privates:rolleyes::rolleyes:
Is she really in Yorkshire? She's not saying the location so how do you know? I thought she was moving nearby(ish) with the stable hand girl person?
If she is, it'll be an excuse to whinge about trains, the M1, the weather (again) blah blah...
She's spoken about the sheep going to her friend Isobel Davies who lives in Yorkshire, so she's not going to be too far away from her 'pets'.
She moaned enough about a 250 mile commute when she lived in Dulverton, so why go 250 miles north instead of west? I forsee in my crystal ball whinges about distance in the next few months and when the locals get fed up of her, there'll be criticism of the 'I spend SO much in the local shops and they still hate me' variety. Silly cow.
Is she really in Yorkshire? She's not saying the location so how do you know? I thought she was moving nearby(ish) with the stable hand girl person?
If she is, it'll be an excuse to whinge about trains, the M1, the weather (again) blah blah...
I don't know at all tbh,she just dropped a lot of hints coming up to the sale of her farm.With a bit of luck she is home in Essex. where fake tans and fanny waxes are close to hand.:p
She's spoken about the sheep going to her friend Isobel Davies who lives in Yorkshire, so she's not going to be too far away from her 'pets'.
She moaned enough about a 250 mile commute when she lived in Dulverton, so why go 250 miles north instead of west? I forsee in my crystal ball whinges about distance in the next few months and when the locals get fed up of her, there'll be criticism of the 'I spend SO much in the local shops and they still hate me' variety. Silly cow.
Well that was what I thought too.;)
Also by the river.she can do the flood victim when the next heavy rains come.:rolleyes:
Hang on.the woman who can't do sex without a tshirt on.lies there naked while a stranger walks on her :eek::D:D
(couldn't face reading the link earlier!)
If she really has come to Yorkshire, and that's debateable considering the amount of lies she comes out with, her crappy Dreary will probably be sprinkled with lots of flat caps, whippets and 'ee by gums'. :yawn: Whatever, she's now bleating that the RS will have to work for her; like she's some desirable siren that men would willingly hold duels at dawn in order to win her (scraggy) hand. What the f**k is she on?
She accused the residents of Exmoor of being toothless, not knowing about Illy coffee and being howwid to the poor ickle flower when she's spent so much money in their shops.
All I can say is if she thinks the locals in Somerset were hard on her, the folk in Yorkshire will mince their words even less. Softie southern gals don't go down well there.
I can imagine this spread in The Mail a few months down the line. Liz Jones. 'I tried to embrace Yorkshire, but was told, 'Get thissen off oaem.'
And so. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I tried. I really did, but in the end people are the same the length and breadth of the country. They just won't, or can't, appreciate a loving, caring soul who, by the way, has never said a bad word about anyone or ever slated their family in any way. However, my sojourn into Yorkshire has been a bad move. In the first week, after my deliverance from the glorious and wonderful south, my letterbox was pelted with whippet turds and steel-lined flat caps were hurled, frizbee fashion, at my windows. Readers, you are probably shouting in unison from the roof tops why these appalling things keep happening to me. Well, let me enlighten you. I took a trip into Richmond on my first Saturday there and went into a store. I was disgusted to note that not only were they NOT serving Illy coffee in their dining section, but also that I couldn't find any, I repeat, ANY buttery soft leather trousers by Michael Kors. Hick town sprang to mind. When I confronted the brain-dead sales assistant to ask why, I was met with a garbled, foreign language that wouldn't have been out of place in Poland. 'I'm profoundly deaf.' I spat at her, 'I demand you speak to me in received pronunciation!' but she carried on talking at me in her awful, flat vowelled monotone. I called management but was told to leave the store as I was makiing a fuss. Me? A fuss? Really! Unfortunately for me, this shallow, simpleton of a salesgirl was a member of a notorious local family of in-bred Yorkshire specimens who didn't take kindly to one of their ilk being put in her place. I have since been subjected to abuse whenever I have left my house and whispered about whenever I have patronised local shops. The house is now on the market and I'm making arrangements for the horses to be shipped out of the country to the My Little Knackersyard Pony Sanctuary. Why does it always happen to me? Why? I thought the move would be wonderful but, alas, the populace of Richmond has decided otherwise, even though I've done nothing wrong. On the plus side, the lack of reception to my Blackberry in this Godforsaken place has meant the FRS boyfriend can't get hold of me. He's probably going insane with frustration and jealousy. Isn't he?
I can imagine this spread in The Mail a few months down the line. Liz Jones. 'I tried to embrace Yorkshire, but was told, 'Get thissen off oaem.'
And so. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I tried. I really did, but in the end people are the same the length and breadth of the country. They just won't, or can't, appreciate a loving, caring soul who, by the way, has never said a bad word about anyone or ever slated their family in any way. However, my sojourn into Yorkshire has been a bad move. In the first week, after my deliverance from the glorious and wonderful south, my letterbox was pelted with whippet turds and steel-lined flat caps were hurled, frizbee fashion, at my windows. Readers, you are probably shouting in unison from the roof tops why these appalling things keep happening to me. Well, let me enlighten you. I took a trip into Richmond on my first Saturday there and went into a store. I was disgusted to note that not only were they NOT serving Illy coffee in their dining section, but also that I couldn't find any, I repeat, ANY buttery soft leather trousers by Michael Kors. Hick town sprang to mind. When I confronted the brain-dead sales assistant to ask why, I was met with a garbled, foreign language that wouldn't have been out of place in Poland. 'I'm profoundly deaf.' I spat at her, 'I demand you speak to me in received pronunciation!' but she carried on talking at me in her awful, flat vowelled monotone. I called management but was told to leave the store as I was makiing a fuss. Me? A fuss? Really! Unfortunately for me, this shallow, simpleton of a salesgirl was a member of a notorious local family of in-bred Yorkshire specimens who didn't take kindly to one of their ilk being put in her place. I have since been subjected to abuse whenever I have left my house and whispered about whenever I have patronised local shops. The house is now on the market and I'm making arrangements for the horses to be shipped out of the country to the My Little Knackersyard Pony Sanctuary. Why does it always happen to me? Why? I thought the move would be wonderful but, alas, the populace of Richmond has decided otherwise, even though I've done nothing wrong. On the plus side, the lack of reception to my Blackberry in this Godforsaken place has meant the FRS boyfriend can't get hold of me. He's probably going insane with frustration and jealousy. Isn't he?
