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Liz Jones - YOU magazine (Part 4)


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Old 05-05-2013, 14:12
WineIsMyFriend
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I couldn't actually make head nor tale of the rambling dross about men in suits and her hormones and knitting harridans. It was so disjointed and bizarre, she must have been drunk when she wrote it.

It was nice that she thinks her untrained mutts attacking walkers and stealing food is all part of some sort of Famous Five high jinks!

The Dreary, yawn, the FRS shagged a fake 'other woman', what a surprise!

And if they actually sent that vapid bint to interview a man of Ranulph Fiennes' gravitas, rather than her just participating in a Q & A session, (which is what it reads like), then that is just insulting to him, though a measure of his manners that he endured her so graciously!

Downtonfan, I think your reply to vampyre was quite rude, she did answer the question!
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Old 05-05-2013, 14:19
DeliriumTremens
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The rant about men made no sense to me either, Wineismyfriend. What do knitting women cackling in corners have to do with her not paying her builder for doing work on her house? That was the reason the builder won his court case against her, and he used her own words from the diary in Court!
I can't even fathom why she thinks its acceptable for her dogs to nip people. If mine did that, I'd have to face the fact that perhaps a)they are not socialised and need training and b) if people complain, the dog would have to be destroyed. I say that as all mine are rescued, and I spend a lot of time training them, and socialising them.

She's a very , very stupid, offensive, arrogant woman.
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Old 05-05-2013, 14:27
scone
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I don't believe anyone would eat a sandwich after a dog had had it's tongue wrapped around it, think where dogs usually lick at and then you may understand, but perhaps the old boot's dogs don't lick their genitals. I think I'd have just let it eat the sandwich and then if it gave the dog the squits then she would have something else to moan about.

"I saw some boy scouts on the wall, my dog went over and licked their sandwich, they stroked him and told him he could have it, how sweet I thought, until later that day when I'm knee deep in excrement!"
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Old 05-05-2013, 14:29
WineIsMyFriend
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Delirium Tremens, I expect you have to do things like train and socialise your dogs because you weren't clever enough to get the same breed that was in the Famous Five. Because then apparently it's totally acceptable for them to attack children.

I hope no one tells my husband about these 'hormones' and 'conditioning' that stops women standing up to men- I don't seem to have had either of them, how odd, yet I am of child bearing age!

It was pretty offensive of her to basically equate the fact she didn't think the estate agent was selling her house fast enough with Stuart Hall's victims too.
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Old 05-05-2013, 14:32
WineIsMyFriend
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Scone, Boy Scouts are children, she wouldn't think that was sweet, she'd think they were evil feral monsters, out to get her because she isn't a posh man. I see she is claiming a waterfall in the vicinity of her rented house as 'her's' too!
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Old 05-05-2013, 14:35
DeliriumTremens
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Delirium Tremens, I expect you have to do things like train and socialise your dogs because you weren't clever enough to get the same breed that was in the Famous Five. Because then apparently it's totally acceptable for them to attack children.

I hope no one tells my husband about these 'hormones' and 'conditioning' that stops women standing up to men- I don't seem to have had either of them, how odd, yet I am of child bearing age!

It was pretty offensive of her to basically equate the fact she didn't think the estate agent was selling her house fast enough with Stuart Hall's victims too.
Good point! I'd been so shocked at that random bit of shoe-horning a news item into her ramblings that I'd forgotten it. Totally offensive.
And yes, I should totally have got the 'right ' breed of collie; the one that doesn't need trained, nips and bites people and also kills sheep. I'm sure its one of those collies that attended the fashion shows with her, so perhaps they write the fashion farticles as well?
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Old 05-05-2013, 14:40
scone
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According to her, when you hit the menopause you become powerful, that's not what I hear, nagging and hot flushes, yes that would go down well in a board room turning up drenched in sweat with a red angry face... Hmmm then again
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Old 05-05-2013, 17:16
Fatsia
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She has the audacity to say "I think the reason I never wanted children..." -
Sorry, Liz dear, would you mind talking me through the whole sperm-stealing episode again in light of this statement? Does she really not remember what she said yesterday? I think that "no drinking before 4pm" rule has slipped again.
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Old 06-05-2013, 01:08
Regis Magnae
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They chip, chip, chip away at my self-esteem, talking to me in a way they would never dare talk to a posh man.
Even when I am paying a manís salary, he can barely contain his enragement.


