It was such a boost, so many cards from readers wishing me the best of luck in my new home.
‘Great future ahead!’ wrote Patricia. And this from Barbara: ‘As a long-time member of your fan club, I hope that your neighbors will soon realize that they have a beautiful, generous, warm and kind-hearted, sweet lady to befriend and welcome.’ And a card from a 90-year-old former teacher containing a £10 note, with instructions to buy myself white flowers. (I returned the money, but kept the warm feelings. I just picked some wild garlic for free.)
I felt hugely supported, not least by the young Uber Eats delivery driver, who insisted I get my passport before handing over my bottle of champagne.
But there’s always one… ‘Dear Liz, I’ve read your column every week since it started, but I’m worried about you… you look awful, like someone at the end of their days! Soon to be buried among the gravestones around your house… Women need to have some meat on their bones to look younger. Give yourself time to breathe. Be happy in a less lavish way. Just muddle along. I hope you understand it.’
I couldn’t make out the signature, but I suspect the author is male.
We forget the praise (well, almost; I have the Evening Standard’(s review of my collection of columns, which says I’m a ‘better writer than Helen Fielding’, framed on the wall in my bathroom), but always sticking to the negative reviews: we’re smart about the rethinking.
The time uber-literary agent Jonny Geller told me my novel based on Emily Wilding Davison was “poorly done.” A review in The Sunday times (I was actually a co-worker – no loyalty!) who called my Prince biography “muddled.” Or Private eyeas I said my memoir of the fashion world and moving to Exmoor was ‘A bit skinny, Lizzy!’
But I have to admit that the mean man who says I look terminal may have a point.
And so I’m here to reveal something deeply shameful and shocking: my name is Liz and I am a 65-year-old anorexic.
Since I first went on a diet at age 11, I have had periods of normal eating. When I say “normal” I mean a whole banana, not half. A few chips. I don’t eat to be thin, which was the case when I was younger; I don’t eat because I can’t. I want to enjoy food – I’m addicted to it Cheflike a nun watching porn – but to me food doesn’t taste like anything.
I gag as I force myself to eat a few bites of my signature dish: cauliflower balti. People assume that people with anorexia have enormous willpower, a core of steel that prevents them from being tempted, but in my case that’s not true: food disgusts me.
I know I have osteoporosis in my spine, but I no longer care. I received a suitcase of supplements from the clinic in Switzerland that diagnosed my malnutrition, but I find it difficult to swallow them.
I don’t eat because I’m stressed, and I’m even more stressed without the nutrients I need for my brain. I’ve just been to my favorite pub for Sunday lunch: nut roast and veg; I’ve been told I need eight servings of vegetables a day. I couldn’t eat it. I’m going to start composting my scraps.
The owner of my house left behind his huge compost bin, which only contained dry twigs. The outbuildings are full of rubbish: an old oil tank (my house now has an air source heat pump), empty bottles, broken furniture, plastic bags. I may have swallowed more than I can chew (especially since I’m not eating).
Once the mortgage is paid, I will have €500 left every month. When I made my calculations before I finished them, I had wrongly taken David into account. I’m reminded of a friend who told me she once dated a man just so he would remove a block of hardened concrete from next to her front door. I was so close to becoming a regular prostitute.
I contacted my lender to ask if I could switch to interest only. “We do not offer interest-only loans,” I was told. “But you can choose to do that for six months without it affecting your credit score.”
So that’s what I did. I either have to write a bestseller or find a solvent man. I think the former is a bit more likely…
Jones Moans… What Liz Detests This Week
- Since her cancer surgery, Mini Puppy no longer touches dog food. Only human food. I cooked cod from Lidl for her. Halfway through the hand feeding (I know; she doesn’t eat from a bowl) I noticed little pin bones, even though the package clearly stated there was no bone. We’re going to the vet now…
- Replace Alison Hammond on For the Love of Dogs. She is too loud to be around traumatized animals.
Contact Liz at lizjonesgoddess.com and find her @lizjonesgoddess