LIZ JONES'S DIARY : An email has shocked me to my core
My car, the Mercedes estate my friend gave me, made a weird noise, so I turned off the engine. As I’m deaf, I’m always on high alert; I never hear the beep to warn me I’ve left the lights on. I tried to start it again, nothing, then I couldn’t extract the key from the ignition.
I only had it serviced two weeks ago, and it passed its MOT. I spent £1,800 on it just before Christmas. I called the AA.
It’s at moments like these you realise just how alone in the world you are. I can’t call the friend who gave me her spare car as she is not speaking to me. The reason that I’d written in this column about my upset at the mini break I’d arranged for her birthday last summer being turned into a logistical nightmare: it was, apparently, too far to go for three nights, blah blah blah.
I was angry, upset at my generosity being nitpicked, and in the end went on my own with Mini Puppy.
In response to my written apology for the above, she emailed saying she would write properly in a few days. I’ve not heard a word since. All of which meant she stood me up on my birthday, so
I sat like a lemon, unsure whether to wait, order or leave. My writing is always getting me into trouble. David, though he said he wasn’t willing to subscribe to Mail+, seemed to know all about the blind-date piece I wrote a few weeks ago.
‘Can you imagine if I went on a blind date?’ he wailed.
‘David. It was a job. You and I weren’t even in contact at the time. Anyway, I didn’t fancy him.’
Last Friday, I received an email that shocked me to the core.
I’m not brave enough to tell you what it said but, basically, it was keeping me out of the family loop about some very sad news. The reason? I had published here a glowing, heartfelt eulogy to my sister, who died before Christmas.
No amount of pleading on my own behalf, saying I have always looked out for the young ones in the family, even going so far as to leave my property to my nieces when I die*, made any difference.
I was so upset that I emailed my late sister’s son, my nephew, and told him that, as an artist (he makes films), he’d be safer sticking to storylines about aliens given the opprobrium I was on the receiving end of.
In one fell swoop, my family has dictated there be no tweets in the world, no posts on Instagram, no memoirs, no biographies, no biopics. Zadie Smith, how dare you write about your late father! Goodness, even novels had better be banned, too, no matter how loosely based on real life.
So, all in all, I’m feeling completely alone. When I got the Stasi-like, shocking email, I texted David. Even though we’d had a row about him contradicting everything I said, I still lean on him in times of sorrow.
‘Hi Dave, I’ve just had a really sh***y email.’ I explained, then asked if he wanted to read it.
‘OK, but I’m not looking forward to it.’
I pressed send. I waited.
Here is his reply: ‘I don’t think that’s sh***y at all.’
Me: ‘Always the contrarian. But I’m devastated! Just be a bit sympathetic. It’s as though you have no filter, no empathy!’
From him, silence.
I feel so wronged, so abused, so betrayed, so lied about that I am in a very dark place indeed. And now the car won’t start.
The man from the AA pulls up. Turns out I had left it in reverse, which means it won’t start unless in park, and you can’t extract the key. He put it in park, and all was well. Ta da! ‘Never, ever tell anyone about this,’ I told him, and he laughed.
Me? I’m still reeling. All the things I have done for my family, given them, paid for, and I was not deemed worthy of knowing my darling, funny brother died in January. I literally feel sick.
*My assistant and friend Nic also has to die first, as she will need to house any remaining animals. There is a lot of death in this column, I’m really sorry. (Another terrible confession. I own a Tesco reward card. I’ve no idea how this happened.)
Jones Moans... What Liz loathes this week
- Why is there never a phone number on a website? Ikea, publishers – you name it!
- People who tell me, ‘I only work Tuesdays to Fridays.’ My response is always, ‘Why, what’s wrong with you?’ And ‘How on earth do you pay the bills?’
- Ebay. Bought a towel rail, Parcelforce delivery included. Have had 76 messages from seller asking for screenshots where it says that. Messaged it to her six times. She’s now asking me to collect it! If you’re thick, DON’T SELL ON EBAY!
Contact Liz at lizjonesgoddess.com and find her @lizjonesgoddess
