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Liz Jones - YOU magazine (Part 4)
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Suzy_Cat
09-02-2015
I do love the idea that two blokes of 30-ish would have referred to a neighbour girl they didn't fancy or notice particularly much as being the girl with the midnight-storm hair. Because that happens.
puffin1962
10-02-2015
Originally Posted by Suzy_Cat:
“I do love the idea that two blokes of 30-ish would have referred to a neighbour girl they didn't fancy or notice particularly much as being the girl with the midnight-storm hair. Because that happens.”

Yes - in Mills and Boon novels

Perhaps this is Liz's new novel writing project - Mills & Boon novels - world leaders in romance fiction
Suzy_Cat
10-02-2015
I have met the odd Mills and Boon (ok Harlequin) writer and had a go at writing one. It's harder than it seems. Chief among the attributes of successful writers in this genre are a *profound belief in happy ever after via romantic love*. How much do you want to bet that Liz, as she presents herself, would have a show?
Rubbish Name
10-02-2015
I can imagine her at DScrace's party all those decades ago, and somebody referring to her as having black hair and her snapping "It's not black, it's Midnight Storm, actually." Ten minutes after she leaves the party, that's literally the only thing anyone remembers about her. His whole gang might have called her that for years!

(I'm a long time lurker in this thread, by the way, love some of your parodies. And now I've signed up just to talk about Liz Jones' hair. Oh dear.)
cathrin
10-02-2015
Welcome to the thread, Rubbish! (I hope we may call you Rubbish?)

The "midnight storm" comments have made me smile; I remember when this midnight storm conversation originally appeared in the Diary (a quick Google uncovered it, from 2013 no less, with the title "In which I have to leave him"... Anyway, the first time this conversation appeared, it was framed slightly differently: in fact it was David's friend who used the phrase .("Which one of the gals [sic] had the midnight storm hair?" To which David replied "That would be Liz.")

So, not only did two 30-year old men use this flowery phrase back in the early 80s, but they are now apparently re-using it again in their sixties! Has anyone ever met a real person who talks like this?

Anyone else puzzled by the male figure appearing in the Diary illustrations? It appears to be her ex-husband: jet black hair tied in a long ponytail....why is he reappearing in the pictures? Or is it supposed to be David? Does he also have a jet black ponytail?

Oh, and does anyone else think Liz has fundamentally misunderstood the concept of breaking off an engagement? She seems to keep breaking it off, giving back the ring (and the lighter), and then she just carries on planning the wedding/hen night etc as if nothing had changed! It's as if she sees the relationship and the wedding as two completely separate, unconnected things. Bizarre!
cathrin
10-02-2015
Me again! Here's the original 2013 version of the midnight storm conversation:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/...leave-him.html

.....Actually, it's almost identical to this week's Diary entry; it even includes another telling of "That Time David Gave Me A Look" .

Oh, and did anyone see the opinion piece in last Sunday's Mail? It was basically a rant about people who do lots of texting.
Sweetums
11-02-2015
There's something so comforting in this thread; it's one of the main reasons I've started posting after being a lurker for years. To know that others can't look away from the trainwreck that is La Lizard's life soothes the mind a little.

I also think the woman has truly lost the plot and agree with the poster who said the Mail should put her out to pasture. I just really am hoping that Jones is a very dedicated troll playing the long game. If she actually believes a word of anything she writes then she needs bloody sectioning. There is NO ONE on the planet who thinks like she does.
Rubbish Name
12-02-2015
Thanks for the welcome, Cathrin! And I agree Sweetums, I loathe her, loathe the Mail, but for some reason can't look away. She makes my blood boil, sometimes I want to shake her but then I think to myself that it must surely be made up, nobody could really be that awful.... and then she writes something like the 'I should be able to park in disabled bays because I'm deaf' piece. Or the one where she purched on the edge of her mum's deathbed. Or the Jo Yates piece. I mean, it MUST be just trolling. Please say it is. Please?
Sweetums
12-02-2015
I think the Jo Yates piece was when I decided once and for all that Liz CAN'T be serious about what she writes. I didn't know the human mind was even capable of thinking that way until I read that piece.

The mother's deathbed article was one of the most abhorrent things I've ever seen in print, just disgusting. How can anyone do that?

These "professional trolls" like Jones and Hopkins are beyond me. I can't get to grips with the psychology behind it at all.
Bellagio
12-02-2015
I'm thinking that, if the midnight blah blah blah phrase was used at all, it was in an entirely sarcastic manner.
Sweetums
12-02-2015
Originally Posted by Bellagio:
“I'm thinking that, if the midnight blah blah blah phrase was used at all, it was in an entirely sarcastic manner.”

