My friend Andrea from Belfast came to stay with me for the weekend. At the airport, he wrote: “What’s your favorite champagne brand? I know you’re very demanding.”
I replied: ‘Andrea. I’m engaged to a man who doesn’t have a spoon. Everything is gonna be okay.’
It was so nice to spend a few days with a normal person and not with a man. She helped the horses and gave Mini some very special walks, even though Missy didn’t want to: ‘It was so much fun, she came to the end of the road to the abbey and stopped. Then we came back and he wanted to go and see the stables. Then he wanted to go home. He walked as much as he wanted! She’s a smart girl and I admire her.’
Andrea paid for the dinner. He was very interesting and traveled a lot, we talked for hours. She appreciated the beauty of the place and continued to take pictures. Four seconds later, she didn’t say, “Sounds suspiciously like a hill,” as she went for a walk with the dog.
Before Liz Jones was ruined when she opened her inbox, she recounts the perfect weekend she had when her friend Andrea from Belfast came to visit her.
But since it was Sunday I logged into my email and as usual it was full of people telling me.
First, the real estate agent responsible for selling my rental home said it wasn’t helpful for me to write about it online. Online! I’m not a blogger, I’m in a real physical magazine.
I said that owning a home is more than just taking the rent to pay the mortgage, and that heating might be a good idea.
Then I got a blocked email from David so I have no idea why I can still see his emails (Nicola?! Siri?!).
He wrote: ‘Hi, I hope you understand this. I was shocked. It bothers me to hear that you can’t wear the beautiful dress I bought for you. Then I don’t understand why it wasn’t replaced with the correct size. Take it to a tailor and have it fitted. Let me know the cost and I’ll gladly pay. Love, David.
Jesus Christ. He’s still listening to my podcast in our last issue, where I joked about what to wear for a formal occasion at Claridge’s. I actually mentioned the gold embroidered Dries van Noten dress she bought for me and I could tell it was “Maat Vet”.
It was just an empty comment. Joke. More of an accusation about my own size—I’ve been starving since I was 11, I’ve been shrinking my boobs to 29—rather than a criticism for buying the wrong size.
The problem is that people can’t see beyond themselves. It’s like the whole world is seen through a small porthole that allows them to see only what’s on their minds and never the big picture.
He doesn’t think he has a job, it’s not about me. And, God, Liz bought me an N Peal vest with a contrast collar and I ruined it all and left it full of moth holes. Oh, and a gold Dunhill lighter (“plate,” as he politely pointed out), that I lost for being careless at Plaza Athénée. Let’s slide them.
Maybe he thinks he’s helping. Maybe he’s jealous that I’m moving on with my life. Who knows? But instead of complaining “I bought you years ago” why not cheer me up with something fun?
Anyways! I’m meeting Rock Star tomorrow at the Talbot Inn in Yorkshire’s food capital. He’s going to Scotland. After informing the owner that I am vegan I reserved a table at the bar and I will have four collies, two of whom are incontinent. I hope you have reserved a room…
* He blamed me for rushing him down while I was in the taxi.
Source: Daily Mail
