No, honestly I’m not a Girls Aloud fan, I promise. There are no girls in the house apart from me so I’m sublimely cushioned from the delights of the long legged lovelies and their ‘you go girl’ brand of poppiness. Apologies, then, for stealing a Girls Aloud song as my title, but it just seemed so apt. You see, it’s Nigella again. Not content with selling out by punting recipes designed to feed a football team in less time it takes to open a packet of frozen pastry (sacrilege), she’s now holding forth in Esquire magazine about all manner of horrors. Let me elaborate: first of all she’s dressed up like a wanton oven-ready turkey in some kind of aluminium foil getup, then to add insult to injury she starts banging on about some very risqué personal stuff. Prepare to cringe:

‘Stockings never fail to make you feel sexy. I like hold-ups, but the problem is if you’ve got too much meat at the top, you get a bulge there. So I often wear those over-the-knee French schoolgirl socks. But I know men like the whole strappy thing of suspenders, so I’ll wear them. In fact, thinking about it, I’ve actually worn them with nothing but a pair of shoes in bed before.”

Oh. My. God. Me Mam always drummed into us that it was bad manners to talk about ‘personal stuff’ in public and I’m afraid I agree. It’s like asking someone how much they earn. I’m in the Indo today (blink and you’ll miss me) discussing domestic goddessness and I mean, yes, Nigella was the girl who made cooking all a bit cool and saucy - the odd raised eyebrow and licked finger were very seductive and made us think of food as more than just sustenance. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not against quick cooking, frozen pastry or any of that other stuff. But it’s just not Nigella. Yes, she’s millions of men’s fantasy…culinary crumpet, blah blah blah. But this? Nope, sorry. Next time I’m making one of her recipes (from her old books, not Nigella Express) my mind will be filled of horrifying images of La Lawson gallivanting around the bedroom with ol’ Charlie Saatchi, her bulgy thighs hanging over the top of her stockings. And as for her perving over the entire Chelsea football team? Ugh. I can’t even tell you, you’ll have to read it. John Terry’s probably having a lie down as we speak.

What’s happened to my heroine? And shall I be forced to take her signed photo off the front of my fridge? Watch this space.

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