Miss Lola
Chatty Member
Back in the Digital Spy days, there was an absolutely wonderful poster called ‘Cold Comfort’ who satirised the Diaries. Here is just an example of their fantastic work. Enjoy!
And. Lizzie, my rescued racehorse, has chicken pox. I was watching the puppies frolicking in the snow, the glistening white turning a toxic yellow as they rough and tumbled, when my BlackBerry beeped. It was the RS*. 'My love,' he had typed. 'I am at the end of your lane now. I will be with you in minutes.' Whaaaaat?!!! Nooooooo! He knows he must give me a full month's notice before he sees me. I must be waxed, polished and thoroughly valeted before a liasion! What to do, dear God, what to do? I dashed into my bedroom and pulled my robe over my onesie before scurrying to my front door. Curse him! He climbed out of his brand new Merc and his face lit up when he saw me.
'Lizzie, hen. It's been a long drive and ah'm burstin' tae use yer lavvy!' He shot past me to my cloakroom, throwing his phone onto my couch before slamming the door behind him. Charming! Lizzie, my rescued racehorse, has a double hernia and tennis elbow. I must call out my midwife to tend to her immediately. I panicked as the enormity of the situation hit me. 'Put toilet paper on the seat!' I screamed through the door at him, beads of sweat forming on my botoxed brow. Now I'd have to get my team of industrial cleaners in to decontaminate the whole house. More expense! Several minutes passed. What on God's earth was he doing in there? Then I heard him crooning.
'She's a real a laydeee,
Drivin' me a crayzeee.
Horse a called a Lizeee,
Paws 'n' eyes all weepeee. Yeah, yeah.'
Beautiful. He must have penned that especially for me.
Then I remembered he'd left his phone for me to inspect. Snatching it up, I hurriedly checked it for signs of his infidelity. Hmmm. An appointment at the Auchtermuchty Gout Clinic on March 14th, a haggis tasting exhibition in Drumchapel on the 16th (Disgusting!) and a sporran workshop on the 19th. All fairly innocuous, I thought, until I found THIS!!! A cordial invite to the Lorraine Kelly Boobies Appreciation Society on the 21st. Aaaagggghhhh!!! I knew it! I just knew he was ogling other women! Incandescent with rage, I hammered on the cloakroom door. 'Out, damned Scot! Out, I say!' The door opened and his anxious, pudding face stared back at me. 'Lizzie, hen! I nae ken what ah'v doon wrooong.' I grabbed his Prada T-shirt and yanked him to my front door. 'Don't you? Don't you?' I bellowed. 'This!' I spat as I shoved his phone into his face. 'You plan to leer at Lorraine Kelly's bloody boobies, you fat, hairy bastard! I never want to see you again!'
I watched as he drove off, his moon face looking back at me forlornly. Loser! He clearly didn't appreciate what a great catch I am. Well, good riddance you sweaty oaf! Then an horrific thought hit me. Racing to my cloakroom, the evidence was right before my lasered eyes . . . he hadn't fashioned my toilet roll back into a perfect, hotel standard 'V'. Sinking to my unplucked knees, I groaned. My life is an endless spiral of misery and despair and I can see no way out of my situation, not ever. Oh, woe is me, me, me . . .
And Lizzie, my rescued racehorse, has gone down with laminate flooring.
And. Lizzie, my rescued racehorse, has chicken pox. I was watching the puppies frolicking in the snow, the glistening white turning a toxic yellow as they rough and tumbled, when my BlackBerry beeped. It was the RS*. 'My love,' he had typed. 'I am at the end of your lane now. I will be with you in minutes.' Whaaaaat?!!! Nooooooo! He knows he must give me a full month's notice before he sees me. I must be waxed, polished and thoroughly valeted before a liasion! What to do, dear God, what to do? I dashed into my bedroom and pulled my robe over my onesie before scurrying to my front door. Curse him! He climbed out of his brand new Merc and his face lit up when he saw me.
'Lizzie, hen. It's been a long drive and ah'm burstin' tae use yer lavvy!' He shot past me to my cloakroom, throwing his phone onto my couch before slamming the door behind him. Charming! Lizzie, my rescued racehorse, has a double hernia and tennis elbow. I must call out my midwife to tend to her immediately. I panicked as the enormity of the situation hit me. 'Put toilet paper on the seat!' I screamed through the door at him, beads of sweat forming on my botoxed brow. Now I'd have to get my team of industrial cleaners in to decontaminate the whole house. More expense! Several minutes passed. What on God's earth was he doing in there? Then I heard him crooning.
'She's a real a laydeee,
Drivin' me a crayzeee.
Horse a called a Lizeee,
Paws 'n' eyes all weepeee. Yeah, yeah.'
Beautiful. He must have penned that especially for me.
Then I remembered he'd left his phone for me to inspect. Snatching it up, I hurriedly checked it for signs of his infidelity. Hmmm. An appointment at the Auchtermuchty Gout Clinic on March 14th, a haggis tasting exhibition in Drumchapel on the 16th (Disgusting!) and a sporran workshop on the 19th. All fairly innocuous, I thought, until I found THIS!!! A cordial invite to the Lorraine Kelly Boobies Appreciation Society on the 21st. Aaaagggghhhh!!! I knew it! I just knew he was ogling other women! Incandescent with rage, I hammered on the cloakroom door. 'Out, damned Scot! Out, I say!' The door opened and his anxious, pudding face stared back at me. 'Lizzie, hen! I nae ken what ah'v doon wrooong.' I grabbed his Prada T-shirt and yanked him to my front door. 'Don't you? Don't you?' I bellowed. 'This!' I spat as I shoved his phone into his face. 'You plan to leer at Lorraine Kelly's bloody boobies, you fat, hairy bastard! I never want to see you again!'
I watched as he drove off, his moon face looking back at me forlornly. Loser! He clearly didn't appreciate what a great catch I am. Well, good riddance you sweaty oaf! Then an horrific thought hit me. Racing to my cloakroom, the evidence was right before my lasered eyes . . . he hadn't fashioned my toilet roll back into a perfect, hotel standard 'V'. Sinking to my unplucked knees, I groaned. My life is an endless spiral of misery and despair and I can see no way out of my situation, not ever. Oh, woe is me, me, me . . .
And Lizzie, my rescued racehorse, has gone down with laminate flooring.
