So true, MoldyDubs. Nobody wants to be seen as being at the helm of such a tit show when he's got credibility, talent and great contacts. Such a mystery as to why their "cheeky lil' duo" never took off. The Media is an unforgiving environment for those without a solid foothold like guest, who has no discernible on-screen talent or charisma, and by her own account can come across as difficult. It's also a small world where a relatively small number of people (producers and commissioners) hold almost all the power. If you manage to get an opportunity and duck it up as badly as she did, after strings were clearly pulled to get her on there, added to the lingreenie debacle and other fuckups, she's not going to get another shot.
Jack Monroe #558 I own a fridge! This is my cooker! Look at my rug! Look at my duvet!
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She had no self awareness though even in the guardian bath pennies article. If she was a bit contrite it may have gone down better but its never going to happen with her
I mean. If someone asks you, "Can you give the audience some advice they can use" and what you HEAR is "Can you tell the audience more about YOU because you're so wonderful that even your white goods are fascinating" then... there's something very wrong with you.Spot on Moldystem. I’m pretty sure his patience was wearing thin in the v first episode where he was asking the presenters for food saving tips. One of them mentioned using their freezer. SMOTF said to guest “do you have a freezer” and she honked in reply “well Matt it’s embarrassing cos I have 3 freezers” to which SMOTH said to the viewers “there you go. Have a freezer. Have three” whilst looking visibly unimpressed
Another Facebook group Jack posted on briefly was DIY on a Budget. We were treated to a bunch of posts about her cold damp sad little povvo hole which I’m saving for posterity.
Love the resentment dripping off the page about the sofa. She was obviously told they couldn’t afford the spenny one (or it just wasn’t practical for the filthy bugger) and she was going to scowl and hate it until she got her own way.
Love the resentment dripping off the page about the sofa. She was obviously told they couldn’t afford the spenny one (or it just wasn’t practical for the filthy bugger) and she was going to scowl and hate it until she got her own way.
Yes and I reckon she's burned a lot of bridges due to unprofessionalism and also if she treated LJC like shite (which I reckon she did) then word of that will have spread like wildfire.
Hard agree with that. Her asinine ramblings are bad enough, but Christ on a bike, her 'poetry '.
Jack, look up the poem, 'School's Out' by W H Davies. The chaotic end of the school day, is succinctly described in the first 8 words.
You couldn't describe something in less than 800, because you're really not as clever as you like to think you are.
Completely agree. I just went back to the article and pulled out only her direct quotes. It is incredible what she comes out with. It's all there, all the grifting, the lies and spunking money up the wall. Spoilered cos long.
“Every single one of those people trying to get in touch with me thought I’d relapsed. My AA sponsor came round and tried to get me up, but I just couldn’t wake. The first thing I did was ring my sponsor and say, ‘I promise to God I haven’t relapsed.’”
“I’ve just been overdoing it recently. Everybody’s been saying, ‘You need to slow down.’”
“Two years ago if I’d sat down on my bed and fallen asleep and woken up hours later, I would have just gone, duck it, got a bottle of whisky and emerged a month later.”
“I cried. I just cried my eyes out. I thought everyone was going to be really angry. I couldn’t stop crying the whole way. The cab driver must have thought I was running away from home.”
“Sorry I’m roaming around in a romper suit, like an overgrown baby. I had a blast, lying in the bath in the nude, covered in bleeping pennies!” … “No, I wasn’t, but my tit kept falling out of my swimsuit and I was fishing copper coins out of my arse crack at one point.”
“I’m starving. I’m going for spring rolls and prawn crackers and then a big curry.”
“I found what I loved, which is whisky, and it very nearly killed me,” “This time two years ago, I was a wreck. My liver was packing up, my kidneys were hurting, my skin was grey, my hair was falling out.”
“One of the things about being in recovery is you sit down and assess your life. You do what we call a moral inventory. You go over five years at a time, and identify things you’ve done, things other people have done, and you look for the clues.”
“From a very young age I’ve had a self-destruct button.”
“I only realised what middle class looked like when I lived with Allegra. She’s lovely, and we’re still good friends. But I’d sit round the table with all her friends going, ‘duck me, I don’t belong here.’”
“Everyone thought I was going to get 15 A* GCSEs and be a doctor.” “I got really depressed and had severe anorexia. I stopped trying at school. My parents said, ‘You need to start eating otherwise you’re going to die.’”
“When I got pregnant, it was like the switch flicked and I thought, this isn’t about me any more; this baby needs feeding. I was with a friend, and we went round Asda and it was like what I imagine being on an acid trip is like. We put everything into my trolley that I hadn’t allowed myself to enjoy for years and I got ginormously fat – steak pies followed by cherry pies.”
