She puts the bleep in countryside. I hope David is all right. He seems pretty vulnerable.
Liz Jones #5 The podcast's an unmitigated disaster, about time the Diary was put out to pasture
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I know there's evidence (there is, isn't there?) that she has actually bought The Granny Flat/annexe/vicarage outbuilding, but I wouldn't be surprised if all this - David, her proposal, the mortgage (despite her having NO money at all - none), is all just a load of b***sh*t. Then of course there's her 'profound deafness', her PTSD, her depression, her dizziness which means she can't turn her head to reverse her car and wasn't there some reason why she can't wear a seatbelt? Des she actually exist or is she one of those Artificial Intelligence (intelligence - HAH!) creations?
Sure who'd give her a mortgage? She's too old to be considered, no?
I dunno I'm with you, I reckon it's 95% lies anyway.
Her original "romance" (10 years ago? 12?) was engineered by her via a column about her 2 ½ "exes" and why they hadn't been in touch.
Scrace, the poor sap, fell for it and Juggo started her traditional MO: love-bombing whilst making sure he was alienating his friends and colleagues. She caused his business to fail and he was diminished to the extent that he would routinely burst into tears.
Once he was reduced to a patsy, she was done with him, but karma bit her on the arse by bankrupting her at more or less the same time.
So, there was a weird period when she rented and was evicted from a flat in Camden, fetched up somewhere else and then installed Bebb in a ghastly shack in the middle of nowhere and took up the rental at Easby.
There was all sorts of tit about the Fake Rock Star, the heir to the retail fortune (remember him? Drove a Ferrari and publicly outed her as batshit)... all engineered again to get a rise out of Scrase and it all failed.
The 'proposal' was the last throw of the dice and, when he didn't bite this time, she had to bail tooty sweety!
---
She has bought the annexe, I suspect with a huge deposit (the land in Somerset) and a v small mortgage. She's churning out dross on Mail+ two or three times a week to pay the bank. I wonder if she's putting anything aside for her tax bill?!
I remember the fake rock star but I have no memory of the retail heir. Was it another real person that she lied about, like Jim Kerr?
Nope, he was a gambling addict who lived in Southend (I think). Actually went on Twatter to say she was mad as a sack of badgers and they deffo weren't a couple!
Why the duck does she have kitchen knives and crockery that is never used?! It can't be for show as she even stuffs mugs away in drawers.
Stating the blindingly obvious here, but she's a bloody mess, isn't she?
I know, and so bizzarely possessive! The hippy used the crypto-fascist crockery; quelle catastrophe!
My Mum does, she has a whole big chest in the dining room full of crockery, glasses and cutlery that only comes out at Christmas and then everyone is terrified they are going to break it, it's madness, as we her children don't want after she has gone, and we keep telling her to use and enjoy it whilst she can as she can't take it with her, but no no, must be kept for best, she has the matching coffee and tea set complete with sugar bowl and milk jugs, serving platers, serving dishes, cake slice and plate the list is endless.
I can see both sides. For your mum, Cowpat, some of it is possibly generational, possibly worry about replacing broken bits, sentimentality or just have one nice set for events?
For Liz it just appears to be snobbery and consumerism. Especially as there’s nothing particularly interesting about the ones she’s whinging about, that you couldn’t get in affordable shops - I’ve seen very similar in JYSK.
For Liz it just appears to be snobbery and consumerism. Especially as there’s nothing particularly interesting about the ones she’s whinging about, that you couldn’t get in affordable shops - I’ve seen very similar in JYSK.
She was never going to marry David. All a lie just for column inches, much like some of the other drivel she comes out with. I read her column each week, as it is so ludicrous. David has dodged a bullet with that one. Who the **** would want to shag that bag of bones? Each time she mentions about her having had sex it turns my stomach. Every man should avoid this woman, just reading her column alone would be enough to put most of them off. I often wonder what ever happened to Nigel from Dorset. He responded every week in the MoS comments section. 
Hope he saw the light.
Hope he saw the light.More drivel behind the paywall.
What happened when we sent LIZ JONES on a blind date - with a man who had never heard of her!
