I love this. Remember who moose?They have been playing a clip on the radio this morning of nigella pronouncing microwave it is bizarre, meecrow warvey!
Before any of that she needs a hygiene course! She’s a horror. 3 courses of the trotsat chez mackie
Jack Monroe #116 Burger and lies
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I don’t get this Nigella fuss. It was obviously a joke and probably something she’s made up with her kids. I’m sure we’ve all got things we say in a funny way for a laugh. It’s basically a Dad joke but it’s 2020 so the world has gone madThey have been playing a clip on the radio this morning of nigella pronouncing microwave it is bizarre, meecrow warvey!
Before any of that she needs a hygiene course! She’s a horror. 3 courses of the trots
ahhh shes taken her chum out for a walk
kumquat to his friendsCheers, @TriviaNewtonJohn - been looking for the right avatar for ages! *doffs cap* hope you don’t mind me appropriating your genius artwork?
Woah. I totally missed this iteration. What’s that on her head?
Why is Vlad showing me food that matches her clown hair?
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Dressers 1 through 4 are for the Drums of Africa collection and secret tampon storage.Why did you remind me this jack existed...you spoiler that image right now or I'll see you in courtI swear her eyes are following me as I scroll
I cant stop laughing at "dressers 6 through 8" it's just so absurd. Dare I ask what dressers 1 through 4 are used for or does that require a freedom of information request
Cotswolds Co on the radio talking about how Brexit is impacting their supplies. Maybe that's why Jack has been stockpiling
See this face.
If you've worked in a school you know this face.
That's the face of some lairy little duck who you know is fully lying to you while saying things like 'I swear down...' and 'On my Granddad's life...'
It would appear that C4 has commissioned a money-saving show, but surprisingly Jack is not doing the food bits (they’re using Gary Usher instead - at least he is an actual chef).
Jack must be wondering what on earth is the point of having a BB/Mrs J who is big at C4 if she can’t pull some strings to get you gigs like this. She must be itching to start another pile-on, but I think she’s had a bit of a telling off by her “people” so is on her best behaviour - for now, anyway.
www.televisual.com
Jack must be wondering what on earth is the point of having a BB/Mrs J who is big at C4 if she can’t pull some strings to get you gigs like this. She must be itching to start another pile-on, but I think she’s had a bit of a telling off by her “people” so is on her best behaviour - for now, anyway.
C4 orders cash saving show from Avalon - Televisual
Channel 4 has commissioned Avalon to produce a new consumer series to help families save money.
www.televisual.com
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Just catching up and the Stan rewrite has made me splurt out my coffee with laughing. Bravo Frauen what a collective genius presentation
Also I am not as posh as Nige but we do call it the “meekrowave” for some reason in our house. But you have to roll the r like a bad Russian accent impression. Also spiders are “speedré”. It’s just one of those things you dunno where it originates but you all say it
maybe her 6 inch boots weren’t available that day so she was using her hair to add height to her teeny tiny ickle pixie-like smol frame
Also I am not as posh as Nige but we do call it the “meekrowave” for some reason in our house. But you have to roll the r like a bad Russian accent impression. Also spiders are “speedré”. It’s just one of those things you dunno where it originates but you all say it
Also just lol at this photo. The hair. What was she thinking. That must have taken some time to create so it’s not like she didn’t have time to consider and rethink it.
maybe her 6 inch boots weren’t available that day so she was using her hair to add height to her teeny tiny ickle pixie-like smol frame
The invasion of Jack's niche continues.If this carries on Jack is going to have to develop some form of marketable talent as I can't see a tantrum working twice.It would appear that C4 has commissioned a money-saving show, but surprisingly Jack is not doing the food bits (they’re using Gary Usher instead - at least he is an actual chef).
Jack must be wondering what on earth is the point of having a BB/Mrs J who is big at C4 if she can’t pull some strings to get you gigs like this. She must be itching to start another pile-on, but I think she’s had a bit of a telling off by her “people” so is on her best behaviour - for now, anyway.
C4 orders cash saving show from Avalon - Televisual
Channel 4 has commissioned Avalon to produce a new consumer series to help families save money.
