I only quoted so I could like this post twice.
Jack Monroe #351 Nobody should be donating to a character from a Pulp song
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perhaps he knows someone who could whip him up some sort of budget toothpaste
(apols, I certainly don't have a perfect set of Hampstead Heaths myself)
JHC on a bike it's any old bandwagon with her isn't it?
OT but i just wanted to thank mister tesco. Thanks to his nosiness he saved me 10.00 off my shopping, with clubcard price and a voucher. If that what happens when people are nosey than the nosey away.
Really this should be something she highlights in her blogs. A top up shop that cost 53 pounds going down to 43.
Really this should be something she highlights in her blogs. A top up shop that cost 53 pounds going down to 43.
If you're diagnosed privately the NHS is under no obligation to fulfil any meds and quite often adults that are diagnosed privately are saddled with the costs of private medication. If you're seeking a diagnosis privately the advice is to get your doctor to agree to shared care before your private appointment and then you csn get the gp to issue medication and then you can pay nhs prescription charges.
Oh God, there's going to be a Jack story here about how she wanted to play football and asked a teacher who called her a vile abomination and then the whole school called her smelly football for the rest of her time there. Otherwise she'd probs be playing for England today.
It depends who diagnoses you. Adhd frau here too. If you pay private you sometimes have to sustain the prescription costs yourself until the NHS agree to take over. It can be up to three years depending on board.
Opinion Piece;
Austistic People Lie. It's Kind of Our Flex.
Don't believe me? Offended? Well, listen...
You know when you're surrounded by irritating noises from colleagues, children, the photocopier making that slight screeching noise as it draws from the A3 drawer or fails to complete the full eight bars because somebody has thoughtlessly set it to copy an odd number of pages? And you have to ignore it and continue to answer the queries of the person on the phone who is talking outside, so you can hear that they're turning into the wind direction every few words? That's you lying. Lying that it doesn't set every nerve on edge and you don't really want to take a twenty pound sledgehammer to the bleeping thing just to make the sounds stop.
You know when you look across your office to see the other person has just ripped a parcel open and let the contents poke out, rather than opening it properly, disposing of the horrible textured parcel tape that you know is making that packet a trap full of evil stickiness, clinging and noise, but you pretend it's not there because it's frowned on to tell then 'For the love of Christ, deal with the tit on your side of the room!'. That's lying. Lying that you don't hate every bit of the sound, look and remembered texture of a bleeping parcel and it's making your skin crawl just at the knowledge that it's ten foot away from you being awful.
That person you wish would just disappear into a puff of smoke because they insist upon switching the sodding fluorescent lighting on when there is a perfectly adequate window that doesn't buzz, flicker or cast that yellow nastiness upon your retinas? But you keep quiet and wait until they go home before switching it off with a sigh of relief? Or you work on your blissful own and the tube goes, you conveniently forget to notify the site manager and are absolutely gutted when the cleaner or senior manager reports it so you come in to find the nastiness offending your existence. And say nothing other than perhaps a mild 'Oh, thank you. I do like daylight though, so you didn't have to trouble yourself'? That's lying.
That time when you get compliments about how nice you look, you smile and say thank you, but in reality, you're counting down the seconds until you can get those bastarding shoes and tights/socks off, get rid of the trousers with the waistband that you can feel touching you all the bleeping time and just put on the lovely compression running leggings and crop top instead of the bra of evil? You're lying.
The time when somebody is ranting and raging at you and you're being all calm and professional, but in reality, you don't really understand why they are absolutely losing their tit at you when all you've done is your job and the Law literally says you have to do it this way? That's you lying.
How about when you get home to find that somebody has put the straightsided bowls on top of the teaplates in the cupboard instead of next to the curved sided bowls that took you ages to find because you needed ones that felt just right? And then they've gone on to put the teaplates in a random order instead of stacked in the perfect sequence? And you don't scream and yell at them because that would be somewhat unreasonable and unfair when you can just sort them properly yourself? That's you lying.