It has to be. People just don't talk like that, ever.
Suzy_Cat
13-02-2015
"Which one do you fancy Dave?"

"Which who?"

"Of the gals next door? The dark-haired one would be all right if she didn't have a face like a kicked dog all the time."

"A kicked dog in need of a good feed."

"In need of a feed and kicked outside when the table was full."

"Into a storm."

"At midnight. Fnar fnar fnar. Another cider and black?"

And ever after she was known as "midnight storm girl".Because young men who fancy themselves a bit clever are horrible people.
Suzy_Cat
13-02-2015
I, too, find Liz's endlessly awful loop of self-indulgence irresistible. We are a club of weirdos, sorry, Vile Trolls and People On The Internet who make the terrible error of taking what Liz writes as indicative of what she means us to understand. "I only said."
Polomini
15-02-2015
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/...sn-t-well.html

Today's offering...talk about flogging a dead horse,

In every sense.
fitnessqueen
15-02-2015
So in today's Dreary she goes to the cinema with the Baker but can't hear a word (she's borderline profoundly deaf doncha know) and then blanks a woman who tries to talk to her afterwards as she can't hear her either. And yet we have another farticle about 50 Shades (of course) in which she not only hears the whole film but manages to chat to various audience members afterwards. Things that make you go hmmm...
Suzy_Cat
15-02-2015
In which David lets me down again.

Betsy the hospital cat has a swollen gland beside her jaw on the left hand side, while Alice the petting duck has damaged her bill and needs treatment which the nursing home is refusing to pay for. In days gone by I would have paid for it in a heartbeat, but it's my generosity to others that has meant David and I have wound up here instead of having in-home care 24 hours a day, as is our right as lifelong taxpayers. I've paid millions in taxes on my columns alone! David's inability to make his business pay has not helped, but I really blame myself. If only I had been more selfish and not spent nearly all of my money on ungrateful humans, like my sister for whom I bought a house. When I married my first husband I put up all of the 250 guests in a five-star hotel myself and told them not to give us gifts. What was I thinking?

After David and I fought over the peas there was a period of silence as I refused to to back down. I felt certain he would quickly return to beg my forgiveness. But after 12 hours - I have less time to wait now, I could be dead in a month, and I have incontinence - I decided to swallow my pride and texted him, a single word: "Ope".

His text came from the other side of the bed at once. "Of course I forgive you my moonlight child, bearer of the storm-dark tresses that shadow my path to the hereafter in such honeyed bliss. I was merely suggesting that I preferred the peas unglazed. Of course I admit I was wrong. Please forgive me my beloved for I love you and only you, much more than any pea."

You see? He barely says two words to me and then I get texts like this.

We had agreed to meet in the communal dining hall for breakfast but it was not a success. Firstly David turned up late with a custard stain on his Givenchy terry robe. I had spent hours getting ready, having my roots done and my menopausal beard and knees plucked. He didn't notice. He fumbled in his pocket and drew out his tobacco pouch and a plastic lighter.

"Where is your Dunhill lighter?" I asked. "You know I don't like it when you carry that plastic Bic. It looks common."

"But we are common," he said.

Worse was to come. The porridge was cold. "My porridge is cold," I told the nurse, who was wearing a hideous acrylic knit. "I'll come and help you in a minute Mrs Scrace," she said, moving towards the door.

"Why can't you help me now? It's not good for me to eat cold porridge. You are lazy. I have paid taxes all my life to pay for you to buy acrylic knits that affront my eyes," I said. "And I am not Mrs Scrace I am Liz Jones, the best paid columnist in Britain!"

"Were," she said, pouring scalding milk on the porridge so that it was now too hot and also lumpy.

"Are you not going to support me here?" I said to David. "Support you for what?" he asked. "I haven't got my hearing aid in."

HIS hearing aid! I am the one who is deaf. I consider hearing aids a sign of weakness. Why can't he learn to lipread as I have had to?

Once I would have died to be Mrs Scrace but now that I find I am likely to die AS her, I wonder if it was such a good idea after all. David does nothing for me. Are we still just using each other?

Nic is coming. She says she will bring an "old flame" who will excite me. She said I should think "ponytail" and "piggy eyes." Who could she mean?

