Jack Monroe #65 Green gages and ham

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So she got paid to do a cover quote for Stig Abell, the man who used to be the editor of the most hateful, disgusting right wing ‘newspaper’ The Sun, and is now the main presenter of a News UK Radio station owned by Rupert Murdoch which has the primary aim of selling more copies of the right wing paper The Times? Ok babe.

 
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The very same man who published the Katie Hopkins article which likened migrants to cockroaches? Surely not?
 
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First of all, love the way she says 'got that' rather than 'read that' - she clearly hoards books in the same way she hoards everything else, but owning a book is not the same as reading one.
Second of all, no one's suggesting THE ART OF WAR, ffs, Jack - that's some real Patrick Bateman shit. They're mentioning it because they've noticed it in your book pile.
 
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With her hoarding, I'm reminded of that song from The Little Mermaid:

Look at this stuff
Isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?
Wouldn't you think I'm the girl
The girl who has ev'rything?
Look at this trove
Treasures untold
How many wonders can one cavern hold?
Lookin' around here you'd think
(Sure) she's got everything

I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty
I've got whozits and whatzits galore
(You want thingamabobs?
I got twenty)
But who cares?
No big deal
I want more


Fitting, isn't it?!
 
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Her house is an Aladdin’s Cave of possessions. ‘Got that!’

Just like one of those houses that used to fascinate me as a kid - where you’d go in because your mum was being neighbourly, or you were visiting granny, and the sheer amount of belongings was like looking at a treasure trove. I suspect she will not be showing the insides of her cupboard because (a) who needs to see 50,000 identical shirts and (b) she can’t close the doors properly due to the Westwood dresses bursting out. It’s what Viv would have wanted.

If she were so inclined, she could do a garage sale on her driveway and make a mint. No need for Patreon for at least a month.
 
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I didn't realise the dining table was Cotswold Co as well Seriously, for someone who tries to be so individual I find it odd that she must have walked into the shop and just ordered one of everything!
 
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Don’t forget the smeg(s) and the water rower
 
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I didn't realise the dining table was Cotswold Co as well Seriously, for someone who tries to be so individual I find it odd that she must have walked into the shop and just ordered one of everything!
But I thought her dining table was a chipped fomica/laminate affair?
 
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Those bookshelves make me shudder!!! What about Dewey Decimal or Library of Congress!!!!??? Also, I'm sitting looking at my own bookshelves...The majority of the spines are white.
 
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Those bookshelves make me shudder!!! What about Dewey Decimal or Library of Congress!!!!??? Also, I'm sitting looking at my own bookshelves...The majority of the spines are white.
Yes, absolutely x - wondered where all the boring non-brightly coloured books were? We have heaps of books but couldn’t get the colour-coordinated effect with ‘em. Makes me think she has A LOT more books stashed in the Tardis and these are just the pretty ones?

Sneaking suspicion she organised by colour in the first place just to have an eye-catching backdrop for all the TV spots she thought were coming her way during lockdown / after DKL
 
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Does she even have a bump in her nose? I've never noticed it. Why does she lie in the most obvious of ways

What are all the red books on the bottom right side? All the same book...? Why?
I honestly don't believe for a second that she reads even half as much as she claims to...all her 'reading's' done on Twitter (and Tattle.) The books are just an aesthetic so it doesn't matter for a second if they're the same books, as long as they're red
 

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There a slight difference between someone suggesting a book you already own and saying 'Yes, I have that one, it's wonderful/thought provoking/beautifully illustrated, isn't it?' and barking 'GOT' like they're fucking stickers from the Euro '98 Panini Collection.

But that seems to be the narrative running throughout.

House in nice area by the sea - GOT
Detached property - GOT
Garage - GOT
Summerhouse/shed - GOT
Wilderness area at back of garden - GOT
Cat of debatable parentage - GOT
Cotswold sideboard - GOT
Cotswold Dresser - GOT
SMEG - GOT
Westwood (Gawd Bless 'Er Soul) Dress - GOT
Art by super famous modern artist - GOT
Water Rower - GOT
Ridiculously oversized table - GOT
Expensive sofa - GOT
Giant bed - GOT
Fake wood wallpaper shit - GOT
Pizza oven (only used once) - GOT
Expensive knives - GOT
Nutribullet - GOT
(I suspect there's a Vitamix hidden somewhere)
Le Crueset - GOT
Most expensive slow cooker - GOT
Fortnightly flower delivery - GOT
Expensive Christmas Tree and decorations - GOT
Wrapping paper from Paperchase in their own Cotswold Storage Unit - GOT
Colour Coded books as per Instagram/Ben Fogle - GOT
Performative/Worthy Book Display - GOT
Fancy crockery - GOT
Ironically cheap IKEA shelving - GOT
Every trendy ingredient, spice or preserve - GOT
Complete disinterest in potato types and the fundamentals of cooking - GOT


I think the howling rage comes when she can't tick off a Middle Class Signifier. Like a dog, a house paid off, etc, etc.
 
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Oh my god. Can one of you talented fraus pick this up? I'd have a stab at it myself, only my writing ability is shoddy at best
Little Miss Shan’t
It was a bright, sunny morning and Little Miss Shan’t woke up to an email from her agent. The email was asking her to apologise publicly to all the many people on Twitter she had been grumbling and saying bad things about. Little Miss Shan’t crossed her arms. ‘Shan’t!’ she said to her cat.

She went downstairs and thought about what she was going to eat for breakfast. A little voice inside her head suggested that she cook something with texture, and to perhaps not take eleventy poorly-constructed photos of it. Little Miss Shan’t stamped her foot. ‘Shan’t!’ she said to the delivery man, who was dropping off another box of books and a new nutribullet and a third hammock from John Lewis.

Little Miss Shan’t went to sit in her large, quiet garden. She smelt the faint tang of the nearby seafront and watched as a small bird ferried twigs to and from its nest. She gazed at her rather nice-looking house in the morning sun, and another little voice inside her head suggested that perhaps she feels grateful for all that she has, which is far more than many, many people do not have. Little Miss Shan’t pondered this novel notion. She bit into her teething necklace and frowned. ‘Shan’t!’ she grumbled into the folds of her Vivienne Westwood dress.
 
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