Worse than dodgy Mark Thatcher, this but couldn't happen to a more deserving family. Brother Dominic is a failed, whining, right-wing hack, migrant guest from Filth-O-Graph to Mail to Independent, probably his next stop is the Redditch Advertiser. Pops is a freak show, an eighty-two year old with strangely thick, richly coloured auburn hair and a recurring penchant for women young enough to be his grandchildren.
On marrying his second, trophy, wife, the former chancellor - catchphrase: unemployment is a price worth everybody else paying - Big Fat Nigel Lawson shed stones of lard so quickly that one would think he was on speed. But no, he wrote a book about a miracle diet that he'd invented. And everybody believed it. Everybody but me. And anybody else with any sense.
Now, in his dotage, his Lordship maintains that despite a gazillion extra people on the planet, churning out body warmth and burning fuel for heating and cooking; despite everyone in the developed and developing world blasting the atmosphere with all their cooking, heating and lighting devices; their cars, their trains, their planes; despite the massive expansion of light and heavy industries and the massive Oriental and Asian expansion of coal-fired power stations, despite all this extra heat a closed biosphere can easily and harmlessly absorb and neutralise it all, maintaing a steady, business-friendly temperature, doesn't matter what the thermometers say, there is no such thing as global warming. He's a fool or a knave, probably both and the sooner he's dead and shut the fuck up, the better.
What is certain is that as well as proudly being a Thatcher spiv, he is a nasty, amoral, narcissistic, elderly predator. No wonder his daughter is a fuck-up; shaking her tits at the nation, at her age; doing food as soft porn. I have never seen more than a few seconds of her dreadful show but it was enough; corny and hammy, pouting and slurping and licking, ridiculous rubbish,
I can't see Lawson's culinary bump'n'grind arousing even a fourteen-year old schoolboy, who normally walks around with a permanent hard-on, but the telly folk loved her, she is Oxbridge, after all.
I can't see Lawson's culinary bump'n'grind arousing even a fourteen-year old schoolboy, who normally walks around with a permanent hard-on, but the telly folk loved her, she is Oxbridge, after all.
And now, former hubby, Champagne Charlie, is pissing into her souffle erotique. It's lovely to see but barring a jail sentence she will survive it all, the charmed circle of celebrity knows how to care for its own. People will be taking sides as we speak, the poor woman, such a shame, all she ever wanted to do was help us cook and this nasty brute is saying all these terrible things. Or, I dunno how poor Charles put up with her, she was an absolute horror, selfish, spoiled and a dreadful drug addict. The TitFoodies will win of course and Lawson will be rehabiltated, her struggle serialised in the Mail, a new series launched, with much greater depth and maturity, following her ordeal. Cookery Confessions of a Crack Whore, PBC2. Don't miss it.
