I'd bet my rent money that that is part of their deal. One can only hope he warned his kids in advance. I suspect not.
Whatever his motives and whether his family and exes are in the know, I still think it's abhorrent behaviour. The amount of people out there who seem willing to offer up their dignity and privacy on a plate just for a few easy bucks is depressing.
Agree, Grey Lady. The appalling Shona Sibary springs to mind ... the stuff she writes about her kids, especially her teenage daughter, is just awful. Accompanied by photos, of course. This sort of invasion of a minor's privacy is just not on, in my opinion.
Shona Shibary is the living embodiment of what the DM likes to call a "vile troll". She effectively sells her children and their teen issues for money, complete with photos. At least La Liz hasn't pasted photos of herself glowering at her sister in buttery soft M&S and those nude platform heels they put everyone in, with their ankles crossed in the official DM photoshoot manner.
However:
"I’ve had one afternoon off in the past five years."
WHAT? She's having mini breaks and weekends with Daaaavid every five minutes! Unless she considers spending time with him and other humans work....
This week's diary is a classic. She MUST, MUST be trolling us. "If I had ‘issues’, I’d keep them to myself. I’d write, ‘Wow, that sounds amazing, thank you. I will try to get away.’"
Or rather, I'd send a passive aggressive text and write at length about my issues. Here I am doing it right now, blah blah wants sex when I am tired blah doesn't notice my fake tan blah doesn't notice my product placement cloakroom blah tobacco speckles left about the place blah doesn't talk much blah no champagne or easter egg how selfish blah.
Oh no, no, noooo – why, WHY does it always happen to me? My weekend with The Baker was ruined, RUINED, I tell you … the girl at the Herod’s Plucking Salon, some refugee from the Third World on minimum wage, who a hundred years ago would be servant class, emptying chamber pots and really ought to KNOW HER PLACE as she’s now lucky to be ministering to me and my chamber. [Editor’s note: WTF is the deluded old bat on about now? ‘Chamber’?] * … anyway, she didn’t KNOW WHO I AM! (Txt. to editor - Paul: please note: 'didn't' is TWO words, my Dim Dummies Guide to Grammar said so, so it's two quid, please, not one for ‘didn’t’) well, she didn’t pluck properly and left THREE WHOLE HAIRS on my left foot’s big toe and my romantic weekend is ruined, RUINED, I can’t go on, really can’t ...
And after I’d bought all that food – organic, free range water, line caught ethically sourced broccoli – but did the Baker bring me so much as a WAG free Easter Egg or a bottle of champagne? He brought me sod all, and then, THEN, wanted sex after I’d got up at 8 in the morning to muck out the horses/dogs/cats/bats/rats/chickens/Baker’s fingernails.
That night, after a dinner of water and organically line sourced broccoli that we'd eaten raw (dear editor: please remember, tell acounts dept. a.s.a.p. when they're settling my account that's 'we'd' is TWO words) anyway, like I've ('I've' is two words) told you, I don't (TWO words) have a kitchen and The Baker was looking a bit lean and hungry and then my newest little pet, the cute little baa-lamb called Samantha-Carrie, after two of my very favourite characters in Sex and the City came gambolling into the house and the Baker started ranting on about saddle of lamb with redcurrant sauce and ‘jus’ of sweetbreads and battery raised roasted cuckoos, plus nasty cholestrol laden roast potatoes and spotted dicks … and I got a bit miffed, because Michael, my hearing-dog collie rushed in and grabbed the cute little baa lamb by the throat and …
Anyway, it was a stressful evening, so when we went to bed, in my ten million thread Porthault sheets and the swansdown duvet and the pure silk eiderdown from organic, line caught, free range silkworms with pension plans … when he wanted sex, I actually misundrstood. I thought he was making a nasty observation about my hairy big toe and had said 'You need a real good plucking'.
"On Friday, I was upstairs in my office, working, and heard a commotion.
I ran down, and the dogs were in the dead-end lane.
A man was sitting on my stone wall. He was with two women. ‘Your dog attacked me,’ he said.
‘She is just a puppy, she is a rescue dog.’
‘I don’t care what she is, she bit me. You are the human, she is the animal.’ He showed me a bruise on his leg; the skin wasn’t broken.