The brief didn't suit Jack's skill set - they wanted tasty food - sorry JackIt would appear that C4 has commissioned a money-saving show, but surprisingly Jack is not doing the food bits (they’re using Gary Usher instead - at least he is an actual chef).
Jack must be wondering what on earth is the point of having a BB/Mrs J who is big at C4 if she can’t pull some strings to get you gigs like this. She must be itching to start another pile-on, but I think she’s had a bit of a telling off by her “people” so is on her best behaviour - for now, anyway.
C4 orders cash saving show from Avalon - Televisual
Channel 4 has commissioned Avalon to produce a new consumer series to help families save money.
I would say she's more of a blagger than a blogger
Was just about to say the sameThe brief didn't suit Jack's skill set - they wanted tasty food - sorry Jack
I have a confession the other night I was using leftovers up and I did a maverick, my husband face told me more about what he thought of me cooking like she does than his words could ever. The poor bloke choked it down anyway. Lesson learned. Stick to what I know and be less like her.
Of yellow sticker foods shes a bagger but her meals look like boogers (apols. For Americanism)The brief didn't suit Jack's skill set - they wanted tasty food - sorry Jack
I actually watched that again the other week. I saw it when it was first on years ago bit not seen it since because i find her so irritating.
What is brilliant is Edwina's response. I cannot abide the vile woman, but I've got to hand it to her, she twigged on to Jack's bs and was as calm as anything. It was hilarious to watch madam's little Narc tantrum when backed into a corner. Edwina didn't miss a beat...
'my grandfather is DEAD'
'yes I know, i read his obituary. He was very wealthy wasn't he'
Scotsman columnists win Zero Tolerance Awards | The Scotsman
I think it is fair to say that Edwina rather got under her skin. 'Mummy' said her piece in a written response the next day, 4th February 2014.
Dear Edwina,
It’s 9 o'clock on Tuesday, the morning after the night before, where we were both on a panel on The Big Benefits Row on Channel 5. I haven’t watched it back, I was there, and know what I look like when I’m angry.
I need to get this out – because it’s everything I wanted to say last night but couldn’t, as I kept being rudely shouted over by you. Honestly, my three year old behaves better than that. At least he knows that when Mummy does her ‘will you just be QUIET and LISTEN to me’ then the best thing to do is to stop running your mouth and let Mummy say her piece.
But you didn’t. Because you were terrified of what I had to say.
I wanted to say, when asked by Matthew Wright, that poverty is almost indescribable to someone as blinkered as you. That turning off the fridge because it’s empty anyway, that sitting across the table from your young son enviously staring down his breakfast, having freezing cold showers and putting your child to bed in god knows how many layers of clothes in the evening – it’s distressing. Depressing. Destabilising.
Sure – you could probably live on benefits for a week to ‘prove it could be done’. But imagine living for 11 weeks with no housing benefit, because of ‘delays’. Imagine those 77 days of being chased for rent that you can’t pay, ignoring the phone, ignoring the door, drawing the curtains so the bailiffs can’t see that you’re home, cradling your son to your chest and sobbing that this is where it’s all ended up. It feels endless. Hopeless. Cold. Wet. Day after day of ‘no’. No we aren’t looking for staff. No there isn’t anything else to eat. No I can’t put the heating on. No I haven’t got any money to pay my rent arrears. No, no, no,
Sitting on the bathroom floor vomiting up the paracetamol and sleeping pills I took to try to end my own life – that wasn’t, as you hissed in an aside, “a rich girl pretending to be poor.” I was alone, with nobody to ‘pretend’ to. I didn’t write about my suicide attempts, because I was scared that if anyone knew how bad things were, I would lose my son. There was a lot I didn’t write about. You become adept at keeping up appearances, at smiling and saying you’re fine. It was almost a year before I was referred to a food bank for help, almost a year of searching for work, holding my home and my son together at the seams with an iron will. And all those ‘no’s.
When you descend into personal attacks against your opponent, it is because you have no political argument left.
When you tweet your opponent's grandfather's obituary all over the internet in a foul attempt at smearing their reputation, it is because you are scum.
Did you stop to think for one moment how you might have made my family feel? My nan, my mum, my dad, all people who dearly love the man whose life and death you used in a live television debate last night to try to unsettle your opponent? Of course you didn’t.
