Nigella with an attractively sized arse.
I'm with you on that one, Formbyman.
An almost literal reheating of an already tired concept.

Thought the programme, like her, was good looking, witty and very charming.

Nice recipes, nice camerawork, nice editing to avoid showing the lovely Mrs Cullum actually doing any of the difficult stuff. Although, to her credit, she did chop a few leafy herbs without resort to a mezzaluna as per the hamfisted Mrs Saatchi.

Much more shite was the Richard Hammond science thing. Which was highly irritating because what Hammond knows about science clearly wouldn't scuff him a GCSE passgrade in a following wind. Get James May who, whilst a bit of a wonk, does actually understand what he's going on about. Iturned over to the Bill Buford food thing on BBC4 which was just wonderful. Watch it on iPlayer.

No 1: Risk-averse commissioning editors edging out wrinkly experts in favour of ungifted glamateurs.

Sorry, people; public service broadcasting is a noble idea, but it only works when you understand and respect your public and when you know what service actually means.

Frankly, I've ran out of patience and I'm starting to resent every penny I'm forced to spend on them.

It's not as if the rest of TV land isn't full of this kind of facsimile of a facsimile of a photocopy of previous concepts. TV's just full of this homogenous mush now.
As a previous podcast noted - how many bastard comedians have to go on a travelogue journey in a quaint form of transport?
Which is why I like Tropic of Cancer with Simon Reeve, just great Public Service TV done very well.

It was just bizarre the product of la-la land media excess at it's worst. Dahl I'm sure is perfectly decent person but she clearly has only rudimentary cooking knowledge/skill and so to disguise this central fundamental failing the show was wrapped in this obscene Kath Kidson fantasy. It was if the eugenic freaks from the Boden catalogue had come alive and walking among us. The phrase word "it just ...porn" is over used in the media but this was like some extreme fetish cult for floral teacup and cake stand worshippers.
It follows in a similar vein of Nigella's last series where she drank soup on a hired routemasters and had dinner parties without her husband in a fake home with camera crew hiding in the fridge! But at least Nigella for all her failings seem to have genuine knowledge and enjoyment of food. Sophie Dahl's main source of enjoyment seemed to be her own charmed life real or imagined not a terrible thing just nothing to do with food. It's odd that seemingly intelligent women allow themselves to be depicted in this way unless they do truly believe in this chintzy hell .

Oh and nobody has ever poached a fish for 13 minutes 10 yes 12 maybe but not 13 nobody does anything for 13 minutes!

she's doing an Indian cookery course next called Sophie's Dhal.

but the only actual recipe I can remember from that programme is the Dirty Martini.

but how does Sophie Dahl qualify to front a cookery programme?

luvvie we've had a few ideas for the first episode. We'd like the theme to be self-indulgence and selfishness, the idea that everything you do is just for yourself and that the world revolves around you. Is there anything you could bring from the world of modelling that could help you realise this concept? Now, on that score we're just a teensy-weensy bit worried that people might dismiss you as just a superficial model with a pretty face so we'd like to show you reading some poetry and/or prose and maybe throw in a few quotes here and there for good measure. We think this will help viewers see that you are a real person and not just a clothes-horse married to a hobbit.

Now your look darling must be just right. We think girly coy is really in this year so only try to be mildly suggestive and without being smutty: cream licked off finger, flour on cheek from brushing awy a stray lock of hair, cherry sucked off a cocktail stick, that kind of thing. We only want viewers tossing a salad if you know what I mean darling.

for the moment that she turns round and actually uses the Aga. Do you think next week they'll have Jamie Cullum taking a bath in the sink?

If you had a travel programme, would you rather it be presented by someone eloquent and likeable, who's travelled a lot and clearly enjoyed it... or a 'professional' working in an Expedia call centre in Slough? (or wherever).

It's a food programme more than a cookery programme. The woman clearly knows and loves her food. She can colourfully express that pleasure to an audience who don't at that moment have said food in their mouths. What more do you want?!

Seriously, folks. If you don't like, don't watch. There really are worse things in the world.

No more bloody cookery shows!!!

There was 'No Signal' apparently, just a blank silent screen.

We played draughts, read the newspapers and took our books to bed early for once. Splendid. We may well continue in this fashion.

What does she do, again?

I met her granddad once. Now he was a talented fellow.

or this one?

on one hand, she didn't really do any actual cooking, and appears to live in a world where, if you've had a good day, you pop out to buy a painting to celebrate and where starving children eat brownies.

But on the other, I enjoyed it for what it was, a bit of lightweight telly, nothing more, nothing less.

Which is pretty excellent.

Haven't seen the programme yet, though.

