I was emailing David, telling him how a friend had disappointed me. On Sunday, which is supposed to be the ONE day a week without emails, he sent me this:
‘She’s not the only one.’
I replied, ‘Do you mean me?’
‘Well, if you’re the one that went out with me so that you would have something to write about then, yes. I always knew or at least thought that you created arguments out of such trivial things and provoked me for your story. X’
Trivial things? Being too lazy to do anything about his flat so that he forced me to spend thousands of pounds on hotels? Buying me – while on a mini-break in Paris at the Plaza Athénée, paid for by me, where a single espresso costs €30 – a £21.99 engagement ring? Smoking in my house when I had expressly asked him not to? Not taking his cat to have dental work when she was in pain? Inviting me to stay in his flat, when he knew it had been flooded and had no heating or wi-fi? Calling me a typist?
‘Oh dear God,’ I replied. The keys on my laptop were on fire. ‘Wow. Well, you swore at me in Edinburgh after I’d booked and paid for a lovely apartment and bought you dinner. You were grumpy and ungrateful, shouting abuse at other drivers on the way up there, whining like a baby at the fact you had to drive two blocks (TWO BLOCKS) to re-park your car to avoid a parking ticket, which in the end you couldn’t be bothered to do.
‘At least I’m questioning myself when I wonder whether I went out with you to fill my column. Self-doubt is something you never do. You think you are God’s gift to women, even with discoloured teeth and a flat like a slum. You have done nothing to keep me. You created arguments out of “trivial things” due to your lack of sensitivity or even basic manners. “Trivial things” like your awful right-on friends who wrote on Mumsnet they saw me taking cocaine. At least I don’t lie. You have no interests and nothing to say. I even knew the name of your kitchen porter and yet you didn’t even know I have an op-ed column in a national newspaper! Typical arrogant man with NOTHING to back it up. Do not contact me again. Liz’
I am so angry. Being a woman, I then sent him a list. ‘Trivial things, hmm, David. I beg to disagree:
‘Telling me to give up my flat as you would “sort yours out”. Saying, don’t spend all that money on renting, surely that money could get your subsidised-by-the-tax-payer flat, and I quote, “up to code”.
‘Giving me a ready meal that you were too lazy to add potatoes to after I’d driven for seven hours.
‘Being unable to even walk along a beach at Sidmouth. How old are you, 197?
‘Whining about the dogs on the bed in Devon when I’d been on a course to be less stressed.
‘Snatching the cat I had looked after and paid for for three years without telling me.
‘Abandoning me having snatched the cat in the week you knew I had no car.
‘Not sending me a tin of dog food when I was made bankrupt.
‘Lying to me about what your dad left you (don’t deny it).
‘Sticking up for your friend Julie instead of me when she attacked me on Facebook.
‘Standing up for Ed, who is an arrogant arse, telling me he is a “polymath”.
‘Not taking care of yourself: discoloured teeth, awful hair you fail to even comb.
‘When Nic found a home for the rescued sheep in France, you rudely typed, “You sort it out.” She works for me, not you.
‘Conversely, I bought you a black Burberry suit, a gold Dunhill lighter, an iPad. I hired a cleaner to help when you moved your bun business to a new kitchen. I got an electrician to mend the light in your bathroom. I entertained you with funny stories and took you to many, many places.
‘Most importantly, I GAVE YOU ME, you ungrateful, pot-smoking, non-book-reading idiot!
‘Do you not realise how lucky you were?!’
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