Liz Jones
I am a disaster when it comes to men. I didn't get my first boyfriend until I was in my 30s, lost my virginity at 32 and was famously disastrously married for five years to a man 15 years my junior.
Throughout it all I harboured a crush on a man I'd met at a party in 1983 — something I wouldn't get over for 40 largely unrequited years.
To make matters worse, I went on to date The Crush on and off for a decade — he'd got in touch in 2013, by then divorced and broken, after seeing me in the newspaper — and I proposed to him on this year's Leap Day... only to retract my offer of marriage weeks later when I got cold feet, picturing him smoking, wriggling in bed and making crumbs.
For me, a relationship has always been a fantasy that never lived up to the nuts and bolts of living with a man. I'd have to wear make-up each day, get dressed, be waxed, be cheerful. It was all so exhausting.
But could Femail turn the tide and find me a blind date to change all that? I have reached a point where I feel I need support from someone who will share the load. A grown up, who won't want anything from me.
For me, a relationship has always been a fantasy that never lived up to the nuts and bolts of living with a man
Liz, 65
VITAL STATISTICS
Divorced, recently single.
CURRENT ROLE
Journalist and author.
WOULD LIKE TO MEET
A man who is solvent, handsome and helpful.
I have always gone for men who are inferior, not just in earnings but in status, personality, drive, ambition, looks. I have manipulated men with gifts so they like me, and I retain the power.
I think Femail might have more chance of success choosing me a man, as I readily admit the relationships I've chosen have always exhausted me and never, ever worked.
Unfortunately, arriving at the Ivy restaurant in West London, I realise the key problem when going on a date: we take ourselves along. I have deliberately kept on the borrowed pink Zara dress worn for the photoshoot, a desperate attempt to be less me by not wearing my own clothes.
As someone who has been anorexic from the age of 11, continued to starve myself into my 30s, was even sectioned, close to death, I still feel too hideous to look in a mirror, or to be naked, ever, in front of a man.
I feel sorry for my blind date, Jeremy, because even before he has opened his mouth the odds are stacked against him.
Jeremy is certainly great on paper. I had read, many times, his crib sheet emailed to me the day before: 6ft 1in, solvent, lives in North London (my spiritual home), grown-up children, well travelled, went to public school, used to play rugby, owns a dog, and is a widower.
As he greets me, I notice he isn't unattractive, with a full head of salt and pepper hair, nice build, open face. A catch for the 99 per cent of women who don't have Steve McQueen as a benchmark.
Jeremy stands as I arrive, which is a good sign. Even his posture tells me he likes to wear the trousers. I have so many insecurities, am so damaged, I find the prospect of a burly piece of manhood frightening.
I know within milliseconds he would not tolerate me keeping my top on during sex in order to hide my cosmetic surgery scars. He wouldn't accept my insane work ethic (he's about to retire), or my devotion to my dogs and horses, who always, always come first.
Within moments, he is telling me that a relationship without sex is not what he wants. 'If you don't feel that way about a guy it's never going to work... I want to be cuddled. I miss love. I'm lonely.'
Oh God, the pressure to perform, to be attractive, to have sex again...
I tell him everyone in my life has taken advantage of my largesse: siblings, friends, partners, employees. He says he doesn't want or need this at all. And despite a successful career as a marketing director, he isn't into material things. 'All I want is a home with a woman in it, no arguments, and someone to go travelling with.' (I'm thinking, 'I can't leave Mini Puppy! She's 15!')
He talks movingly about his second wife, who was a nurse. She died of ovarian cancer in 2017 when their twins were just 15, and he hasn't been in a relationship since.
He is close to his four children, and on good terms with his first wife, whom he married aged 23. They divorced when he was 30. You see? Empathetic! He's a proper grown-up.
But my nose is a little out of joint because he has no idea who I am, or what I do, which is spill my guts for money. Though he had been warned that he was going on a date with a Daily Mail journalist, I had apparently not featured on his radar.
Now, most people would think this a good thing. A clean slate. But me turning up for a date without the man knowing I was a glossy magazine editor, award-winning columnist and former war correspondent is like showing up without make-up, or designer clothes. I am naked, ordinary, judged only on what happens now.