Coming up: In which I question why I bother; in which David and I argue; in which David doesn't back me up; in which I fear a love rival; in which things just aren't resolved; in which the peas are still soggy; in which David won't back down; in which David bores me rigid; in which David calls me hard to live with; in which I wonder if I'm hard to live with; in which Nic comes to call; in which we can't agree on anything especially not the peas; in which I regret ever bothering with David; in which David continues to embarrass me; in which David lets me down again; in which I lose the love of my life; in which David lets me down yet again by being dead...
Mr Curmudgeon
15-02-2015
I used to travel over to Dublin quite frequently and some of my friends used to have a slightly different metaphor for 'midnight storm' hair. 'Hair like a mad-woman's f**ny' was the term used... which kind of fits Lizard quite well, apart from the fact that her nether regions are probably the least hirsute part of her anatomy.
Mommie Dearest
15-02-2015
Originally Posted by Suzy_Cat:
“In which David lets me down again.

Betsy the hospital cat has a swollen gland beside her jaw on the left hand side, while Alice the petting duck has damaged her bill and needs treatment which the nursing home is refusing to pay for. In days gone by I would have paid for it in a heartbeat, but it's my generosity to others that has meant David and I have wound up here instead of having in-home care 24 hours a day, as is our right as lifelong taxpayers. I've paid millions in taxes on my columns alone! David's inability to make his business pay has not helped, but I really blame myself. If only I had been more selfish and not spent nearly all of my money on ungrateful humans, like my sister for whom I bought a house. When I married my first husband I put up all of the 250 guests in a five-star hotel myself and told them not to give us gifts. What was I thinking?

After David and I fought over the peas there was a period of silence as I refused to to back down. I felt certain he would quickly return to beg my forgiveness. But after 12 hours - I have less time to wait now, I could be dead in a month, and I have incontinence - I decided to swallow my pride and texted him, a single word: "Ope".

His text came from the other side of the bed at once. "Of course I forgive you my moonlight child, bearer of the storm-dark tresses that shadow my path to the hereafter in such honeyed bliss. I was merely suggesting that I preferred the peas unglazed. Of course I admit I was wrong. Please forgive me my beloved for I love you and only you, much more than any pea."

You see? He barely says two words to me and then I get texts like this.

We had agreed to meet in the communal dining hall for breakfast but it was not a success. Firstly David turned up late with a custard stain on his Givenchy terry robe. I had spent hours getting ready, having my roots done and my menopausal beard and knees plucked. He didn't notice. He fumbled in his pocket and drew out his tobacco pouch and a plastic lighter.

"Where is your Dunhill lighter?" I asked. "You know I don't like it when you carry that plastic Bic. It looks common."

"But we are common," he said.

Worse was to come. The porridge was cold. "My porridge is cold," I told the nurse, who was wearing a hideous acrylic knit. "I'll come and help you in a minute Mrs Scrace," she said, moving towards the door.

"Why can't you help me now? It's not good for me to eat cold porridge. You are lazy. I have paid taxes all my life to pay for you to buy acrylic knits that affront my eyes," I said. "And I am not Mrs Scrace I am Liz Jones, the best paid columnist in Britain!"

"Were," she said, pouring scalding milk on the porridge so that it was now too hot and also lumpy.

"Are you not going to support me here?" I said to David. "Support you for what?" he asked. "I haven't got my hearing aid in."

HIS hearing aid! I am the one who is deaf. I consider hearing aids a sign of weakness. Why can't he learn to lipread as I have had to?

Once I would have died to be Mrs Scrace but now that I find I am likely to die AS her, I wonder if it was such a good idea after all. David does nothing for me. Are we still just using each other?

Nic is coming. She says she will bring an "old flame" who will excite me. She said I should think "ponytail" and "piggy eyes." Who could she mean?

Coming up: In which I question why I bother; in which David and I argue; in which David doesn't back me up; in which I fear a love rival; in which things just aren't resolved; in which the peas are still soggy; in which David won't back down; in which David bores me rigid; in which David calls me hard to live with; in which I wonder if I'm hard to live with; in which Nic comes to call; in which we can't agree on anything especially not the peas; in which I regret ever bothering with David; in which David continues to embarrass me; in which David lets me down again; in which I lose the love of my life; in which David lets me down yet again by being dead...”

