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Liz Jones

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which David gets possessive

You know I said last week that I wouldn’t get angry? Want to know how that’s going? On the Thursday night before Christmas, my...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I try not to get angry

Some days, I should just never get out of bed. Take last Wednesday. I took delivery of a load of flagstones for the ground...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which my year ends on a high

Relationships are strange, aren’t they? Take mine. We have gone from me getting up an hour early so that I could glimpse from my...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I count my blessings

I’m feeling a little bit tearful. It must be the time of year: almost Christmas, and being female we all want it to be...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I insult a few megastars

Oh dear. It’s Christmas Party Season Hell. You might be thinking, well, what does she have to worry about? She was a fashion editor...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which we try to stock up for Christmas

I often think men are mad. David came for the weekend. He had, trying to be helpful, picked up a table with a marble top...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I join a yoga class

Yoga. Such a small word. But it can wreak enormous havoc. I’m exhausted from the pain in my shoulders due to RSI. So, having finally...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I prepare to hit the road

‘Do you really want people to see your cellulite? You don’t even let me see it.’ This is David speaking. And it’s true, I don’t...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I want to be more Meghan

I sometimes wonder whether men believe they are allotted a finite number of words – and, therefore, in this modern age, texts – before...

LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I try to live in the moment

Oh dear. I have a brand new problem. I have Diet Face. In case you’re the sort of person who worries about real issues, let...

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