My husband is a funny bloke at times. We were off the cuff discussing her train wreck of a show. What he couldn't understand is she went mental when JO got his show, and in the end she got her CO-PRESENTING slot.
It really could have been her time to shine, but she blew it. It was like going to a job interview, you swat up on the company, do your homework and on the day, you get suited and booted. When asked for examples of your work then you show off the best ones, second just will not do. You want this job. But most of us will get the job on merit, not a tantrum.
She did none of this. Dirty untied trainers is not a good look for one, but then later to film yourself taking out curlers in a low cut dress on Insta really stumped my old boy.
She tried to show up Matt by being oh so clever - and it fell flat on her kisser. The simplest of questions, she was stumped. That mince fat question is going to go down in history as barking mad. It just is. FFS.
Now the food. Once again if you call yourself a food writer, blogger, brag about writing bestsellers, blah blah blah, you are going to stay up all hours getting your best recipes out. You want your food to be perfect.
You want to impress all those people that bought your book and fawn at your feet. This is your big chance.
What she cooked/created was absolutely the worst food I have ever seen. (Don't sue me Jack) It seriously was. It would take me to be pretty
bleeping hungry before I could gag that
tit down. The worst part about it - she thought her food was good, she thought she was brilliant. Her gurning and flouncing about said it all. Her Twatter sycophants thought the same. Someone called her a national treasure. UH hello?
Now her new shitshed cooking. If that ever comes off.
There is something seriously wrong there, she is not wired up right.
I can’t look at Tin Can Interiors without getting serious first five mins of Casualty vibes.
It looks like the time my sister painted all her bedroom furniture in various pastel shades of thick gloss. I’d rather be locked inside FOD’s spare/panic/migraine cell bedroom than in Jack’s nutty shed.
I'd rather dig my eyes out with spoons.
It's very expensive to move house once or twice let along 20 times, and considering how poor she has described herself as in the past, I do wonder how she manages to do it?
Seeing as she moves into houses now, not flats. The initial outlay has to be a couple of grand, minimum. She is always bleating on about no credit rating so she would need a guarantee.
We've got healthy incomes between us and we would struggle to move- and that's just renting. As for 20 odd times.....
20 times in 10 years, 2 times a year, a couple of grand at a time......I call bullshit on that.
"Why do you want to ruin every food?" That's my question for her please Claud.
Can we phone in? Oh please say yes. I want to ask her the mince fat question. And the sourdough question.
I’ll own up to Lisa now that Jacks blocked me
Really?