He was cooking a steak (yeuch!) last night. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

As anybody that cares about the environment and the planet as much as I do would know; meat is murder! If Morrissey taught me anything (apart from how terrible it is for people in the north) he taught me that.

The only reasons a man should send an animal to sleep (and it’s always a man. They’re all rapists too) is because it’s gotten poorly or it’s too old or it’s made of fur. Certainly not because you want to eat it!

So to teach Jonty a lesson for being a murderer I decided to spice up his steak!

I found a bottle of methylated spirits (which is this wicked purple colour by the way and goes great with my new corduroy pants from Chanel!) and after sniffing it and nearly choking, I decided that it would make his steak taste really yucky and maybe make him think twice about eating steak again!

In fairness how was I supposed to know that methylated spirits would catch fire?

When the ambulance man had put out Jonty’s eyebrows he got really cross and said I could have killed him! What does he mean? I read the bottle and it said inflammable on the side – which clearly means the opposite of flammable, right? – if companies don’t label things properly what am I supposed to do?

It’s about time somebody did something to protect people like me from dangerous things. I might start a campaign.

Jonty’s due out of hospital tomorrow. He can make his own way home.

I remember Jonty saying he was going out to the bin to throw my mango peelings away – for some reason he seems to think the sofa is a precious object – anyway I heard a loud crack and thought nothing of it.

Anyway it wasn’t until later – I was watching the last of my Sky+ recordings from over Christmas – that I noticed he wasn’t around. When I did though and saw him lounging around outside, boy was I giggling. Doesn’t he look so daft lying there in the snow!

He must have been gone for about four hours when I took this photo, look at his little face, it’s all blue.

It got me thinking his face is the exact same shade of blue as this amazing cardigan I saw for sale in Jigsaw the other day. It was so beautiful and only £125! Jonty in his usual mean spirited manner refused to get it. I’d “had enough” seemingly. Don’t know what his idea of enough is? £1,123.74? Humbug.

I think it’s important to get nice things. Goodness knows I put a lot of effort into coming up with brilliant, inspired fashion ideas all the time. It’s not as if I don’t work hard for the money my Daddy sends me every month.

I deserve nice things.

I am a bit cross though, Jonty hasn’t even come up to give me a back rub or anything, I’ve been sitting here typing this post and all the while he’s lazing about outside. Lazy Jonty.

You wouldn’t believe the rest of my Christmas though.

Obviously I had tonnes of presents, everybody was so very kind to me. Except Jonty he only got me a few bits!

Unfortunately Jonty is a bit of an old skinflint when it comes to getting presents and being Christmassy in general. I totalled up all the gifts he got me and it only just scraped over the £1,000 mark (£1,123.74, pathetic) which kind of spoiled the whole spirit of Christmas for me.

Ruining the spirit of Christmas was not the only thing Jonty did wrong. Oh no. He blew up our oven trying to cook a turkey. A turkey! I wanted everyone to have a Tofu joint or a nut roast but Jonty was insistant that everyone wanted turkey. In the end my Dad told Jonty to shut up, what’s even funnier is that he was so angry and flustered he called him Libby!

Exactly what I though would happen in the end, happened. Jonty was left red faced when we had loads of turkey left over. Clearly my mummy and Daddy only ate it out of pity, I could see them eyeing up my nut cutlets enviously all through dinner. They’d narrow their eyes and glare at me, clearly jealous!

Anyway for the sake of a quiet life I let them give him all their pretend praise. I could tell that he’d ruined their Christmas lunch.

Leaving aside the lunch debacle, after I’d had a small cry in the bathroom I decided to put on one of my outfits, go down to see everyone and watch the end of the Royle Family with them. I wished I hadn’t.

Looking at all those fat, poor people made me feel sick. And I hate Royle Family documentaries!

Completing the horrors of the day was a game of charades. Now I love charades normally, I was the queen of charades at Uni. Everyone was mean to me though and refused to get my charades on purpose.

Unfortunately that’s what Jonty’s selfish behaviour had done you see. Made everyone all upset.

Not one of them got my charade of Altar Of Narcis by Takato Yamamoto. They we’re being purposefully obtuse. Jonty told me after that it was because they were all annoyed at me for crying through the Royle Family. It’s not my fault if I’m emotional and they’re all nasty and spiteful, besides which it was him that made me cry in the first place!

To be fair though they did all gather round after and say sorry. I had to threaten to hurt myself before they did though. I think that tells you everything you need to know about them.

So that’s my Christmas. It was rubbish.

For those of you that were worried, things have calmed down a bit for Jonty, after intervention by David Bowie (I’ll tell you about it all very soon!), Bono’s calmed down a bit and more or less stopped threatening him. Which is nice.