It's a conundrum, though, as when a man has done his homework, I accuse them of being a stalker. They can't win. I don't want them to have seen my before and after facelift photos. Then there are all the confessions — the articles about being declared bankrupt, for example. Back in 2011, I admitted stealing my ex-boyfriend's sperm in a desperate attempt to conceive in my early 40s.
If a man has read my articles and books, he always assumes any reviews he himself gets in print will be glowing. This is rarely the case. He will also assure me he has a sense of humour, which is only until I criticise his car, height, conversation. Another thing I have found is that these men all believe they can 'tame' me, not understanding my job as a writer comes first.
As for Jeremy, he doesn't stop talking, and when I do manage to interrupt, he doesn't listen (the noisy restaurant doesn't help). I have told him that I'm deaf, but no questions are forthcoming, and he doesn't slow down. He has a slight lisp, too, which makes it hard for me to understand him.
I tell him I'm completing on a house purchase in the Yorkshire Dales in a few days and show him a photo — but again zero interest.
He doesn't seem to get my jokes either. Or maybe I'm not that funny. I begin to get depressed, to drift off and picture my pyjamas. A couple more teeny red flags. We go to order, and I mention I'm vegan. 'That's OK,' he says, as if I need permission. He only eats fish and vegetables due to a health issue. I meanly ask if he has seen My Octopus Teacher, a poignant documentary in which an octopus forges a friendship with a filmmaker; he hasn't.
We head back, after two hours, to the Mail studios to shoot our video. He is asked if he wants to see me again, and replies: 'Distance could be a problem'
W hen I tell him I used to be anorexic, he looks me up and down and says, 'Your body looks OK.' Does he think I'm fat? And when I talk about losing my pony, Benji, just before Christmas, he says that I really shouldn't get another horse, as 'What will happen when you're 80?' No woman wants to be reminded how old she is.
All my hopes and imaginings and tummy flutters are snuffed out. I'm gutted. Why on earth had I Hollywood waxed?
There is lots that's great, though. He has just been to Edinburgh for a wedding, and is about to head to Barcelona with his daughter where he will 'walk everywhere'. The world holds no fears for him; unlike my last boyfriend, The Crush.
I made Jeremy completely aware that this previous relationship was a disaster. I instantly regretted proposing on Leap Day; I'm too bruised by marriage to ever want to be financially entangled again.
But the thing is, while The Crush often told me I am beautiful, Jeremy doesn't pay me a single compliment, not even noticing my lovely hands (even my ghastly ex-husband agreed my feet and hands are perfect).
When I ask for his type, though, he says foxily, 'tall brunettes'. He touches my arm, once. Touch is a sign. He doesn't ask what my type is.
We head back, after two hours, to the Mail studios to shoot our video. He is asked if he wants to see me again, and replies: 'Distance could be a problem.' Come on, if A-Ha's Morten Harket asked me out, I wouldn't say, 'Hmm. Norway's a bit cold, and far.'
Asked if he sees a future, he replies, 'It is more Yes than No', at which I snap, 'That's a bit negative!' Even though I am unsure about him, about myself, I know, deep down, I am a catch... if only a man would snuffle hard enough. I have so many anecdotes, have led such an interesting life, am so passionate about so many things: animals, film, music.
Perhaps, as they say so often on Married At First Sight Australia, there's just no 'spaaark'.
As we leave, I moan to the video team that he hadn't even asked for my number, but apparently he did — I just hadn't heard him! I realise my deafness, as well as my body dysmorphia, has been a huge factor in my singleton status over the years. I miss what has been said, am nervous I've said the wrong thing. Even the one man who really loves me (The Crush) will roll his eyes if I ask for something to be repeated. I wager Jeremy wouldn't tolerate my peccadillos for long.
But on the train home, Jeremy has already texted twice, sending photos of his little dog. He later sends a WhatsApp picture of his bedside reading: The Story Of Jews (he's Jewish), The Intelligent Investor and We Danced On Our Desks, by Philip Norman.
Now, that last one is a puzzle, as it's a funny memoir about working at The Sunday Times Magazine in its heyday.
During our date, I had told Jeremy that's where I worked for many years — but he didn't allow me to regale him with anecdotes. He could have had the real-life book, right there!