“Something like 3,000 people applied and they recruited 12. I didn’t get in.” “I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in the fire service, whereas the day before I couldn’t have cared less.” “Really, I wanted the opportunity to turn it down.”
“I loved every single aspect of it. I didn’t think I would, because it’s disciplined, authoritarian and male-dominated. You’ve got to polish your shoes and iron creases in your epaulettes. That structure and discipline was exactly what I needed.” “I can be very calm in a crisis. If the occasion calls for it, I can click into being very organised, methodical and analytical. And I can still iron a shirt in 30 seconds flat.”
“It’s ironic, because I said, ‘Don’t pursue it because I don’t want to end up in the papers.’ I didn’t want the attention.”
“You know if you put a frog in boiling water and gradually turn up the heat, it doesn’t realise. Well, it was like that. Just a big decline without me fully realising. I kept thinking, tomorrow I’ll get a job, tomorrow I’ll go into town and hand my CV out, and people will say, ‘Ah yes you’re exactly what we’re looking for.’”
“It had taken me four or five weeks to pluck up the courage to go. The first time, one of the women looked at me and I looked at her. She went to church with my mum. She said, ‘Your mum will be devastated.’ And I said, ‘You can’t tell anyone. You haven’t seen me.’ She said, ‘Your parents will help you,’ and I said, ‘They can’t know.’”
“Because … I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I had had a good job and I’d fucked it. I was embarrassed that I’d ended up not being able to provide for my son, and I was worried that if I told a soul, the walls would come crumbling down. Because my parents had fostered for most of my childhood, I’d grown up with this fear that if I ever had a child, he would be taken into care. That I would be an unfit mother. I’d grown up with almost 100 children revolving through my childhood home. So in my head, nearly every kid went into care because nearly every kid I came across was in the care system. I was terrified that if I told anyone, my son would be taken into care.”
“They were really upset. They came round with two Sainsbury’s bags for life. It was like Christmas. All this stuff that we hadn’t had for ages. There was a box of Coco Pops! I sat there like a child and ate bowl after bowl.”
“The first time I was on TV, the makeup artist used Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour cream on my lips because it stops them sticking to your teeth, and she gave me a tube because I liked it so much. And that became something I had to do before I went on stage or TV. It meant, I’m ready now. And somewhere along the way the Elizabeth Arden got replaced with a drink.”
“I worked at a nightclub, and towards the end of the shift I’d just be necking spirits. Mine-sweeping the bar. Disgusting!”
“Yep. A bottle, a bottle and a half.”
“If I did morning television, I would take a Sprite bottle or a Thermos flask and fill it with booze, and I’d sit in the car on the way drinking it. I thought I had to have a drink to give an interview, to be on camera. It became ingrained – I can’t do this without doing that.”
“I’m not sure I’ll even be a woman in the future.”
“They sent me pictures of nooses. One of them threatened to come to do me over with a piano wire at my book signing. I came across a conversation on Twitter where two of them openly speculated about what vulnerabilities they can lean on to pressure me to top myself.”
“They think I’m a fake. They think I was never really poor, my parents are millionaires, I’m a millionaire, and I made all of this up for a bit of attention.”
“But if I disappear, they’ve won, haven’t they? They’ve got what they wanted,” “And there is a reason why I’m doing what I do after 10 years, because I think some people find it a bit bleeping useful.” “Oh yes. Absolutely. Either into obscurity. Or into the sea. Or off the end of a pier.”
“Yes: ‘She’s a fraud, she’s a liar, a thief, a chancer.’ I’ve heard it all.”
“I’ve been an absolute chaos. I’ve been very ill, physically and mentally.”
“I was drinking a lot so I was losing work left, right and centre because I was unreliable and chaotic. I was spending money.”
“Oh my God! You can go online and buy furniture. That’s what I used to do. I’d go online absolutely shitfaced and buy nice furniture.”
“Sideboards.” “Four!” “One day after the next. It turned up and I didn’t like it. And then I got another and another and another.” “Course I didn’t have space.” “About £300 each. Like I say, I’m a chaos.”
“I earned nigh on a million quid and didn’t want anyone knowing,” “Entirely fabricated nonsense – I’m just incredibly disorganised about paperwork, and for many years found dealing with financial matters and/or government departments extremely traumatic. I’d earned around £25,000 that year.”
“I would have spent it.”
“A couple of things happened to get things as precarious as they were. My partner and I split up a couple of weeks after I had the lease on our house. It costs me £3,300 a month to run that house, and that is on a tight budget, without turning the heating on and a single lightbulb.”
