Liz Jones’s Diary: In which I reassess my life (again)

Liz Jones’s Diary: In which I reassess my life (again)

I veer between thinking I’m an utter failure and believing I’m special 

‘You should have set the bar a lot higher. You seem to have all the qualities a man could want. I don’t get it.’

That was a text from P, the new one, referencing the way I’ve been treated by men. And although I can veer wildly between thinking I’m a complete and utter cadaverous failure, and believing deep down that I’m special, I think he might have a point. (I am currently growing my hair long, lunging from considering I resemble Meghan Markle to Michael Jackson during his long trial.) Everyone who has been in my orbit – family, employees, colleagues, friends, boyfriends, fiancés, husbands – I have treated with respect and generosity (at least initially until, like past-its-sell-by-date cream, I turn).

I took men to Calvin Klein catwalk shows in New York, to a secret gig at Abbey Road Studios, to Marrakech. (Never, ever sign up to a naked hammam with a man. Ever. I still get flashbacks of the sight of him in a paper thong and shower cap.) To meet a member of Pink Floyd. To meet Donald Trump, Emma Willis and Nigel Farage (not all at once).

To party with Ricky Martin and Giorgio Armani. On holiday with Blur. To the Dior couture show in Paris. When Trevor, he of the high-waisted trousers, dumped me for a stylist, my parting shot was… buying him a mixing deck and turntables from a very expensive shop in Camden! And I’m still doing it, if in a small way.

I have just been contacted by a wonderful charity called Wild at Heart Foundation. It raises funds for small dog rehoming charities (the charities are small, not the dogs – some are huge!). It’s through them that I got Missy. I was sent to interview the founder, Nikki Tibbles, and while she was being made up for the photos, I was scrolling her website and came across a collie who had been in an outside kennel since her rescue from being abandoned on a farm in Ireland as a puppy. A few weeks later, I drove to pick her up. It took a year for her to bark, and 18 months before she would wag her tail. Even now, she wags all wrong: she pumps it up and down. But her fur is like silk and she is the most loving dog I’ve ever known: she is Velcroed to my side every night. The reason the charity has got in touch again is to ask if I have anything ‘designer’ to donate to an auction. Hmm. Let’s look in my wardrobe, shall we?

I have my black Prada skirt suit bought when an editor. Nah. It’s super shiny from too many trips to the dry cleaner. I gave my Alexander McQueen military trouser suit worn to meet the Obamas to my friend Helen at Christmas: she’s a huge fan of the label. My one Prada bag – a gift from the designer – is scuffed from 20 years of use. As editor, I got the large tote. My fashion editor got a smaller bowling bag and the fashion assistant a wallet. I have three pairs of shoes I’ve not sold on Ebay: soles worn as thin as, well, me.

The only good dress I have is the long Dries Van Noten slip with gold embellishment David bought me a couple of years ago*. I might need that for a future awards ceremony**. I have a Stella McCartney T-shirt with embellished collar; problem is, the collar attacks me every time I struggle into it, entangling my hair and sending me into a rage. I wish fashion designers made larger openings. I doubt Nikki Tibbles wants that. OK, so. The Dries it is.

Just don’t tell David…

*Plus one Brownie point. Although minus one Brownie point as it’s two sizes too big.

**Who am I kidding? I’ve been shortlisted as Newspaper Columnist of the Year six times, rocked up to the awards ceremony having hired a make-up artist and not won once. I blame the Russians. 

The Fashion Rehomed online designer and vintage sale in aid of Wild at Heart Foundation runs from 28 August until 14 September. Visit for more details Contact Liz at and stalk her @LizJonesGoddess 

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