And then he sends this text: 'When are you back in London so we can date?' Bingo! I have to admit a smile creases my face, thinking perhaps I'm not too old, it's not too late. That a normal, solvent, interesting man might like me. This small win comforts me hugely.
I am tempted to see Jeremy again; perhaps I really should date an adult I can't boss. After all, no man can ever live up to what we build in our heads, seduced as we are by Sex And The City, billboards, wedding websites. Not The Crush, not Jeremy, not anyone.
I've just asked Jeremy to Google me before he submits his verdict. I imagine he has already run a country mile...
LIZ'S VERDICT: 7/10
Jeremy, 65
VITAL STATISTICS
Widower, married twice. Two children from first marriage, 39 and 35, and twins aged 21.
CURRENT ROLE
Marketing Director.
WOULD LIKE TO MEET
I prefer slim brunettes.
I've been so disappointed using websites, apps or being set up by friends. So far, those helping me have always got it wrong
I am shallow looks-wise; I prefer beautiful women first and then their wisdom. Liz is a tall, slim woman who does not look her age.
But I can't say there was that 'wow I want to have sex with her!' feeling. Even so, I'm a gentleman, so of course I stood up to greet her and gave her a hug, telling her how lovely she looked.
Her first words were 'I need a drink' and she ordered a glass of champagne. I rarely drink — I ordered a sparkling water — but I don't worry about what other people like to indulge in.
Liz immediately struck me as an intelligent and well-read woman. We talked about the situation in Gaza; my son is serving in the Israeli army, so we had a thoughtful conversation about it.
She told me about her life as a journalist and the famous people she has met. Even though I live in London that sort of lifestyle isn't really of interest to me.
While she isn't particularly funny, she's a very good conversationalist. I can talk forever, and Liz is the same. It wasn't awkward at all.
I told her about my late wife. I was madly in love with her — maybe she was too perfect for me. Everyone said I would be ready to date after two to three years, but I wasn't.
It took me another year to contemplate having another relationship. I've been using a matchmaking service, but the women I'm attracted to aren't interested in me and vice versa.
I've been so disappointed using websites, apps or being set up by friends. So far, those helping me have always got it wrong. There is an insistence on matching me with women my age, when age is just one factor to consider. Men see compatibility differently from women.
So I was happy to let Femail have a go — and was open to dating a Daily Mail columnist. I like to keep my news intake broad, reading the Daily Mail and The Guardian online. I didn't think too much about who I would be matched with. When Liz explained she is newly single after having proposed earlier this year, I gently said that it was an error for her to have done that.
I'm a bit old-fashioned; it's not something for women to do. She didn't say so outright, but it sounds like it was a judgment error on her part.
Liz is a fascinating woman to spend time with, however she is set in her ways. She lives in the north of England and has dogs and horses. While there is nothing wrong with that, it means she will find it difficult to be spontaneous and travel.
I would be open to visiting her and she did stress she does spend three days a week in London.
Could we be more than friends? I don't think Liz flirted with me, unless I missed the signals — sometimes I haven't got a clue when women come on to me. Younger women do and they make it very obvious they're interested (and that's probably because they assume I'm rich and will look after them).
Liz asked me to Google her. While I only read one or two articles about her house purchase and proposal, I did come to the conclusion she's not ready to enter into another relationship so fresh out of her recent long-term one.
When we parted, I definitely thought she would make a brilliant friend. But I'm afraid Liz isn't my cup of tea.
I did ask for her number at the end of the date, and we texted a few times while she was on her way home to Yorkshire. Since then, though, I have messaged her twice but not heard back from her.
JEREMY'S VERDICT: 9/10
Interviews: SAMANTHA BRICK
What happened when we sent LIZ JONES on a blind date - with a man who had never heard of her!
Liz Jones
I am a disaster when it comes to men. I didn't get my first boyfriend until I was in my 30s, lost my virginity at 32 and was famously disastrously married for five years to a man 15 years my junior.
Throughout it all I harboured a crush on a man I'd met at a party in 1983 — something I wouldn't get over for 40 largely unrequited years.