“I loved that. Loved it too much. It’s basically legal heroin. It’s handed out by the doctor, and it’s different if the doctor gives it to you, isn’t it?” “No, it’s not bleeping different. It’s an opiate. I was taking them for 18 months.”
“I wasn’t honest about what I was drinking and taking because, again, I thought somebody might take my son into care if I said I drank a bottle and a half of whisky a day and took 40 tramadol…Forty, at the end…Yes, how I’m not dead is beyond me.” “I took eight, then another eight, then another … I remember counting them the day before – 40, that was five days’ worth. I didn’t care if I died. I crashed out, fell over in the bathroom, gave myself a fractured eye socket, a broken nose. I suspected I might not wake up again.”
“It was liberating as duck. We just sat and talked. I opted out of the world of television, trolls, the lot. And after I left I didn’t want to go back. I thought maybe this is the end of the road for me and I’ll train as a therapist. Anyway, I drifted back, didn’t I?”
“I’ll get a good job, a good contract, but I don’t know when the next thing is so I don’t know how long I’ve got to spread that for. It’s all right now. I’m not poor.”
“No, we had nothing. But it was also because I was writing on frugal living. I signed a book deal between then and now. It wasn’t a life-changing amount but it was a situation-changing amount, which meant I could go from, ‘duck me, how am I ending up back here again?’ to, ‘OK, I can breathe for a bit.’”
“I was struggling to stay alive. Sending out recipe cards didn’t even register. I didn’t care when I went to bed if I didn’t wake up the next morning. There was no future planning. I didn’t have the guts to off myself, but I was drinking and using drugs in a way that was going to get me in the end.”
“I’ve got to accept people have been witnessing my behaviour in public for 10 years, so it’s going to take quite a long time for people to go, ‘Things are different now.’”
“One of the reasons I’m being so frank about the depths I plumbed is not to use it as an excuse but to go, that was then. I’m aware I was a bleeping mess and I’ve made a lot of mistakes along the way, and I’m trying to put that right. By the time you get to steps eight and nine of the 12-step programme, you’ve made a list of all the people you’ve harmed and you’re willing to make amends to them all. And then step nine you go and make your amends.”
“Oh my good God, Simon, it’s absolutely relentless. It’s like a hydra, you chop a head off something and five more have grown in its place. I’m like, can I just sum it up by going, ‘Sorry for everything, everyone, for ever?’”
“I’ve just been overdoing it recently. Everybody’s been saying, ‘You need to slow down.’”
“Two years ago if I’d sat down on my bed and fallen asleep and woken up hours later, I would have just gone, duck it, got a bottle of whisky and emerged a month later.”
“I cried. I just cried my eyes out. I thought everyone was going to be really angry. I couldn’t stop crying the whole way. The cab driver must have thought I was running away from home.”
“Sorry I’m roaming around in a romper suit, like an overgrown baby. I had a blast, lying in the bath in the nude, covered in bleeping pennies!” … “No, I wasn’t, but my tit kept falling out of my swimsuit and I was fishing copper coins out of my arse crack at one point.”
“I’m starving. I’m going for spring rolls and prawn crackers and then a big curry.”
“I found what I loved, which is whisky, and it very nearly killed me,” “This time two years ago, I was a wreck. My liver was packing up, my kidneys were hurting, my skin was grey, my hair was falling out.”
“One of the things about being in recovery is you sit down and assess your life. You do what we call a moral inventory. You go over five years at a time, and identify things you’ve done, things other people have done, and you look for the clues.”
“From a very young age I’ve had a self-destruct button.”
“I only realised what middle class looked like when I lived with Allegra. She’s lovely, and we’re still good friends. But I’d sit round the table with all her friends going, ‘duck me, I don’t belong here.’”
“Everyone thought I was going to get 15 A* GCSEs and be a doctor.” “I got really depressed and had severe anorexia. I stopped trying at school. My parents said, ‘You need to start eating otherwise you’re going to die.’”
“When I got pregnant, it was like the switch flicked and I thought, this isn’t about me any more; this baby needs feeding. I was with a friend, and we went round Asda and it was like what I imagine being on an acid trip is like. We put everything into my trolley that I hadn’t allowed myself to enjoy for years and I got ginormously fat – steak pies followed by cherry pies.”
“Something like 3,000 people applied and they recruited 12. I didn’t get in.” “I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in the fire service, whereas the day before I couldn’t have cared less.” “Really, I wanted the opportunity to turn it down.”
