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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.

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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.

Quite recently I heard Callas singing some Mozart and was shocked – I expected something dreadfully exaggerated but what I got was really lovely and very much ahead of its time – no fireworks, a very plain, modest way of singing, it really showed how thoughtful a singer she was and how much style she had.

Norma is a good example of what she did. She sang it more than she sang any other role. It is often referred to as a killer role; it is simply very hard on the voice. It is difficult to explain properly without you listening to her. Also, if you don’t know the music at all, then hearing her sing Norma you may well feel, well, so what!

With that piece she moved it from being usually done as almost an oratorio, severely classical in feel, to a red in tooth and claw drama. However, in doing this she really used the music rather than damaged it and her phrasing is extremely intelligent and above all musical. She had the skill of making you think it was all coming fresh out of her mouth, rather than learned by rote and coloured here and there.

She inhabited such roles rather than taking them on. Of course there were great singers before her and if you were to hear Claudia Muzio you would be surprised to hear so much of the Callas colouring … but pre-Callas. Her career was short and that was possibly in part because of the risks she took in pushing her voice, but then, if she had played safe, she would be forgotten now.

It has often been stated that Callas’s fame rested on her undoubted stage presence and dramatic gifts, and though this is no doubt partly true, it doesn’t explain her continuing popularity, or why her recordings should sell in such huge numbers. There have been plenty of other great singers/actors, whose recorded legacy is relatively slight. I can think of Teresa Stratas and Josephine Barstow, both of whom are tremendous on stage, but whose voices convey very little of that presence on record. This is where Callas is different. Her presence and personality fairly burst through the speakers. She creates drama for the mind’s theatre, as surely as if she were standing there before us. With Callas, I no longer listen to the singer, but to the story and character she is unfolding. An example of the differences would be to listen to her performance of, say, O patria mia, from Aïda, alongside Montserrat Caballé’s. Now this is an aria which never worked well for Callas. Caballé here is divine, the top C spun out in a pure pianissimo, which is literally breathtaking. I am astonished and captivated, but I am no longer listening to the opera, I am listening to Montserrat Caballé. In the Callas version, the note is somewhat earthbound and effortful to say the least, but it becomes as nothing, so wistfully has she longed for her homeland in the previous music. Indeed I can’t hear the words O cieli azzurri, without hearing Callas’s peculiarly yearning tone. Someone once said of Callas to John Steane, “Of course you had to see her”, to which he replied “Ah, but I can, and I do!”

In a Medea performance that didn’t go too well, there were murmurs and even catcalls. At one crucial plot line, where she is supposed to address Giasone, she turned to the audience and uttered Medea’s desperate plea “Ho datto tutto a te” (I gave you everything I have).

In a performance of Bellini’s Il Pirata, at the time where the Meneghinis were constantly clashing with La Scala’s superintendent Ghiringelli, Callas-Imogene ostentatiously pointed at the superintendent’s theatre box and sang “La! Vedete, il palco funesto” (“There – look: the dreadful scaffold”). In the opera, the word palco refers to the scaffold where her lover will be hanged. But this Italian word can also be used to designate a theatre box. Although Ghiringelli was not in his box that night, the anecdote was widely circulated across Italy. She made news as no other opera star has ever done before or since.

