"In Somalia, in a refugee camp, I snatched a whip off a young boy who was beating his donkey, and lectured him furiously...The aid workers from Save The Children couldn’t believe their eyes at my behaviour. But surely, if you are hungry, thirsty and exhausted, you should have empathy with another creature in exactly the same boat?"

Er, this would have been the boy in the original article who upon her request had somehow found her a jar of Nescafe for her and then she lectured him about his treatment of the donkey? Presumably because she was thirsty and exhausted...empathy my ar*e.

Maybe she made the cup of Nescafé for the donkey?

Illy, dear... Illy. Nothing so plebeian as Nescafé would ever be found in her luggage.

Oh, I know, but I'm sure it was Nescafe in the original article (which seems to have myteriously vanished), perhaps that's why she was so angry with the child.

Liz: 'You can't beat that donkey!'

Somalian boy: 'Thank you nice, plump, white lady, but I know where you can get another nearly as good. Here's your coffee...'

Prudence happens to have been the ex girlfriends cat. Not David's. Surely a supposed animal lover should realise that it's normal to ask after it's welfare !

From tomorrow's sad offering. Well, where do I start. Firstly ex girlfriend is not jealous and has been in a committed relationship with a truly lovely man for nearly 2 years. She and davud were real companions sharing a good friendship. Yes at one point they were more than friends as she was on rebound from marriage break up and he from a sad loss. But it went back to solid friends. His current girlfriend seems to have an unhealthy hang up though and prints hurtful untrue crap about his ex. She obviously has no life of her own to write about and so keeps dredging up awful rubbish about his ex being jealous blah blah blah. Sorry for rambling but had enough now of this sad sad deluded person. She thinks his ex is jealous of her brand new convertible Mercedes now ! Oh dear!

Did I mention that David asked to keep prudence and then the ex only found out he had given her away by reading it in the column.

Wasn't Prudence last seen cowering in a cage in Liz's Yorkshire place? If she's the ex's cat, and I was the ex, I'd be worried ..

She was ! That's why she asked about the cats welfare. But as you will see tomorrow she got slated for asking about prudence

I think the ex has been treated appallingly. Her only mistake was to have dated D'scrace before LJ. It's really wrong when members of the public can be dragged into the press and bullied like this with no right of reply

So it's time for that right of reply !

I'm wondering [in view of the LJ/Rock star shenanigans] whether D'Scrace is really in contact with his Ex in the way LJ keeps writing? How much of this is in LJ's head? How much is real?

Excellent - I would love to see Liz get a richly deserved comeuppance. The stuff she puts out there about his ex is truly appalling.

It's strange how DScrace writes his emails using exactly the same flowery language as the Fake RS. No one ever speaks that way!

I don't know Liz, David the ex, the ex-wife or anyone else involved, but Liz writes as if she is driven out of her mind with jealousy about the ladies in David's past. It reads like everything she says is a direct message to the ex(es) - "he's only ever loved me and 1 other person (who conveniently died), he's obsessed with me, we have the best sex, I'm clever - you're stupid, you're neurotic and obsessed because you're still in contact with him", etc. Liz seriously needs to sit down and read this stuff cold before she sends it off to the Mail - it's like a drunken midnight text message.

The contact David has with his ex is the usual stuff. She still has things at his flat and has been out of the country. She asked him to get a prescription as their doctor is virtually next door to his flat then to post it to her daughter who would collect meds. Simple stuff that an insanely jealous person who is so arrogant, vain and deluded takes exception to. Bore off liz. His ex feels rather sorry for him in a weird way but does not want him back!!!!! He's yours! She's moved on. And as she is younger than liz, the age gap was rather too large

I expect that Liz will not be happy until she has made David sever all ties. She is no longer writing her column for its readers but is using it to drip toxins into what is left of the friendship between David and his ex. What normal grown-up acts like this? Plus, isn't his ex easily identifiable to anyone who knows David or his family? So Liz calling her all the things she does is surely not the wisest move.

Jones has a habit or dropping thundering great clues to someone's identity then wailing "but I didn't name anyone". The one I always recall is the wedding she attended some years ago and wrote something to the effect that everyone bar the bride knew the groom had slept with the best man. So, not only was it a wedding she was invited to (and they must be as rare as hen's teeth) but she also noted that the plates had photos of the bride and groom printed on them, a fact which pretty must ran up a huge red flag to anyone else who was there. I'd imagine the bride was really thrilled about that.

And then there was the Rock Star of course. Fitted Jim Kerr's description to a tee. But, when challenged, not apparently Jim Kerr after all.

Maybe we should all post comments, if they let any be posted, demanding to know if the cat is still in a cage in Yorkshire. Then complain to the RSPCA!

About bloody time!

Though La Lizard Loca commenting on someone else as negative, jealous or dripping bile really should win a prize for unconscious irony!

No it was some other Glasgow born Rock Star who was huge in the eighties, had famous ex wives and a hotel abroad.

Good news: this Sunday's Dreary is here already!