Of course we still get the occasional phone call late at night. You know what Bono’s like, he has a few pints of Guinness and then starts ranting down the phone about wiping out third world debt and having sexual relations with the Corrs.

Unfortunately though I think Jonty’s been a bit, well, damaged by the past few months of harassment and it’s opened the door to forces beyond our control.

I suppose, for the record, I should recount the events of Thursday night. It was very odd and very unlike Jonty.

I’d just finished watching all the episodes of Strictly Come Dancing and X Factor I’d Sky plussed last week and Jonty was sitting beside me reading a book. Anyway I was just about to start watching the last four weeks Hollyoaks and I asked Jonty to pop off into the kitchen and make me a cup of tea and then it happened.

He stood up and started shouting and swearing!

The language was terrible, he was saying things like leave me the F alone, why can’t you do it your F’ing self and I just want a bit of F’ing peace!

It was this outburst that convinced me he was being interfered with by aliens and they were obviously making him do things he didn’t want to. Once I’d thought about it I started remembering all sorts of incidents where he’d had similar fits.

There was the time when we’d been out shopping on the Saturday and I was trying on dresses. It was just as I asked him whether he preferred this (gorgeous All Saints) dress in grey or black. He was very reticent to answer, eventually I dragged out of him that he thought the grey one was nice – which was clearly wrong, can you imagine me in grey? Please!

I told him that I thought the black one was clearly better and it was then he went all weird, his eyes glazed over and he started muttering under his breath. In hindsight he was clearly being communicated with then because it wasn’t soon after that – when I asked him whether I should get a three inch heel or a four inch heel in fact – that he screamed at me.

It’s obvious now but at the time I just didn’t notice it.

There was another time, one of my busy days, where I’d been non-stop all day. I mean really non-stop. I’d had a brunch meeting at 11:00, a lunch meeting at 1:00 and then I’d had to go and have my nails and my hair done at 3:00! I didn’t get home ’till gone 5:00!

Anyway when Jonty eventually came home that day – at around 8:00 – I was having a little lie down because of all the stress. I heard him come in so I shouted down for him to get me a cup of tea and come and give me a foot rub.

Well! You’d think I’d asked him to climb Mount Everett! The swearing and such was crazy! Once again he was clearly being brain tinkered.

Anyway after a bit of research on the Internet I discovered that the best thing to do if you’re being got at by aliens is to put a cork up your bottom and wear a hat made of tin foil. Or even better a tin foil suit!

Don’t worry I used Bacofoil so it’s still a label.

We’ve been away for a couple of weeks – we’ve been in hiding after the whole Bono thing blew up – and no sooner were we back when that happened.

This photo was taken earlier today and shows Jonty – in jeans and shirt by The Gap – soiling himself at our front door when two of Bono’s friends came around to persuade him to go to Africa and ended up smashing his twelve string.

Since Jonty told Bono to get bent a couple of weeks ago he’s been getting non-stop answerphone messages from him. Some of them were quite explicit. I’ve transcribed a couple, just in case the police get involved.

To be sure will you not come out to Africa, think of the craic. Bob’s (Geldof) coming. We’ve hired a mini-van and I’ve booked you seats on the ferry. It’d be a real shame if I wasted the price of ticket and had to break yer fuppin’ knee caps now wouldn’t it?

Me again you fupping baxter. I’m getting really tired of getting your voicemail. You’re streesing out The Edge, he’s worried for all them little brown babies that yer lettin’ slip into the wrong hands. He’s hardly touched his Weetabix, and you know how much he likes his Weetabix and stabbing up Scotsmen. Call me.

Pick up the phone you dirty fecker. I know you’re there. (pause) I know where you live Jonty, remember that.

And most bizarrely he got this one at two AM:

I know the Pope.

Anyway once the men left the door Jonty went to the police to report Bono.

Turns out they said they couldn’t do anything without evidence, Jonty played the policeman the voicemails – which he’d saved, clever Jonty.

After he listened to the voicemails the policeman said that he still hadn’t found what he was looking for – which Jonty thought was an odd thing to say – and that he’d need to get a colleague to listen to them.

So Jonty waited while another policeman listened to the voicemails. After the second policeman listened to them he said that Bono moved in mysterious ways and that he could be so cruel sometimes. This policeman then ushered in two more policemen.

When they’d listened to them one said that if Jonty wanted to be safe he should stay faraway, so close then the other one said he should go somewhere where the streets have no name or the city of blinding lights.

By this point there were four policeman all at the front desk laughing like idiots. It wasn’t until another policeman came through and said that it was a kind of magic that they all stopped laughing. No wonder this country is in such a terrible state.

Jonty says he thinks the police are being paid off in drugs by Paul McGuinness but I’ve not to worry as he has a plan! He’s going to call Bono’s arch nemesis; David Bowie.