“I loved every single aspect of it. I didn’t think I would, because it’s disciplined, authoritarian and male-dominated. You’ve got to polish your shoes and iron creases in your epaulettes. That structure and discipline was exactly what I needed.” “I can be very calm in a crisis. If the occasion calls for it, I can click into being very organised, methodical and analytical. And I can still iron a shirt in 30 seconds flat.”
“It’s ironic, because I said, ‘Don’t pursue it because I don’t want to end up in the papers.’ I didn’t want the attention.”
“You know if you put a frog in boiling water and gradually turn up the heat, it doesn’t realise. Well, it was like that. Just a big decline without me fully realising. I kept thinking, tomorrow I’ll get a job, tomorrow I’ll go into town and hand my CV out, and people will say, ‘Ah yes you’re exactly what we’re looking for.’”
“It had taken me four or five weeks to pluck up the courage to go. The first time, one of the women looked at me and I looked at her. She went to church with my mum. She said, ‘Your mum will be devastated.’ And I said, ‘You can’t tell anyone. You haven’t seen me.’ She said, ‘Your parents will help you,’ and I said, ‘They can’t know.’”
“Because … I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I had had a good job and I’d fucked it. I was embarrassed that I’d ended up not being able to provide for my son, and I was worried that if I told a soul, the walls would come crumbling down. Because my parents had fostered for most of my childhood, I’d grown up with this fear that if I ever had a child, he would be taken into care. That I would be an unfit mother. I’d grown up with almost 100 children revolving through my childhood home. So in my head, nearly every kid went into care because nearly every kid I came across was in the care system. I was terrified that if I told anyone, my son would be taken into care.”
“They were really upset. They came round with two Sainsbury’s bags for life. It was like Christmas. All this stuff that we hadn’t had for ages. There was a box of Coco Pops! I sat there like a child and ate bowl after bowl.”
“The first time I was on TV, the makeup artist used Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour cream on my lips because it stops them sticking to your teeth, and she gave me a tube because I liked it so much. And that became something I had to do before I went on stage or TV. It meant, I’m ready now. And somewhere along the way the Elizabeth Arden got replaced with a drink.”
“I worked at a nightclub, and towards the end of the shift I’d just be necking spirits. Mine-sweeping the bar. Disgusting!”
“Yep. A bottle, a bottle and a half.”
“If I did morning television, I would take a Sprite bottle or a Thermos flask and fill it with booze, and I’d sit in the car on the way drinking it. I thought I had to have a drink to give an interview, to be on camera. It became ingrained – I can’t do this without doing that.”
“I’m not sure I’ll even be a woman in the future.”
“They sent me pictures of nooses. One of them threatened to come to do me over with a piano wire at my book signing. I came across a conversation on Twitter where two of them openly speculated about what vulnerabilities they can lean on to pressure me to top myself.”
“They think I’m a fake. They think I was never really poor, my parents are millionaires, I’m a millionaire, and I made all of this up for a bit of attention.”
“But if I disappear, they’ve won, haven’t they? They’ve got what they wanted,” “And there is a reason why I’m doing what I do after 10 years, because I think some people find it a bit bleeping useful.” “Oh yes. Absolutely. Either into obscurity. Or into the sea. Or off the end of a pier.”
“Yes: ‘She’s a fraud, she’s a liar, a thief, a chancer.’ I’ve heard it all.”
“I’ve been an absolute chaos. I’ve been very ill, physically and mentally.”
“I was drinking a lot so I was losing work left, right and centre because I was unreliable and chaotic. I was spending money.”
“Oh my God! You can go online and buy furniture. That’s what I used to do. I’d go online absolutely shitfaced and buy nice furniture.”
“Sideboards.” “Four!” “One day after the next. It turned up and I didn’t like it. And then I got another and another and another.” “Course I didn’t have space.” “About £300 each. Like I say, I’m a chaos.”
“I earned nigh on a million quid and didn’t want anyone knowing,” “Entirely fabricated nonsense – I’m just incredibly disorganised about paperwork, and for many years found dealing with financial matters and/or government departments extremely traumatic. I’d earned around £25,000 that year.”
“I would have spent it.”
“A couple of things happened to get things as precarious as they were. My partner and I split up a couple of weeks after I had the lease on our house. It costs me £3,300 a month to run that house, and that is on a tight budget, without turning the heating on and a single lightbulb.”
“I loved that. Loved it too much. It’s basically legal heroin. It’s handed out by the doctor, and it’s different if the doctor gives it to you, isn’t it?” “No, it’s not bleeping different. It’s an opiate. I was taking them for 18 months.”