Source
A fair amount of women probably feel they same way when they meet Liz.
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Old 08-05-2013, 17:40
coldcomfort
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Hiya. I've lost track a bit over the past couple of weeks (house stuff ), so decided to catch up today. I'm still scratching my head over the men in suits, knitting grannies and nipping collies cat crap. What the hell had she been taking when she put that load of cobblers down? Madness. I did a spoof a few weeks back and included her mutts biting random people; it seems I got that right.
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Old 08-05-2013, 18:09
offtotheraces
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Hi - new to the thread but have followed it for a while and I love the commentary. I just want to ask how the Mail justify publishing Liz's ramblings at all when they have become so unreadable in terms of the actual nuts and bolts aspect of her writing? It's a disgrace penmanship of such appalling quality would be published in a national newspaper that isn't the Sun or the Star.

I know the Mail lives to troll us all but can't they at least have someone edit the dreary before it's foisted on us poor readers?
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Old 09-05-2013, 11:57
coldcomfort
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In Which I Suffer an Attack of the Vapours.

Alas. I am bereft as I pen these words as my minstrel suitor is far away in London Town, preparing to sing for the King, no less! He did inform me by letter that he held great fear at the prospect of strumming before His Majesty, as his instrument has not seen the light for many a long year. I was aghast, though, to espy wine stains on the parchment! He did distinctly inform me that he no longer partook of the devil's brew. Hmmmmm.
To quell the lonely hours, I called to my hounds, Michelangelo and the Mistress Grace, so that I could read to them an instalment of Fornication and the Town, featuring the comely Mr. Bug. Alas, even reading of his prowess with the wanton Mistress Caroline Bradshot failed to beguile, so I blew out the candle and we made our solemn journey up to the bedchamber.
'Tis now the morrow and I am in high spirits! A page did arrive at my door earlier, bearing a letter from my Famous Minstrel! 'My beloved,' he had scribed. 'Myself and my fellow minstrels are much delighted with our music and feel the King will bestow upon us his high regard.' Hmmm. It seems my FM has resolved his nervous disposition. He went on, 'You are generosity itself, lending to me your London townhouse whilst I am here. I swear by the love of God I will keep it tikkety-boo and there will be no ribald shenanigans whilst I am in residence. Prepare for my arrival at your country abode within the next few days. Forever yours, XXXX.'
My gnarled hands flew to my creased decolletage. 'Oh my goodness!' I gasped! 'But I am not prepared!' I raced to my looking-glass and was dismayed by my reflection. My skin looked shiny, like a suckling pig on a spit, and I did realise I had become a little heavy around the midriff. I must make haste to the apothecary's!
I flew to my bedchamber and squeezed into my tightest corset, over which I donned my newest gown, a beautiful black velvet number made by an up-and-coming seamstress who goes by the name of Mistress Victoria Beecham. Verily, her gowns are being lauded in high places! With my best jet-black periwig atop my head, I called to the hounds and we set off for town.
The bell jangled as we entered the apothecary's shop and a strong whiff of unguentum assailed my elongated nostrils. 'No whelps in here!' Mr. Squigglydick, the apothecary, boomed. Much affronted, I informed him that they were my hearing hounds, and I very much doubted that he would have spoken to a portly, rich gentleman in that tone. He grumblingly relented and I made my purchases whilst the hounds pittled on the stone floor. So sweet.
