Isn't she the one with black mountain sheeps wool insulation in her loft? Did the wool from that just fall off the sheep or something?
The farmhouse has recently been improved by the addition of a new bathroom upstairs and Black Mountain sheep's wool installed in the loft for insulation.
No, given that the description of her meeting him after the local AmDram was lifted wholesale (except for a different profession - the 'original' was Charles, a law lecturer at the college she attended who was a dead ringer for Paul Nicholas) from her book Liz Jones' Diary. Now, just how likely is it that she would be cast in the same role in the same play some thirty years apart ?
...and on both occassions have no idea that her role 'Mrs P' was actually Mrs Pankhurst.
Either get new stories or get a better memory.
...and also how many times have you seen an Am dram group do The Match girls (I think that's the play), it's hardly high kicking, high-jinks, feel good is it?
Not stricly believing the 80s Rock Star exists. Bearing in mind most of them are either dead, severely addicted to hard drugs, alcoholic, gay, living with their wife & family, have run off with 16 year old supermodels.
Bearing all of this in mind..... I find it hard to believe. Altho.... what decade was it that Vanessa Feltz's bloke had his one hit wonder?
Whomsever it is must be either desperate to get some mileage out of her, which hardly implies anyone with credibility, deaf and blind, and skint. There are no doubt a few old rock n rollers which fall into all those categories but even so........ nope, can't get there.
It's interesting that the Rock Star assignation has come along just now, when she's just antagonised her readers by putting her mansion on the market for £1.9 million after pleading desperate poverty. It's almost as if someone had a quiet word, and pointed out that she can't really carry on bleating in print about how poor she is while the mansion details are out there for all to see.
....So she's had to come up with something else to write about...and lo and behold, after all this time without the slightest flicker of romance, suddenly this happens, and not with just anyone...oh no!...With an actual Rock Star. Amazing how life works sometimes. I wonder if this will distract her readers from the elephant in the room (or rather, in the estate agent's window?)
Bearing in mind that she reckons she's never had a relationship with a white man, would we be safe to assume that the rock star isn't white? That could help narrow it down, so I'm going for Errol Brown (he went solo in the 90s).
Here's the truly hilarious/unlikely part: she says, insouciantly, "Then, on Sunday, while sitting in the garden drinking black coffee... an e-mail popped up on my BlackBerry... It was from the Rock Star. Hmmm. I don’t know if you remember the Rock Star. I’d been in my local wine bar and seen his skinny frame at the bar. I was wearing hideous, old lady make-up because I’d been in a play. My eyebrows had been obliterated, and a large mole appliquéed on the end of my nose. I’d put a hand to my face in a desperate attempt to cover it up and felt something furry creeping over one ear. My grey bun. I wrenched it from my head... The RS had come over, pulled out a chair and sat backwards on it, riding it like a horse. Sometimes, when I’m stressed, I lose my head. ‘I didn’t think men sat like that any more,’ I said, thinking I was safe behind my ancient disguise. ‘Liz Jones,’ he’d said simply."
That was in an article from July 10th this year. However, the dairy entry that mentioned said play (but, oddly, not the 'Rock Star') was printed almost fourteen months to the day earlier. Not so much stretching credulity as tieing one end to the back bumper of the car, the other end to a lamp post then driving away rapidly.
Rule #1 of telling porkies, especially in the national media: remember what you said, who you said it to and when you said it.
Rule #2: always be plausible (example - Liz Jones goes into a wine bar after performing in a play without removing her stage makeup or wig: as if... although, to be fair, this is a bad example to hold up as, of course, there was no such performance. The episode was lifted from her first Diary book and dated from her college days in the mid-1980s... or to be less charitable, Jones is lying, again).
BTW, were I the 'Rock Star', I'd check my insurance premiums: this whole 'do you remember ?' air is strongly reminiscent of the Boh episode, and no sooner had we been informed of that nags existence then it went hooves up in the night.
Bearing in mind that she reckons she's never had a relationship with a white man, would we be safe to assume that the rock star isn't white? That could help narrow it down, so I'm going for Errol Brown (he went solo in the 90s).
Nice one ! Just a few small problems with that:
1 - he's in his early 60s...
2 - he's been married for over 30 years...
3 - he lives in the Bahamas.
I'm gonna add LizJonesing as a verb on urban dictionary. Definition: Blatantly lying and contradicting oneself and letting down the sisterhood with disgusting derogatory remarks about any and every other woman encountered.
"ie: Jen knew her friend was LizJonesing when she suddenly invented a non-existent rock star boyf"
"I now hate women with breasts: I look at those who expose their sweaty cleavages and think, hmm, how slutty, I bet they use them to get ahead at work"
"I now hate women with breasts: I look at those who expose their sweaty cleavages and think, hmm, how slutty, I bet they use them to get ahead at work"
phahahaahaha!
I actually am starting to think she is not very far off a complete and total breakdown.
She ranted about breasts last year. She's on an endless loop.
She had her breasts reduced so I don't know what her problem is. She has small breasts, she's done well career wise. Her relationship problems are due to her being a needy, shrieking harriden not her lack of cleavage.
