Nigella Lawson Watch: the day Charles Saatchi attacked Elvis Costello and some kids
All vital information for us to hold dear lest something happens to the TV cook. The tabloids have already been helping the police with their enquiries, The People publishing pictures of Mr Nigella, Charles Saatchi, holding his wife about the throat. He’s now got a police record.
Speaking to the London Evening Standard, Saatchi said:
“Although Nigella made no complaint, I volunteered to go to Charing Cross station and take a police caution after a discussion with my lawyer because I thought it was better than the alternative of this hanging over all of us for months.”
The Sun goes on to look at victims of domestic violence. Loretta Butterworth, whose husband got an 18-month community order for stamping on her, says she “hopes Nigellas know when to walk away”. Tina Nash, who was blinded by her boyfriend (Shane Jenkin was given a life sentence for gouging out her eyes), says women should flee abuseive relationships “before it’s too late”.
The Sun understands. It zoom in on Nigella sat at a cafe table in London’s Mayfair. Should Lawson invade her personal space, the Sun’s man with a long lens will not hesitate to fire at will. He will then report the matter to his editors, who will create a story around the images and publish the lot as the next day’s news. That’s how much the Sun despises domestic abuse. Where ever it is, the Sun’s women protectors will photograph it from range.
In other news, the Independent’s John Walsh appears on his paper’s cover to tell readers:
From charmer to bully: My encounter with Charles Saatchi – I’ve never met a man with such strict views on what music my son should buy
From being rough with a woman to dictating to kids, Saatchi is being undone. Walsh remembers the horror:
It was the King’s Road, Chelsea, about seven years ago. I was in the HMV record store, now sadly extinct. My son, aged 14, was prowling the CD racks; I was down the other end of the store, browsing the (ahem) European arthouse cinema. There I met Nigella, with whom I worked at The Sunday Times years ago. We chatted and she said, “Come and meet Charles”. He was taller than I expected, dark-eyed and watchful, in a white shirt and long black coat – a saturnine figure, who turned his gaze upon a stranger like a cobra eyeing its quaking prey.
A few days ago, Charles Saatchi was an advertising man who collected lots of art. He is now The Hoodle Claw. Walsh gives an example of what he calls bullying:
We ambled to the music section. I introduced my son Max to Nigella’s son Bruno. Each boy was carrying a pile of CDs they were hoping their dads would buy them. Charles took his stepson’s pile and leafed through it. “Mmm… mmm… good,” he murmured, at the boy’s choices. Then, “What’s this?” he said, about a classic rock album from the 1960s. “You’re not having that,” said Saatchi, firmly. “Why live in the past? What’s wrong with modern stuff?” While his stepson tried to protest, Saatchi flicked through my son’s CDs like a Customs official. “Yeah… good… no wait. Why d’you want this?” He held up This Year’s Model by Elvis Costello. “I like Elvis Costello,” said Max. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t think so,” said Saatchi in a don’t-argue-with-me-voice. “Why d’you want to go back to the old days? Absolutely not.” Max, outraged, looked at me as though to ask, “Is this guy, like, in charge?”
Ah, the poor lambs. They are now cast as hapless victims or an orchestrated, relentless campaign to mock their music tastes. Let’s hope with therapy the devastated victims can escape psychological problems and go on to buy all The Who’s albums on iTunes.