Babe, same! I've had to invoke the evacuation plans too during actual building fires.
Jack Monroe #340 Not a professional account
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I don't know how to describe it, but the numbers on the key tag are upside down.
A friend of mine had a bit part playing a fireman in the 1988 Xmas episode of London's Burning. I think that means I'm qualified by association.As a child I used to watch 999, hosted by Michael Buerk (grade A plonker) so I think that means I out-chapeau all you ninnies 🦺
Same! I was also a fire warden in a previous job, many years ago - handled a few big hoses in my time, I can tell you!
There appears to be quite a few of us, shall we start a club?
Jack could be our leader. Pahahaaaaaaaaaaa (not in a gazillion years, pal).Back to grunking...again!
I shagged a fireman once. I absorbed his knowledge via, um, osmosis.
BIB - #threadtitle nom if another Frau hasn’t already.Just watched the episode of DKL shown on the quoted page. It's most definitely torture watching her on TV! How the hell anyone thinks she should have a show of her own, after witnessing anything she's appeared on, is beyond me - they're bonkers!
That inappropriate laugh is totally cringe-inducing! Do love how she says thanks to Matt when he's talking about his wife's own home made sauce, though, not hers - silly moo!
As for the lasagne - wonder how many times Matt has gone on to make that at home?I very much doubt Matt (or anyone for that matter) has gone onto copy her. Good thick sauce is so easy to make, using the all-in-the-pan whisking method, there's no need to substitute it with a runny abomination like hers.
Jack Monroe, not suited for TV.
@Russian Doll and @hiyaaaacath welcome, please get comfortable and tell us what brought you here.
were you previously fans/admirers of Jack, and if so, what was the switch that made you suspicious?
It’s lovely for you both to be commenting. Hope to hear from you soon.
were you previously fans/admirers of Jack, and if so, what was the switch that made you suspicious?
It’s lovely for you both to be commenting. Hope to hear from you soon.
Sophie/Pretzel died an awful death and Jack said that Mini was never hers
Oh poppet, you are too young. This is a riff on a song by The Kinks x
the kinks dedicated follower of fashion lyrics https://g.co/kgs/YVztFL
I yomped completely off in the wrong direction. I'd pegged it as coming from The Scarlet Pimpernel. 
Dear cabal.
I have had to take a step away from Jack recently and, given that this place has been solace during my darkest times, here I return.
Earlier this week, we had our beloved boxer dog put to sleep. She was only 7.
A week and a half ago, she seemed low. Not her usual bouncy, helicopter tailed self. It lasted a few days so we took her to the vet. They couldn’t find any sign of anything wrong - my dog, of course, was all boops and smiles - but decided to take a suite of blood tests later to rule stuff out.
Two days later, we were woken by a clattering sound next door. My dog staggered into our hallway, confused and weak, and dribbling a bit of wee. We ushered her into our bedroom, cradled her while she recovered, and carried her to her favourite spot on the sofa.
Another vet trip, and more bemusement at what was wrong. All the bloods were normal, and we were just waiting for the heart. To rule that out, she was referred to a cardiologist but, in the meantime, we kept her comfy and full of her favourite roast chicken.
These collapses started happening daily. They wiped her out, but when she rallied it was like nothing was wrong. Wowfing with joy when her dad and I snuck a hug; sitting at my feet as I made yet more chicken; running to me with her crocodile ‘teefs’ toy. Friends came over and we presented them with a bag of gifts for their new baby; pup gently reached into the bag and lifted out the stuffed giraffe in her chops. It was for her, right?
Tuesday, cardiologists. She was going to be kept in for a few hours for some scans, an ECG, the works. I kissed her on the head and we headed back home.
Half an hour down the road, we were called back. They’d found something on the scan.
There was a huge mass on her spleen, and there was fluid around her organs. When the fluid was withdrawn for sampling, it was blood. The suspected tumour had ruptured, and was bleeding. Cancer was most likely spreading throughout her body as we spoke.
The vet soberly said we could refer her on for other scans, but she was too weak to travel far. She had that look in her eyes of ‘you know what I’m saying, don’t you’.
We gently got her home. Blanket on the sofa, chicken in the oven. She was snoozing, stirring when we chatted, and very interested when she could smell what was cooking. And we held her paw, and kissed her head, and got a good lungful of popcorn paw.
And at 4.30, we took her to the vet. We explored the fields around there, talked to her, and took her in. She died in my lap, wrapped in her blanket, with her dad and I telling her how good she was and how much we loved her.
Cabal, my heart is broken. I mean, my chest literally hurts. Our house is far too quiet and I don’t know how we’re supposed to live without her (I know we will). We are moving to our first purchased home together in a few weeks and I am devastated that she isn’t with us (I mean, she will be. In a little pot, and in a ring I’ve ordered for myself, and in our hearts). I haven’t cried like this since my Dad died when I was 14.