The time when somebody pushes in front of you at the bus stop and you let them go in front rather than call them a bleeping hole, people were waiting before them and dumping them unceremoniously on their arse in the gutter? That's lying.
That glitch in the train station announcement when it cuts off the first bit of 'The train now approaching platform 2...' or even worse, the mispronunciation of the destination on the bus because it's done by computer generated speech from a bank of sounds, rather than what the locals have been calling the place for centuries? And you don't bang out a raging email to TfL because much as you'd like to, you know that 'normal people' aren't bothered by these things? That's you lying.
Every moment something happens that jumps right on every single nerve in your body, every single person that you pause and think why might they be responding in that way - and adopt a well rehearsed script that you've learned always works? Lying.
What about when there's something awful happening like a car accident and instead of fear taking hold, you find yourself focused and clear and able to follow the rules of first aid including checking your own safety before going to help? So you look like an amazing person when you just went onto automatic and did what needed to be done? Lying.
That time when you would really have preferred your line manager toduck off to the far side of duck and then duck off some more rather than interrupting for the third time and you want to tell them that you'd get that urgent stuff done a whole lot faster if they would only stop bleeping with your head and let you get on with it in your way? But you take a deep breath and pick up the phone, smile at them as they pitch up at your desk or yet another bleeping email pops up when you're already trying to recompose your head and thought after the first two interruptions from them? That's right - you're lying.
And when you filled in that job application and went to the interview knowing that you had to convince people who don't know you that you're actually a functioning adult who is able to work well alone and as part of a team, you're organised, professional and committed to continuing professional development when you are so bleeping drained at the end of the day, you just want to sit at the top of a hill and breathe in fresh air whilst looking at green stuff or lie down in a darkened room with no bloody TV, lights or even the knowledge of your OH existing because he's used that deodorant that makes you want to hurl? But you don't tell him that his presence is driving you to silently scream duck OFF AND HAVE A SHOWER YOU ACRID TOSSER, you try to tolerate it or take yourself off to the bath where you switch the light off to lie in the water, only to have him switch the bleeping things on again 'because it's getting dark'? You've guessed it, you're lying.
If you haven't found those things drive you to absolute distraction, if you are thinking 'how can a parcel on somebody else's desk be a problem? Just don't look at it' or 'I get anxious at interviews as well' or 'why are you so angry? You're completely overreacting, there are still seats on the bus' or 'I like taking my bra off when I get in from work as well, you know' without comprehending just how a thousand of these items a day gets into your head so you're so wound up that you can't sleep or you make jokes about if anybody needs you, you'll be under the desk rocking for the next hour (and will tell somebody who makes that joke 'well, actually, that's very ableist, you shouldn't say offensive things like that'), you're probably not autistic.
Only it's not called lying. Which is annoying. The term people use isn't right. It's one that should refer to spray painting or something like a superhero movie baddie. The twee term that's used instead? Masking.
Masking is lying. And it's what you do when you're autistic and trying to get through every day without getting punched (as a kid, largely, but not always), fired or divorced.
Autistic people 'mask' means 'Autistic People Lie'. And we're bleeping brilliant liars. We've been doing it our whole lives. It's how we stay under the radar as much as possible, how we just about survive school, getting jobs, having relationships. The cat knows us as we really are. A dog can spot us at a hundred yards. And if we like them and we've learned their body language and communication, the feeling is mutual. Because they don't bleeping lie and we don't have to lie to them. Moreover, they don't bleeping patronise us by saying shite like 'Austistic people don't understand jokes' and 'Autistic people literally cannot lie'. duck off. We just don't think that malice, cruelty and spite (which is the undercurrent of the majority of humour) is funny (we've been on the receiving end of it often enough) and we lie every single day of our lives.
We're just so bleeping good at it that you don't notice us 90% of the time.
Austistic People Lie. It's Kind of Our Flex.
Don't believe me? Offended? Well, listen...