Collies have been bred for hundreds of years to herd and to nip; I suppose if you don’t like border collies, don’t go walking in sheep country. There is a reason farmers wear wellies.
Anyway, he then said, ‘If my leg has to be amputated, you will have to pay me and I will ensure your dog is put down. If you give me a cheque now, I won’t take this any further.’
They continued on their way. I went to the station to pick up a friend, and when we got back, a police van was at my gate.
A policeman, also wearing fluoro, told me I have to control my dog. So I am getting railings."
Dog bites walker #2 (published 18/5/14):
"One day, a man sat on my wall, clutching his leg. ‘Your dog bit me,’ he said. I could see no wound, although I offered him a plaster. ‘Give me a cheque, and I’ll walk away,’ he said. I refused.
Later, a police van turned up. The policeman, who clearly thought people shouldn’t walk in sheep country if they don’t want to meet a border collie, asked me to build a fence, which I did at the cost of £6,000. I have since had another threatening letter from the walker demanding money."
How odd that, in the intervening nine months, the police came to be of like mind as Jones. He used almost exactly the same words too. Amazing. Or bollocks, if you prefer. BTW, as we all know, a copper cannot make you build a fence: that would require a court order.
Bellagio, well done for being the archivist of The Lizard's drivellings ... how stupid does Lizard/Wail on Sunday/Daily Wail think we are, that we (OK) - you) don't spot this stuff? The Lizard must every day give thanks for that wonderful facility .... Cut And Paste! Easy peasy money - quid a word - just regurgitate same old ramblings, hope no-one notices ... but ha ha, we've got Bellagio on her case!
Oh no, no, noooo – why, WHY does it always happen to me? My weekend with The Baker was ruined, RUINED, I tell you … the girl at the Herod’s Plucking Salon, some refugee from the Third World on minimum wage, who a hundred years ago would be servant class, emptying chamber pots and really ought to KNOW HER PLACE as she’s now lucky to be ministering to me and my chamber. [Editor’s note: WTF is the deluded old bat on about now? ‘Chamber’?] * … anyway, she didn’t KNOW WHO I AM! (Txt. to editor - Paul: please note: 'didn't' is TWO words, my Dim Dummies Guide to Grammar said so, so it's two quid, please, not one for ‘didn’t’) well, she didn’t pluck properly and left THREE WHOLE HAIRS on my left foot’s big toe and my romantic weekend is ruined, RUINED, I can’t go on, really can’t ...
And after I’d bought all that food – organic, free range water, line caught ethically sourced broccoli – but did the Baker bring me so much as a WAG free Easter Egg or a bottle of champagne? He brought me sod all, and then, THEN, wanted sex after I’d got up at 8 in the morning to muck out the horses/dogs/cats/bats/rats/chickens/Baker’s fingernails.
That night, after a dinner of water and organically line sourced broccoli that we'd eaten raw (dear editor: please remember, tell acounts dept. a.s.a.p. when they're settling my account that's 'we'd' is TWO words) anyway, like I've ('I've' is two words) told you, I don't (TWO words) have a kitchen and The Baker was looking a bit lean and hungry and then my newest little pet, the cute little baa-lamb called Samantha-Carrie, after two of my very favourite characters in Sex and the City came gambolling into the house and the Baker started ranting on about saddle of lamb with redcurrant sauce and ‘jus’ of sweetbreads and battery raised roasted cuckoos, plus nasty cholestrol laden roast potatoes and spotted dicks … and I got a bit miffed, because Michael, my hearing-dog collie rushed in and grabbed the cute little baa lamb by the throat and …
Anyway, it was a stressful evening, so when we went to bed, in my ten million thread Porthault sheets and the swansdown duvet and the pure silk eiderdown from organic, line caught, free range silkworms with pension plans … when he wanted sex, I actually misundrstood. I thought he was making a nasty observation about my hairy big toe and had said 'You need a real good plucking'.
Yes it is .So why don't the regular ' diary contributors ' -,eg Amikolaichek , Suzy- Cat etcetera write an alternative book?
Suggested title ' The Excrement Diaries "
LOL
According to this weeks Dreary - and it is, very dreary - Nic said this:
"‘Well, he comes here, and the house is so beautiful, and the view, and the lawn slopes down to the pristine river, and you have horses, and collies, all be they mad, and staff…"
Now, having seen her FB page, not to mention the response she posted to the 2009 Independent interview, I seriously doubt she even knows the meaning of the word pristine, much less has ever used it... and such a coherent sentence ? Nah.
