"How do I hate thee - let me count the ways...."

I know most of you think I'm a really angry person, actually - I'm not... at least I don't think so. At home - I'm pretty happy and content - and when things are going well and work is good - I'm pretty chipper. Of course - there are things that wind me up - just like everyone else - and as a general rule, they are things out of my control - so I feel fairly justified that frustration, which leads to anger... is kind of acceptable - get it out of the system, so to speak.

I do try to avoid things, people, places etc that wind me up - usually because I know I can't do anything about them and it's only me that suffers - but I do occasionally get drawn to things that fill me with rage - a bit like an addiction, perhaps I get off on the hormones?

Later today I'm going to post something serious that makes me really angry, but I have to be in the right frame of mind because it's really, really nasty, so I thought I's wean myself with a bit of something light, frothy and infuriating.

Nigella Fucking Lawson-Diamond-Saatchi.

Obviously, I've never met her - nor do I think I ever shall, although one of the regular readers here ( and a good friend ) has - and is constantly bemused by my pathological hatred of the wench.

I've followed this woman's career for decades - she was, at one time - lauded as the new face of intelligent feminism - beauty, brains and political influence. I think my initial interest was because I thought her name was made up by her dad ( Nigel ) and that was pretty tacky - but eventually I discovered that Nigella was an old name and had celtic derivations.

She could have been and done anything - she had all the opportunities the world, and our particular society, has to offer - but she's chosen another path. Make-up, clothes, cooking, simpering sexual and social stereotypes transmuted to revenue streams and franchised financial cash-cows.

Everything about her is fake, dishonest, derived and deceitful. As time goes by she becomes more extreme in the parody of her constructed personality. This week - watching her simper, shimmy, swoon and slither through the cardboard cutout set pieces of her show was gob-smacking. Every gesture, every spoonful of syrupy, sexual hysteria was a carefully constructed patchwork of parody, pastiche and pantomime. Everything, every detail is a lie. That's not her house - her kitchen, her real friends ( Except Maria Mc Whatsername who probably begs for the exposure ) - the glass jars that she keeps her chocolate biscuits in was devoid of crumbs - it was a prop. I watched her once extole the virtues of her own range of storage jars - "I use them all the time" she preened, but was unable to fit her hand inside to remove the contents - even her tits look like product placements.

If you actually ate the shit she cooks you would be exhausted, bankrupt and either fat or dead ( her 'little bit of butter - not too much' was the size of a baby's head ). Do you know anyone who has a walk in 'must-have storage cupboard'... or anyone who has 'packets and packets' of expensive imported spiced meats. Any storage cupboard I've ever seen is full of piled up boxes and forgotten packets - hers looked like a Damien Hirst.

How fucking DARE she show me how to 'create' leftover bits of pasta by taking perfectly good pasta and smashing it up to create broken bits - I don't believe for one moment that she ever goes out and buys miss-fit pasta pieces and bin-ends ( when we were kids, we knew the shame of broken biscuits in half price packets and mis-shape chocolates, I bet her fucking kids don't )

Did you see that party of 'teenagers' - most of whom came from a casting agency and all looked like they had been professionally styled - all with iphones and ipads at the table - waiting for yummy mummy to feed them - fucking little spoilt cunts, her teen-tease daughter as been re-styled to death since last time and looked like a puppy fat Jodie March. What fantasy world is this, and why the fuck are we lapping it all up, as if it were some achievable goal to live like that.

I wonder how many over the hill, frustrated housewives spent the weekend searching the shops for twinkly fairy lights to spice up their kitchens, because its 'soooo Nigella' - last time I saw a set like that was on the film 'Se7en'.

I suppose she serves some purpose, she's a channel for my anger and disgust and reminds me of everything I'm glad I'm not, and I'm delighted that I don't have people like this in my life - why would I want to..

Years ago she was a regular walk on distraction for the documentary that followed her first husbands battle with and eventual death from cancer of the throat. In one episode, shortly before he died, it was his birthday and they filmed the scene where she came in and gave him his birthday present. It was a brown paper carrier bag from Nicole Farhi with a grey jumper in it. The bag was the 'old' style that was only used for sale items or outlet stores, it wasn't wrapped or anything - just in the bag, and as he took it out the receipt fell, to the floor... that's the real Nigella, I suspect - all the sugar coated fancy wrapping bullshit is just for the paying punters. She should be on the comedy channel where she belongs.

Nigella is exactly the same a JordanKatiePrice - a product, a prostitute, and preening - manipulative, mendacious and artificial opportunist, selling every inch of her carefully constructed personality, marketing her kids, family, home, body - everything. Someone should get them together for a two hander - they could do Saturday Kitchen - I bet they'd get on like a house on fire.