I would pay good money to hear Terry's comments on Sophie's programme, given the fun he had talking about Nigella. Nearly put me in a ditch more than once on the way to the motorway on the morning after a particularly pornographic spoon licking.

appeared in a Pop video, by a band beloved of this parish, not

It's probably relatively cheap to make (in television terms); it'll sell well abroad, likely as not; she's actually quite pleasant and not an airhead. It's not original: fine, there's lots of unoriginal stuff on TV now but at least it's reasonably well done. And OK, it's slight and a bit frothy, but it's not like it is The Persuasionists, Life of Riley or Big Top, is it?

And while we're on the subject, while I'm not particularly a Cullum fan, he's not a big horse's cock. And if he and Soph are knocking along ok, then great. Let's be honest, if you were in his position, you wouldn't say no would you? And she clearly sees something in him.

in to tonight's episode and my wife muttered, "I'm finding her a bit annoying". It was the point where Miss Dahl made some comment about her take on Eton Mess and then grinned like a sloane who's had one too many G&Ts. The theme tonight was "romance" which in reality meant that all the Dahlisms came across as cloyingly sickly sweet and the poetry/prose reading just added more artificial sweeteners to something that was already causing irreversible tooth decay. It made Mills & Boon suddenly seem like edgy nihilism. If Roger Hargreaves was still around he'd have created Miss Deliciously Tall in honour of Miss Dahl and would have had her causing havoc to all the Mr Men by towering over them in high heels while glueing all the pages of their favourite books together with icing sugar and jam while she blithely vamped around their houses adding chintz and love-hearts to every room.

She talked about the romance of railway stations and I knew instinctively that she'd never waited for a connection at Crewe. She made a comment that she liked her Cheddar Cheese "mature and spicy...like my men....my man": Jamie Callum is 31 and sings smooth jazz so his "spiciness" must allude to some hitherto unknown ability, like being able to hide himself in her underwear drawer.

We briefly became enlivened when Miss Dahl cooked her take on Shepherd's Pie and made one with lentils (for her) and one with meat (for him). "Is Jamie going to appear now?" my wife asked, her interest suddenly piqued again. We looked on in anticipation. The camera moved back and my eye naturally drifted downwards to look under the kitchen table for him but alas and alack Jamie made no appearance unless of course he had fallen into her mixing bowl. Still the programme teased as it showed Miss Dahl placing a tray with the two bowls of food and two glasses of red wine on a table in a drawing room. She took one of the glasses and sat back in an armchair and curled up her legs. Was this the moment Jamie would shuffle into view?

Alas again no, there was only enough time for Miss Dahl to read some Nancy Mitford and then for Florence and The Machine to shatter all the icky gooey pretence that had gone before by honking and braying like an ass on heat over the end credits.

Roll on Week 3

but he represents so much that's wrong with modern music - faux jazz lacking any kind of soul etc..I had the misfortune to see him at 'V' a few years ago and it was execrable - the oh so studied standing on one leg while he played the old joanna etc etc. And he absolutely murdered "And the wind cries Mary" by Jimi Hendrix. I was quite close to the front of the stage and got so incensed that every time he got to the "And the wind cries.." part of the song and paused, I hollered "..Fuck off, Jamie." It irritated the hell out of his legion of youngish fans down front, was incredibly juvenile, but hugely liberating at the same time.

to get very tired of sitting by herself next to the telephone waiting for her modelling agent to ring. So she was considering in her own mind whether having a few weeks holiday in New York might be the answer to all her melodramatic problems when a white Cullum with pink eyes staggered into the room.

There was nothing remarkable in that nor did Sophie suggestively bat an eyelash extension when the Cullum drunkenly sang under its breath "dear dear I'm all at sea" but when the Cullum actually took a Nigella Lawson book out of its waistcoat, looked at it and then ran out into the hallway and through the cat-flap Sophie jumped up and an idea formed in her overtly romanticised mind.

She found herself drawn to the kitchen where she noticed that it was filled with cupboards and bookshelves, here and there were books with pictures of food and writing. She took a jar down from one of the shelves: it was labelled "Raspberry Jam". Sophie remembered that her grandma used to make a wonderful Victoria Sponge and she instantly became all nostalgic. Then she noticed a little bottle with the words "DRINK ME" written on it. Sophie already knew that if she drank from that bottle she'd end up small like a Cullum and besides she'd already been a slipshadow of a creature in a former life. Then her eyes fell upon a small cake with the words "EAT ME" which again she chose to ignore having decided that being as round as a Rubens was only good for alliteration.

"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Sophie "I'm sure I'm not Nigella," she said, "for her hair is black and her bottom so wide, and my hair is wispy and light and my backside a delight—and I'm sure I can't be Delia, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows only about frugal food and Norwich City FC! Besides, she's old, and I'm young and vivacious—oh dear! how puzzling it all is!

