Nigella Lawson is fast becoming my new target for needless kickings. She’s joined that reverse pantheon that is Gillian McKeith, Nicky Hambleton-Jones, Jimmy Carr and many many many many others. Basically, to a man, they’re all asinine idiots.

As Monday nights are notoriously poor for TV these days, once again, I found myself sat at the box, jaw flapping in the wind, to watch yet another Nigella Express (BBC Two, Monday, 8pm). Yet more desperate attempts to convince the world that Nigella is just like us filled my screen. She like some kind of Daily Mail doll. Look at her real hair! She rides a bus! She can (just about) talk! She has real working eyes! Sadly, as is the case with all dolls, she has no soul…

From the off, this show slaps you with a theme tune that lies somewhere between inoffensive acid jazz from the early ’90s and music that used to grace daytime shows from… well… the early ’90s. Primary colours flash around and sax blares… it screams ‘lifestyle choice’. It’s horrific. The musak cuts away and we see Nigella dressed entirely in denim, looking for all the world like a middle aged woman going to a B*Witched fan conference. She huffs and puffs and tells us just how busy her life is! As she wheezes behind her counter, she is backdropped by a series of huge letters, randomly stuck to the back wall. They don’t say anything. They’re seemingly liberally and randomly sprinkled like hundreds and thousands. Sadly, these ornate letters still make more sense than Nigella.

Nigella’s daily bus ride is becoming something of a trademark for Mrs Saatchi. Each episode has shown her scoffing various meals on impossibly clean and quiet buses. Yesterday, we actually saw Nigella waiting for the bus. There were quite a few clues to let us know that this was completely staged. The first clue was that the people stood at the bus stop didn’t once look like they wanted to die. There was zero slouching action. Not one of these people wore headphones to drown out the dreadful sound of London grinding and phlegming away. Not one of these people cursed their luck as the bus came into view just as they’d lit a cigarette. Furthermore, Nigella Lawson greeted the impossibly clean and quiet bus with a huge grin. She has clearly never been on public transport in all her privileged days.

Aside from all that, this show is a vehicle for Nigella to fill her well bred chops. Throughout each programme, Lawson can be seen eating and talking about how much she adores eating. There’s nothing wrong with that obviously… I mean, who doesn’t like eating? However, even the biggest glutton would make me feel as nauseous as Nigella. Y’see, thanks to modern editing (soon to be outlawed no doubt) Nigella Express gives the impression that Nigella constantly chews like a cow and cud. It genuinely made me feel quite ill.

On to the food she made. Well, she made some pancakes with some instant mix. Now, I’m no snob when it comes to food… I like things made from scratch but I do have a soft spot for absolute cack. I have Pasta ‘N’ Sauce dreams. However, I’m afforded that luxury by virtue of the fact that I’m not a TV chef or food critic (although I wouldn’t mind being a food critic if anyone fancies offering me a job in that field). Basically, it’s not good enough. I want tips – not the mind numbingly obvious. Want fast and easy food? Buy a pot noodle and stick a sprig of parsley in it!

Basically, the whole show is flawed from start to finish. Nigella complains of her busy and hectic life. Then, we see her organising a breakfast for all her chums. This is clearly someone who doesn’t have to graft and surrounded by people who don’t graft either. I imagine most people who work hard during the week can’t think of anything worse than having to drag yourself out of bed on a Saturday morning to go ’round a mates’ house for a smoothie. “Sod that” you’d think, “I’m staying in bed until the kids eject me from my pit, then it’s a bacon butty and Saturday Kitchen for me…”

There is no disguising that Nigella Lawson comes from a very different world to us. Only she and her ilk feel the need for a soirée involving niblets and the like. Most of us simply can’t be bothered to leave the house because work has left us in a bad mood or the kids need help with their homework/grazed knee/pregnancy. This is a show only a pea brain could fall for.