To make matters worse, I went on to date The Crush on and off for a decade — he'd got in touch in 2013, by then divorced and broken, after seeing me in the newspaper — and I proposed to him on this year's Leap Day... only to retract my offer of marriage weeks later when I got cold feet, picturing him smoking, wriggling in bed and making crumbs.
For me, a relationship has always been a fantasy that never lived up to the nuts and bolts of living with a man. I'd have to wear make-up each day, get dressed, be waxed, be cheerful. It was all so exhausting.
But could Femail turn the tide and find me a blind date to change all that? I have reached a point where I feel I need support from someone who will share the load. A grown up, who won't want anything from me.
For me, a relationship has always been a fantasy that never lived up to the nuts and bolts of living with a man
Liz, 65
VITAL STATISTICS
Divorced, recently single.
CURRENT ROLE
Journalist and author.
WOULD LIKE TO MEET
A man who is solvent, handsome and helpful.
I have always gone for men who are inferior, not just in earnings but in status, personality, drive, ambition, looks. I have manipulated men with gifts so they like me, and I retain the power.
I think Femail might have more chance of success choosing me a man, as I readily admit the relationships I've chosen have always exhausted me and never, ever worked.
Unfortunately, arriving at the Ivy restaurant in West London, I realise the key problem when going on a date: we take ourselves along. I have deliberately kept on the borrowed pink Zara dress worn for the photoshoot, a desperate attempt to be less me by not wearing my own clothes.
As someone who has been anorexic from the age of 11, continued to starve myself into my 30s, was even sectioned, close to death, I still feel too hideous to look in a mirror, or to be naked, ever, in front of a man.
I feel sorry for my blind date, Jeremy, because even before he has opened his mouth the odds are stacked against him.
Jeremy is certainly great on paper. I had read, many times, his crib sheet emailed to me the day before: 6ft 1in, solvent, lives in North London (my spiritual home), grown-up children, well travelled, went to public school, used to play rugby, owns a dog, and is a widower.
As he greets me, I notice he isn't unattractive, with a full head of salt and pepper hair, nice build, open face. A catch for the 99 per cent of women who don't have Steve McQueen as a benchmark.
Jeremy stands as I arrive, which is a good sign. Even his posture tells me he likes to wear the trousers. I have so many insecurities, am so damaged, I find the prospect of a burly piece of manhood frightening.
I know within milliseconds he would not tolerate me keeping my top on during sex in order to hide my cosmetic surgery scars. He wouldn't accept my insane work ethic (he's about to retire), or my devotion to my dogs and horses, who always, always come first.
Within moments, he is telling me that a relationship without sex is not what he wants. 'If you don't feel that way about a guy it's never going to work... I want to be cuddled. I miss love. I'm lonely.'
Oh God, the pressure to perform, to be attractive, to have sex again...
I tell him everyone in my life has taken advantage of my largesse: siblings, friends, partners, employees. He says he doesn't want or need this at all. And despite a successful career as a marketing director, he isn't into material things. 'All I want is a home with a woman in it, no arguments, and someone to go travelling with.' (I'm thinking, 'I can't leave Mini Puppy! She's 15!')
He talks movingly about his second wife, who was a nurse. She died of ovarian cancer in 2017 when their twins were just 15, and he hasn't been in a relationship since.
He is close to his four children, and on good terms with his first wife, whom he married aged 23. They divorced when he was 30. You see? Empathetic! He's a proper grown-up.
But my nose is a little out of joint because he has no idea who I am, or what I do, which is spill my guts for money. Though he had been warned that he was going on a date with a Daily Mail journalist, I had apparently not featured on his radar.
Now, most people would think this a good thing. A clean slate. But me turning up for a date without the man knowing I was a glossy magazine editor, award-winning columnist and former war correspondent is like showing up without make-up, or designer clothes. I am naked, ordinary, judged only on what happens now.
It's a conundrum, though, as when a man has done his homework, I accuse them of being a stalker. They can't win. I don't want them to have seen my before and after facelift photos. Then there are all the confessions — the articles about being declared bankrupt, for example. Back in 2011, I admitted stealing my ex-boyfriend's sperm in a desperate attempt to conceive in my early 40s.