Bravo! Love it! D'Scrace and Lizard in the nursing home in the twilight of their years...
Suzy_Cat
15-02-2015
I seriously think this is how the Dreary will be forever after. It would be REFRESHING if they actually broke up but I don't think they will. Or, conversely, if there was a magical turnaround and they actually became happy and like a normal pair of people who have fun and tease each other and have minor squabbles over the light instead of dealbreaker hysteria every time things don't go Liz's way.
Sweetums
15-02-2015
La Lizard is portraying David as the biggest drip ever. Hope the money is worth it.
Mr Curmudgeon
16-02-2015
Originally Posted by Suzy_Cat:
“I seriously think this is how the Dreary will be forever after. It would be REFRESHING if they actually broke up but I don't think they will. Or, conversely, if there was a magical turnaround and they actually became happy and like a normal pair of people who have fun and tease each other and have minor squabbles over the light instead of dealbreaker hysteria every time things don't go Liz's way.”

I agree, I don't see any way forward for it, mainly because Lizard goes through life seemingly learning nothing from her experiences.

As I see it, the options are:

1. They continue with this farce of a 'relationship', and she continues to do what she's done for months now... i.e. continue with emasculation by print, which is frankly getting boring now.

2. One of them terminates the relationship. I can't see this being Liz because she loves being the victim far too much. If David ends it, we'll just get the whole Nirpal divorce rubbish again.

3. The Dreary is terminated and Lizard is 'chucked-out' on her ear. Which paradoxically could lead to the most interesting story of all. I'd love to hear Lizard's trials and tribulations fitting in to the real world, having to buy Garnier Fructis at discount to maintain a gloss on her midnight storm.

4. Perhaps the most interesting would be if David were given the paid opportunity to write his diary commenting upon his life with Lizard.

I can't imagine what Lizard would do without income from a tabloid though. She's hardly a journalist even by the DM's pathetic standards, and given that 'empathy' is a word entirely missing from her vocabulary and that she's known for being a prize b*tch... who would employ her ?

May be David could employ her... after all she could knead the dough.
Suzy_Cat
16-02-2015
DScrace's diary could be interesting. I immensely enjoyed the "engagement shoot" photo where he was pretending to fall drunkenly off the sofa while Liz's smile grew increasingly rictus.

Fitnessqueen:
Quote:
“So in today's Dreary she goes to the cinema with the Baker but can't hear a word (she's borderline profoundly deaf doncha know) and then blanks a woman who tries to talk to her afterwards as she can't hear her either. And yet we have another farticle about 50 Shades (of course) in which she not only hears the whole film but manages to chat to various audience members afterwards. Things that make you go hmmm...”

Hmmm indeed. HMMMMMMMM.

Perhaps Michael the Hearing Sheepdog translated.
amikolaichek
16-02-2015
IN WHICH I WANT TO SPICE THINGS UP

So, February the 14th was looming. I wondered what David would buy me on only our second Valentine’s Day together. All those lonely, wasted years since that day when I lent him my tennis bat then waited patiently for him to bring it back. I’d dyed my hair a lovely Midnight Storm colour and I’d had my breasts cut off so my British Home Stores sweater would hang better. I waited and waited, among my piles of old Vogue magazines, but he never came. And I didn’t get my tennis bat back.

Hmm, I wondered what to give him as a Valentine’s Day present, now that at last, at last, he was mine. So I bought him a lovely gift to mark the romantic day - a buttery soft, vegan, caramel suede lavatory seat, to go with the very expensive new light that Pimlico Plumbers installed – his Christmas present from me to brighten up the bathroom of his Brixton hovel . Leather lavatory seats are very ‘In’ – even Prince Charles has one that he takes everywhere. I don’t think he actually carries it himself, looped over his royal arm - I expect that he probably has servants to do that; I think they’re called ‘varlets’.

And I decided that along with the suede lavatory seat, I’d give him another lovely surprise on Valentine’s Day – I’d drive him wild in the bedroom! To get some ideas, I visited Screen on the Green to see ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’. I loved the book – it’s really great literature, a modern classic and it so reminds me of the wonderful books I write.
There was a bit of a kerfuffle at Screen on the Green over taking Michael in with me. I kept trying to explain that he was my Hearing Dog and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the film without him. Eventually I had to go nuclear and shout ‘Do you know who I am?’ and the girl, in her nasty Next dress and cheap shoes said no she didn’t, so I said she should telephone the Daily Mail so she did but then came back and told me that no-one there had ever heard of me... but by now the queue of people behind me was getting a bit nasty, so she slammed my ticket down on the counter and waved me and Michael through, muttering a word that I couldn’t make out – did I tell you I’m deaf?

