LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which David drops a bombshell
I didn’t call the hotel about the Rock Star’s lost jacket. I’m sick of men giving me things to do. At parties, they always ask if I can put their things in my handbag. No! I’m sick of them saying, ‘Can you remind me to…’ And, ‘Didn’t they have any white pepper?’ Instead, I told him I have no idea if he left his wretched jacket in the bar and why not phone them, not me, as I’m super busy and important.
‘OK, OK. I was a bit put out, to be honest, by the whole night.’
‘Well, you were very noncommittal in bed. You didn’t even reply about my road-trip idea.’
Liz Jones writes about how she emailed her ex saying it was their last chance to get back together
Ah. The fact is, in our gorgeous hotel bed, as well as square pillows there were three collies on it, with the fourth, Teddy, on the floor at the side. Gracie, as is her wont, was on the pillow next to me so he had to sleep with his head at the other end, one foot either side of her not inconsiderable bulk. It’s no wonder the next morning he walked like a cowboy. ‘I feel like I’ve just done yoga,’ he said over bircher muesli.
Thing is, I take my hearing aids out at night, and as his head was so far away, I hadn’t heard a word he said. He should have just WhatsApped me. This is the problem with being deaf: people think you’re rude, or not interested. When that isn’t the case at all.
Anyway, what I didn’t tell you was that, just before I left for the mini break in Yorkshire’s Howardian Hills, I emailed David. I promise I wasn’t even drunk. It was after a long and protracted argument via text (he told me he has bought a new armchair, which means he probably now watches more quiz shows and F1 than before, which hardly seems possible), with him ending the thread by telling me I am ‘a very sexy but shouty lady’.
I replied with just one word: ‘Useless.’
Anyway, before I packed a thong in the Louis Vuitton, I sent David this: ‘So. Last chance before I sleep with someone else on Monday. Do you want to get back together or not?’
JONES MOANS… WHAT LIZ LOATHES THIS WEEK
- Estate agents who write: ‘Is on a quiet, leafy street.’ I lived there. It had the highest knifepoint crime in Europe.
- Waiters who insist on reading out the specials, even though I said I’m deaf and vegan. The fish might be line caught, but it’s still dead.
- Uber drivers who get more texts and phone calls than I do.
- My fizzy water from Lidl which tells me, ‘Your bottle is making a difference.’ No it’s not!
Of course, him being him, he didn’t answer until it was too late. This ship has sailed: I already have cystitis. And when he did eventually answer, he sent what is probably the saddest email I’ve ever received, apart from Nic telling me my horse Lizzie had been put to sleep while I was in Canada, working. Remember this is from the man who, when he was 31, was so handsome that women fell at his feet. Whom I have lusted after since I was 21 years old.
‘My darling Liz, my head and my heart are screaming yes. But my body is saying no. You deserve more. I’ve spent the past two years going through a steep physical decline. I fear I’m too far down that rabbit hole now. Don’t feel bad. I’m OK with it. You know I love you. I just want you to be happy and fulfilled. I hope he treats you well this time and realises what a mistake it was to lose you. All my love, D.’
Oh dear god.
I type, frantic: ‘I don’t understand why you don’t look after your health. That’s the main reason we didn’t work out. Well, me and my column. You wouldn’t stop smoking, take up exercise. How about you come to stay for the summer? Vegan food, fresh air? Dog walks without any slopes, I promise. I’m a much better cook since lockdown. I’ve just made a Lebanese stew with preserved lemon and maftoul.’
Him: ‘I guess if I could answer why I haven’t looked after myself [and his flat], I wouldn’t be where I am now. It’s some sort of self-destruct mentality. I’ve come to terms with my fate. Thank you for the opportunity, though. You really are better off with him.’
What is the title of that new film? The Worst Person in the World. That’s it. That’s the one. That is officially me
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