Once home, I set to my task with relish. I applied a poultice of bat excrement and guinea fowl urine to my face; this promised to erradicate unsightly crows feet and pock marks. Next, I rubbed goose grease and turpentine into my thighs, a new-fangled ointment that would stop bits becoming wobbly, and finally I filled my bath tub with a powerful mixture that would make my skin infant soft. Lighting my Batford's tallow candle, that emitted a distinct whiff of beef fat, ugh! I lowered myself into the potent mix of claret wine infused with wormwood, sage and juiced eels. After a while, the intoxicating brew fuddled my head and I could not resist partaking of a sup. I did wobble ungainly as I alighted the tub, and snatched up my fan to allay the sweats.
I was indulging in an afternoon slumber when the hounds started yapping, loudly. Hark! There was someone at the door. It was the page again, bearing another letter from London Town. I tore it open as the hounds chased the page down the lane, eager for the taste of human flesh. It was from Missis Aitch, my educated servant.
'Mistress Pepys-Jones,' it began. 'It is with regret that I must inform you that your beau, Master XXXX, has treated your townhouse with great disrespect and has left it in wanton disarray. Your Grinling Gibbons carved and gilded walnut sideboard has been marred with many clay pipe burns. Wine stains and other, unidentified marks, have soiled and sullied your Louis XIV bed linen, and your cherry and ivory chiffonier now has a lute embedded in the roll-top. Your deeply humble servant, Aitch.'
Treacherous! How could he when all I do is give, give, give and ask for nothing in return? I was brought from my abject anguish by another knock at my door. 'Twas him. I glowered and waited for an utterance. He cleared his throat. 'My deepest love,' he stuttered. 'I do not know where to begin. I have blighted your hospitality. I have been appalling.' I looked on his crestfallen countenance and softened. 'No, you have not. Aitch, my servant, said she would purchase some puppy urea to clean my townhouse.'
'No, I have been appalling to you. Whilst drunk, I did lay with a strumpet.' There was a roaring in my ears. 'A trumpet? You told me you played a lute! You are a liar, Sir! Begone, and never darken my door again!'
As the FM hastened down the lane, the hounds at his heels, I did reach for my smelling salts, so overcome with fatigue and distress was I. Will I ever find fulfillment and contentment? Will I? I fear I am doomed to suffer misery to the end of my days.
And so to bed.
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Old 09-05-2013, 13:11
Fatsia
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Coldcomfort, I adore you.
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Old 09-05-2013, 14:24
Seabird
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Cold Comfort I wish there was a 'we are not worthy smilie'. Seriously, are you a professional writer or at least had something published (apart from here )? Truly brilliant and not just as a spoof but in every respect. Thank you again for the joy you give us. x
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Old 09-05-2013, 16:07
coldcomfort
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Thank you, Fatsia and Seabird. No, I'm not a professional writer and have never had anything published, although I've got two novels that have been languishing on my computer for years - I just don't know what to do with them. I was a long time lurker and then decided to have some fun on the thread myself, as I've now got the time to do it. I enjoy interacting with like-minded people and find the comments and spoofs on here hilarious. Thank you for that.
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Old 09-05-2013, 17:28
Seabird
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Cold Comfort, if you have not already done so may I recommend you get hold of a copy of The Writers' & Artists' Yearbook, most libraries keep a copy if you don't want to buy one just yet. Absolutely invaluable for the novice to the professional and will give you indepth information on which agents/publishers specialise in certain genres and great advice from the pros. Do not waste your wonderful gift (but please keep writing spoofs for us even when you are famous!) Good luck.
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Old 09-05-2013, 19:44
newbaby
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In Which I Suffer an Attack of the Vapours.