You know when you're surrounded by irritating noises from colleagues, children, the photocopier making that slight screeching noise as it draws from the A3 drawer or fails to complete the full eight bars because somebody has thoughtlessly set it to copy an odd number of pages? And you have to ignore it and continue to answer the queries of the person on the phone who is talking outside, so you can hear that they're turning into the wind direction every few words? That's you lying. Lying that it doesn't set every nerve on edge and you don't really want to take a twenty pound sledgehammer to the bleeping thing just to make the sounds stop.
You know when you look across your office to see the other person has just ripped a parcel open and let the contents poke out, rather than opening it properly, disposing of the horrible textured parcel tape that you know is making that packet a trap full of evil stickiness, clinging and noise, but you pretend it's not there because it's frowned on to tell then 'For the love of Christ, deal with the tit on your side of the room!'. That's lying. Lying that you don't hate every bit of the sound, look and remembered texture of a bleeping parcel and it's making your skin crawl just at the knowledge that it's ten foot away from you being awful.
That person you wish would just disappear into a puff of smoke because they insist upon switching the sodding fluorescent lighting on when there is a perfectly adequate window that doesn't buzz, flicker or cast that yellow nastiness upon your retinas? But you keep quiet and wait until they go home before switching it off with a sigh of relief? Or you work on your blissful own and the tube goes, you conveniently forget to notify the site manager and are absolutely gutted when the cleaner or senior manager reports it so you come in to find the nastiness offending your existence. And say nothing other than perhaps a mild 'Oh, thank you. I do like daylight though, so you didn't have to trouble yourself'? That's lying.
That time when you get compliments about how nice you look, you smile and say thank you, but in reality, you're counting down the seconds until you can get those bastarding shoes and tights/socks off, get rid of the trousers with the waistband that you can feel touching you all the bleeping time and just put on the lovely compression running leggings and crop top instead of the bra of evil? You're lying.
The time when somebody is ranting and raging at you and you're being all calm and professional, but in reality, you don't really understand why they are absolutely losing their tit at you when all you've done is your job and the Law literally says you have to do it this way? That's you lying.
How about when you get home to find that somebody has put the straightsided bowls on top of the teaplates in the cupboard instead of next to the curved sided bowls that took you ages to find because you needed ones that felt just right? And then they've gone on to put the teaplates in a random order instead of stacked in the perfect sequence? And you don't scream and yell at them because that would be somewhat unreasonable and unfair when you can just sort them properly yourself? That's you lying.
The time when somebody pushes in front of you at the bus stop and you let them go in front rather than call them a bleeping hole, people were waiting before them and dumping them unceremoniously on their arse in the gutter? That's lying.
That glitch in the train station announcement when it cuts off the first bit of 'The train now approaching platform 2...' or even worse, the mispronunciation of the destination on the bus because it's done by computer generated speech from a bank of sounds, rather than what the locals have been calling the place for centuries? And you don't bang out a raging email to TfL because much as you'd like to, you know that 'normal people' aren't bothered by these things? That's you lying.
Every moment something happens that jumps right on every single nerve in your body, every single person that you pause and think why might they be responding in that way - and adopt a well rehearsed script that you've learned always works? Lying.
What about when there's something awful happening like a car accident and instead of fear taking hold, you find yourself focused and clear and able to follow the rules of first aid including checking your own safety before going to help? So you look like an amazing person when you just went onto automatic and did what needed to be done? Lying.
That time when you would really have preferred your line manager to
And when you filled in that job application and went to the interview knowing that you had to convince people who don't know you that you're actually a functioning adult who is able to work well alone and as part of a team, you're organised, professional and committed to continuing professional development when you are so bleeping drained at the end of the day, you just want to sit at the top of a hill and breathe in fresh air whilst looking at green stuff or lie down in a darkened room with no bloody TV, lights or even the knowledge of your OH existing because he's used that deodorant that makes you want to hurl? But you don't tell him that his presence is driving you to silently scream duck OFF AND HAVE A SHOWER YOU ACRID TOSSER, you try to tolerate it or take yourself off to the bath where you switch the light off to lie in the water, only to have him switch the bleeping things on again 'because it's getting dark'? You've guessed it, you're lying.
