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Liz Jones annoys me for many reasons. Firstly, she has a large platform to really say something worthwhile but instead she just spends each column whinging about poor people and how tough her upper-middle-class life is. Secondly, she is a judgemental bitch. Thirdly, she is such a vaccuous waste of flesh.
Today's effort: 'A nation of Fawltys and Manuels. How I long for the dear old Major' is just such a waste of time I'm staggered and depressed at how the Mail pay her to write it and the subsequent assumption that people must actually like reading this utter shite.
Liz Jones has a habit of making sure you know that she is much better than you are, and she doesn't change here:
As the owner of 46 acres of pristine, biodiverse Exmoor land, I applied to the Rural Payments Agency for the annual sum (about a thousand quid) I'm entitled to in order to help me conserve the land.
It also doesn't take her long to demonstrate what a fucking waste of space she is:
I received many expensively produced, very thick booklets from them, which I ignored until the deadline loomed last week.
So, you'd think Liz would be big enough to accept that if she was having trouble with the forms, it would have been her own fault for not looking at them sooner, but no, everyone else is to blame as usual:
I looked through the booklet that was supposed to help me with my claim, a tome that is entirely unintelligible and over-complicated - hay is called ‘dehydrated fodder' - until I came to the section that read: ‘Do not forget to put the correct amount of postage on the application envelope.'
And now we get to the point she is making: everyone in Britain is angry, and why shouldn't they be when life for poor old Liz Jones is so tough:
Duh! I became very angry. I shook my fist at the sky. ‘Thank you, God! Thank you so bloody much!’
According to a new survey, we are a nation of Basil Fawltys, the angriest in Europe. I am in a constant state of fury.
Liz then naturally reels off a list of complaints that show just how tough it is to be Liz Jones:
I try to book my BMW in for a service... I phone Toyota, feeling sorry for it doing so badly during the economic downturn, enquiring about purchasing a Hilux truck... I get a burglar alarm installed at great cost...
I am in an upmarket furniture store in Chelsea. I ask the sales assistant whether he has any wardrobes.
He does a very good impression of Manuel, then wanders off to ask someone else what on earth the word ‘wardrobe’ means.
Can you blame us for being angry?
As a Mail commentator points out:
Your travails securing government handouts for country property and dealing with mildly incompetant help from luxury services really tugs at the heart-strings.
- Lloyd, Chicago, USA, 17/5/2009 4:12
Couldn't put it better myself Lloyd. |
www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/the-legal-battle-of-kates-weight-loss-1681815.html