LIZ JONES’ DIARY: An email shocked me deeply

My car, the Mercedes station wagon that a friend gave me, made a strange noise, so I turned off the engine. Since I am deaf, I am always on alert, I never hear the beep that warns me that I forgot to have the headlights on. I tried to restart it, nothing, then I couldn’t get the key out of the ignition.

I had it serviced just two weeks ago and it passed its MOT. I spent £1,800 on it just before Christmas. I called the AA.

It’s times like these that make you realize how alone you are in the world. I can’t call the friend who lent me her spare car because she won’t talk to me. The reason I wrote in this column that I was upset about the mini-break I planned for her birthday last summer turned into a logistical nightmare: it was apparently too far to go for three nights, blah blah blah.

I was angry, upset that my generosity had been criticized, and ended up going alone with Mini Puppy.

In response to my written apology for the above, she sent me an email saying she would write to me properly in a few days. I haven’t heard from her since. All this means is that she stood me up on my birthday, so

I sat there like a lemon, undecided whether to wait, order, or leave. My writing always gets me into trouble. David, despite saying he didn’t want to sign up for Mail+, seemed to know everything about the article I wrote a few weeks ago for a blind date.

“Can you imagine if I went on a blind date?” he moaned.

“David. It was a job. You and I weren’t even in touch at the time. I didn’t like him anyway.”

Last Friday I received an email that shocked me deeply.

I don’t have the courage to tell you what he said, but basically he was keeping me away from the family about some very sad news. The reason? I had posted a glowing and heartfelt eulogy here for my sister who passed away before Christmas.

None of my pleas, saying that I always took care of the younger ones in the family, even going so far as to leave my property to my nieces upon my death*, made any difference.

I was so upset that I emailed my late sister’s son, my nephew, and told him that as an artist (he makes films) it would be safer to stick to stories about aliens given the stigma I was facing.

Suddenly, my family decreed that there would be no more tweets in the world, no more Instagram posts, no more memoirs, no more biographies, no more biopics. Zadie Smith, how dare you write about your late father! Hell, even novels should be banned, even if they are loosely based on real life.

So, overall, I feel completely alone. When I received this shocking, Stasi-like email, I sent a message to David. Even though we had a fight because he contradicted everything I said, I still lean on him in times of sadness.

“Hey Dave, I just got a really crappy email,” I explained, then asked if he wanted to read it.

“OK, but I’m not looking forward to it.”

I pressed send. I waited.

Here’s his response: “I don’t think it’s crap at all.”

Me: “I’m always going against the grain. But I’m devastated! Just be a little understanding. It’s like you have no filter, no empathy!”

From him, silence.

I feel so wronged, so abused, so betrayed, so deceived about this that I am in a very dark place. And now the car won’t start.

The AA man pulls up. Turns out I had left it in reverse, which means it won’t start unless it’s parked, and you can’t get the key out. He put the car in park, and all was well. Ta da! “Never, ever tell anyone about this,” I told him, and he laughed.

Me? I’m still in shock. Everything I’ve done for my family, everything I’ve given, everything I’ve paid, and yet I wasn’t deemed worthy of knowing that my dear, funny brother died in January. I literally feel sick.

*My assistant and friend Nic also has to die first, as she will have to house the remaining animals. There are a lot of deaths in this column, I am so sorry. (Another terrible confession. I have a Tesco loyalty card. I have no idea what happened.)

Jones complains… What Liz hates this week

• Why is there never a phone number on a website? Ikea, publishers, etc.
• People who say to me, “I only work Tuesday through Friday.” My response is always, “What’s wrong with you?” and “How do you pay your bills?”
• Ebay. I bought a towel warmer, Parcelforce delivery included. I have received 76 messages from the seller asking for screenshots of where this is stated. I have messaged her six times. She is now asking me to get it back! If you are stupid, DO NOT SELL ON EBAY!

Contact Liz at lizjonesgoddess.com and find her at @lizjonesgoddess