LIZ JONES'S DIARY: In which even my iPhone doesn’t recognise me - YOU Magazine Fashion Beauty Celebrity Health Life Relationships Horoscopes Food Interiors Travel Sign in Welcome!Log into your account Forgot your password? Password recovery Recover your password Search Sign in Welcome! Log into your account Forgot your password? Get help Password recovery Recover your password A password will be e-mailed to you. YOU Magazine Fashion Beauty Celebrity Health Life Relationships Horoscopes Food Interiors Travel Home Life Liz Jones LIZ JONES’ S DIARY In which even my iPhone doesn t recognise me By You Magazine - January 6, 2019 Men are such strange creatures, aren’t they? As changeable as the weather. I’d suggested to David we go to see Bohemian Rhapsody on Monday night. He had been enthusiastic, said he would look at the website and come up with a plan. And then, on Sunday, I texted him to say I’d meet him in Camden. This seemed simpler and easier to me. And that we could get something to eat. Then I got this: ‘Well, early film starts at five, later film at eight. Which is too late for dinner. Sounds too complicated. Maybe do it another time?’ Oh. OK. Which is what I texted back: ‘OK.’ Never accuse me of being needy. Then I added, ‘But I have Sweetie’s medicine to give you.’ ‘Just stick it in the post.’ It was just as well, in the end, as the day before I had been to a medi spa in Putney to have the dark sun damage on my face zapped with a laser. It hurt much more than usual. The doctor told me I might have some swelling, but when I woke the next day, even my new iPhone, which uses face recognition, refused to turn on. I could barely see, my eyes were so puffed up. It comes to something when even your phone no longer recognises you. I am reminded of when my mum, in her 40s, had all her teeth out, and when she got home her face was so sunken, her speech so muffled, our labrador Pompey started to bark and put his hackles up. Bee Murphy Anyway, then my new friend Caroline texted me. ‘Hi Liz. Are you OK?’ I always hate it when people ask me that. Do they know something I don’t? Now what? ‘Yes, why?’ ‘Just I know you have been getting a lot of flak about rehoming your cats.’ ‘Have I?’ ‘Yes. The comments below your column.’ Ah. I’m afraid I don’t read them, as I am trying to rebuild my life and don’t want to be plummeted into a downward spiral. But it’s funny how bad news still manages to seep under the door. I pointed out I only rehomed them as Gracie had turned into a cat killer, neither of the properties I rent allows cats, and that they are safe and warm and looked after. This new friend annoyed me, too, by adding to her doom-laden missive: ‘Life for us single women is not easy!’ I’m not single! I had sex barely four weeks ago! I’m therefore probably less single than most married people. Anyway, not wanting to be lumped with the single ladies, I texted David, who is better than nothing, surely. ‘I got the Sonos working wirelessly!’ I tell him. ‘Yay!’ ‘I take it the Sonos text was not meant for me.’ ‘Yes it was. The Sonos speaker.’ He replied, ‘Yes. I remember buying it for you.’ Oh, for God’s sake. He’s mad, he makes no sense. Why point out he bought it? What now? Anyway, today I refused to hang around for a man, so I went to see Bohemian Rhapsody with my friend Meena. We cried buckets all the way through. I told her while I doubt she was even alive for Live Aid, that I actually saw Queen play at the Kursaal ballroom on the Southend seafront; they were supporting Mott The Hoople. It was 1 December 1973. I went to the concert with my sister; we both wore afghans: hers was white; mine, her hand-me-down, was brown with gold embroidery. Little did I know way back then that my sister and I would be estranged today. I don’t tell Meena this as she was already in tears; instead, I say little did I know way back then I would be exchanging emails with Brian May himself today. ‘No!’ she says, truly impressed. ‘OMG! Show me! Is he the rock star you had an affair with?’ ‘Noooooo! Brian May just emails me about badgers.’ ‘Oh dear,’ she says. ‘Come on, tell me who it was.’ So I tell her. She is genuinely impressed. ‘The rumour is that he has the biggest penis in rock music.’ I tell her the rumour is completely true; I really should have taken a photo or a plaster cast. And also that he’s invited me to his New Year party. Purely as a friend. ‘But what about David?’ ‘He’ll probably turn me down and say, “Why, what’s changed?”’ RELATED ARTICLESMORE FROM AUTHOR Liz Jones In which I m turfed out on to the street Liz Jones In which I m torn between two men Liz Jones In which I have a birthday date DON' T MISS Fiona Bruce Sometimes I struggle not to cry November 14, 2021 17 beautiful 2021 diaries to help you to look forward to December 4, 2020 Why women leave men for women What’ s fuelling the rise of April 28, 2019 Hollywood veteran Laura Linney on plastic surgery friendship and her stellar July 3, 2017 You can shop the khaki jumpsuit from Holly Willoughby’ s new M& S July 17, 2019 The secrets and lies behind this happy family photo April 11, 2021 It’ s cocktail hour Olly Smith’ s cocktail recipes and Eleanor Maidment s canapé November 14, 2021 BBC One has revealed its Christmas TV schedule and there’ s lots December 2, 2020 YOU Beauty Box August Reviews August 1, 2017 Rome has been named the cheapest major city to visit in August 7, 2019 Popular CategoriesFood2704Life2496Fashion2240Beauty1738Celebrity1261Interiors684 Sign up for YOUMail Thanks for subscribing Please check your email to confirm (If you don't see the email, check the spam box) Fashion Beauty Celebrity Life Food Privacy & Cookies T&C Copyright 2022 - YOU Magazine. 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