LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I’m berated by the Rock Star

The fallout was worse than I expected. Sunday morning, my phone rang. I hadn’t even put my hearing aids in. His name came up. Oh God. 

‘You slept with that dickhead?’ 

‘Hang on.’ I put my hearing aids in – you know, the annoying ones that prompt the man, who is indeed a dickhead, to say, ‘The whistling is really annoying.’ (This despite the fact you’re in a £500 room and have just paid over £150 for dinner. Why do men always want three courses?) 

‘Well, technically, no, we didn’t have sex in the cystitis sense. And we didn’t sleep together. He can never sleep at night as he does nothing all day. He just lies there, moving his arms, getting up to go to the loo, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, shining his phone on things and WAKING ME UP!’ 

‘Why, then?’ 

‘Because you went to get milk, and never came back!’ 

‘My hypnotherapist told me to avoid conflict. I could sense you were up for a fight. You always are, after a glass of wine.’ 

Seriously, these men aren’t like children. They are babies. 

Him: ‘I don’t even want you texting him.’ 

I can understand that. When I discovered my husband was multiple-cheating on me, it wasn’t so much the sex part that made me jealous – God knows how he managed it – but the fact he was texting other women: Jess, Daphne, Kavita, Yoga Whore, Fat Journalist. Texts are so small and intimate: tiny parcels of possibilities. You can keep rereading and analysing them, whereas a conversation, such as the one we were having on Sunday morning, is like air – transient. You try to replay it in your head, but it’s gone. 

I told him White Pepper Guy is now properly blocked by an IT expert*. And that even if he sends a physical letter, I will use it to light the fire. 

‘What made you do it?’ he asked, calming down slightly. 

‘He sent me a nice birthday card. He called me “darling”. It reminded me of why I loved him for nearly 40 years.’ 

I am still shocked that a man who sent a card saying he loves you still, after barely two hours in your company, cannot resist telling you to f*** off. Who moans about everything. How many decrepit old gits get invited to dinner at Soho House? Why not be sweet, funny and ask after Gracie? (She has just had an exploratory operation, which revealed nothing conclusive. An X-ray did, though, reveal an enlarged heart, so she is on medication for that. Despite the fact I pay over £250 a month in animal insurance, they have so far only paid £58 of my bill.) 

Anyway, back to the annoying flea in my hearing aid. ‘You made me look stupid in front of my friends.’ 

Me: ‘What are you, 12?’ Then he said something he cannot come back from. Worse than just disappearing into the night. Worse than ejecting me from a wake. 

‘I think you date White Pepper Guy as he makes you feel young and attractive. You know he adores you and you exploit that. You dangle stuff in front of their noses but it’s all a mirage, it’s not sustainable. You know they can’t compete with you in any way: financial, fame, career, stamina. And when he doesn’t measure up, you make him feel small. You don’t want someone who’s equal.’ 

That’s exactly what my husband said about our marriage. Maybe they’re both right. 

*Nic