Clever, clever Jonty.

It was all I could do after he rescued me from the clutches of Max – who I’ve discovered is a bit of a filth monger. Jonty has explained to me that what I thought to be relaxing coffee – Row Hip Knoll – is in fact a drug. A rather nasty drug that makes people all limp and weak, I can’t bring myself to tell you what the papers call it.

My spelling is completely wrong too. It’s Rohypnol.

Anyway today’s photo shows Jonty shouting at Bono – on speakerphone – in a shirt from Burton’s.

For those that don’t know Bono is from a band called U2 and is a bit of a crusader on the quiet seemingly! Jonty’s been getting harassed by him for a couple of weeks now, Bono wants Jonty to join him and (Sir) Bob Geldof on a trip across Africa to save some little brown orphans from adoption by Madonna and Angelina Jolie.

Jonty really doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t like the heat and thinks that Africa smells a bit. Not only that but he’s especially annoyed that Bono has shown so little consideration to the fact that a new series of Peep Show has started on Channel 4.

It’s not that he’s not interested in saving little brown orphans from the clutches of Madonna and Angelina Jolie – or The Harpies as Jonty calls them – it’s just that when there’s top drawer comedy on the telly, it’s not much fun trekking across Africa fending off muscly women that should know better.

Jonty says that Madonna needs the blood of between three and four small brown orphans a day in order to retain her ability to fly. It’s not that he’s not concerned but come on people it’s Peep Show for flip’s sake!

Anyway I’ve decided to be a bit more caring, so for Jonty’s sake I’ll be doing this blog on Monday’s, Wednesday’s and Friday’s from now on. I’ll let you know how it goes with Bono.

I took it off his friend Iggy’s Facebook page. Just look at him, he’s distraught! I think he’s wearing jeans and a shirt from The Gap.

You can tell just by his facial expression that he’s really missing me, there’s something in his eyes, isn’t there?

This whole ‘I’m having a great time, eating pizza and watching Hancock!’ thing is such a cover story, what he really means is ‘I’m watching L’Âge d’or, drinking Pernod, eating olives and crying over my lost love.’. It’s so tragic.

All the while he’s wallowing in self pity, I’m here in London with Maxie and his new friends living the high life! Some of his friends are a bit odd though, last night after I woke up from my snooze – I got so sleepy all of a sudden! – I was trying to have a chat with Martin about Lulu Guinness and he thought I was talking about a drink?

Very odd.

Anyway, I must have missed all the fun because after I woke up from my snooze practically everyone had left. How boring.

In positive news though, Maxie’s offered to take me for lunch tomorrow! Seems he’s made a little bit of cash himself recently. That should get his daddy off his back!

Today I left for London. Jonty’s behaviour has just become intolerable. Here are just a few of the things he’s done over the past week or so:

• Gotten blood on my car
• Put me at risk by tackling a burglar
• Kept me up all night by drumming (on khat)
• Ruined a piece of art I was working on

And to top it all last night I found him in bed with another woman! He told me some poppycock about him needing a special cuddle to get him off to sleep – he had the audacity to compare it to the sorts of cuddles that Maxie gives me. It’s made me very cross.

How can he think that the true bond of friendship that Maxie and I have – as kindred sensitive, artistic spirits – is anything like him lying in bed with some naked girl, who to the best of my knowledge isn’t even interested in art or fashion or being cool or anything like that?

When Maxie helps me relax after a hard days thinking about things, it’s done in a spiritual, almost cosmic way. Not like Jonty’s filthy rutting with this unartistic jezebel.

It’s becoming hard for me to concentrate on thinking up cool outfits to wear to all my important meetings, so I thought it for the best that I go away for a few days. Although I’ve only got £2,000 in the bank, so I might have to ask daddy for a bit more, I can’t be expected to relax and come up with great artistic ideas if I’m worrying about money the whole time I’m there.

Maxie’s said that I can stay in his flat for as long as I like. He’s even arranged for a few of his new friends – that he met through some new website he’s set up – to come around tonight to cheer me up. I’ve never met them before but he says that they’re all very spiritual like us, so it should be fun.

He even says he’s got my special coffee brewing already. Thoughtful Maxie, I don’t know why Eleise ever left him.

I left him for one day and he brought a strange women into our home and our bed! That bed should be sacrosanct. I’ve only ever been in that bed with Jonty.

Well, apart from when Maxie’s had to comfort me, which is normally only because I’ve been traumatised by something Jonty’s done.

I don’t know what he thought he was doing with that strumpet and I don’t know why he looks so pleased with himself. He said she’s a friend, like Maxie. I think he was trying to make a point though I don’t know what about.

That’s Jonty’s problem he’s never clear about things.