Just then the Cullum reappeared and played 3 loud chords on the spinet and sang aloud:

"The Domestic Goddess she made some tarts
All on a summer day:
The Naive Dahl she stole those tarts,
And took them quite away!"

The Kitchen in the Cullum-Dahl household. Young Jamie has just returned from a 6 month world tour and enters the kitchen to find his wife Sophie.

Jamie [all smiles]: Sophie...

Sophie (clutching chest]: Be still my beating heart for my handsome prince has at last returned from fighting dragons for his fair maiden. Tell me my love what treasures did you plunder from the worm's lair with which to enrapture me?

Jamie: Er...here's some perfume from the airport. I'm starving. Anything to eat?

Sophie [jumping up from her stool and setting aside a book of poetry]: Of course, my prince must be hungry from his heroic endeavours in the strange lands beyond the rising sun. But I must know what mood my prince is in before I can create a feast with which to satiate his appetite. Tell me oh guardian of my heart are you of woe or of great cheer, are you intemperate or in the grips of unbridled joy?

Jamie: I'm just starving love. Need some grub. Just some beans on toast and a few beers will do, maybe a few Dorittos...

Sophie: Hush, hush my wanderering minstrel of princely love I will not hear of such a base thing as beans on toast. Pray, tell me now captain of my heart. I must know your mood or I will burst with exquisite anticipation. Tell me quick does your heart beat faster at my proximity, is it manly love that engulfs your physique? Is it unbridled passion that you wish to unleash with a suitable repast from my fair hand?

Jamie [non-plussed]: I'll have a look in the fridge...

Sophie [blocking him]: Away sir! Do not meddle in my affairs or you will make me melancholy. Perhaps your mood is tinged with a monstrous desire to tease and provoke until I am but a tenderised lamb at your mercy. Is that it sir, do you wish to make fun of me at this witching hour, to set me on a path that renders me inconsolable somewhere between the crossroads of sadness and suffering? I must know what passion has gripped your manly form!

Jamie [shaking his head]: F*ck it, I'm going down the pub for pie and chips. I'll see you later.

Sophie [distraught, rubbing hands and pacing]: What is this mood that engulfs him? I know not what it is or what delicacies will quell its ugly manifestations. He is not of good cheer that much I can tell though I profess I know not why but there is something more, something that requires a greater effort on my part. What could it be? [] I know, I know. Lamb's livers in oxtail soup with some homemade soda bread. I will start and that right away! I have it my prince...my prince?....MY PRINCE!

Jamie [at the front door putting on coat]: For f*ck's sake, what now?

Sophie [raising back of hand to forehead]: Oh woe, oh woe is me. I have lost him. He leaves me. He leaves me and I know not when or if he will return to my bosom. Oh my prince at least let me know when you will return?

Jamie [sighing]: I'll be back just after 11. OK?

Sophie [brightening]: You couldn't stop at the Tesco on the way back and get a large bar of Dairy Milk could you?

Jamie [shaking head]: Yeah. Alright love. See you later.

Closes front door as Sophie jumps up and down on the spot clapping her hands with glee.

i do not think i have seen such a mock fake piece of shit bbc fakery.
it has sub prime outtakes from a low grade m&s commercial.
i really believe before this drivel she could just about handle putting low fat spread on a ryvita.
this indulgent shit is being done with are money.
at least jugs nigella seems like she could write the crap that comes out of her spoilt mouth.
tonight sophie stated that she dreams of escaping to india,yes the india of hilton or banyan tree 4* hotels.
sorry beeb no more tv licence fee from meee.

Episode 5: The General Election of Ennui

The Scene: In answer to a distress signal The Doctor and Miss Amy Pond have arrived on the Planet Ennui during the final stages of a General Election that has left its populace in a state of catatonic boredom.

The Doctor: Stay close Amy I have an odd feeling about this planet.

Amy: Och aye the noo. I ken wha' ya mean, hen.

Doctor: Right. Look! A welcoming party advances..

Lord of Ennui: Good day and may I say that this is indeed a good day. The latest economic figures show that we have kept inflation at its lowest levels for a decade, manufacturing output has shown a 2.3% year on year growth for the same quarter...

The Doctor: My God Amy, it's worse that I imagined.

Amy: Och aye. They aw look a wee bit like chanty wrasslers, ye ken?

Lord of Ennui:...and that is why I believe that by working together, building on our strengths we can take this great nation forward again into a bright future.

Deputy Lord of Ennui (slyly): Don't forget our secret weapon my Lord.

The Doctor: Secret weapon?

