Liz Jones’s Diary: In which I issue an ultimatum

You know I have been having therapy. Extensive. And this week I had to confess to my therapist that I stayed with David 1.0 last week.

‘Gah! No! Why?’ she asked.

‘Well. It was some godawful Vogue fashion event, and all hotels were £600-plus, not including breakfast or water.’

‘But you could have booked an Airbnb.’

‘Yes, but Airbnbs aren’t clean enough for me. I’m like David Beckham. I put my earrings in surgical spirit overnight.’

‘And David 1.0’s flat is?’

‘No. But I am trying to buy a house. And I get stressed going to somewhere I don’t know.’

‘But you are just making excuses. You can afford to stay somewhere. You earn a good living. The cost is too high.’

I know she is right. I tell her I have to stay in London for three nights because I have work Christmas parties.

‘I never go to work parties,’ she tells me.

Yes, but I think being an employee works both ways. You show loyalty. I have to show willing. She says I should tell David what I need. And so I send him the following text. The contretemps is entirely the therapist’s fault.

‘Hey Dave. I’ve got Christmas party season. Means I need to be in London for three nights. I would love to stay with you not just to save money but because I love you. But I’m afraid your loo and kitchen are a disgrace. I can’t respect someone who lives like that. It shows me you don’t care about my needs or love me. I’m not being princessy. Any woman would want a clean kitchen and loo and breakfast. You didn’t make me anything to eat ahead of an arduous 300-mile journey on public transport. That tells me so much. And in the car to the station you said you would go to Borough Market for artisan food on the way home. Can you see this isn’t normal? I’m not asking for anything out of the ordinary. It’s a basic. The minimum. If you can’t give me this I am afraid, much as I love you, I cannot see you again. With love. Liz xxxx’

He replies.

‘Ouch, that hurts. I had cleaners in three times for four hours at a time. So I know that every room was cleaned, including all the woodwork.

‘There are problems: the kitchen sink and surrounding. I had a chemical accident, which stained them. I need to replace them, but they were clean. The toilet seat was clean though the paint has worn away making it look stained. I admit that there were lots of products etc on the kitchen surfaces – I had run out of time and energy to finish. I did try to get someone to clean the kitchen walls but I couldn’t find anyone to do it. I got new flooring in the kitchen and bathroom. And bought luxury new pillows, duvet and bedding. The flat was as clean as I could get it. And I was exhausted from the process. As for breakfast, I’m sorry, I just didn’t think. But you’ve got a tongue in your head. You should have said something at the time. Clearly, I will never get things right for you no matter how much I try – it is never appreciated. I just don’t have the energy physically or mentally. So, if I’m not enough then I wish you well xxxx.’

Jeez. Who doesn’t think about breakfast? Who? What woman would put up with that? No bread, no special coffee?

I replied. ‘I didn’t say anything at the time as I was exhausted. But the loo, David. The loo. No woman would put up with that. Not unless she was insane or your ex. It was black. And what in god’s name is a chemical accident? What were you thinking? Find some other slut who doesn’t care about basic hygiene. I’m done. And no breakfast when I had a long journey ahead of me? Ouch, that hurts.’

Am wondering if therapy is working. I’m right, but I’m alone.

Jones Moans… What Liz loathes this week

• Harrods. Much as I love the spa and beauty halls. Not only does it sell foie gras, online you can buy… live lobsters.
• A note on Le Creuset. It has offered to replace my pan but, honestly, in the interest of polar bears, it should replace the nonstick surface despite the fact David used a metal spoon.
• I think I have moaned enough for this week.

Contact Liz at lizjonesgoddess.com and stalk her @lizjonesgoddess

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