The Insane World of Liz Jones in her own words by shoutingatco.ws
Liz at home in Devon with former racehorse Lizzie, in a Bottega Veneta dress
She – or her character in the paper – aspires to spending hundreds of pounds on name brand tat, living it up like a billionaire, without having the financial head to stop spending. Back in 2009, she estimated her personal debt at £150,000. That doesn’t stop her from sneering at people that don’t earn six figures working for a newspaper.
On the understanding that she’s either seriously mentally ill or just making it up to annoy people, here’s some of the cream of her rubbish articles.
On being simultaneously rich and poor
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
A couple of months ago, I spent nearly £4,000 on a Vera Wang dress. I interviewed a member of Girls Aloud the other day, and found out, to my shame, I spend more on clothes and personal grooming a year than she does. A pop star!
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
I asked the parent of my godson what he would like for his birthday. ‘Oooh, a book. An Xbox 360 game’ – I bought him a £530 garden shed.
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
I have been forced, through circumstances too complex to go into, to renovate my outside buildings: even the new, tiny bat sanctuary has cost £26,000.
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
The other day, I was in Boots buying cotton wool and my special £8.95-a-tube toothpaste
Hard times: Liz Jones tried to get by on benefits for a week
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
I have lived without a fridge for two years, but I have just bought one – ooh, it is lovely, a Falcon, in stainless steel with a water dispenser – for £3,000. It seems I am incapable of going to Comet.
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
Even adding up what I spend in my local pet shop each month on my 17 rescued cats and five rescued dogs – £400, and that is not including all my animals who live outside, in fields – makes me feel faint.
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
I should have worried when we got [to Mozambique] (via business class on two planes, a private jet and speedboat) that Sven-Goran Eriksson and Nancy Dell’Olio’s names were in the guest book. The bill came to £26,000.
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
That column elicited a deluge of reader responses – from the same bunch that hate scroungers (but only working class and foreign ones)
‘Let me pay for the animals for a year. I want nothing in return.’ ‘Liz, I’ll send you £1,000 for the animals, as long as you don’t print my name.’
‘I could spare £100 a month for five months, does that help? Kim.’ ‘Liz, I have a £20 note in a drawer for emergencies, I want you to have this, because I know the despair of having no money and it’s a vile, sinking feeling.’
‘I’m a 77-year-old widow on a state pension, but I’d do anything for my cat, Josh. I’ve won £50 on Premium bonds and I want you to have it, so how can I get it to you? Catherine.’
‘I’m a 56-year-old disabled woman. My husband gave up work to care for me. Would you accept £50 from us?’
‘I have £20 to last me until the 24th when I might or might not be paid but you’re welcome to £10. Caroline.’
These people are ACTUALLY poor. Actually, properly poor. Living in a world where £26,000 pays for a LOT of holidays. But they’re sending actual money to Liz Jones. If I found out that my nan had sent half her pension so that Liz wouldn’t have to wipe her arse on £10 notes instead of the larger £20s, I’d be bloody furious.
And then Liz tries out the actual poor lifestyle; trying to live on £65 a week.
Whenever I need a phone number, I automatically dial 118 000. That would have to stop, but I don’t have a Phone Book (do they still exist?) and I could no longer afford my broadband package, which is over £100 a month.
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
I drive a BMW and never use public transport. I always have the central heating on full and walk around in a T-shirt. I frequently order films on Sky Box Office, watch them for five minutes, then change the channel.
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
Bereft of Jo Hansford, I set off for my local pharmacy to buy hair dye (oh, the humiliation. My colourist will never forgive me; I now have the sort of jet black hair that would be at home on the head of an old hag).
We don’t know what a Jo Hansford is, either
Keep smiling and don't get any closer
I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.
‘I’m a 77-year-old widow on a state pension, but I’d do anything for my cat, Josh. I’ve won £50 on Premium bonds and I want you to have it, so how can I get it to you? Catherine.’
It’s not all bad, though.
The most humiliating incident of the entire week happened when I went to a pawn shop in Islington, having decided I would part company with a string of pearls given to me by my dad when I turned 18.
The nice Indian man inside told me business was booming. I extracted my velvet-lined case from my designer handbag which, having cost £1,000, I was beginning to resent, like an ex-wife hanging around my neck demanding alimony.
He took the necklace away. I felt a lump in my throat. He came back. ‘These pearls are not real,’ he said. ‘They are plastic, maybe worth a pound.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said.
He pushed them back under the thick security glass. I started to cry.
Nice Indian man. “You know, he was Indian… but he was nice.”
I find the parents so lax in so many ways (I had no idea there were people in this world who do not clean their light switches with eco-cloths) but so demanding with their kids.
I’ve never liked the homeless – they’re smelly and scary.