I was asked to sell my life rights to a movie director last week. I refused on two counts.
1. I’m not that interesting. As proved by you, when the biggest scandal you can dig up is that I used to drink Aldi lemonade with my grandad at his guest house.
2. I’m not an island. My life is interwoven with complex relationships, as are all of ours. Having been subjected to professional trolling for over a year now, I would never put my family through those levels of abuse. I get death threats. Rape threats. Personal attacks on my weight, appearance, sexuality, education, lack thereof. So I try to retain a degree of privacy, for the ordinary people on the periphery of the right wing media monstering of Jack Monroe. If you love someone, you don’t throw them into a bear pit.
If you’d have been willing to listen, you’d have realised how spectacularly you missed the point.
Poverty can happen to anyone. That’s why I unsettle you and your cronies. Because the Tory party rhetoric of ‘work hard and get on’ can fall apart in the blink of an eyelid. I worked hard. I got on. And I still spent a year and a half scrabbling around in a festering pit of depression, joblessness, benefit delays and suspensions, hunger, and the entrenching, gut wrenching fear that I was failing as a parent.
I’ve never claimed anywhere that my family were “poor”. They weren’t “rich” either. I’m not really sure what they were, which I guess makes them quite ordinary. As a child, I had dinner on the table and always had clean clothes. We had a holiday a year in a caravan in Devon or Yorkshire, and the occasional foray to Ireland.
I went to a grammar school, not with any coaching or private tuition, I just sat the entrance exam aged 10 and was offered a place. It was hardly Eton. I struggled at that school, grades gradually getting worse each year, until I dropped out with not enough GCSEs to take A Levels. I went to work, in a shop, at the age of 16. No degree, no Oxbridge education, no feet on ladders, no family business to inherit – just me and about £5.85 an hour.
But thank you, for giving me the opportunity to set the record straight about my upbringing live on air.
Thank you for showing your party to be the nasty, out of touch, gutter-scraping worms that they are.
Thank you for the extra 5,000 supporters I’ve had on Twitter, my blog, personal emails since your revolting attack.
And I ultimately feel very sad for you. Sad that you can say on television, without an ounce of remorse, that people should be starving in Britain. Sad that you cannot see beyond party battle lines to the real human pain and suffering up and down the country. Because it’s easier to talk in statistics and sound bites than it is to hear one persons story. It’s easier to shout down than to have to hear what poverty is like in Britain.
As for your little hissed aside when the cameras stopped rolling: “Still working for Sainsburys are you?” Yes, I am. The ad campaign runs for another couple of days. I guess I ‘worked hard and got on.’
My mum wants you to apologise, by the way. Are you woman enough?
Jack
I think it is fair to say that Edwina rather got under her skin. 'Mummy' said her piece in a written response the next day, 4th February 2014.
Dear Edwina,
It’s 9 o'clock on Tuesday, the morning after the night before, where we were both on a panel on The Big Benefits Row on Channel 5. I haven’t watched it back, I was there, and know what I look like when I’m angry.
I need to get this out – because it’s everything I wanted to say last night but couldn’t, as I kept being rudely shouted over by you. Honestly, my three year old behaves better than that. At least he knows that when Mummy does her ‘will you just be QUIET and LISTEN to me’ then the best thing to do is to stop running your mouth and let Mummy say her piece.
But you didn’t. Because you were terrified of what I had to say.
I wanted to say, when asked by Matthew Wright, that poverty is almost indescribable to someone as blinkered as you. That turning off the fridge because it’s empty anyway, that sitting across the table from your young son enviously staring down his breakfast, having freezing cold showers and putting your child to bed in god knows how many layers of clothes in the evening – it’s distressing. Depressing. Destabilising.
