Saturday, 19 February 2011


It's Saturday, and bang on time, Liz Jones vomits another vapid, superficial article into her Daily Mail column. I'm completely aware that I'm making a rod for my own back trawling through this rubbish, which is clearly not aimed at me, but my question about all this really is, who the fuck is it for?

Then again, maybe it's a sign of the times. I mean, it's only a mere few weeks since the woman attempted anything resembling real journalism by marauding through the Joanna Yeates murder scene like some kind of demented stalker. Considering she does little more than pointless weekly experiments of 'oh god look at me trying to live like a normal person without my BMW/spa treatments/vegan yoghurt', maybe it was too much, too soon. With her career going from strength to strength, this week she's going to Tesco's. The humanity.

Apparently the chain is now offering spa treatments and in the interests of pioneering female journalism, Liz is going along to see what it's like.Lara Logan must be absolutely shitting herself.

It's probably the most boring article I've ever read, but that aside, I struggle to see what the woman is for. She writes in a manner that only serves to royally fuck off the people who are reading her articles, the people that are supposed to ultimately relate to them. She's meant to be reviewing this place, but literally can't manage a paragraph without reminding us that usually she wouldn't be seen in this sort of establishment, that the normal people are making her feel nauseous, or simply some unexplained reference to a cream Helmut Lang trouser suit to emphasise exactly how much expensive shit she has.
Well fuck me sideways, I had no idea this woman was privileged, did you? Even the posing in a dressing gown with a shopping trolley (with no dairy in it, heaven forbid) reeks of 'how hilarious that I'm in a supermarket, when usually I'm sitting watching Loose Women and drinking organic Pinot Noir, waiting for the Ocado man to arrive'.

Well I'm glad she found the inner strength to drag herself out of the house to have her manicure and haircut, otherwise I would have felt robbed.

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