And I see the tokenistic pictures of Laurie, and I think about Jack ignoring three vets, and I think about the other animals, and I’m furious. Incandescent. Outraged at how unfair it is. Part of pet ownership is putting your pain before theirs; being devoted until the end. They love you unconditionally, and it is the very least you owe them.
I cried when I made tea tonight because she wasn’t by my side waiting for drops. But my pain came before hers; my suffering must prevent any of hers. And that’s just what you do. They are not there for clout, or content. They are family, and you will lay your very heart down for them.
I have had to take a step away from Jack recently and, given that this place has been solace during my darkest times, here I return.
Earlier this week, we had our beloved boxer dog put to sleep. She was only 7.
A week and a half ago, she seemed low. Not her usual bouncy, helicopter tailed self. It lasted a few days so we took her to the vet. They couldn’t find any sign of anything wrong - my dog, of course, was all boops and smiles - but decided to take a suite of blood tests later to rule stuff out.
Two days later, we were woken by a clattering sound next door. My dog staggered into our hallway, confused and weak, and dribbling a bit of wee. We ushered her into our bedroom, cradled her while she recovered, and carried her to her favourite spot on the sofa.
Another vet trip, and more bemusement at what was wrong. All the bloods were normal, and we were just waiting for the heart. To rule that out, she was referred to a cardiologist but, in the meantime, we kept her comfy and full of her favourite roast chicken.
These collapses started happening daily. They wiped her out, but when she rallied it was like nothing was wrong. Wowfing with joy when her dad and I snuck a hug; sitting at my feet as I made yet more chicken; running to me with her crocodile ‘teefs’ toy. Friends came over and we presented them with a bag of gifts for their new baby; pup gently reached into the bag and lifted out the stuffed giraffe in her chops. It was for her, right?
Tuesday, cardiologists. She was going to be kept in for a few hours for some scans, an ECG, the works. I kissed her on the head and we headed back home.
Half an hour down the road, we were called back. They’d found something on the scan.
There was a huge mass on her spleen, and there was fluid around her organs. When the fluid was withdrawn for sampling, it was blood. The suspected tumour had ruptured, and was bleeding. Cancer was most likely spreading throughout her body as we spoke.
The vet soberly said we could refer her on for other scans, but she was too weak to travel far. She had that look in her eyes of ‘you know what I’m saying, don’t you’.
We gently got her home. Blanket on the sofa, chicken in the oven. She was snoozing, stirring when we chatted, and very interested when she could smell what was cooking. And we held her paw, and kissed her head, and got a good lungful of popcorn paw.
And at 4.30, we took her to the vet. We explored the fields around there, talked to her, and took her in. She died in my lap, wrapped in her blanket, with her dad and I telling her how good she was and how much we loved her.
Cabal, my heart is broken. I mean, my chest literally hurts. Our house is far too quiet and I don’t know how we’re supposed to live without her (I know we will). We are moving to our first purchased home together in a few weeks and I am devastated that she isn’t with us (I mean, she will be. In a little pot, and in a ring I’ve ordered for myself, and in our hearts). I haven’t cried like this since my Dad died when I was 14.
And I see the tokenistic pictures of Laurie, and I think about Jack ignoring three vets, and I think about the other animals, and I’m furious. Incandescent. Outraged at how unfair it is. Part of pet ownership is putting your pain before theirs; being devoted until the end. They love you unconditionally, and it is the very least you owe them.
I cried when I made tea tonight because she wasn’t by my side waiting for drops. But my pain came before hers; my suffering must prevent any of hers. And that’s just what you do. They are not there for clout, or content. They are family, and you will lay your very heart down for them.
Up and down the fireman's pole, eh?
I’ve just listened to Fire with Fire by Scissor Sisters five times. And now am a LITERAL expert in how you fight fire*. Stick that up your hoop and fart it, Jack Monroe!As a child I used to watch 999, hosted by Michael Buerk (grade A plonker) so I think that means I out-chapeau all you ninnies 🦺
*with fire.
Oh Moglits what a lucky dog to be so loved. Sending much love. Xx
Hoses, helmets ...
You're right. The numbers should be below the hole when viewed the right way up.
Oh, Jack
I am incredibly sorry for your loss.
The very last thing you did for her was a kindness. xx
I'm so sorry. It's the very hardest part of pet companion ownership. Such a lucky girl to be so loved for her all of her wonderful life 
. Much love to you xxx
. Much love to you xxx
She really is the queen of tit tattoos isn’t she.
Oh dear, I am so truly, sincerely sorry for your loss. I type this with tears in my eyes as I watch my, almost 13yr old, pooch sleep at his dads feet.
dogs are more than just a dog, they are a immeasurable part of our lives and being so much love and joy. I am so sad at your grief but know that your precious pupper went off to the rainbow bridge full of love and chicken and kindness.
dogs give more than they take. Their love lives on in us.
Sending you our best xxx
It looks like it says LIA(R)
My heart breaks for you, Moglits. I am so, so sorry xxx
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