Sure – you could probably live on benefits for a week to ‘prove it could be done’. But imagine living for 11 weeks with no housing benefit, because of ‘delays’. Imagine those 77 days of being chased for rent that you can’t pay, ignoring the phone, ignoring the door, drawing the curtains so the bailiffs can’t see that you’re home, cradling your son to your chest and sobbing that this is where it’s all ended up. It feels endless. Hopeless. Cold. Wet. Day after day of ‘no’. No we aren’t looking for staff. No there isn’t anything else to eat. No I can’t put the heating on. No I haven’t got any money to pay my rent arrears. No, no, no,
Sitting on the bathroom floor vomiting up the paracetamol and sleeping pills I took to try to end my own life – that wasn’t, as you hissed in an aside, “a rich girl pretending to be poor.” I was alone, with nobody to ‘pretend’ to. I didn’t write about my suicide attempts, because I was scared that if anyone knew how bad things were, I would lose my son. There was a lot I didn’t write about. You become adept at keeping up appearances, at smiling and saying you’re fine. It was almost a year before I was referred to a food bank for help, almost a year of searching for work, holding my home and my son together at the seams with an iron will. And all those ‘no’s.
When you descend into personal attacks against your opponent, it is because you have no political argument left.
When you tweet your opponent's grandfather's obituary all over the internet in a foul attempt at smearing their reputation, it is because you are scum.
Did you stop to think for one moment how you might have made my family feel? My nan, my mum, my dad, all people who dearly love the man whose life and death you used in a live television debate last night to try to unsettle your opponent? Of course you didn’t.
I was asked to sell my life rights to a movie director last week. I refused on two counts.
1. I’m not that interesting. As proved by you, when the biggest scandal you can dig up is that I used to drink Aldi lemonade with my grandad at his guest house.
2. I’m not an island. My life is interwoven with complex relationships, as are all of ours. Having been subjected to professional trolling for over a year now, I would never put my family through those levels of abuse. I get death threats. Rape threats. Personal attacks on my weight, appearance, sexuality, education, lack thereof. So I try to retain a degree of privacy, for the ordinary people on the periphery of the right wing media monstering of Jack Monroe. If you love someone, you don’t throw them into a bear pit.
If you’d have been willing to listen, you’d have realised how spectacularly you missed the point.
Poverty can happen to anyone. That’s why I unsettle you and your cronies. Because the Tory party rhetoric of ‘work hard and get on’ can fall apart in the blink of an eyelid. I worked hard. I got on. And I still spent a year and a half scrabbling around in a festering pit of depression, joblessness, benefit delays and suspensions, hunger, and the entrenching, gut wrenching fear that I was failing as a parent.
I’ve never claimed anywhere that my family were “poor”. They weren’t “rich” either. I’m not really sure what they were, which I guess makes them quite ordinary. As a child, I had dinner on the table and always had clean clothes. We had a holiday a year in a caravan in Devon or Yorkshire, and the occasional foray to Ireland.
I went to a grammar school, not with any coaching or private tuition, I just sat the entrance exam aged 10 and was offered a place. It was hardly Eton. I struggled at that school, grades gradually getting worse each year, until I dropped out with not enough GCSEs to take A Levels. I went to work, in a shop, at the age of 16. No degree, no Oxbridge education, no feet on ladders, no family business to inherit – just me and about £5.85 an hour.
But thank you, for giving me the opportunity to set the record straight about my upbringing live on air.
Thank you for showing your party to be the nasty, out of touch, gutter-scraping worms that they are.
Thank you for the extra 5,000 supporters I’ve had on Twitter, my blog, personal emails since your revolting attack.
And I ultimately feel very sad for you. Sad that you can say on television, without an ounce of remorse, that people should be starving in Britain. Sad that you cannot see beyond party battle lines to the real human pain and suffering up and down the country. Because it’s easier to talk in statistics and sound bites than it is to hear one persons story. It’s easier to shout down than to have to hear what poverty is like in Britain.
As for your little hissed aside when the cameras stopped rolling: “Still working for Sainsburys are you?” Yes, I am. The ad campaign runs for another couple of days. I guess I ‘worked hard and got on.’
My mum wants you to apologise, by the way. Are you woman enough?
Jack
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Exactly! This is typical Nigella being playful and arch. Are people really suggesting this is an example of a posh person not really knowing how to say “microwave”?I don’t get this Nigella fuss. It was obviously a joke and probably something she’s made up with her kids. I’m sure we’ve all got things we say in a funny way for a laugh. It’s basically a Dad joke but it’s 2020 so the world has gone mad
I’ve not seen this, does anyone have a link please?
Can't believe you missed the opportunity to cover it up with a THAT MAN magazine.
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