IN WHICH I REALISE THAT LOVE HURTS …

Well, David came up to my beautiful house at the weekend, with its verdant, lush lawns sloping down to the pristine river. You will remember I wrote that last time he didn’t even bring me a bottle of Prosecco. This time he said he’d got a present for me. He handed me a Tesco carrier with four cans of extra strong lager and a two litre bottle of cheap cider – he said he’d drunk the other two cans on the way to Yorkshire but still plenty of stuff left to make ‘Snakebite’ aperitifs

That evening I’d arranged for us to eat at a vegan restaurant where the brussel sprout egg-free omelettes are legendary. David pulled a bit of a face and said to the waitress that he actually fancied a nice steak, with plenty of chips cooked in beef dripping and for a few minutes we were in danger of being thrown out of the place but I said to the waitress did she know who I was and she said no and she didn’t bloody care either, but then I told her to call the manager and I told him one of my friends was the restaurant critic of the Wail on Sunday and I had her on speed dial, so he let us stay. I made David eat the omelette – I hope no-one spat in it or worse, you never know. I had some organic vegan fizzy water and a sprig of organic free range watercress, as I’d already eaten a quarter of a tomato that morning.

I had been looking forward the next day to taking David from my beautiful house down my sloping lawns to admire the pristine river but I was a bit upset because he had been farting all night in my lovely bed with its ten million thread Egyptian cotton sheets and it smelled even worse than when Michael my Hearing Dog lets rip and every one of my seventeen cats had got off the bed in disgust and stalked out during the night. We had Words about this and David said it was my fault for making him eat the Brussels sprout eggless omelette but I said it was probably the other four cans of extra strong lager and half the cider he’d necked while I was getting ready for bed - putting on my Bliss softening socks, gloves, knee pads and knickers and applying my oily hair mask and doing the tooth whitening procedure, bleaching my toenails and vacuuming my ears and nostrils, plus a quick pluck of stray hairs that had popped up here and there.

Anyway, reader, the day didn’t go well. I took David out for a ride in my new convertible Mercedes with its alloy wheels (I had to have them replaced after Nic scraped them; I’ve taken the cost off her wages). As a surprise, I’d booked David into a lovely holistic spa for its complete ‘He-Man-Tenance Treatment’ – carbolic bath, massage with special Calcutta sourced mud, Swarfega facemask, complete plucking to remove all body hair, high colonic irrigation for inner pristine cleansing, manicure and pedicure, all over fake mahogany tan, the services of a Personal Stylist and Colourist who would tell David his best ‘colours’ using swathes of lovely genuine polyester silk in different shades and give him advice on fashion, a makeup lesson from a Beauty4Men consultant and three hours of strenuous weight training; the lovely pampering day ending up with his chakras being stimulated simultaneously with piping hot rocks and acupuncture needles, while a holistic healer chanted yogic mantras and played whale music on a zither.

But David refused to go. In fact, there was quite a scene and he actually SHOUTED at me that I was a controlling old hag and he’d had enough and when I reminded him of ALL that I’d done for him, he threw his gold Dunhill lighter at my head, ripped a sleeve right off his N. Peal charcoal grey cashmere sweater and then stormed out.

Of course, we made up. It’s what lovers do and anyway, he had no transport to get to the train station if I didn’t take him in my convertible Mercedes with new alloy wheels, as his old car, the ONE HE TRIED TO GIVE ME WHEN IT NEEDED REPAIRS, was back in London, having failed its MOT. That night, he was especially tender to me, told me I am definitely the only person he has ever loved and on reflection, he'd realised that after all he hadn't even loved the ex girlfriend who’d died and he especially loved that I had the body of a teenager and he was sorry he’d thrown the gold Dunhill lighter at me and by the way, did I know that it seemed to be irretrievably broken as a result and he really didn’t think he could go back to using those 25p. plastic disposable lighters now that he'd got used to a gold Dunhill lighter.

Reader, I felt so loved – at last, at last, after all those years of dreaming, of yearning for him, for my True Love, my David … but suddenly, I felt a pain, such a terrible pain of the sort I’ve never experienced before, not even when I was assuming the pretzel position in the Herod’s Beauty Salon and the stupid girl from some Eastern European hovel, on minimum wage, dripped hot wax where hot wax hurts most .. . but this agony was far far worse. ‘Ow! OW!’ I screamed. ‘David, David, help, help, what’s happening to me …?’

But David just went ‘Aiwa orse eeeehh iiih oouw aaaah …’

Reader, then I realised. His dentures had come out and were embedded in my bottom.

I can’t go on. I really can’t.

It's difficult to read the Dreary these days and not think it's a parody... the insanity of the lies and faux retractions ("he's only ever loved me and the dead one") the transparency of the Mills & Boon dialogue, the vile bitterness against Dscrace's last squeeze (who seems a thoroughly decent sort)... I, for one, am astonished that his last g/f hasn't had a chat with m'learned friends by now. It is painfully apparent who she is and must be painful and/or hilarious to their mutual friends to see her vilified week after week. Dscrace has managed to bag a rich mad woman to give him some comfort in his dotage and good for him. But I suspect we all know where he goes to ( my lovely) when he's servicing the frizzy haired loon... and that's what is driving Jonesey more & more potty!