Also:
"As you drove off in your convertible Mercedes..."
No, no, no. Only Hyacinth Bucket would say that. Everyone else would say "car", or just "As you drove off". I'm going to have to read some of the pony books she was weaned on, as I'm sure they influenced her literary style (such as it is) far more than her tutors at school and college.
Now everyone, did you know that THE LIZARD HAS A CONVERTIBLE MERCEDES? Not to mention the beautiful horse and beautiful house and pristine river and sloping lawns and the [sheep/people worrying] collies and The Lizard is AT THE TOP OF HER PROFESSION?
{Note to Wail on Sunday's editor: Got that? Lizard is AT THE TOP OF HER PROFESSION, she says so, just in case you and the Daily Wail/Wail on Sunday Board of Directors are getting a bit edgy.]
And in her other farticle, how lovely to see her taking the time to defend the opera singer Tara Erraught, who's been quite viciously attacked for her looks (very important that you look like a supermodel when you're a singer).
Oh hang on - what was it Liz had to say about Clare Balding? And Kirstie Allsopp. Katherine Jenkins. Rihanna. Holly Willoughby...
You're right, Fatsia - didn't she once make some horrible observations about the lovely Kirsty Allsop's derrière? What a hypocritical old hag she is.
Yep.
The first time, in July 2011, she managed to restrict herself to calling her a 'professional Yummy Tummy Mummy' and refers to her children as a 'dreadful brood'.
I think there were a couple of other hattchet-pieces in between which I can't be bothered to look for, but then eventually Kirstie contacted the DM to ask that LJ stopped being such a bitch. LJ's reaction was this (December 2012). "Kirstie Allsopp, who not too long ago telephoned this newspaper and asked, in clipped, Celia Johnson tones, if ‘Liz could please stop being mean about me in print’ (I wrote that she had no need to wear a real fur hat to ride her toboggan, as ‘surely her fat should keep her warm’), really takes the handmade, over-embellished-with-edible-baubles biscuit (just buy a packet!!!)."
Liz on Clare Balding (cheap hat and shoes, high street woolly)
Liz on Holly Willoughby (betraying women by not wearing make up - ??)
Liz on Rihanna ("the sort of fashion sense on stage that surely invites rape at worst, disrespect at least".)
As far as I am aware, none of these women are presenting themselves as beautiful models, but as singers, or presenters - just people doing their job. I'd like Liz to read and respond to this piece by Sarah Millican.
Yep.
The first time, in July 2011, she managed to restrict herself to calling her a 'professional Yummy Tummy Mummy' and refers to her children as a 'dreadful brood'.
I think there were a couple of other hattchet-pieces in between which I can't be bothered to look for, but then eventually Kirstie contacted the DM to ask that LJ stopped being such a bitch. LJ's reaction was this (December 2012). "Kirstie Allsopp, who not too long ago telephoned this newspaper and asked, in clipped, Celia Johnson tones, if ‘Liz could please stop being mean about me in print’ (I wrote that she had no need to wear a real fur hat to ride her toboggan, as ‘surely her fat should keep her warm’), really takes the handmade, over-embellished-with-edible-baubles biscuit (just buy a packet!!!)."
Liz on Clare Balding (cheap hat and shoes, high street woolly)
Liz on Holly Willoughby (betraying women by not wearing make up - ??)
Liz on Rihanna ("the sort of fashion sense on stage that surely invites rape at worst, disrespect at least".)
As far as I am aware, none of these women are presenting themselves as beautiful models, but as singers, or presenters - just people doing their job. I'd like Liz to read and respond tothis pieceby Sarah Millican.
God, reading that has made me really sad for her. I cannot abide Sarah's voice, not a fan of her comedy either but as a woman, her pain & dissappointment in those that critised her touched me.
AAAAARGH, Bellagio! Just read that and almost spilled the tequila I was pouring on my breakfast All-Bran! What a picture that conjures up. But it could give the Dreary a whole new lease of life ...