I sat down to enjoy the film, with a carton of cabbage water and a bumper pack of Brussels sprout scratching. It’s a really great film, a modern classic and when Hollywood makes a film of my book I want Beyoncé to star in it, as me, and Hattie Jacques can act the part of the Garnier Fructis woman and Michael Jackson can play The Rock Star, and I fancy Marlon Brando as the male lead, but no butter, of course, as everyone knows I’m a vegan – maybe a dash or two of organic cold-pressed rapeseed oil instead.

Anyway, that’s all in the future, my agent is negotiating film rights, or he was, before he dum ... before I fired him. But back to the film ... I was really getting into it when suddenly an usherette person was flashing a torch at me. She said people were complaining about Michael. I told her that he was my Hearing Dog and I couldn’t enjoy the film without him but she said never mind that, did I realise that he was humping the leg of the woman sitting the other side of him? ‘I AM DEAF!’ I shouted at her. ‘YOU ARE DISCRIMINATING AGAINST ME ...’ I went on to explain how us gravely disabled are discriminated against all the time and it’s not fair and what about OUR rights and ... but I was interrupted by the woman the other side of Michael screaming that he now had his nose right up her skirt. I pointed out that if she was stupid enough to wear a skirt from M & S, she was asking for it and I was just about to explain that a nice VB skirt in charcoal grey cashmere accessorised with a Dior snakeskin belt would be far more suitable, teamed with a Prada black silk shirt and Versace shoe-boots, but I didn’t get a chance, because the cinema manager came along and he and the usher person threw me and Michael out of the place.

Still, what I did see of the film gave me some good ideas – white lilies are very IN, it seems so I bought a bunch from the forecourt of the garage where I stopped for petrol for my new Mercedes convertible – did I tell you about my new Mercedes convertible with its wire wheels and go-faster stripes?

Back in David’s flat, I was arranging the lilies in a vase when I noticed that Michael was behaving oddly. In fact, he was being a bit of a pest ... it was lucky I was wearing my Dolce et Gabbana very firmly zipped up onesie otherwise I may have needed to be a bit firm with him ... could it be that Fifty Shades has Given Him Ideas? Oh dear - why does it always happen to me? Why why WHY?
Suzy_Cat
17-02-2015
Looooooooooooool!!!!!!!
cathrin
17-02-2015
Does anyone else think that the dynamic of this relationship [at least, the way Liz is presenting it] is actually becoming really unpleasant and creepy? We've all seen relationships like this, where partner A constantly puts partner B down, and yet partner B, the one being badly treated, not only puts up with it, but accepts blame for everything, and even apologises over and over again.

Just imagine if the genders were reversed, and a male columnist was proudly bragging about the way he insults and humiliates his female partner, putting her down, belittling every single aspect of her life-- appearance, financial situation, living conditions, friends, exes, personal hygeine, even encouraging his friends to join in by insulting her....("I tried to enlist Dawn onto my side. "Dawn, doesn't his hair look awful? It's like a cloud.").....you name it, she's sniped at it.

Now imagine this male writer repeatedly recounts arguments in which he shouts hurtful put-downs at his girlfriend and humiliates her, to the point that she finally cracks and flounces out (upon which the male columnist snidely references the expensive gifts he's bought her.) Then, time and time again, the girlfriend comes humbly back into line with a meek, self-critical text message, basically accepting responsibility and blame for everything that has gone wrong in the relationship, humbly apologising for her own "over-sensitivity" and showering the boyfriend with grateful compliments and praise for putting up with her. (Just look how many of these episodes have culminated in a long, penitent "mea culpa, you-were-right-and-I-was-wrong" message like this).

Whether the picture Liz paints of her behaviour is 100% accurate or not, it's still the picture she seems perfectly happy [and even proud] to share with the world. Which is staggering, when you think about it. I'm well aware that this kind of behaviour exists, but I'd be willing to bet that most people who treat their partner in this horrible way don't go around shouting about it from the rooftops. Does she really have no idea how badly she's coming across? Does she imagine female readers everywhere are all punching the air in support for her strength and feistiness, and anyone who points out the nastiness is simply a "vile troll"?

ETA ....As for her opinion piece, when will she realise that her own view of men is not remotely representative of men in general? The way she tars all guys with the same broad, insulting brush is monstrously offensive. Again, just try reversing the genders: imagine a male journalist interviewing a bunch of blokes and automatically labelling their girlfriends "lumps of lard." Shocking stuff.
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