LIZ JONES’S DIARY

THE THREE COLLIES are currently sporting brightly coloured neckerchiefs. Not a fashion statement, but part of a de-stressing and calming system sent to me by Pet Remedy. You spray the scarf with essential oils, then secure it around the dog’s neck. I also have de-stressing pre-wash, shampoo and conditioner, and calming wipes. Unfortunately, when I went to wipe Gracie, she lay on her back and did a stress wee.

The reason for the above is that the dogs are always getting me into trouble. Yesterday, on a walk through a farmyard, a woman drove up in a van. Mini, who is the friendliest dog in the world, wiggled up to her. The woman stormed over to me, angry. ‘If your dog scratches my car, I am sending you the bill!’

I was in a pub the other weekend and, as it was 30 degrees, I took all the dogs inside. Just for one second, Mini’s lead slipped from my sweaty palm and she wandered off. I heard a voice booming from behind the bar: ‘Keep your dog on the leeeaaaad!!!!!’

I stood up, gathered the other two, and said, in the middle of the pub: ‘If you don’t want to see a border collie, don’t work in a pub in the Yorkshire Dales! Why not boom like that at parents letting their toddlers run around screaming?’ (I was never allowed to scream as a child.)

There is no question we should all live and let live a little more. It is rules, rules, rules. I was on the terrace at Rudding Park hotel the other day, working, the three dogs under the table. A man in a panama hat came over. ‘Hello,’ I said. I recognised him as someone I spotted earlier with a blind woman and a guide dog.

‘Your dogs barked uncontrollably earlier. That guide dog is trying to do his job. If it happens again, I am going to report you!’

What a nice approach. I bet his blind friend is popular. Gracie had barked once, to say hello. I’m sure the guide dog encounters other dogs all the time. If he can’t cope with barking, then he hasn’t been properly trained. Anyway, I thought I’d mess with the man’s panama’d head. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say? I’m profoundly deaf, and these are my listening dogs.’

I don’t know why people are so horrible to me. The woman in the Post Office, who rolled her eyes when I said I couldn’t hear the amount, and could she display it on her till. The ‘friend’ who stayed for a week at Christmas as she was renting her home out on Airbnb, and who never once asked, ‘What are we running out of?’ but merely disappeared, to return with a bottle of Coke and a supermarket loaf of sliced bread. I was so shocked at what she did to my immaculate spare room – mattress dragged to the floor, bed unmade, rubbish everywhere, half drunk glasses of water – I took a photo. I even tidy up when I’m staying in a hotel: rubbish in bin, towels in bath, tip for the cleaner. I blame my friend’s parents. They told her she could be anything she wants to be. She can’t. Success takes hard work, tenacity, luck. My mum just wanted me to survive to adulthood without being run over.

Anyway, feeling alone and friendless, no one to meet at a pub to watch England play in the semifinal, I got another email from HIM. ‘Why don’t you meet me in Sydney? I’m performing at XXXX, so do come backstage.’

I can’t do that! How can I meet someone in a foreign clime, when we haven’t even been on a date? He would be on a promise, certainly. What does ‘come backstage’ mean, exactly? Also and most importantly, I don’t look my best after a long-haul flight. I remember landing in Singapore, en route to Bali, and I stopped to buy some YSL Touche Eclat. ‘Would you like to put some on now?’ the sales assistant asked. Cheeky cow.

I can’t afford to fly to Sydney. This is just like when the Rock Star first emailed me having read my column, saying, ‘I hear you’ve gone off me,’ and offering me a free holiday in his villa. I couldn’t afford the hire car at the other end, so had to cry off, citing a sick cat. I emailed Nic. ‘Can you get me a free flight to Australia, has to be business class or I puff up. I need to see my sister in hospital.’

‘Copy that,’ she said. Though she knows something’s up…

IF YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE A BORDER COLLIE, DON’T WORK IN A PUB IN THE YORKSHIRE DALES!