But homeless people in the West? Surely these people are mostly drug addicts, drunks and prostitutes. They like doing what they do, they won’t want my help.
On people in service industries
I can’t even blame the jobsworth employees at all those airports who stood, mute and uncomprehending, shoulders shrugging, staring into space (at what? The life they could have had?).
Before the truly horrendous ending, some light-hearted musings on her marriage.
I don’t even think he fancies me that much. The other night, making ‘love’ (again, I use the term lightly), I had to ask him, ‘Are you aware that I am even here?
And her divorce:
It wasn’t just that I’d split up with my husband, although that was a large part of my disillusion with living the perfect urban lifestyle: Georgian townhouse in an Islington square with Dido as a neighbour, mid-20th century furniture, an arthouse cinema round the corner, thrice-weekly meals in fancy organic restaurants
And finally. The really jaw-dropping one. The one about her mum being seriously ill, and Liz finding it all a bit inconvenient.
On lying about her age to her husband, in front of her mother:
When I finally met my future husband – when he was 26 and I was, as far as he knew, 37 – visits to see my mum were always fraught with anxiety lest she reveal my date of birth. I became quite relieved when she developed senile dementia.
Every morning, she is hoisted out of bed and strip-washed. I know that she is suspended, butt-naked, by her bedroom window, but I have never quite got round to having net curtains put up.
I now use her dementia as an excuse not to visit her. She doesn’t know I am there, I tell myself. I don’t have time, what with my super-busy life.
When I do see her, she searches my face, trying to work out who I am and I lie and tell her I came just two weeks ago.
Her nurse is making sure she has a lovely Mother’s Day today, putting mascara on her tired eyes, handing her tulips. I am 250 miles away.
I wouldn’t not be with my cat on his birthday, or risk not being with him when he dies.
Absolutely charming woman, I’m sure you’ll agree. One that’s either a liar or mentally ill. Fuck off mum, don’t care if you have a good mother’s day. I’m sitting at home; middle aged and single, with my cats. The stereotype of a mentalist.
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This must be a spoof? Surely? I know she’s vile, but really? Her own mother? What a fucking witch.
Mad as a box of frogs.
I fucking hate this woman WITH A PASSION – she was one of the “celebs” I nominated for a smack in the chops on my blog http://bit.ly/ijiBcM
I have no idea why I read her column – she never ceases to amaze me with her choice of subject, her view on life and the amount of money she manages to get through… money that isn’t actually her own!
Her wikipedia entry is pretty funny though: http://twitpic.com/3uyp52
£100 a month for broadband??? Hey Liz, I can offer you a daily supply of moisturiser, it might smell and look a bit like human excrement, but it really is good for your skin, comes in an eco-friendly recycled Morrisons carrier bag and is a snip at £250 an ounce.
just read “Men need prostitutes” well Liz if all wifes looked like you & as frigid as you, I would agree, but thank goodness there isn’t to many like you, & 99.9 of married men have wonderful warm & caring partners, which appears your not!!!!!!!
There is perhaps no-one lower than the perpetual vileness of LJ. What grieves me is that some crazy fool feels that her words are worth payment. I personally would not pay this woman in buttons. No matter WHAT she spends, she still looks like some ancient hag with over-dyed scarecrow hair and 70s make-up, no matter where she re-located everyone simply loathes her. Awful writer. Yet more awful excuse for a human being.
“I don’t know the exact sum, but I would guess – aside from my mortgage – I owe about £150,000 on credit cards and in bank loans.”
Are you aware that this line is repeated eight times?
It was to provide contrast between her precarious financial state and daft attitude to spending, but thanks for thinking it was a mistake!
There a very few people I would enjoy harming. Liz Jones is one of them. One of the nastiest cunts in the cuntfest that is the DM.
She’s quite the most ridiculous person the daily heil employs. I think she’d easily fit into the sociopathic personality type, no thought for anyone but herself, I liked that you repeated her debt line repeatedly.
Vile, vile woman. Read her articles for entertainment purposes. Wondering why DM actually pays her but I could guess it’s something along the lines of…people react to her as we have! Shocking – yes. 100% Real – perhaps not.
Would just like to say i think liz is full of sh*t she wrote an article invoving my name this month full of false acusations down to her self having crusty toe nails saying it was rubbish are service! she made th treatment difficult she has made a living out of lying and over exaggerating but did not like it when the article came out about her being a sperm stealer! heartless women not only this she comes into a college salon expecting a* treatment when she hardly takes care of herself so made everything hard work ! i wouldnt read any of her aticlues if someone paid me to what a load of crap liz jones
hope her horse throws her off vile witch look alike writting bolox about me an 18 year old student really lowed my confidence everyone go onto daily mail and out in beauty college it should come upo with her vile article the bitch