Another such incident that has passed into operatic folk lore now, is Callas’s first performance in Italy after the scandal of her walking out half way through a performance of Norma, before the President of Italy, due to illness. It was at a revival of Anna Bolena at La Scala. Such was the bad feeling that the Italian press had whipped up against her, that La Scala, fearing an incident, had positioned plain clothed police all over the theatre, and riot police surrounded the theatre outside. Visconti re-directed some of the scenes so as to give Callas a certain amount of protection on stage in case of flying missiles from the audience. Throughout the first act the audience had reacted to her with icy coldness, loudly applauding her colleagues. By the finale of the first act, Callas had had just about as much as she could stomach. This is the scene where Henry VIII finds her in compromising circumstances and tells the guards to take her to prison. Anna, utterly outraged, launches the exciting stretta to the finale with the words Giudice! Ad Anna! Giudice! (Judges! for Anna!). At this point, Callas pushed aside the guards, marched down to the footlights, and hurled the words into the audience, as much as to say “how dare you judge me”, singing the rest of the scene with a scorching brilliance, incredible even for her. The audience was completely won over and from then to the end of the opera, she had them in the palm of her hands. Word of her success apparently reached the crowds of people waiting outside the theatre, and when she appeared at the stage door after the performance, the police found themselves having to restrain not an angry mob, but hordes of fans trying to besiege her with floral tributes. Unfortunately when she returned home that night, exhausted from her triumph, it was to find the gates of the Meneghini villa daubed with dog shit and the walls covered in insulting graffiti. And we wonder why her career was so short!

As an adjunct, it should be noted that Callas actually sued the Rome Opera for not having an understudy available on the night of that walk out, and for not fulfilling their subsequent contractual obligations. The case dragged on for years, and eventually was settled totally in her favour. But it was too late. By then she was no longer singing, though the damage done to her personally and her career was immense and irrevocable.

I suppose the reason for the multifarious theories as to why her voice declined so rapidly, is testament to the fact that nobody really knows and nobody ever will. Both Renée Fleming and Deborah Voight (sopranos themselves) touch on similar theories, which is interesting. Personally, I have always felt that it was not the actual weight loss, but the diet that might have been the problem. Singers need an enormous amount of stamina to support their voices throughout an opera, and you only get stamina with proper nutrition, that is eating the right foods to give you energy, without piling on the pounds. In those days less was known about nutrition and it is quite possible that Callas’s diet deprived her of some of the necessary nutrients. That, and the punishing schedule she found herself following. A typical example is the summer of 1957. On 4 July, she embarked on two performances of La Sonnambula, in which she is in admirably secure voice, as can be heard on the recording preserved from the performances, and now available on EMI. Five days later she is in Milan to record Turandot, a role that was no longer in her repertoire and which she really ought not to have been singing. That she acquits herself as well as she does, is cause for surprise, though she does show elements of strain. However three days after the Turandot sessions are over, she is back to record Manon Lescaut, and it is here that the effects of the previous days can be heard. She sounds utterly exhausted. Indeed some of the climactic high notes are as bad as they were to become in the mid-1960s, and this is probably why its release was delayed until 1959.

Motörhead’s singer on the best tour diets, American cheese and food fights.

(Source: Observer)

My mother made this upside-down cake that went horribly wrong. I made her make it again and again, for years, because I liked it so much. It never worked, yet it always worked, if you get my drift.

I don’t eat vegetables. I eat potatoes and green beans and that’s it. I don’t care if you eat 200 artichokes, you still won’t last through a tour. Mushy peas, I like. Brussels sprouts, foul. I won’t eat anything with onions in whatsoever, I hate them – me and Ringo Starr have that in common.

When I lived in Heaton Moor Lane in Stockport in the early 60s there’d be 35 other people living in the same room, so it was kind of cramped. The basic diet consisted of creamed rice. Punch two holes in the can with an old beer-bottle opener and you can suck the Ambrosia out, no problem.

I developed a taste for cold food. I couldn’t afford room service so I started stealing food uneaten left out on trays. Cold spaghetti, cold chips, cold steak. Cold pizza is a perfect breakfast, with lots of salt.

Girls used to steal food to feed us, out of their parents’ fridges and from stores. I knew one bird who could steal a box of cereal from a shop while only wearing a tiny mini-skirt and T-shirt. Where Phyllis hid the cornflakes I’ll never know.

I was in the Rockin’ Vicars, which was the first British band to tour behind the Iron Curtain. A lot of photos were taken of us next to milk churns. We had dinner – some terrible borscht – with President Tito [in Yugoslavia], but I was down under the table and don’t think he was particularly impressed.

