I can’t bear Nigella Lawson. I really can’t. Once, I could ignore her and let her get on with being the nation’s favourite toffo chef. Now? Well, since Monday nights became terrible for TV, she’s been hijacking my living room and flirting with herself, her huge chest, her pots and pans and grinning like a simpleton. There’s something unsettling about her and her smile… a bit like getting a cuddle from a murderer.

Nigella Express (BBC2, Monday, 8.30pm) is an attempt to show us all that, apart from the fact Nigella is a very rich woman, with a scandalously wealthy husband and a frighteningly rich daddy, she’s just like us in every other aspect. Of course, she really isn’t. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. If I had, I would have slapped the lips from their face for being far too patronizing (in fairness, I’m thinking it’s only a matter of time before someone slaps me for being too irritating).

Last night, I watched and felt the hot flashes of anger course through me, as Lawson waddled her way around telling us about how to make fairly ordinary food in no time at all. The premise of the show was ‘workday entertaining’. What’s that?! you might ask. I’ve got no idea. For a supper that is suuuuper and casual (I was originally going to write ‘caaaadje’ but I’m not sure you’ll know what I mean) she makes a crab and avocado salad with a zesty Japanese dressing. Basically, a salad. I had to laugh when she innocently said “I call this my Japanese dressing because I use Japanese ingredients!” Ooooh! TITTER! I call my trousers ‘My Trousers’ as I wear them on my legs and they reach the floor!

Nigella’s food didn’t look all that great to me. It was quick because it was simple fodder. I’ve got nothing against simple grub, but I do resent the fact that it is served as some kind of life saving thing. An astonishing thing at that. In place of anyone presenting this show, you could have had a sign hanging from a fence saying ‘Make what you usually make when you’re in a rush, but use different ingredients… go on… take a chance on some unusual shellfish or something.’ In fact, half an hour of that would have been bliss compared to Nigella’s fawning over herself. [Mof Gimmers]