If you haven't found those things drive you to absolute distraction, if you are thinking 'how can a parcel on somebody else's desk be a problem? Just don't look at it' or 'I get anxious at interviews as well' or 'why are you so angry? You're completely overreacting, there are still seats on the bus' or 'I like taking my bra off when I get in from work as well, you know' without comprehending just how a thousand of these items a day gets into your head so you're so wound up that you can't sleep or you make jokes about if anybody needs you, you'll be under the desk rocking for the next hour (and will tell somebody who makes that joke 'well, actually, that's very ableist, you shouldn't say offensive things like that'), you're probably not autistic.
Only it's not called lying. Which is annoying. The term people use isn't right. It's one that should refer to spray painting or something like a superhero movie baddie. The twee term that's used instead? Masking.
Masking is lying. And it's what you do when you're autistic and trying to get through every day without getting punched (as a kid, largely, but not always), fired or divorced.
Autistic people 'mask' means 'Autistic People Lie'. And we're bleeping brilliant liars. We've been doing it our whole lives. It's how we stay under the radar as much as possible, how we just about survive school, getting jobs, having relationships. The cat knows us as we really are. A dog can spot us at a hundred yards. And if we like them and we've learned their body language and communication, the feeling is mutual. Because they don't bleeping lie and we don't have to lie to them. Moreover, they don't bleeping patronise us by saying shite like 'Austistic people don't understand jokes' and 'Autistic people literally cannot lie'. duck off. We just don't think that malice, cruelty and spite (which is the undercurrent of the majority of humour) is funny (we've been on the receiving end of it often enough) and we lie every single day of our lives.
We're just so bleeping good at it that you don't notice us 90% of the time.
She'll be like Jay from the Inbetweeners, having tryouts for West Ham. That only didn't happen because she had cripply, ouchy pain in her shoulder(s) that only she could understand.
one of the ones she was saying she’d had was low alcohol not no alcohol though. The speckled hen one I think?
Sorry not had time to read between pages 22 and now but has Carol the publisher/therapist made an appearance of late. I do wonder if the incredibly overdue book that was due to go to print last week has actually been officially cancelled by Bluebird and she also has to now repay any advance she had received?
Sorry not had time to read between pages 22 and now but has Carol the publisher/therapist made an appearance of late. I do wonder if the incredibly overdue book that was due to go to print last week has actually been officially cancelled by Bluebird and she also has to now repay any advance she had received?
Sorry not had time to read between pages 22 and now but has Carol the publisher/therapist made an appearance of late. I do wonder if the incredibly overdue book that was due to go to print last week has actually been officially cancelled by Bluebird and she also has to now repay any advance she had received?
Absolutely spot on!
She has given out so much information about her address it is ridiculous.
Where it is, what it is near etc. Oh and, as you say, actually filming outside her house and walking down her road.
Doesn't matter really. She's already said she's leaving so it will be on Rightmove soon and then everyone will be able to see just how pretty, large and not crappy it is.
(Also not a bungalow)
Dragon, that is the most perfect and eloquent description I have ever read. Bravo dearheart Bravo!!
She can't possibly still be working with Superdrug! Ignoring the TERRIBLE tv interview with Lorraine, this is the press release about the Superdrug hygiene poverty campaign.
www.google.com
Superdrug partners with Jack Monroe to fight hygiene poverty
Jack Monroe has partnered with Superdrug to help customers “shop smart” amid the cost of living crisis.
And that teacher was……….Borbora!
She is so not a Scrooge McDuck, the latter is too stingy to spend anything (and an hole as well, which she has in common)
Careful, this is the kind of brilliant, raw and authentic post that Jack Monroe would save and loosely attempt to rewrite as her own.
If I could love this more than once I would.
So wonderfully bleeping put...
Oh man I had no idea, that’s actually so unlucky considering the waiting lists these days. I was diagnosed as a child so I don’t think I had to wait that long for a diagnosis as it was back in the days when the NHS was still semi functioning, but I know people currently on waiting lists of up to 3 years just for an assessment
!I did a search on here to see if I could find the original tweets (which she has since deleted) and it defo sounds like that’s the case anyway
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