If a man has read my articles and books, he always assumes any reviews he himself gets in print will be glowing. This is rarely the case. He will also assure me he has a sense of humour, which is only until I criticise his car, height, conversation. Another thing I have found is that these men all believe they can 'tame' me, not understanding my job as a writer comes first.
As for Jeremy, he doesn't stop talking, and when I do manage to interrupt, he doesn't listen (the noisy restaurant doesn't help). I have told him that I'm deaf, but no questions are forthcoming, and he doesn't slow down. He has a slight lisp, too, which makes it hard for me to understand him.
I tell him I'm completing on a house purchase in the Yorkshire Dales in a few days and show him a photo — but again zero interest.
He doesn't seem to get my jokes either. Or maybe I'm not that funny. I begin to get depressed, to drift off and picture my pyjamas. A couple more teeny red flags. We go to order, and I mention I'm vegan. 'That's OK,' he says, as if I need permission. He only eats fish and vegetables due to a health issue. I meanly ask if he has seen My Octopus Teacher, a poignant documentary in which an octopus forges a friendship with a filmmaker; he hasn't.
We head back, after two hours, to the Mail studios to shoot our video. He is asked if he wants to see me again, and replies: 'Distance could be a problem'
W hen I tell him I used to be anorexic, he looks me up and down and says, 'Your body looks OK.' Does he think I'm fat? And when I talk about losing my pony, Benji, just before Christmas, he says that I really shouldn't get another horse, as 'What will happen when you're 80?' No woman wants to be reminded how old she is.
All my hopes and imaginings and tummy flutters are snuffed out. I'm gutted. Why on earth had I Hollywood waxed?
There is lots that's great, though. He has just been to Edinburgh for a wedding, and is about to head to Barcelona with his daughter where he will 'walk everywhere'. The world holds no fears for him; unlike my last boyfriend, The Crush.
I made Jeremy completely aware that this previous relationship was a disaster. I instantly regretted proposing on Leap Day; I'm too bruised by marriage to ever want to be financially entangled again.
But the thing is, while The Crush often told me I am beautiful, Jeremy doesn't pay me a single compliment, not even noticing my lovely hands (even my ghastly ex-husband agreed my feet and hands are perfect).
When I ask for his type, though, he says foxily, 'tall brunettes'. He touches my arm, once. Touch is a sign. He doesn't ask what my type is.
We head back, after two hours, to the Mail studios to shoot our video. He is asked if he wants to see me again, and replies: 'Distance could be a problem.' Come on, if A-Ha's Morten Harket asked me out, I wouldn't say, 'Hmm. Norway's a bit cold, and far.'
Asked if he sees a future, he replies, 'It is more Yes than No', at which I snap, 'That's a bit negative!' Even though I am unsure about him, about myself, I know, deep down, I am a catch... if only a man would snuffle hard enough. I have so many anecdotes, have led such an interesting life, am so passionate about so many things: animals, film, music.
Perhaps, as they say so often on Married At First Sight Australia, there's just no 'spaaark'.
As we leave, I moan to the video team that he hadn't even asked for my number, but apparently he did — I just hadn't heard him! I realise my deafness, as well as my body dysmorphia, has been a huge factor in my singleton status over the years. I miss what has been said, am nervous I've said the wrong thing. Even the one man who really loves me (The Crush) will roll his eyes if I ask for something to be repeated. I wager Jeremy wouldn't tolerate my peccadillos for long.
But on the train home, Jeremy has already texted twice, sending photos of his little dog. He later sends a WhatsApp picture of his bedside reading: The Story Of Jews (he's Jewish), The Intelligent Investor and We Danced On Our Desks, by Philip Norman.
Now, that last one is a puzzle, as it's a funny memoir about working at The Sunday Times Magazine in its heyday.
During our date, I had told Jeremy that's where I worked for many years — but he didn't allow me to regale him with anecdotes. He could have had the real-life book, right there!
And then he sends this text: 'When are you back in London so we can date?' Bingo! I have to admit a smile creases my face, thinking perhaps I'm not too old, it's not too late. That a normal, solvent, interesting man might like me. This small win comforts me hugely.
I am tempted to see Jeremy again; perhaps I really should date an adult I can't boss. After all, no man can ever live up to what we build in our heads, seduced as we are by Sex And The City, billboards, wedding websites. Not The Crush, not Jeremy, not anyone.
