It's making me hoot because I'm seeing her in her wig from the Grifty Kitchen cover and a generic olde worlde "beggar woman" costume.
"gis a bob for some shampoo"
Jack Monroe #440 Gently navigating the hinterland of plagiarism
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"gis a bob for some shampoo"
I don’t think she’s bone idle: she’s just such a narcissist I don’t think it even occurs to her to make grand gestures to make him happy. She only cares about herself and if she isn’t the centre of attention, she isn’t interested.
Even Southend has a big panto every year with celebs. This year they have Diversity.
At least SB seems to get taken places by his father.
I have wondered if she’s allowed to do things like take him places.
A panto maybe (though it seems like the sort of thing his dad would put dibs on and take SB and siblings together) but if the canal speculation she’s not allowed to take him on holiday is accurate then I wouldn’t let her take him to London either.
She might well be in a cycle now where she’s been so self-centred for so long all the big traditional things that she’s allowed to do are his dad’s thing and she’s not allowed to take him further afield.
Spare a shekel for an old ex-
It just makes me sad. I couldn't imagine not doing things with my kids during the holidays.
My Christmas wish is for @hooplifehero to publish
GRIFT AND GRIFTABILITY
AND for it to sell more than Jack's new book!
Mwahahahahahaha.......
ETA it's a bit bigger than I thought (like Jack asking for more lip filler then seeing the results the day after!)
GRIFT AND GRIFTABILITY
AND for it to sell more than Jack's new book!
Mwahahahahahaha.......
ETA it's a bit bigger than I thought (like Jack asking for more lip filler then seeing the results the day after!)
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That reminded me of the bit in Monty Python's Life of Brian.
"Spare a shekel for an old ex
Link to Paypal and Patreon below *rattle rattle*
EDIT: Dammit, Hotes got there first whilst I was fannying around in Picmonkey!
She looks slightly deranged in number 4 (crispy looking blonde hair and camel-like jaw). Number 6 looks like she's had a good ol' howling/clawing session.I can't decide which is the worst. 6 or 7 maybe
Has anyone seen the latest TK post on M&S's Facebook? Hah if it isn't epic trolling, it's very coincidental
I will never, ever recover from Deranged Cupcake Jack. Blonde, Brunette, who cares, DERANGED.
Get your Deloreans ready, A Griftmas Carol is heading for Griftmas Past.
As the clock struck the hour with a resounding chime, Slops stirred and then suddenly recalled Marley’s words. Would a spirit really appear?
Beyond the drapes of her four-poster bed, a gentle glow filled the chamber and Slops trembled at the sight that might befall her. Cautiously she drew back the drapes, her breath held and her heart pounding.
A small child stood before her, luminescent in the dark of the bedroom. “Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Slops, bewildered at the sight.
“I am the ghost of Griftmas Past,” said the child in a delicate lilting voice.
“But you are just a child!” exclaimed Slops.
“I have lived for over nineteen hundred years,” the spirit said. “Come, I have much to show you.”
She took Slops to the window, which flung wide as if by witchcraft. The spirit reached her tiny hand towards Slops, who hesitated but then grasped the cold fingers in her own. “Spirit, I am mortal and liable to fall,” Slops protested, indicating the window towards which the spirit moved.
“A touch of my hand and you shall fly,” explained the tinkling voice. And before she knew it, Slops was soaring above the Essex coastline.
“Spirit, what is that light up ahead? It cannot be dawn.”
“It is the past.” And with that, Slops and the spirit flew into the light and came to rest in a place Slops remembered very well indeed.
“This is my school!” exclaimed Slops. “Oh it was a horrible place for a child like me.”
Slops and the spirit watched as caring teachers gently tried to cajole the young and obstinate Slops into putting more effort into her schoolwork. Their frustration and disappointment was palpable.
The pair watched the young Slops walk home to be greeted warmly by Mama Slops and Big Dave Slops MBE, who, the spirit noted not unkindly, was wearing slightly humiliating trousers.
