Tonight I switched on the TV to see another over-made-up starlet in a tweed skirt, pulled tight at the waist, seductively dip her ‘crunch to pack a punch’ bread into a runny egg. And promptly switched it off again.
Cookery programmes. All desperately trying to be cool, all with a book to accompany the series and now on
One good cook a week is enough for me (ooh err). But now there’s one every night and they’re all too thin, too groomed and too perfectly scripted. And don’t get me started on the camera angles (all that zoom isn't good for me labyrinthitis).
And talking to someone on the other side of the room? What’s that about? HEY LOVE, WE’RE OVER ‘ERE!
At least Nigella knew what women (and men) wanted. Food for sex, food for comfort and food for PMS. Simples. Don't give me this fancy shit.
I’m giving up on cookery programmes, TV producers think of something new will you.
You had me at Nigella.