I wish Maxie was here, he’d know what to do. He’d probably help me relax with a Row Hip Knoll coffee – which I’ve looked for in Sainsbury’s but can’t for the life of me find.

Then again, that Row Hip Knoll coffee I had last night must have some funny side effects, because my bottom really hurt when I woke up this morning.

I’m going back to London I don’t care if I do miss my Tunisian crochet class, Maxie says he’s got a one armed, lesbian friend that runs a battered women’s refuge, I might stay there for awhile. At least they’ll understand me.

Not that it even matters but Jonty is wearing nothing but a stetson. God I hate him and his selfishness.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how he took it and quite frankly I don’t care.

It came with a rambling message:

But theory is one thing, practice is another. Idealism, which has a Utopian quality, is inappropriate in a world where corrupt interests abound and where there are many who go on all fours. The last sentence in the report, an added footnote – exterminate all the brutes – refers us to the dark other side of his identity, “the soul satiated with primitive emotions”; it shows a descent from high to low, and that his civilizer’s concern for the distressed savages has turned to hatred – a Jekyll-to-Hyde turn. Of particular relevance in this respect is the significance of the portrait he has painted, the blindfolded torchbearer against the black background, which could be said to suggest, among other things, the simplicity of the ideal and the complexity of reality, the illusion of light and the truth of darkness. The monstrous prevails, and the human and artistic potential miscarries. There is a downward tug in Kurtz’s involvement with the wilderness and he descends into a brute existence. He is reduced to madness, and his aggressive impulses take control of him.

What the flip is that? Maxie reckons that he’s been reading his books again. It wouldn’t surprise me.

He’s got loads of books and I don’t mean cool books like Rankin’s Heidilicious or retro books like Madonna’s Sex but boring stuff with no pictures and just words!

It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he’d gone mad from reading. I mean it can’t be healthy can it?

Maxie says I should stay here for as long as I want but I can’t really, I’ve already missed Yogacise tonight because of Jonty, I don’t want to miss my Reiki healing session do I? Then again Maxie has offered to take me to Camden tomorrow and daddy has given me a few thousand for expenses, and really Jonty does need punishing.

Life is full of so many hard choices.

Anyway I’ll decide in the morning Maxie’s made me a Row Hip Knoll coffee – which is supposed to be so calming – so I’d better go and drink it. You see this is another reason for me to stay, you can only get Kenco in Nottingham, they’ve got all the cool brands down here.

Oh, almost forgot, it would appear that Jonty’s wearing a plain white t-shirt from Asda by George.

It’s hard for me to talk about this – because I’m sensitive and artistic – but I’m going to let you know what happened.

Yesterday afternoon, just as I got back from Jazzercise, I came in the house to hear Jonty, upstairs, swearing.

He was using all the biggies. It was ‘F’ this and ‘F’ that and ‘Come here you F-ing C!’, you know really horrid stuff. I didn’t know what was going on! At first I thought those burglars might have come back for my Miles Davis LPs but I could see them on top of my vintage record player, so I knew they were safe.

I was confused.

After calling to Jonty a few times – and after getting no response – I went upstairs.

It was like a scene from a horror film. There was blood everywhere and Jonty was battering Midnight MacGuffin and his poor defenceless children with his cricket bat. I was screaming, Jonty was in a proper rage and there were bits of Midnight MacGuffin all over the bedroom.

It turns out Midnight MacGuffin – completely innocently and no doubt in self defence – had leapt out of the wardrobe on to Jonty’s face. That’s obviously rubbish, he was hardly bleeding.

Jonty claims that rats spread disease and shouldn’t be kept as pets and that – get this – it’s my fault Midnight MacGuffin is dead, because I shouldn’t have kept him in a shoebox! He is such an idiot hasn’t he seen Stuart Little?

I’m typing this on my Sony Vaio using my T-Mobile 3G card on the way to London. I’m going to stay with Maxie for a few days.

The murderer is wearing a red shirt from T J Maxx, Manhattan and a pair of black jeans from The Gap

As a result of his outrageous tantrum he’s ruined the piece I was working on, called In The Steps Of Genius.

When I found him this morning in that crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs he claimed he fell over the shoes in the middle of the night when he was coming down for some Robinsons! This is clearly a lie.

He obviously trashed up my piece out of jealousy of my, not inconsiderable, artistic talent. I spent almost forty minutes setting up that piece last night to have him come along and ruin it out of spite!

To top it all off he’s still there! Moaning about not being able to feel his legs. What about me, can’t he feel my pain? I was doing that piece for exhibition in Maxie’s gallery, it could have been the start of something big for me. Selfish Jonty.

I will post the pictures of In The Steps Of Genius when I finally set it all up again.

I may have to go and stay with Maxie for a bit.