Saturday Bitchin'....

Saturday mornings have been awful, since the man I planned to marry, suddenly upped and left....


No, I am not talking about the ex - I'm referring to the patron saint of butter, James Martin, who has broken the heart of many a middle aged woman, by resigning from Saturday Kitchen.

Since he left, other presenters have taken over the role, but as yet, none of them have cut it. Or beaten it. Or kneaded it. Or creamed it.....

Oooopps, do excuse me. I got a bit distracted there for a moment....

The trouble is, there's really nobody who does sexy, quite as well as James. Tom Kerridge (or Tom Kedgeree as my mother insists on calling him) is lovely, but he doesn't have James' way with a tart. Michel Roux is delightful, but I've never seen his dough rise properly. And Rick Stein is a twinkly-eyed charmer, but I think he prefers it covered in scales.....

Saturdays are rubbish now, without my favourite Yorkshire crumpet. I think I'll stage a protest by having a 'bed in' thing, á la John Lennon and Yoko Ono. When James Martin hears about it, he'll be bound to turn up, looking slightly dishevelled, half a pound of butter in hand..........................................


Sorry, I got distracted again......