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Nigella Lawson rowed in public with Charles Saatchi.

In photographs published in a Sunday newspaper, the television chef appears to have become embroiled in a violent dispute with the wealthy art dealer.

The couple were sitting outside Scott’s in Mayfair, central London, when he appeared to lean over and grab her by the throat.

Lawson, 53, looked terrified before leaving the restaurant alone in floods of tears.

A witness told the Sunday People: “It was utterly shocking to watch.

“I have no doubt she was scared. It was horrific, really. She was very tearful and was constantly dabbing her eyes. Nigella was very, very upset. She had a real look of fear on her face.”

The witness added: “He looked guilty. It was clear he knew he’d done something wrong. He was menacing, there’s no question. She had been abused and humiliated in public.

“No man should do that to a woman. She raised her voice and got angry but at the same time was trying to calm him down, almost like you would try to calm down a child.”

I always knew Saatchi was a shit, but now it appears he is a stupid violent shit. Will he get away with it? Probably. Scotland Yard has received no complaints about the incident, which happened in a public place. No one intervened.

The Queen of Gastroporn & Caramel Bukkake

(Source: Daily Mail)

Thanks to her lustrous locks and generous cleavage, another part of the Nigella Lawson anatomy has gone largely unnoticed over the years.

But the 51-year-old Queen of Gastroporn & Caramel Bukkake is now happy to draw attention to her beautiful bum.

On a lunch date with her husband, revolting ugly multi-millionaire Charles Saatchi, she stepped out in a short jacket and skintight jeans to illustrate the confidence she has gained following recent weight loss.

Seasoned Nigella-watchers will be aware this is a significant departure from the flowing garments she usually wears.

The next Mrs Stainforth is said to have dropped from a size 18 to a 12 amid claims she followed the Clean & Lean plan.

The diet was devised by trainer James Duigan, who has also advised Elle Macpherson and Rosie Huntington-Whiteley (whoever they are).

The next Mrs Stainforth. Fuck.

Asked what would be her last meal on Earth given the choice, the Queen of Gastroporn, who is one year older than me, says: “I don’t think you have enough space for everything I’d eat for my last meal! I’d have spaghetti with clams – no tomatoes, just a white wine sauce with chilli and garlic; roasted chicken with a side of chips and roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes; blue cheese with French bread; blackberries with heavy cream and cookies. Finally, I would have some great coffee with salted caramels.”

She adds: “Now that I think about it, I don’t want to wait until my last meal to eat this. I’ll probably eat it a lot sooner.”

I do hope Nigella has not been pressured by her revolting egg-eating husband Charles Saatchi to go on a diet.

I used to go to bed around 4 a.m. frequently, a habit that came from: my former interest in astronomy and observing the night sky, watching late night programming on television and listening to late night shows on the radio, surfing the web late at night. All of these however do not currently have merit – I am no longer interested in astronomy, I do not even own a TV set now and surfing the web later is not better than earlier in the day. So I go to bed around 2 a.m. but I intend to make it more like midnight, followed by an hour or so of reading a good recipe book and eating cake so my dreams will be filled with Nigella, Queen of Gastroporn.

I have this dream where she is walking towards me, arms outstretched, she licks her lips, removes her bra, then suddenly a refrigerator full of profiteroles appears and she takes me by the hand … “Charles won’t mind,” she whispers in my ear. I look her straight in the eyes, I’m breathless. “My darling, don’t get sand in the profiteroles …”

Black Dogs Defined

This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved and hated, like another: my life was as the vapour and is not; but this I saw and knew; this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory.

(John Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies)

Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not.

(Alan Sillitoe, Saturday Night and Sunday Morning)

This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me.

(Emily Dickinson, This is my letter to the world)

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

(Edna St. Vincent Millay, Second Fig)

R.A.D. Stainforth

I was born before The Beatles’ first LP and brought up in the reeking slums of Jericho. I am in love with a woman called Hazel and in love with her daughter, also called Hazel, both of whom I met at Alcoholics Anonymous.

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