“I wasn’t honest about what I was drinking and taking because, again, I thought somebody might take my son into care if I said I drank a bottle and a half of whisky a day and took 40 tramadol…Forty, at the end…Yes, how I’m not dead is beyond me.” “I took eight, then another eight, then another … I remember counting them the day before – 40, that was five days’ worth. I didn’t care if I died. I crashed out, fell over in the bathroom, gave myself a fractured eye socket, a broken nose. I suspected I might not wake up again.”
“It was liberating as duck. We just sat and talked. I opted out of the world of television, trolls, the lot. And after I left I didn’t want to go back. I thought maybe this is the end of the road for me and I’ll train as a therapist. Anyway, I drifted back, didn’t I?”
“I’ll get a good job, a good contract, but I don’t know when the next thing is so I don’t know how long I’ve got to spread that for. It’s all right now. I’m not poor.”
“No, we had nothing. But it was also because I was writing on frugal living. I signed a book deal between then and now. It wasn’t a life-changing amount but it was a situation-changing amount, which meant I could go from, ‘duck me, how am I ending up back here again?’ to, ‘OK, I can breathe for a bit.’”
“I was struggling to stay alive. Sending out recipe cards didn’t even register. I didn’t care when I went to bed if I didn’t wake up the next morning. There was no future planning. I didn’t have the guts to off myself, but I was drinking and using drugs in a way that was going to get me in the end.”
“I’ve got to accept people have been witnessing my behaviour in public for 10 years, so it’s going to take quite a long time for people to go, ‘Things are different now.’”
“One of the reasons I’m being so frank about the depths I plumbed is not to use it as an excuse but to go, that was then. I’m aware I was a bleeping mess and I’ve made a lot of mistakes along the way, and I’m trying to put that right. By the time you get to steps eight and nine of the 12-step programme, you’ve made a list of all the people you’ve harmed and you’re willing to make amends to them all. And then step nine you go and make your amends.”
“Oh my good God, Simon, it’s absolutely relentless. It’s like a hydra, you chop a head off something and five more have grown in its place. I’m like, can I just sum it up by going, ‘Sorry for everything, everyone, for ever?’”
Too little too late. Jack can't cook, has no ability or interest in cooking. She can't write, I doubt if she speaks Greek. Too many lies for too long. Little lies, big lies, harmless lies, damaging lies, pointless lies, manipulative lies. Lies going back well before any fame.
I don't think there is anything she can do to save her career, just a slow fade in to obscurity, yet another mea culpa not going to cut it. Approaching her late thirties all of her original value as a ' young single mum' has gone and she hasn't managed to move on in to any meaningful way.
first rehearsal?
the moment he first heard she'd been booked?
Yeah, those six sizes are 10, 12, small, medium, 4 and a half and 34D. twit.
Also, I don’t own a wardrobe.
twit.
Also, I don’t own a wardrobe.
twit.
See this is why I'm at the point where I don't believe a single word that comes out of her mouth.
I would pay money if someone would put together a highlights reel of Jack's 'best bits' from DKL.Spot on Moldystem. I’m pretty sure his patience was wearing thin in the v first episode where he was asking the presenters for food saving tips. One of them mentioned using their freezer. SMOTF said to guest “do you have a freezer” and she honked in reply “well Matt it’s embarrassing cos I have 3 freezers” to which SMOTH said to the viewers “there you go. Have a freezer. Have three” whilst looking visibly unimpressed
The part where she wants people to look at her lasagne instead of talking to people who actually know what they are doing, sadly lives rent free in my head.
on 
Obviously it's a lie but there's no way on earth a foodbank worker would ever say something like that. People attending a FB for the first time are already at rock bottom, what kind of hole would shame them like that? They just wouldn't.
As if anyone at any point in her life has told her to stop she is doing too much. bleeping lazy goat.
She will never. I agree it would be the way to go but it would require a level of self awareness and emotional intelligence she just doesn’t possess.
That bedroom looks so bleeping grubby. It's quite clearly a nice, large room with a lot of windows, and what she actually wants is for everyone to tell her how great it looks, when it actually looks like the backdrop to a dystopian horror film. The sofa looks bleeping filthy.
I think most narcs are like this - they think everyone should be fascinated the minutiae of their lives. It's quite telling though that at no point has she had any actual friends to bore with this shite.
She provides no useful information, ever, and there is never any evidence that anything she's done is collaborative or for anyone else's benefit but her own. I think the worst part, though, is that there's no evidence that she finds joy in anything at all.
Everything, her home, her "work", her books, her son, her pets, her family, her various partners, her more than adequate homes, her "DIY", her compulsive shopping, all the clothes, makeup, spoons, crockery, all of it is either something to criticise and complain about, victimise herself with, seek pity for or use for attention.
None of it is a substitute for the gaping void where her personality and conscience should be though, is it?
She's detestable.
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