I would love to know where these jobs are where one can snag a promotion on flashing your cleavage because I'd be the CEO by now
How many times recently has she recounted someone exclaiming: "Liz Jones!" when they meet her for the first time? Even the Rock Star supposedly did it at the alleged first meeting in the cafe. There's something almost Alan-Partridge-esque about the way she relates these moments, as if people are genuinely awe-struck by the wonder of meeting her.
The problem is, I still hate my breasts, even though they are what I thought, until this season, fashionably small. I still live with the scars of my lifelong battle with fashion.
My breasts still blight my life: they repel men, my flat chest seems incapable of holding up a strapless dress. I can never look at myself topless in a bathroom mirror. The nipples are stretched, and a strange shape. I had surgery again to try to get rid of the scars, and it only made them worse, and me poorer.
I hate the fact I have never been able to feel a man's caress (nipples that have no sensitivity are a common side-effect of reduction surgery).
She really hates her breasts, and to describe a breast reduction op as having them 'cut off' makes her sound either demented or likening herself to a cancer patient.
'Cut of' would seem to indicate deep self loathing (well, i think we've already guessed that about her) but she extends this loathing to anything that might have the ability to compete with her (other women/children) and to things that might reject her (men).
It explains her pathological love of animals. They cannot compete with her (different species) and she can control them (they can't leave her).
Comments
From the estate agent's listing.
http://www.struttandparker.com/property-for-sale/dulverton-somerset/property_EXE100142.html
No, given that the description of her meeting him after the local AmDram was lifted wholesale (except for a different profession - the 'original' was Charles, a law lecturer at the college she attended who was a dead ringer for Paul Nicholas) from her book Liz Jones' Diary. Now, just how likely is it that she would be cast in the same role in the same play some thirty years apart ?
Either get new stories or get a better memory.
...and also how many times have you seen an Am dram group do The Match girls (I think that's the play), it's hardly high kicking, high-jinks, feel good is it?
makes Private Eye's Sylvie Krin read like Charlotte Bronte
Bearing all of this in mind..... I find it hard to believe. Altho.... what decade was it that Vanessa Feltz's bloke had his one hit wonder?
Whomsever it is must be either desperate to get some mileage out of her, which hardly implies anyone with credibility, deaf and blind, and skint. There are no doubt a few old rock n rollers which fall into all those categories but even so........ nope, can't get there.
....So she's had to come up with something else to write about...and lo and behold, after all this time without the slightest flicker of romance, suddenly this happens, and not with just anyone...oh no!...With an actual Rock Star. Amazing how life works sometimes. I wonder if this will distract her readers from the elephant in the room (or rather, in the estate agent's window?)
That was in an article from July 10th this year. However, the dairy entry that mentioned said play (but, oddly, not the 'Rock Star') was printed almost fourteen months to the day earlier. Not so much stretching credulity as tieing one end to the back bumper of the car, the other end to a lamp post then driving away rapidly.
Rule #1 of telling porkies, especially in the national media: remember what you said, who you said it to and when you said it.
Rule #2: always be plausible (example - Liz Jones goes into a wine bar after performing in a play without removing her stage makeup or wig: as if... although, to be fair, this is a bad example to hold up as, of course, there was no such performance. The episode was lifted from her first Diary book and dated from her college days in the mid-1980s... or to be less charitable, Jones is lying, again).
BTW, were I the 'Rock Star', I'd check my insurance premiums: this whole 'do you remember ?' air is strongly reminiscent of the Boh episode, and no sooner had we been informed of that nags existence then it went hooves up in the night.
Nice one ! Just a few small problems with that:
1 - he's in his early 60s...
2 - he's been married for over 30 years...
3 - he lives in the Bahamas.
"ie: Jen knew her friend was LizJonesing when she suddenly invented a non-existent rock star boyf"
"contex: Stop Liz Jonesing you biatch!"
I particularly love this bit:
"I now hate women with breasts: I look at those who expose their sweaty cleavages and think, hmm, how slutty, I bet they use them to get ahead at work"
phahahaahaha!
I actually am starting to think she is not very far off a complete and total breakdown.
She had her breasts reduced so I don't know what her problem is. She has small breasts, she's done well career wise. Her relationship problems are due to her being a needy, shrieking harriden not her lack of cleavage.
I would love to know where these jobs are where one can snag a promotion on flashing your cleavage because I'd be the CEO by now
Ah, right. I must admit, I did no research on him, I just pulled his name out of thin air simply because he's not white and was around in the 80s!.
I win
(actually I always found him quite fancible)
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1305231/LIZ-JONES-Big-bosoms-new-accessory-Good-news-real-women-No-just-way-make-feel-inadequate.html
She really hates her breasts, and to describe a breast reduction op as having them 'cut off' makes her sound either demented or likening herself to a cancer patient.
It explains her pathological love of animals. They cannot compete with her (different species) and she can control them (they can't leave her).
..and the all too regular regular contradictions/mistakes make her Private Eye's Queen of the Glendas