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Liz Jones - YOU magazine (Part 4)


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Old 28-08-2016, 12:21
IFonly58
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Hmmm..wonder how long it took to knock up today's Diary? Full of dreadful, boring and likely fake "Me/Him" texts and the usual passive/aggressive hatred towards the love of her life. And again, no mention of her chronic alcoholism which only recently seemed to be blighting her life...s
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Old 28-08-2016, 12:37
amikolaichek
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HA! Just got a comment PUBLISHED, under the other farticle about cosmetic surgery etc., pointing out that the Dreary ended with Jones saying how truthful she is in her writing. I actually quoted from the Private Eye piece:

"...But the creditors in her much-chronicled bankruptcy have been given a slightly different vision. Late last year they accepted her proposal to pay off her debts, as documented exhaustively if inconsistently in her column, at the rate of 24.82 pence in the pound. They were also offered this startling confession: "I would like to make my creditors aware that my column and any other article I write is ficticious. It is my job to write about an extravagant lifestyle. My professional persona and my real persona are significantly different, particularly financially.""

It's still there but bet it won't be for long. Also put it on the end of the 'cycling' article but it's not appeared. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/ar...s-fashion.html

Ooh, my comment IS still there, five or so minutes later. And got Green Arrows! Result!
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Old 28-08-2016, 14:41
sqwerty505
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Ooh, my comment IS still there, five or so minutes later. And got Green Arrows! Result!
I green-arrowed you.
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Old 28-08-2016, 15:49
amikolaichek
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Wow! Our Liz is WRITING A THRILLER. And I've got a preview of the first chapter ...

-------


NO POINSETTAS FOR MISS PLONKISH*

Chapter One

Miss Plonkish reclined elegantly on one of her neon pink sofas in her gracious sitting room in the Yorkshire Dales. Sombrely, she regarded the trendy barbed wire, moss and string designer Christmas Tree, from which dangled a few thoughtfully chosen Ralph Lauren baubles and one present, beautifully wrapped in paper from Smythsons - reputedly designed by none other than SamCam. The Tree was elegantly placed on a Conran ‘Union Flag’ rug.

Thoughtfully, she sipped her breakfast Aldi prosecco from her Baccarat crystal pint tankard. She was uneasy … even on this Special Day, with two festive vegan nut cutlets ready for the microwave and a salad of two tomato halves and a slice of organic cucumber and a sprinkling of quinoa, she wondered … would HE turn up?

Uneasily, she left the sofa and approached the Abigail Ahern mirror on the Farrow & Ball ‘Salon Drab’ painted wall. She surveyed herself … tossed her head so that her long, dark hair flew hither and thither as though tossed around in a midnight storm on the wild Yorkshire moors. She turned right, left … hitched up her Myla knickers and adjusted her Prada top. Surely, surely, HE would, he WOULD come ….?

She returned to her neon pink sofa, only to find it occupied by a dog chewing contentedly on one of the armrests. ‘Get OFF!’ she shrieked, waving one of the row of empty Aldi Prosecco bottles threateningly at him. The craven hound slunk off the sofa and sauntered menacingly towards a cat that was cowering in a corner of the room. ‘Oh Jesus!’ screamed Miss Plonkish. ‘You’ve CRAPPED on my lovely sofa. And HE will arrive any time … what can I do …?’

Just then, there was a banging on the front door. Hastily, Miss Plonkish hurled a pillow over the pile of doggie doings on the sofa and with a well aimed kick from one of her Manolo Blahnik clad feet, violently ushered the guilty dog, with the yowling cat clamped between its slavering jaws, out of the room. Once again, adjusting her Myla knickers, she composed herself and answered the door.

Yes, it was HE! He stood on the threshold, bearing several packages wrapped in pages of ‘The Sun’. He smiled happily. ‘Happy Christmas’ he cried, looking appreciatively at Miss Plonkish’s form so enticingly adored with the Myla knickers and Prada boob tube. ‘I’ve got PRESENTS!’ he informed her.