Living in LA makes it so much easier to get food. I can have a full meal with two waiters and a table, brought to my door. Or order pre-cooked bacon strips, shipped to me in a polystyrene container of dry ice from Omaha Steaks. Yet I can’t buy boil-in-a-bag fish with parsley sauce, and there’s no proper Heinz baked beans, they’re in a different sauce. But mainly it’s the cheeses I object to.

My rider is a few biscuits, a few cakes, a meat plate, a cheese plate, some cigs, some JDs. I must say, I’m not completely fixated on Jack Daniel’s – it’s just that it’s the one with the best distribution system worldwide. At one point I mainly drank Southern Comfort mixed with Special Brew. What was I thinking?

If a bus driver says “You will not make a mess on this bus,” that’s tempting fate, isn’t it? I love food fights.

I once judged a spaghetti-eating contest, with Sam Fox. I just said ‘”Him first, him second and him third'”. They were gross, faces buried in huge bowls, covered in marinara sauce, I couldn’t tell one from the other.

I make a very good steak. I’ve never worn an apron – it’s beyond all reason. I prefer a completely splatter-free diver’s outfit in the kitchen.

Motorhead’s new single, Born to Lose, was released Monday on EMI.

For some time one of the top ten search terms used by visitors to this blog has been “tracey emin tits”. At last I have a post for anyone who has ever typed those three words into a search engine:

Artist Tracey Emin has unveiled her latest work – new 34DD breasts following reduction surgery. The 46-year-old, famous for works such as her unmade bed, decided to go under the knife after failing to reduce her bust through a low-calorie diet.

She said: “I was a 34G. I lost a stone on the diet but my breasts were getting bigger. This was causing problems that could get worse as I approach the menopause. I’m now a very happy 34DD without neckache, without backache and headaches.”

Before breast reduction surgery the modern artist, whose installation My Bed won the 1999 Turner Prize, needed a support bra to disguise her cleavage.

She claims she was flat chested in her early teens but developed a large bust after taking the contraceptive pill at 14. She said: “They grew out of control. My grandmother had a 46in chest, it runs in the family.”

Tracey says she has taken up running again now that it is no longer painful.

“I’ve not kept it secret,” she added. “Everybody knows. I’ve been out celebrating. I’d advise any woman to do the same.”

(Sunday People)

She is Britain’s favourite domestic goddess – but Nigella Lawson, Queen of Gastroporn admits she never watches food shows and hardly ever opens a cookery book. Her no-nonsense approach in the kitchen has made the sexy 50-year-old a household name. But in a frank interview, she confesses TV programmes by celebrity chefs like Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay leave her cold.

She said: “I have an absolute policy of not watching. I don’t want to be told there is only one way of making something and I don’t want to pick up someone’s ideas. I don’t read cook books either – I don’t like being stuck to one formula. I don’t mind going to restaurants but I would sooner order steak and chips.”

The mother of two shot to fame 10 years ago on the Channel 4 hit Nigella Bites. Since then she has amassed an estimated £8 million fortune and sold more than three million recipe books worldwide. But she has regularly courted controversy by using so much dairy in her cookery, even though it’s blamed for obesity and a raft of other health problems.

Unrepentant Nigella said: “I don’t think there is anything wrong with cream and butter – I see it as moisturiser for the insides. People have gone on for years about butter and how bad it can be but we now realise margarine is much worse.”

She went on: “People get too hysterical when you mention cream. One day I have some and then occasionally I have more – but it is not an everyday thing. Where you have problematic obesity and health issues, I don’t feel it is caused by people who eat butter, cheese or cream. It is caused by people who eat food that is not real.”

Nigella added with a smile: “I do eat healthily but unfortunately I eat for at least five people. People should not be too holy about it all.”

She applauds Oliver’s campaign for healthier diets – but warns against chefs getting too preachy. Speaking as she launched a new piece of iPhone software which sends her recipes to users’ mobiles, she said: “Nobody wants to be told ‘Don’t eat that’ if they are a fat lump.”

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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