The table was set for a feast, with the other Slops youngsters tucking in and talking excitedly. An older man in grubby overalls was smoking by the back door and flicking the ash from his pipe in the direction of Mama Slops whenever the opportunity presented itself.
The room was warm and welcoming but the figure of young Slops sat petulantly, poking at the food with a fork and ignoring entreaties from everyone except the elderly pipe-smoker. He goaded young Slops into uttering insolent words and crude retorts at Mama Slops, before slipping a shiny crown into young Slops’ eager hand.
The spirit glanced at her companion but saw no indication of remorse in the older Slops’ face.
“I’ve seen enough here,” Slops said, noticing the spectre’s gaze. “Shall we go somewhere else?”
“Of course,” replied the spirit. And in a moment they were outside a modestly sized letting on Royal Mews.
“Ah. The poverty years,” said Slops, sagely. “This was a hard time for me, to be sure.”
The pair watched a procession of young mothers entering Slops’ abode to be greeted with cake and festive music whilst the babes played on the floor with Slops’ own child.
“Well, the real poverty came a bit later,” explained Slops, hastily. “I think I probably had emptied a few oil lamps by then though.”
Slops watched as the years performed their terrible dance. She saw herself move from one letting to another, packing her belongings in a cart pulled by a horse called Yaris. At one point a bereft looking man of Asian descent walked past them carrying bags that smelled of excrement. “That had nothing to do with me!” insisted Slops, willing the spirit to continue the journey through the years with greater speed.
“Oh look! There I am dragging trunks filled with Practical Cookery on a Bootstrap to the Post Office!” Slops exclaimed, excitedly. “I really don’t understand why people were so ungrateful about that. Look at how hard it is for me!”
The spirit did not reply.
Slops saw suitors come and go, each departure hitting her like a punch to the face. “Why do you delight in torturing me?” she beseeched the ghost. “Haven’t I suffered enough from all the people who LEFT?”
“These are the shadows of what has been. They are what they are, do not blame me. Our time here is almost done,” said the spirit, wondering if Slops had learned anything at all from viewing the reality of her past.
“I think I should like to go back now,” Slops told the spirit, in a manner reminiscent of the young Slops they had seen at the family table some moments before.
“As you wish,” replied the spectre. “There are still two more spirits to visit with. Listen and learn. Your fate depends upon it.”
Slops was quite overcome at this suggestion and fell to her knees in a dramatic fashion, weeping loudly and - the spirit thought - a little excessively.
When Slops opened her eyes the spirit was gone and Slops found herself back in her own bedchamber. She tossed and turned, wracked with anxiety for the visit of the next spirit, but soon fell into a dreamless sleep.
Beyond the drapes of her four-poster bed, a gentle glow filled the chamber and Slops trembled at the sight that might befall her. Cautiously she drew back the drapes, her breath held and her heart pounding.
A small child stood before her, luminescent in the dark of the bedroom. “Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Slops, bewildered at the sight.
“I am the ghost of Griftmas Past,” said the child in a delicate lilting voice.
“But you are just a child!” exclaimed Slops.
“I have lived for over nineteen hundred years,” the spirit said. “Come, I have much to show you.”
She took Slops to the window, which flung wide as if by witchcraft. The spirit reached her tiny hand towards Slops, who hesitated but then grasped the cold fingers in her own. “Spirit, I am mortal and liable to fall,” Slops protested, indicating the window towards which the spirit moved.
“A touch of my hand and you shall fly,” explained the tinkling voice. And before she knew it, Slops was soaring above the Essex coastline.
“Spirit, what is that light up ahead? It cannot be dawn.”
“It is the past.” And with that, Slops and the spirit flew into the light and came to rest in a place Slops remembered very well indeed.
“This is my school!” exclaimed Slops. “Oh it was a horrible place for a child like me.”
Slops and the spirit watched as caring teachers gently tried to cajole the young and obstinate Slops into putting more effort into her schoolwork. Their frustration and disappointment was palpable.
The pair watched the young Slops walk home to be greeted warmly by Mama Slops and Big Dave Slops MBE, who, the spirit noted not unkindly, was wearing slightly humiliating trousers.