Alas. I am bereft as I pen these words as my minstrel suitor is far away in London Town, preparing to sing for the King, no less! He did inform me by letter that he held great fear at the prospect of strumming before His Majesty, as his instrument has not seen the light for many a long year. I was aghast, though, to espy wine stains on the parchment! He did distinctly inform me that he no longer partook of the devil's brew. Hmmmmm.
To quell the lonely hours, I called to my hounds, Michelangelo and the Mistress Grace, so that I could read to them an instalment of Fornication and the Town, featuring the comely Mr. Bug. Alas, even reading of his prowess with the wanton Mistress Caroline Bradshot failed to beguile, so I blew out the candle and we made our solemn journey up to the bedchamber.
'Tis now the morrow and I am in high spirits! A page did arrive at my door earlier, bearing a letter from my Famous Minstrel! 'My beloved,' he had scribed. 'Myself and my fellow minstrels are much delighted with our music and feel the King will bestow upon us his high regard.' Hmmm. It seems my FM has resolved his nervous disposition. He went on, 'You are generosity itself, lending to me your London townhouse whilst I am here. I swear by the love of God I will keep it tikkety-boo and there will be no ribald shenanigans whilst I am in residence. Prepare for my arrival at your country abode within the next few days. Forever yours, XXXX.'
My gnarled hands flew to my creased decolletage. 'Oh my goodness!' I gasped! 'But I am not prepared!' I raced to my looking-glass and was dismayed by my reflection. My skin looked shiny, like a suckling pig on a spit, and I did realise I had become a little heavy around the midriff. I must make haste to the apothecary's!
I flew to my bedchamber and squeezed into my tightest corset, over which I donned my newest gown, a beautiful black velvet number made by an up-and-coming seamstress who goes by the name of Mistress Victoria Beecham. Verily, her gowns are being lauded in high places! With my best jet-black periwig atop my head, I called to the hounds and we set off for town.
The bell jangled as we entered the apothecary's shop and a strong whiff of unguentum assailed my elongated nostrils. 'No whelps in here!' Mr. Squigglydick, the apothecary, boomed. Much affronted, I informed him that they were my hearing hounds, and I very much doubted that he would have spoken to a portly, rich gentleman in that tone. He grumblingly relented and I made my purchases whilst the hounds pittled on the stone floor. So sweet.
Once home, I set to my task with relish. I applied a poultice of bat excrement and guinea fowl urine to my face; this promised to erradicate unsightly crows feet and pock marks. Next, I rubbed goose grease and turpentine into my thighs, a new-fangled ointment that would stop bits becoming wobbly, and finally I filled my bath tub with a powerful mixture that would make my skin infant soft. Lighting my Batford's tallow candle, that emitted a distinct whiff of beef fat, ugh! I lowered myself into the potent mix of claret wine infused with wormwood, sage and juiced eels. After a while, the intoxicating brew fuddled my head and I could not resist partaking of a sup. I did wobble ungainly as I alighted the tub, and snatched up my fan to allay the sweats.
I was indulging in an afternoon slumber when the hounds started yapping, loudly. Hark! There was someone at the door. It was the page again, bearing another letter from London Town. I tore it open as the hounds chased the page down the lane, eager for the taste of human flesh. It was from Missis Aitch, my educated servant.
'Mistress Pepys-Jones,' it began. 'It is with regret that I must inform you that your beau, Master XXXX, has treated your townhouse with great disrespect and has left it in wanton disarray. Your Grinling Gibbons carved and gilded walnut sideboard has been marred with many clay pipe burns. Wine stains and other, unidentified marks, have soiled and sullied your Louis XIV bed linen, and your cherry and ivory chiffonier now has a lute embedded in the roll-top. Your deeply humble servant, Aitch.'
Treacherous! How could he when all I do is give, give, give and ask for nothing in return? I was brought from my abject anguish by another knock at my door. 'Twas him. I glowered and waited for an utterance. He cleared his throat. 'My deepest love,' he stuttered. 'I do not know where to begin. I have blighted your hospitality. I have been appalling.' I looked on his crestfallen countenance and softened. 'No, you have not. Aitch, my servant, said she would purchase some puppy urea to clean my townhouse.'
'No, I have been appalling to you. Whilst drunk, I did lay with a strumpet.' There was a roaring in my ears. 'A trumpet? You told me you played a lute! You are a liar, Sir! Begone, and never darken my door again!'
As the FM hastened down the lane, the hounds at his heels, I did reach for my smelling salts, so overcome with fatigue and distress was I. Will I ever find fulfillment and contentment? Will I? I fear I am doomed to suffer misery to the end of my days.
And so to bed.
Oh. My. Word. Tis without parallel in its excellence.