Deputy Lord of Ennui (mocking): Yes Doctor we find ourselves in the rather embarrassing position of having called you here to help us but now not needing your assistance. If you would like to return to your Tardis we can carry on from here on our own.

The Doctor: On your own? But I look around and see nothing but thousand yard stares and utter boredom.

Deputy Lord of Ennui: Ahh, but we have something now that will overcome such problems...

The Doctor (interrupting): Wait a minute. What's that smell? That's not an Ennuian smell. That's the smell of...of...clam chowder. My God, you haven't..

Deputy Lord of Ennui (laughing manically): Yes Doctor we have.

Amy: Whit's that bampot bletherin' aboot the noo? He's nowt but a boaby an' is getting reet on ma bubbies.

The Doctor: Oh Amy, they've only gone and made a pact with...the Dahleks.

(Enter a pink Dahlek holding doilies and a tray of cakes)

Dahlek: W-O-U-L-D Y-O-U L-I-K-E A C-U-P O-F T-E-A A-N-D A F-A-I-R-Y C-A-K-E?

The Doctor (agonised): How could you?

Deputy Lord of Ennui (triumphant): We had no choice. We discovered that the only way to overcome the boredom of the Election was to bring in the Dahleks. They could help us forget, help us to escape the tedium of this Election, allow us to escape from the drudgery of it all with a moist Battenburg and a vegetarian curry. Our people will be revitalised!

The Doctor: But your people are still catatonic. You fool! Don't you realise? The Dahleks will only make it worse!!

Deputy Lord of Ennui (nervous): What do you mean?

The Doctor: Have you seen what's inside a Dahlek?

Deputy Lord of Ennui (gulping): No.

The Doctor: Then look!

(The Doctor grabs the pink Dahlek and with his sonic screwdriver whips off its top. The group gather round and look inside)

Amy: Och, jaysus, that's gowpin tha' is. Ahm feelin' awfy peeliey wallie jis lookin' at it.

Deputy Lord of Ennui (shocked): I didn't know, I didn't know.

The Doctor: You see, that's why you can't make a deal with a Dahlek.

Camera moves in to the Dahlek and focuses inside to reveal a small man singing What A Difference A Day Made while accompanying himself on a tiny piano.

Deputy Lord of Ennui (shocked): Oh no..it can't be!

The Doctor: Oh yes...your people will now be made worse, trapped forever in an apathetic state of abject stupor by songs from The Great American Songbook performed in the style of cocktail-hour jazz...

Amy: ...by a wee fella nae bigger than a Gladys...

(music starts, episode ends on cliffhanger)

How to Talk Sophie Dahl cue cards

"You know those days when you wake up in your bed and feel MELANCHOLIC/ROMANTIC/NOSTALGIC/SICK/HAPPY/CONSTIPATED* when all in the world is SAD/LOVELY/DEPRESSING/WONDERFUL/CRAP/BLOCKED* and you just don't feel like WORKING/MODELLING/SMILING/FROWNING/HAVING A DUMP* well I have a recipe that is always guaranteed to make you FORGET/REMEMBER/HAPPY/GIGGLY/CELEBRATORY/GO*.

I learnt this recipe from my GRANNY/GRAN/GRANDMOTHER/NAN/NANA/RESEARCHER*. In the summer when I was SMALL/LITTLE/A GIRL/SPOILT ROTTEN* she used to take me to the BEACH/COUNTRY/CITY/CAYMANS/KHASI* and afterwards I would watch her make this for me while she SANG SONGS/READ POETRY/TOLD STORIES/PLAYED THE SPOONS/FARTED THE NATIONAL ANTHEM*. Ever since then it's been a firm favourite with all my FAMILY/FRIENDS/FANS/AGENTS/FILM CREW*.

All you need is a BAR OF CHOCOLATE/CHOCOLATE BAR/PACKET OF CHOCOLATE/CHOCOLATE*. There's nothing more satisfying than the SIGHT/SOUND/SMELL/TOUCH* of freshly opened chocolate. Chocolate is always the best when you are SAD/GLAD/MAD/A FAD* and need something QUICK/SIMPLE/EASY/PISS EASY*

Simply take the chocolate and break it into pieces over a BOWL/PLATE/OUTSTRETCHED HAND/LARGE INDUSTRIAL CONTAINER* then add the chocolate pieces to your mouth. No need for any cooking SKILLS/UTENSILS/KNOWLEDGE/ABILITY/AT ALL* and the end product will instantly transform you into a HAPPY BUNNY/GRINNING IDIOT/ANNOYING PRESENCE/EASY TARGET* ready to face the challenges of the DAY/JOB/CAREER/2ND SERIES PLEASE, OH PRETTY PLEASE OR I'll SCWEAM AND SCWEAM AND SCWEAM*"

* = delete as appropriate