I've just asked Jeremy to Google me before he submits his verdict. I imagine he has already run a country mile...
LIZ'S VERDICT: 7/10
Jeremy, 65
VITAL STATISTICS
Widower, married twice. Two children from first marriage, 39 and 35, and twins aged 21.
CURRENT ROLE
Marketing Director.
WOULD LIKE TO MEET
I prefer slim brunettes.
I've been so disappointed using websites, apps or being set up by friends. So far, those helping me have always got it wrong
I am shallow looks-wise; I prefer beautiful women first and then their wisdom. Liz is a tall, slim woman who does not look her age.
But I can't say there was that 'wow I want to have sex with her!' feeling. Even so, I'm a gentleman, so of course I stood up to greet her and gave her a hug, telling her how lovely she looked.
Her first words were 'I need a drink' and she ordered a glass of champagne. I rarely drink — I ordered a sparkling water — but I don't worry about what other people like to indulge in.
Liz immediately struck me as an intelligent and well-read woman. We talked about the situation in Gaza; my son is serving in the Israeli army, so we had a thoughtful conversation about it.
She told me about her life as a journalist and the famous people she has met. Even though I live in London that sort of lifestyle isn't really of interest to me.
While she isn't particularly funny, she's a very good conversationalist. I can talk forever, and Liz is the same. It wasn't awkward at all.
I told her about my late wife. I was madly in love with her — maybe she was too perfect for me. Everyone said I would be ready to date after two to three years, but I wasn't.
It took me another year to contemplate having another relationship. I've been using a matchmaking service, but the women I'm attracted to aren't interested in me and vice versa.
I've been so disappointed using websites, apps or being set up by friends. So far, those helping me have always got it wrong. There is an insistence on matching me with women my age, when age is just one factor to consider. Men see compatibility differently from women.
So I was happy to let Femail have a go — and was open to dating a Daily Mail columnist. I like to keep my news intake broad, reading the Daily Mail and The Guardian online. I didn't think too much about who I would be matched with. When Liz explained she is newly single after having proposed earlier this year, I gently said that it was an error for her to have done that.
I'm a bit old-fashioned; it's not something for women to do. She didn't say so outright, but it sounds like it was a judgment error on her part.
Liz is a fascinating woman to spend time with, however she is set in her ways. She lives in the north of England and has dogs and horses. While there is nothing wrong with that, it means she will find it difficult to be spontaneous and travel.
I would be open to visiting her and she did stress she does spend three days a week in London.
Could we be more than friends? I don't think Liz flirted with me, unless I missed the signals — sometimes I haven't got a clue when women come on to me. Younger women do and they make it very obvious they're interested (and that's probably because they assume I'm rich and will look after them).
Liz asked me to Google her. While I only read one or two articles about her house purchase and proposal, I did come to the conclusion she's not ready to enter into another relationship so fresh out of her recent long-term one.
When we parted, I definitely thought she would make a brilliant friend. But I'm afraid Liz isn't my cup of tea.
I did ask for her number at the end of the date, and we texted a few times while she was on her way home to Yorkshire. Since then, though, I have messaged her twice but not heard back from her.
JEREMY'S VERDICT: 9/10
Interviews: SAMANTHA BRICK
Classic Liz: she realises immediately that he's not for her and is pissed that he doesn't listen to her, she knows he's not interested in sex with a woman who keeps her overcoat on, she knows their lifestyles and requirements from a relationship are incompatible, but still she could get on board with dating him because he's wealthy.
She wants to date "a grown up" but she behaves like a silly teen when it comes to dating.
2/10Liz is still a knob
She wants to date "a grown up" but she behaves like a silly teen when it comes to dating.
2/10Liz is still a knob
Heehee 🫣
Oof her hair though, looks badly cut, badly dyed, and why so fluffy and tit after a few hours.
I thought Liz didn't drink?!!
Eurgh, I just watched the video - she keeps rolling her tongue around her mouth and licking her lips. I'm repulsed! Mind you, his pronounced lisp was quite weird too; shame (for entertainment purposes) that they didn't hit it off!