Write that book. Publish...you will not be damned.

Seriously, your Pepys meets Austen meets Georgette Heyer meets Barbara Cartland (forgive me the latter), with the broad brushes of Shakespearean imagination, is wonderful. I've printed it out and will take it to my boudoir in my grotty Listed home with 26 bedrooms to peruse further, while inhaling a calming vinaigrette of the pee of a stressed puppy, essence of a cat who's overdosed on prawns (not just any prawn: prawns of very ritzy - and therefore expensive - provenance), squashed pet lamb, horse's (abscessed) foot...no, paw.. and pulverised Faux Rock Star. With a side note of £26,000 buttery soft leather vegan eau de vie. All contained in a rather cheap Hermes phial (a mere £100,000: but it's worth it). And I shall fall asleep, cocooned in the finest gossamer of spider's web cashmere which cost a million pounds for one square inch. I know I have no money. But appearances are so very important. And my bank manager can sing for the vast amount I've just spent in my imagination.

Then, I'll giggle. And applaud the muchly-talented coldcomfort.
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Old 09-05-2013, 22:23
Mommie Dearest
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ColdComfort, you are a genius - and as others said you MUST try and get something published!
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Old 10-05-2013, 12:21
freaky_friday
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Self-publishing is super easy these days. There are free tutorials about how to publish for e-readers online. So go for it. You've not really got anything to lose, and lots to gain!
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Old 10-05-2013, 13:34
Amused Harpy
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Your Diary by Mistress Elizabeth Pepys-Jones had me in stitches, coldcomfort.

Good luck with your novels. You really deserve to get them published.

I think it's exit stage left for her imaginary beau but no doubt she'll spin out the saga, from time to time, having him full of remorse and grovelling for her to take him back. She doesn't seem to care that it's stretching our imagination a bit far in that they haven't been spotted by press photographers in all the time they've supposedly been together.

No doubt she'll now be telling us she's had the 'cupboard' in London bleached from top to bottom, all her expensive bedding, plus bed, disposed of and perhaps she'll rent another
'cupboard' in another part of London.
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Old 10-05-2013, 14:15
Seabird
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For those who missed this article in the DM this week, Robert Plant takes out a restraining order on a deranged woman who believes she's been in a relationship with him for three years!

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz...-Billings.html
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Old 11-05-2013, 00:25
sunstone
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Well done again CC,
I had to give up on LJ for a while.Sometimes it amuses and you can take the pee,then it makes you angry enough to need a step back.
Sibary and Brick have been playing WUM's again lately .so I have backed away.
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Old 11-05-2013, 04:48
jeff_vader
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For those who missed this article in the DM this week, Robert Plant takes out a restraining order on a deranged woman who believes she's been in a relationship with him for three years!

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz...-Billings.html
. First laugh of the morning.
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Old 11-05-2013, 17:20
duome
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If you'd been following the thread you must have seen the dozens of posts saying to send a PM to one of the FB'ers
to get added.
Or maybe the fm has got a life and doesn't follow the thread so religiously. Couldn't you just answer her question?
thanks for that.
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Old 11-05-2013, 17:24
duome
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The thread has recently had a new lease of life , Duome, as a few people really don't like using FB.

If you want to join, as Vampyre says, PM one of the regulars. DS hate to have posts with 'PM me whatever...' and it often gets threads closed down (especially in the gossip thread).

Meanwhile, have you got any opinions on today's multiple offerings in the MoS? Three wonderful farticles to choose from - the dreary; a rambling , incoherant mess about how she hates men, posh men and just men in general ; and a weird Q&A thing with Ranulph Fiennes.
thanks DT

i have opinions on her but i tend to lurk, sorry if people dont like that

i will contribute later as i have an overseas visitor and thought i'd have a quick look as they have a bath.

one thing i will say though, is i have to steel myself before reading her. why do i do it? i am a masochist
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