Miss Plonkish simpered girlishly, her teeth veneers bared in a smile of welcome. ‘Come in, come in …’

HE followed her into her sitting room. Miss Plonkish glanced uneasily at the neon pink sofa with its cushion hiding the latest sin of her untrained dogs. HE put down his newspaper wrapped packages on the other pink sofa. ‘This is for YOU’ he declared, handing a large, bulky parcel to Miss Plonkish. ‘Happy Christmas! The rest is some stuff that was in my ‘fridge, afraid it’s probably all well out of its ‘use by date’ – some of it seems to be, er, leaking a bit of slimy stuff on your sofa, oops. But you might be able to use it, little extra Christmas pressies. And that other parcel is my dirty laundry. Anyway, open your present.’

Trying to ignore the spreading pool of slime on her sofa, Miss Plonkish took the large parcel …yes YES! She felt quite uncharacteristically EXCITED! Oh, what could it BE? It felt … thrilling – part soft, part hard. Perhaps an Hermès ‘Birkin’ bag, quite a bargain, really, around £42,000 – and maybe with some lovely Marc Jacobs lingerie in the parcel too? She could really do with some new undies, especially knickers. Her two pairs of Myla pants were getting a bit threadbare, with all that dry cleaning … already wearing thin in strategic places. Not that HE worried about that. But WHY had the local dry cleaner started picking her panties up with TONGS when she brought them in? But still. Some readers of her famous ‘Diary’, where she’d just innocently mentioned how hard up she was, readers had dared to send her multi-packs of M & S waist length ‘cotton rich’ knickers and – to add insult to injury – in size 18! She really MUST ‘have a word’ with the photo-desk at her newspaper, about the Photoshopping of her photos.

Eagerly, she ripped off the pages of ‘The Sun’ that covered her gift. She stared at the contents. Then she screamed. Very loudly. ‘It’s an effing PLANT!’ she wailed. ‘And it’s sodding DEAD!’

HE looked nonplussed. ‘But .. it’s a POINSETTA,’ he whimpered. ‘It’s what people have at Christmas. Lovely red and green leaves … it’s SEASONAL.’

‘BUGGER Seasonal screamed Miss Plonkish. ‘You call THAT a proper Christmas present?’ She rushed over to the barbed wire, string and moss Christmas Tree and tore off the Smythson wrapped gift. ‘THIS is a proper Christmas present.’ She threw it, hard, at his face. Bewildered, he picked the little parcel off the floor plus one of his front teeth, and unwrapped it. ‘Oh. It’s a Dunhill lighter …. Again.’

‘YES’, roared Miss Plonkish. ‘To replace the gold one you lost. THIS one’s gold too’.

HE examined the lighter carefully. ‘Oh, look … ‘ He fumbled in the breast pocket of his grubby Tesco brushed cotton check shirt for his spectacles. ‘Ah, here’s the hallmark. Actually … it’s only gold plated and …oh well, never mind, it’s the thought that counts, after all.’ He suddenly sniffed appreciatively. ‘Mmmmm …. I can smell that you’ve got our lovely Christmas lunch already cooking …’

But he said no more, as an Abigail Ahern plant pot containing earth and an ornamental fig came crashing down on the back of his head …

------------------

*With apologies and acknowledgments to the late James Hadley Chase, author of No Orchids for Miss Blandish
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Old 28-08-2016, 16:30
lomo123
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Ha, too funny, esp. The bit with the dry cleaner and the tongs.
More pretty please, love it.
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Old 28-08-2016, 17:43
Jennifer_Jones2
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Seconded!!
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Old 28-08-2016, 17:50
Ber
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Hmmm..wonder how long it took to knock up today's Diary? Full of dreadful, boring and likely fake "Me/Him" texts and the usual passive/aggressive hatred towards the love of her life. And again, no mention of her chronic alcoholism which only recently seemed to be blighting her life...s
Well, as she works 20 hours a day, 7 days a week and usually has 3 articles a week, that works out at about 46 hrs an article...
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Old 28-08-2016, 18:12
Tellystar
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Why, with all the money from her column, and other articles , is she so poverty stricken?
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Old 28-08-2016, 19:50
amikolaichek
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I green-arrowed you.
Thanks - but my comment seems to have been 'disappeared' now! What a surprise ... it's almost as if she doesn't want us to know that she's admitted that her 'Diaries' and Farticles are mainly fiction. Of course, could be she told her creditors that to keep them off her back. Who knows, in the weird word of Jones?
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Old 28-08-2016, 20:20
Ber
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Why, with all the money from her column, and other articles , is she so poverty stricken?
Because she spends it on nostril waxing, dipstick candles, m&s organic prawns, gucci t-shirts and shoe-boots.
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Old 28-08-2016, 21:10
Thornfield
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Why, with all the money from her column, and other articles , is she so poverty stricken?
Some people can't prioritise to save their lives. Add in her obsession with designer labels and "rescuing" animals and she'd probably still be doomed even if she won several million on the lottery next week.
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Old 28-08-2016, 23:46
sqwerty505
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Some people can't prioritise to save their lives. Add in her obsession with designer labels and "rescuing" animals and she'd probably still be doomed even if she won several million on the lottery next week.
Put her on a budget for a week, make her shop in Iceland (shop, obviously), and Primark, see how she gets on. Oh no, she's probably done that already, for another farticle.
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Old 29-08-2016, 00:01
Thornfield
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Put her on a budget for a week, make her shop in Iceland (shop, obviously), and Primark, see how she gets on. Oh no, she's probably done that already, for another farticle.
Do it and she'll still find a way to demonise the poor/LGBT/non-whites and basically anyone who isn't her because everything is somehow their fault including how awful her own life is.

