LIZ JONES'S DIARY: In which I start to set boundaries
I hate people. Take the dog sitter. A local young man, a graduate. I've always been really nice to him. Tipped him.
When he dog sat while I was in Switzerland working (he doesn't have to walk, feed or medicate them; Nic does that), I said, 'Will £200 suffice?'
'Closer to £300 maybe?'
I sent it over.
I asked him again when I had to leave for work at 5am. 'You can turn up at 8am.'
He asked for £70, I sent £90.
So, for my mini break in Devon, I asked if he could sleep overnight with the dogs (Nic, whom I employ full time, refuses, as she has a cat 'who can't be left, she gets depressed').
I didn't hear back for weeks. So I texted. 'Can you dog sit next week or not?'
'Sorry, Liz. I've got bar work.'
Jesus. I'd love to be paid to sleep between 1,400-thread-count sheets under a John Atkinson blanket. He doesn't have to be a world-class writer.
Then I fell out with my friend.
I give, give, give, but then someone pushes me too far and I lose it
I'd arranged, and paid for, three nights at an apartment in Totnes, organic breakfast thrown in. It has a terrace, so she won't have to eat inside (she's scared of Covid).
Texting about getting there, she said she won't go on motorways or trains (the journey to Totnes is beautiful), and won't let me share the driving.
I suggested we stay at Thyme hotel in the Cotswolds on the way down to break the journey. I would pay. I arranged for dinner and breakfast outside.
I got this last night: 'Central England is a nightmare. I was looking forward to the drive down through Wales.
The rolling hills, the little villages, stopping for lunch outside. I still won't go into a shop without a mask.
Can't we stay at Thyme on the way back?'
I'm afraid I lost it.
'Hi. You have your rules, but I have mine. I won't eat s**t food, and I won't stay in a dump. I can't spend days in Wales, I have a job, and dogs and horses.
'I've had a difficult year. I travel to London and back every week: 500 miles in one day. I'm exhausted and stressed. Gracie has just died and Mini nearly died. I need a rest.
'I won't stay somewhere horrible, the same as you insist on wearing a mask and won't eat inside. Thyme is hugely popular and won't be able to change my booking at the last minute.'
I don't understand why people treat me like this, with no consideration for what I want.
Even when I pay for everything. I give, give, give, but then someone pushes me too far and I lose it.
I decide to go on my own, with Mini. I book a train, a taxi at Totnes. My friend tries to cancel the three nights she had booked at Soar Mill Cove Hotel along the coast. They had taken the entire amount – £1,500 – from her account.
They refuse, even though they could easily rebook. 'Unfortunately, we don't do refunds.*
The deposit will be on hold to rebook with us in the next 12 months.' As if you would ever want to go there, with that sort of attitude. It's a holiday, not prison.
I'm seeing two flats in London on Friday. I've asked David if he wants to view them with me.
I've booked a hotel as I have a breakfast meeting the next day and don't own a helicopter. Does he want to join me for dinner?
'I'd love to. I want to see as much of you as I can. You can keep your T-shirt on.'
Why remind me I have scars from a breast reduction? So, given he was grumpy the last time we met, saying my hearing aids are annoying and moaning his toast wasn't buttered at Soho House, I decide to push back.
The new me replies. 'Just to be clear, it's just dinner. No need to bring a toothbrush.' Let's see if I've lost him as well when I put up boundaries, which is what every therapist I've ever seen tells me to do.
He replies. 'It's fine, darling. In fact, that takes the pressure away. Looking forward to seeing you.'
And we think it's only women who feel the pressure to be good enough.
*When I used my Daily Mail email they agreed to refund £460
