LIZ JONES David 2.0 Said I Am Too Thin And Should Be Vegetarian, Not Vegan

It was exciting, being driven at speed in a Ferrari to a country house hotel for dinner. But me being me, all I could think was, ‘Mind the hedgehogs!’ And that the lack of a gear stick (the controls are around the steering wheel) is decidedly un-macho, not something Steve McQueen would countenance at all.

David 2.0 came to stay for the weekend. I had put him off but caved as I thought he could give me insider info on Neil, the cheating, lying b*****d, as he was the one who introduced us.

To his credit, David 2.0 brought flowers and a bottle of chablis. Neil, on the other hand, had brought… Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

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Before David 2.0’s arrival, I’m afraid I ‘staged’: lit candles, stuck chrysanthemums in vases, ditched the Next glittery rugs. It’s who I am. I’d even phoned ahead to ensure we got a corner banquette, not a hard chair in the middle. We ordered. It was all very nice but…

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He said I am ‘too thin’. That I should be vegetarian, not vegan. That when we’d had dinner before I hadn’t heard a word and could barely walk as I’d worn heels. This time, I didn’t bother.

When I said that Teddy is reactive to other dogs, he said I should ‘train him. If he reacts, put him in the car’. I’ve employed, at great expense, a dog trainer and enlisted the help of Nic, who has worked for me for nearly 20 years and happens to be an animal behaviourist.

Anyway, I grilled him about the man who broke my heart. Guests need to earn their keep, after all. ‘You published his name and a picture,’ he said. ‘No wonder he retreated. He was ruined. Destroyed.’

‘I did not publish his photo.’

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‘OK, well, you published his first name and an illustration that anyone could tell was him.’

‘That’s ridiculous. Anyway, the Russian bimbos he dated don’t read newspapers. They’re too busy polishing their engagement rings.’

Him: ‘Woe betide any man who crosses you. You once wrote I’m a dwarf with a small penis.’

I nearly exploded. ‘I bet you £1,000 I did not publish that.’

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He showed me a text. A text is hardly a piece in a national newspaper. I’d been upset about a comment online and texted him, ‘Wouldn’t you be upset if someone wrote…?’ It was hypothetical.

Also, instead of staying in his en suite, he used the shower in the main bathroom and MY TOWEL! When he had a pristine bale of towels in his bedroom.

David 2.0 seemed to be on Neil’s side, though protested not. Again, he called me materialistic when he drives a Ferrari with a personalised number plate. He doubted Neil gave me an STI.

‘It was tonsillitis,’ he counselled.

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‘I was hospitalised. Use your imagination, Sunshine.’

He asked why I fell in love so quickly, said that Neil was quiet, cold, had no sense of humour, was merely handsome. ‘He love-bombed me. Said we needed to see each other every weekend, that I have great skin. I felt my luck had changed. That I deserved a lovely man. And why,’ this as I paid for dinner (he paid last time), ‘did he never put his stubby hand in his wallet?’

‘He has no money.’

‘Then don’t order oysters and steak and rape my mini bar!’

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He asked what the sex was like. ‘The same thing each time. I told him he could do anything he wanted, and his only response was, “Why do you always say that?” Because it’s boring!’

The only nugget David 2.0 gave me was that he had paid for the hotel Neil stayed in on the night we met at a party. ‘Did he stump up for any extras?’

‘I can’t remember.’ Honestly. Men.

The next morning, he went to put his mug on the Carrara marble of my prep table. When I told him off, he said, ‘Well, give me a coaster.’

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We went for breakfast at the glorious Raby Castle just down the road and I couldn’t help but wonder: why do I let men invade my personal space? I know all I need to know. I did nothing wrong. Neil, on the other hand, was a predator who hurt the person who was nice to him.

I couldn’t help it. I asked the one question all women want answered.

‘Did he talk about me?’

The answer? ‘I’m sorry, no. Never.’

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JONES MOANS… WHAT LIZ LOATHES THIS WEEK

• You book a table at a restaurant, then a few days before you are due to arrive, you are asked to confirm, otherwise your table could be reassigned. Then, after your visit, another email, asking for a review. Go away!
• Uber Eats. Delete the app and you won’t need fat jabs.