In which I may have found True Love
I was plucked, waxed, shaved, wearing my best Bliss softening socks/gloves/earmuffs and just out of my Lidl 'Value' recycled chip pan oil oily bath. We looked at each other and then - 'no, NO,' I whispered, 'I forgot to steam-clean my toenails, I am not perfect for you, I hate myself, no-one has ever really loved me, they just want me for Dunhill lighters, cashmere sweaters and mini-breaks ...'
But my lips, luscious with fillers and Sisley Confort Extreme Lip Balm (£39.95) were silenced with a kiss ... as we sank down onto my Porthault two million thread Egyptian cotton sheets, my hair extensions fetchingly spread all over the swansdown pillows with their organic free range pillow cases lovingly made by line caught silkworms with pension plans. The cruelty-free, organic, free range mink blanket slithered to the floor, to lie forgotten on my beautiful priceless Isfahan Persian carpet made in sweat shops by darling little seven year old Persian kiddies on ten pence a month.
What was this feeling? What? What? Something I'd never felt before, never, never, not since I'd had my hip bones shaved so that I'd more fetchingly fit into buttery soft cruelty-free organic vegan Dolte & Banana leather jeans? Ah ... yes, YES ... could it ... oh, could it ... be HAPPINESS?
But ... reader, I have never been happy, Never, never. I am used to disappointment, ever since my parents wouldn't buy me a racehorse when I was five and then, when I was a teenager, they didn't get me clothes that were featured in Vogue and I even had to wear CARDIGANS that my mother knitted (but oh boy, I've since got my own back on HER ...).
And another thing, I never got the man I wanted, the lovely David who lived next door and when I did get him, last year, he never made me happy, didn't bring me Prosecco, had long nails, said my horse was fat and didn't appreciate my convertible Mercedes, beautiful house, sloping lawn, pristine river. What's more, I think he may have done something awful to Michael, my hearing dog ... there've been some misunderstandings about Michael and sheep and postmen,and ramblers and latest is David said Michael did something nasty when he did his usual lovely doggy greetng of nose in the groin, but I said he couldn't have done that as his teeth are worn down to stubs, but David said he can sure suck hard (dog, not David, but that's a whole other Dreary ...).
But I digress. As we lay together on my Porthault two million thread Egyptian cotton sheet, I dared to think ... at last, at last, is THIS true happiness? Have I found at last my own True Love? The One? But - wait - wait - something wasn't quite right ... there was something unresolved between us, I could feel it ...
'Take off your Mark Todd spurs,' whispered The One. 'They're bloody snagging my jodpurs.'
Ye gods! Talk about spiteful! Jones really, really hates women, doesn't she.
Even if she's just trolling for cash, that in itself is not a normal profession a healthy mind would desire to have. She needs serious help - without any involvement of the Fail - urgently.
I don't think people are responding to the so called "controversy" of her writing - more to the fact that she is deeply unpleasant about almost everyone, and her writing is appalling, repetitive and dull.
Comments
Whatever his motives and whether his family and exes are in the know, I still think it's abhorrent behaviour. The amount of people out there who seem willing to offer up their dignity and privacy on a plate just for a few easy bucks is depressing.
However:
"I’ve had one afternoon off in the past five years."
WHAT? She's having mini breaks and weekends with Daaaavid every five minutes! Unless she considers spending time with him and other humans work....
This week's diary is a classic. She MUST, MUST be trolling us. "If I had ‘issues’, I’d keep them to myself. I’d write, ‘Wow, that sounds amazing, thank you. I will try to get away.’"
Or rather, I'd send a passive aggressive text and write at length about my issues. Here I am doing it right now, blah blah wants sex when I am tired blah doesn't notice my fake tan blah doesn't notice my product placement cloakroom blah tobacco speckles left about the place blah doesn't talk much blah no champagne or easter egg how selfish blah.
Top of my head...
Weekend in Norfolk with Jim... sorry, FRS...
Weekend st festival with same...
Villa in south of France with same...
Oh. Wait. The F stands for fake, so she didn't really go away with anyone. Shame on me.
And after I’d bought all that food – organic, free range water, line caught ethically sourced broccoli – but did the Baker bring me so much as a WAG free Easter Egg or a bottle of champagne? He brought me sod all, and then, THEN, wanted sex after I’d got up at 8 in the morning to muck out the horses/dogs/cats/bats/rats/chickens/Baker’s fingernails.