I am not originally from Yorkshire but husband is,
Being Lancashire on my birth cert,we have some good fun,I joke that they stole all the coal and plunged us into darkness in the 70's,
He says we stole the crown of England:eek::D
Crisis for the Royals for LJ,she recommends Kate doesn't wear what Fergie and Di wore when they were pregant !
Comments
[O/T: My favourite caption today: "Brenda seemed to be frustrated with Victoria's efforts"
Shame on me for quoting myself but now my head is onto "the Sweet" "Blockbuster"
lyrics; You better beware.you better take care,
You better watch out if you've got long black hair:eek::eek:
Poor Melanie Sykes is often quoted as being 46 and a mother-of-one. She is 42 and has two boys plus the adolescent fiance....
Witch Queen of New Orleans (looks like one)
Crazy Horses (never shuts up about them)
D.I.V.O.R.C.E. (never shuts up about it)
and finally, Hair of the Dog by Nazareth (self explanatory)
Good list /me claps
Forgot the imagined bits about Ian Andersons privates:rolleyes::rolleyes:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-2239909/Liz-Jones-In-I-house.html is the diary today in YOU.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2241679/Bristol-Cream-spa-break--thats-way-better-you.html is the other article dated today, which I assume is the one from the Mail on Sunday newspaper itself.
Do either of those links help?
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2241679/Bristol-Cream-spa-break--thats-way-better-you.html
Farmers here will just shoot her sheep killing dogs and ask questions later,
If she thought Somerset was harsh she may be in for a shock,
Richmond is a bit posh,but the rest of the area is not:)
If she is, it'll be an excuse to whinge about trains, the M1, the weather (again) blah blah...
She's spoken about the sheep going to her friend Isobel Davies who lives in Yorkshire, so she's not going to be too far away from her 'pets'.
She moaned enough about a 250 mile commute when she lived in Dulverton, so why go 250 miles north instead of west? I forsee in my crystal ball whinges about distance in the next few months and when the locals get fed up of her, there'll be criticism of the 'I spend SO much in the local shops and they still hate me' variety. Silly cow.
I don't know at all tbh,she just dropped a lot of hints coming up to the sale of her farm.With a bit of luck she is home in Essex. where fake tans and fanny waxes are close to hand.:p
Well that was what I thought too.;)
Also by the river.she can do the flood victim when the next heavy rains come.:rolleyes:
Hang on.the woman who can't do sex without a tshirt on.lies there naked while a stranger walks on her :eek::D:D
(couldn't face reading the link earlier!)
All I can say is if she thinks the locals in Somerset were hard on her, the folk in Yorkshire will mince their words even less. Softie southern gals don't go down well there.
Liz Jones. 'I tried to embrace Yorkshire, but was told, 'Get thissen off oaem.'
And so. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I tried. I really did, but in the end people are the same the length and breadth of the country. They just won't, or can't, appreciate a loving, caring soul who, by the way, has never said a bad word about anyone or ever slated their family in any way. However, my sojourn into Yorkshire has been a bad move. In the first week, after my deliverance from the glorious and wonderful south, my letterbox was pelted with whippet turds and steel-lined flat caps were hurled, frizbee fashion, at my windows. Readers, you are probably shouting in unison from the roof tops why these appalling things keep happening to me. Well, let me enlighten you. I took a trip into Richmond on my first Saturday there and went into a store. I was disgusted to note that not only were they NOT serving Illy coffee in their dining section, but also that I couldn't find any, I repeat, ANY buttery soft leather trousers by Michael Kors. Hick town sprang to mind. When I confronted the brain-dead sales assistant to ask why, I was met with a garbled, foreign language that wouldn't have been out of place in Poland. 'I'm profoundly deaf.' I spat at her, 'I demand you speak to me in received pronunciation!' but she carried on talking at me in her awful, flat vowelled monotone. I called management but was told to leave the store as I was makiing a fuss. Me? A fuss? Really! Unfortunately for me, this shallow, simpleton of a salesgirl was a member of a notorious local family of in-bred Yorkshire specimens who didn't take kindly to one of their ilk being put in her place. I have since been subjected to abuse whenever I have left my house and whispered about whenever I have patronised local shops. The house is now on the market and I'm making arrangements for the horses to be shipped out of the country to the My Little Knackersyard Pony Sanctuary. Why does it always happen to me? Why? I thought the move would be wonderful but, alas, the populace of Richmond has decided otherwise, even though I've done nothing wrong. On the plus side, the lack of reception to my Blackberry in this Godforsaken place has meant the FRS boyfriend can't get hold of me. He's probably going insane with frustration and jealousy. Isn't he?
Love it
I am not originally from Yorkshire but husband is,
Being Lancashire on my birth cert,we have some good fun,I joke that they stole all the coal and plunged us into darkness in the 70's,
He says we stole the crown of England:eek::D
Crisis for the Royals for LJ,she recommends Kate doesn't wear what Fergie and Di wore when they were pregant !
Really? she would dress in 1980's style?:p