Some people are beyond help/saving, although I think if she'd never gone the confessional journalism route it might have done her some sort of good.
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Old 29-08-2016, 08:34
Ber
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Put her on a budget for a week, make her shop in Iceland (shop, obviously), and Primark, see how she gets on. Oh no, she's probably done that already, for another farticle.


http://www.thisismoney.co.uk/money/b...-benefits.html
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Old 29-08-2016, 10:39
sqwerty505
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Old 29-08-2016, 11:53
Porcupine
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That photo of her at the top of the article is hilarious
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Old 29-08-2016, 12:15
sqwerty505
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That photo of her at the top of the article is hilarious
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Old 29-08-2016, 13:22
Tellystar
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That photo of her at the top of the article is hilarious
Looked like Fagin!
Pre face lift
At least she is self deprecating
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Old 29-08-2016, 14:37
Jennifer_Jones2
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But that was written seven years ago, so she has obviously learned nothing at all, or she would have sorted herself out by downsizing when she left Devonshire. Instead, here she is again in an even worse state!!
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Old 29-08-2016, 18:03
IFonly58
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Loved her comment in her piece on pretending to be poor..."On Exmoor..most of the cheaper places ..are snapped up by outsiders like me". Didn't the place she bought cost well over a million quid ??
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Old 31-08-2016, 22:47
Jennifer_Jones2
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Just had a thought (which I think is brilliant) - there's a piece in the Telegraph about the upcoming trial in the Archers. It's written by Allison Pearson - couldn't we please have her writing a diary instead? She is a very good writer. Second choice - Janet Street Porter.
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Old 31-08-2016, 23:15
Hootie McBoob
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Just had a thought (which I think is brilliant) - there's a piece in the Telegraph about the upcoming trial in the Archers. It's written by Allison Pearson - couldn't we please have her writing a diary instead? She is a very good writer. Second choice - Janet Street Porter.
Janet street Porter? Who is more dismissive of people with depression & mental health illnesses than Liz Jones?
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Old 01-09-2016, 21:28
Jennifer_Jones2
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Well it is supposed to be a diary, not a counselling session!
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Old 04-09-2016, 04:29
Suzy_Cat
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In which Liz admits her failings and is moderately nice about David.

It would be nice to think this will be a turning point but I fear not. TBH Liz seems, like me, to be the sort of person who is better off on her own, with "visitors". If only she could find some kind of compromise housing option, neither grand country home nor city pied a terre. Like half an acre and a cottage at the top end of the Northern Line or something. (Do such things exist? I expect not...)
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Old 04-09-2016, 12:05
Harriet Vane
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Check out Farmacy's menu, the absolute last word in foodie pretension, so no doubt our heroine loved it. Assuming it's not too noisy, like apparently every other restaurant she takes her profound deafness to. I did note from the restaurant article that the 'director of publicity' and 'film producer' have now been downgraded to PA and agent respectively, but she seems to have clarified that they also moonlight as psychics, as no mention of anybody else in the 'small group' reclining on couches and shouting 'eh?' at one another.
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