NIGELLA THE TANK ENGINE!!

Nigella Express - Nigella the Tank Engine more like. She is certainly piling on the pounds with those quick and snappy meals, shopped for in Waitrose, Eaton Square Branch and Wholefoods of Kensington, but cooked in a South London Studio pretending to be her smart London home. Like Maggie May of the song,( the original, not the Rod Stewart deflowerer), her assets certainly swayed from side to side. Not even her denim jacket (dark denim, more slimming) could conceal her vast bulk.

Now don't get me wrong, I used to adore Nigella. she was my food guru. I have all her books - not the cake one, why bake while Mr Kipling is still alive, nor this latest effort, but all the others. I have lived by her recipes, hung on her every word, marvelled at her shiny hair and her fortitude in the face of adversity, seen her meet with triumph and disaster (oops! that's another Mr Kipling) and congratulated her on a speedy marriage to her late husband's best friend - and a millionaire too - how lucky can you get? But I am drawing the line at this latest effort.

I mean, why is Nigella so busy that she doesn't even have time to stuff a mushroom? she has to rush around in a London Taxi, shopping and rush back to knock up a fabulous meal for what look like the T.V crew, in less time than it takes for me to put the cat out. No sign of hubby Lord Charles, just the usual suspects oohing and aahing over the menu.

Rather like the fascination of the snake for the mongoose, I was compelled to watch tonight's programme. Maybe she might have turned off the technicolour smile, dropped the kindergarden teacher explanations or at the very least, lost a few kilos since last week, but no, she is still as ghastly as ever. What has turned this once glam and appealing woman into a Blue Peter presenter. Who know's the secret of the Black Magic Box? Nigella does, she just ate it.

And so to the food. All I can say is I am glad no invitations to 'supper' have been forthcoming, because I would not want to eat the muck she served up tonight. Two bowls of sick, one green, one white, surrounded by tortilla chips, some yellow, some blue ( what is the point of those I ask you?).
Followed by Margarita ice cream. Yes, you heard me correctly, Margarita ice cream. Take half a bottle of Tequila (luckily without the worm), half a bottle of Cointreau, a pint of double cream, a kilo of icing sugar and pass the sick bag please. What were you thinking, girl?

I switched off before the end. I couldn't bear to see her making a midnight raid on the fridge in a pair of voluminous parachute silk pyjamas. How are the fallen mighty!!