LIZ JONES’S DIARY: In which I make my resolutions and vow I’ll never have sex with a man just two hours after meeting him…

You might think it’s a bit late to make New Year’s resolutions, but I’m writing this before Christmas, so in fact I am early.

I’m going to write a self-help book entitled Don’t Let Them. I am tired of being told to just let things go, to rise above, not call people to account. If someone gets on your nerves, is late without a valid excuse, is a jellyfish, selfish, self-obsessed, lazy, untidy, stupid, mean, rude, doesn’t say ‘Good morning’ or even look up when you go to pay in a shop, bloody well tell them off. Take no prisoners. 

Because if you Let Them, Mel Robbins (author of this bestselling book), all they do is go on to hurt someone else. Because I stood up to my last boyfriend, challenged him, refused to believe what he said, in fact terrified him to his weedy core, perhaps now his serial philandering will come to an end. He will think twice before ever hurting a woman again.

I will never again have sex with a man just two hours after meeting him.

If I ever stay in a hotel with a man (unlikely), I am going to pre-authorise his credit card.

I will only order his gift once I have seen what he has got me.

I am going to stop looking at cheap Italian houses on Instagram. It would be too hot for Mini.

I am never going to trust builders again. I will buy my own materials rather than let them charge me double, say materials can’t be returned when they can, say something is a ‘special order’ when it is nothing of the kind, change a fixed-labour price to hourly and not give me a receipt or a guarantee. I’m converting my outbuildings into a boot room and a cloakroom in the spring, so builders and plumbers beware. Just because I am a female living alone does not mean I wish to be ripped off, lied to and patronised.

Now that I can hear, I am going to learn to play the piano. When I told David 1.0 this, he said I should pick it up easily as ‘You’re a typist’. F**king cheek!

I will try not to see other people’s success trumpeted on Instagram as an indication that I’m failing.

I will only watch The Ballad Of Wallis Island twice a year.

Ditto We Live In Time.

I am going to a detox clinic in Ibiza. I can’t afford to drink crémant and I owe it to my animals to stay fit and healthy. I also am going to start resistance training and lifting weights, not just walking for miles. When I lunge I go down, but I don’t always come up.

I’m going to try to be more confident. Instead of picturing my Turkey teeth being kicked in or a head injury when I turn my horses out or get them in (they are both naughty, excitable mares), I am going to try to breathe by singing God Only Knows. A wildly expensive hobby should bring me joy, not abject terror. It can’t be just about poo-picking in a gale-force wind.

I’m going to write a novel. I have no agent or publisher, but it occurred to me: why do I need permission to write? Who else could write a compulsive column for a leading newspaper for 25 years? I’m going to start, tomorrow, as soon as I’ve done the washing, caught up with Emily In Paris and walked Teddy and Alice. I promise.

I am going to fly to Belfast to see my lovely friend Andrea. Resolutions shouldn’t be about denying ourselves, punishment. They should be about how to enjoy life, our friends, have a laugh, see new things. Not waste another year worrying.

I’m going to spend less time staring at my phone.

I’m going to try to make new friends. Actually, at my work Christmas party earlier this week, I said to a female writer I much admire, ‘Please be my friend!’

And she readily agreed.

I need to be weaned off Perelló almonds.

I’ve subscribed to an app called SmartyMe. Specifically, I am learning the history of art, so that when I am next in Tate Modern (for Tracey Emin’s private view in February), I won’t be sprinting past the paintings, hotfooting my way to the restaurant and the shop.

I need to tackle my allotment.

Saying ‘Yes!’ to everything is a thing, apparently. Well, not for me. I am going to learn how to say ‘no’.

WHAT LIZ LOATHED MOST IN 2025

• You’re in a queue at the petrol station and the person in front gets into their car having just bought their Christmas groceries and takes four years to start the engine.
• Omaze.
• ‘Any allergies?’ when you enter a restaurant.
• ‘Date of birth?’ when you arrive at the GP’s.
• Texts from the NHS saying I’m eligible for a Covid and flu jab.
• Octopus.