And the Oscar for
THE MOST PRODUCT PLACEMENT in one piece of turgid self-pitying cra … sorry … wonderful ‘feel good’ bit of prose goes to …. (wait for it) … LIZ JONES. Everyone applaud madly now.
We have:
Anglepoise lamp. The
Eames chair, bought from
Selfridges. And the
Vi-Spring bed – also bought from
Selfridges. (Urgh - TOO much information about making love on the
Vi-Spring bed ... hope she used a mattress protector

. The
Bill Amberg bed-head. Plus
Eileen Grey bedside tables. Oh, yes, the
Silver Glam lamps from
Atelier Abigail Ahern in Upper Street in Islington.
Hope you all got that - Atelier Abigail Ahern in Upper Street in Islington! (Christ, the number of times she mentions the place, they must give her one hell of a discount.) And her mum’s
Bergere suite (no, me neither).
She didn't mention the artist who did the oil painting of the deceased nag 'Lizzie' - tut-tut, glaring omission. Or who sold her the painting of Krishna in a silver photo frame.
And to continue: Her red
Iittala vase. Also the
Eero Saarinen marble tulip table. Plus the
Smeg cooker and fridge. Chest of drawers from
Nicole Farhi Home (just off Bond Street, for those of you feeling the urge to rush there to purchase a chest of drawers -you can find Bond Street on Google Street view or something

).
Her
Arne Jacobsen dining chairs (she used to have eight, but one of her untrained dogs ate half of them, probably as a change from gnawing on sheep and the odd cat ... (Now, kindly meant note to future landlords considering renting to Jones and her menagerie - 'THE DOG ATE MY HOMEWORK' doesn't anywhere come near to THE DOG ATE MY SOFT FURNISHINGS. And, I almost hesitate to mention it because of my innate delicacy ... but her dogs 'stress wee' too ).
Perhaps the
Suzuki Garage,
Handelsbanken and
Bishop’s Move may be less happy with their ‘product placement’ but hey ho, no such thing as bad publicity …!
Meanwhile, as mentioned by another DS stalwart above, WHY THE HELL was she even considering renting a place in North Yorkshire, when she whines and bitches about having to travel to London, Gatwick, wherever for ‘work’?
Oh dear oh dear ... I think I am going to start crying in a moment. But to cheer myself up, maybe I'll limp along Upper Street later and treat myself to something nice from
Abigail Ahern. Perhaps being on crutches just might get me a wee discount. Or - maybe (being realistic) I'll stagger into Sainsbury's and buy myself a bottle of own-brand gin.