That night, after a dinner of water and organically line sourced broccoli that we'd eaten raw (dear editor: please remember, tell acounts dept. a.s.a.p. when they're settling my account that's 'we'd' is TWO words) anyway, like I've ('I've' is two words) told you, I don't (TWO words) have a kitchen and The Baker was looking a bit lean and hungry and then my newest little pet, the cute little baa-lamb called Samantha-Carrie, after two of my very favourite characters in Sex and the City came gambolling into the house and the Baker started ranting on about saddle of lamb with redcurrant sauce and ‘jus’ of sweetbreads and battery raised roasted cuckoos, plus nasty cholestrol laden roast potatoes and spotted dicks … and I got a bit miffed, because Michael, my hearing-dog collie rushed in and grabbed the cute little baa lamb by the throat and …
Anyway, it was a stressful evening, so when we went to bed, in my ten million thread Porthault sheets and the swansdown duvet and the pure silk eiderdown from organic, line caught, free range silkworms with pension plans … when he wanted sex, I actually misundrstood. I thought he was making a nasty observation about my hairy big toe and had said 'You need a real good plucking'.
*Do keep up - see today's Wail on Sunday – scroll down about dangerous dogs/cats/humans and how the Lizard has iinvented 'Spa Rage'.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2631540/LIZ-JONES-So-Dangerous-Humans-Act-protect-dogs.html
"On Friday, I was upstairs in my office, working, and heard a commotion.
I ran down, and the dogs were in the dead-end lane.
A man was sitting on my stone wall. He was with two women. ‘Your dog attacked me,’ he said.
‘She is just a puppy, she is a rescue dog.’
‘I don’t care what she is, she bit me. You are the human, she is the animal.’ He showed me a bruise on his leg; the skin wasn’t broken.
Collies have been bred for hundreds of years to herd and to nip; I suppose if you don’t like border collies, don’t go walking in sheep country. There is a reason farmers wear wellies.
Anyway, he then said, ‘If my leg has to be amputated, you will have to pay me and I will ensure your dog is put down. If you give me a cheque now, I won’t take this any further.’
They continued on their way. I went to the station to pick up a friend, and when we got back, a police van was at my gate.
A policeman, also wearing fluoro, told me I have to control my dog. So I am getting railings."
Dog bites walker #2 (published 18/5/14):
"One day, a man sat on my wall, clutching his leg. ‘Your dog bit me,’ he said. I could see no wound, although I offered him a plaster. ‘Give me a cheque, and I’ll walk away,’ he said. I refused.
Later, a police van turned up. The policeman, who clearly thought people shouldn’t walk in sheep country if they don’t want to meet a border collie, asked me to build a fence, which I did at the cost of £6,000. I have since had another threatening letter from the walker demanding money."
How odd that, in the intervening nine months, the police came to be of like mind as Jones. He used almost exactly the same words too. Amazing. Or bollocks, if you prefer. BTW, as we all know, a copper cannot make you build a fence: that would require a court order.
...spits coffee over keyboard...
Amikolaichek - that is genius:D
Suggested title ' The Excrement Diaries "
LOL
"‘Well, he comes here, and the house is so beautiful, and the view, and the lawn slopes down to the pristine river, and you have horses, and collies, all be they mad, and staff…"
Now, having seen her FB page, not to mention the response she posted to the 2009 Independent interview, I seriously doubt she even knows the meaning of the word pristine, much less has ever used it... and such a coherent sentence ? Nah.
Also:
"As you drove off in your convertible Mercedes..."
No, no, no. Only Hyacinth Bucket would say that. Everyone else would say "car", or just "As you drove off". I'm going to have to read some of the pony books she was weaned on, as I'm sure they influenced her literary style (such as it is) far more than her tutors at school and college.
{Note to Wail on Sunday's editor: Got that? Lizard is AT THE TOP OF HER PROFESSION, she says so, just in case you and the Daily Wail/Wail on Sunday Board of Directors are getting a bit edgy.]
Oh hang on - what was it Liz had to say about Clare Balding? And Kirstie Allsopp. Katherine Jenkins. Rihanna. Holly Willoughby...
As we know, she 'champions' women.
Yep.
