Queen Nigella

Here’s a sentence I never thought I’d type: I feel so sorry for Nigella Lawson. She has seemed, for so long, to have had everything on the shopping list of stuff every woman is supposed to strive for. Not one, but apparently two, happy marriages, lovely children, fabulous house, brilliant career. Oh, and she’s beautiful, and accepted as such without even being stick thin. Admittedly, there have been blips. Her first husband died horribly of cancer. Her first name is not really so great. And her father was, and is, a Tory. But you can’t have everything. I, and probably every other woman in the country, have envied her for years.

And now it turns out she’s married to the kind of man who twists her nose and grabs her round the throat in public. What does he do in private? We all dread to think. Tweaking that lovely nose seems such a cruel and vile thing to do, not to mention excruciatingly painful. And I’m sure we’ve all had more than enough of the choke hold after watching The Fall.

It is shocking to see that a woman, even a successful, gorgeous and clever woman, can be humiliated and maltreated by her husband in public. Somehow we all kid ourselves that it’s something that happens to someone else, someone who doesn’t have a KitchenAid mixer and a cleavage to die for.

Apparently, Charles Saatchi doesn’t even like Nigella’s food. Poor woman, I’m sure the last thing she wants to cope with is becoming an icon in women’s struggle against domestic violence. But she really should leave him, for all our sakes. Apart from anything else, she has a teenage daughter. What kind of example is it if she puts up with his behaviour? And what if he tries to choke her daughter during a ‘playful tiff”? Heaven knows, it’s easy enough to feel like choking a teenager. Next time, the headlines could be even worse. Poor, poor Nigella. I shall be baking one of her cakes today in solidarity.

Nigella: she will rise above it, like her cakes

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