The table was set for a feast, with the other Slops youngsters tucking in and talking excitedly. An older man in grubby overalls was smoking by the back door and flicking the ash from his pipe in the direction of Mama Slops whenever the opportunity presented itself.
The room was warm and welcoming but the figure of young Slops sat petulantly, poking at the food with a fork and ignoring entreaties from everyone except the elderly pipe-smoker. He goaded young Slops into uttering insolent words and crude retorts at Mama Slops, before slipping a shiny crown into young Slops’ eager hand.
The spirit glanced at her companion but saw no indication of remorse in the older Slops’ face.
“I’ve seen enough here,” Slops said, noticing the spectre’s gaze. “Shall we go somewhere else?”
“Of course,” replied the spirit. And in a moment they were outside a modestly sized letting on Royal Mews.
“Ah. The poverty years,” said Slops, sagely. “This was a hard time for me, to be sure.”
The pair watched a procession of young mothers entering Slops’ abode to be greeted with cake and festive music whilst the babes played on the floor with Slops’ own child.
“Well, the real poverty came a bit later,” explained Slops, hastily. “I think I probably had emptied a few oil lamps by then though.”
Slops watched as the years performed their terrible dance. She saw herself move from one letting to another, packing her belongings in a cart pulled by a horse called Yaris. At one point a bereft looking man of Asian descent walked past them carrying bags that smelled of excrement. “That had nothing to do with me!” insisted Slops, willing the spirit to continue the journey through the years with greater speed.
“Oh look! There I am dragging trunks filled with Practical Cookery on a Bootstrap to the Post Office!” Slops exclaimed, excitedly. “I really don’t understand why people were so ungrateful about that. Look at how hard it is for me!”
The spirit did not reply.
Slops saw suitors come and go, each departure hitting her like a punch to the face. “Why do you delight in torturing me?” she beseeched the ghost. “Haven’t I suffered enough from all the people who LEFT?”
“These are the shadows of what has been. They are what they are, do not blame me. Our time here is almost done,” said the spirit, wondering if Slops had learned anything at all from viewing the reality of her past.
“I think I should like to go back now,” Slops told the spirit, in a manner reminiscent of the young Slops they had seen at the family table some moments before.
“As you wish,” replied the spectre. “There are still two more spirits to visit with. Listen and learn. Your fate depends upon it.”
Slops was quite overcome at this suggestion and fell to her knees in a dramatic fashion, weeping loudly and - the spirit thought - a little excessively.
When Slops opened her eyes the spirit was gone and Slops found herself back in her own bedchamber. She tossed and turned, wracked with anxiety for the visit of the next spirit, but soon fell into a dreamless sleep.
So was the June Guardian article her last newspaper article?
Could we add to the Wiki her last newspaper article/Tv appearance/radio appearance/in person appearance? Interesting to see those dates.
Could we add to the Wiki her last newspaper article/Tv appearance/radio appearance/in person appearance? Interesting to see those dates.
I think Jack is allowed to take her son on holiday. I doubt, despite the impression that Jack gives, he is or has every been at any physical risk with her. it is more like he doesn't want to go.
What pre-teen would want to trail round a random city while his parent telesales and buy performative used cutlery.
‘A horse called Yaris’ has ended me
A horse called Yaris!!! Ahahahahaha. Oh Jack, see what happens when you aren’t chaosing.
I’ve just realised it’s just gone past my tattle anniversary. A whole year of chaosi!
Innit. It's only going to get worse.
She has released so many amusing anecdotes about him. Being mobbed by groups of women thinking he was George Michael in Thorpe Bay is up there.
Then there is the firing cannons up residential streets and talking every night for an hour to an alcoholic tenant.
Agreed his dad really does the best with what he has which only serves to highlight how vile Jack is. So much wrt parenting is made easier with money and yet she’s so mean with it, last year she was openly bitching about him wanting a Lego set that would have been cheaper than her train to Stratford for that unforgivable mullet? She’s vile to him poor boy.
My essex/East London friends refer to a haircut as a hairbash so again, I think this is her not quite getting it right
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