The first time, in July 2011, she managed to restrict herself to calling her a 'professional Yummy Tummy Mummy' and refers to her children as a 'dreadful brood'.
I think there were a couple of other hattchet-pieces in between which I can't be bothered to look for, but then eventually Kirstie contacted the DM to ask that LJ stopped being such a bitch. LJ's reaction was this (December 2012). "Kirstie Allsopp, who not too long ago telephoned this newspaper and asked, in clipped, Celia Johnson tones, if ‘Liz could please stop being mean about me in print’ (I wrote that she had no need to wear a real fur hat to ride her toboggan, as ‘surely her fat should keep her warm’), really takes the handmade, over-embellished-with-edible-baubles biscuit (just buy a packet!!!)."
Liz on Clare Balding (cheap hat and shoes, high street woolly)
Liz on Holly Willoughby (betraying women by not wearing make up - ??)
Liz on Rihanna ("the sort of fashion sense on stage that surely invites rape at worst, disrespect at least".)
As far as I am aware, none of these women are presenting themselves as beautiful models, but as singers, or presenters - just people doing their job. I'd like Liz to read and respond to this piece by Sarah Millican.
God, reading that has made me really sad for her. I cannot abide Sarah's voice, not a fan of her comedy either but as a woman, her pain & dissappointment in those that critised her touched me.
Been saying that for a couple of years - pretty sure there's some Sapphic action going on there.
Uh... sorry if I've spoiled anyone's meal.
In which I may have found True Love
I was plucked, waxed, shaved, wearing my best Bliss softening socks/gloves/earmuffs and just out of my Lidl 'Value' recycled chip pan oil oily bath. We looked at each other and then - 'no, NO,' I whispered, 'I forgot to steam-clean my toenails, I am not perfect for you, I hate myself, no-one has ever really loved me, they just want me for Dunhill lighters, cashmere sweaters and mini-breaks ...'
But my lips, luscious with fillers and Sisley Confort Extreme Lip Balm (£39.95) were silenced with a kiss ... as we sank down onto my Porthault two million thread Egyptian cotton sheets, my hair extensions fetchingly spread all over the swansdown pillows with their organic free range pillow cases lovingly made by line caught silkworms with pension plans. The cruelty-free, organic, free range mink blanket slithered to the floor, to lie forgotten on my beautiful priceless Isfahan Persian carpet made in sweat shops by darling little seven year old Persian kiddies on ten pence a month.
What was this feeling? What? What? Something I'd never felt before, never, never, not since I'd had my hip bones shaved so that I'd more fetchingly fit into buttery soft cruelty-free organic vegan Dolte & Banana leather jeans? Ah ... yes, YES ... could it ... oh, could it ... be HAPPINESS?
But ... reader, I have never been happy, Never, never. I am used to disappointment, ever since my parents wouldn't buy me a racehorse when I was five and then, when I was a teenager, they didn't get me clothes that were featured in Vogue and I even had to wear CARDIGANS that my mother knitted (but oh boy, I've since got my own back on HER ...).
And another thing, I never got the man I wanted, the lovely David who lived next door and when I did get him, last year, he never made me happy, didn't bring me Prosecco, had long nails, said my horse was fat and didn't appreciate my convertible Mercedes, beautiful house, sloping lawn, pristine river. What's more, I think he may have done something awful to Michael, my hearing dog ... there've been some misunderstandings about Michael and sheep and postmen,and ramblers and latest is David said Michael did something nasty when he did his usual lovely doggy greetng of nose in the groin, but I said he couldn't have done that as his teeth are worn down to stubs, but David said he can sure suck hard (dog, not David, but that's a whole other Dreary ...).
But I digress. As we lay together on my Porthault two million thread Egyptian cotton sheet, I dared to think ... at last, at last, is THIS true happiness? Have I found at last my own True Love? The One? But - wait - wait - something wasn't quite right ... there was something unresolved between us, I could feel it ...
'Take off your Mark Todd spurs,' whispered The One. 'They're bloody snagging my jodpurs.'
Even if she's just trolling for cash, that in itself is not a normal profession a healthy mind would desire to have. She needs serious help - without any involvement of the Fail - urgently.
PS.......do you know that she is paid to be controversial and to stir up hornets' nests.
She's due a payrise imho.