Full Throttle  – What Happed When I Told My Brain Off After It Saw A Controversial Photo


When I first saw this photo of Nigella Lawson being throttled, I was shocked. Not shocked at the picture itself, but shocked at my reaction to the picture. Dismayed at the first gut instinct thoughts on the scene displayed before me.

The first thought that leapt into my head was that the hand around Nigella’s neck might belong to Gordon Ramsay. That the public strangulation was accompanied by a diatribe along the lines of :

“How dare you get a new series! How fucking dare you. I’ve got 14 Michelin Stars. All you do is waft around your kitchen with your shirt-melons half out, visually implying that anything which goes anywhere near your mouth is a cock. How fucking dare you madam!”

To be truthful, I wasn’t terribly shocked at that first thought. My brain comes up with that sort of thing at virtually every image I see. Including porn. This does make masturbation a little tricky at times, but as the saying goes “love will always find a way”.

No, it was really the second knee jerk thought that freaked me out a little. The little voice that piped up when I discovered that the hand around Nigella Lawson’s trachea belonged to her husband, Charles Saatchi. The little voice that said “I wonder what she did to deserve that?”

Now, I let my brain get away with a lot of nonsense, but even I draw the line somewhere and here is where I drew it. So I took my brain to one side and had a quiet word.

“What the fuck was that, then?” I said, through gritted teeth.

“What do you mean?” said my brain, acting all innocent and nonchalant.

“You know what I mean. You’re shown a scene of domestic violence and you immediately infer from it that the woman has done something wrong to deserve it.”

“Technically speaking it wasn’t domestic violence. It happened in a restaurant, not behind closed doors in their home.”

“Don’t get smart with me you cheeky cunt,” I said. “A man’s role is to nurture and support his wife. He should do everything he can to fulfil her and allow her to follow her dreams, and she should do the same for him. He shouldn’t go around throttling her.”

“What if she’s really into that kind of thing?”

“Well if she asks for it, and I mean asks for it using words before you chip in there, then obviously that’s ok. But even then it should be in the privacy of the boudoir, with proper equipment and safe words. Or whatever substitute people use for safe words while they’re being asphyxiated. I think it’s unlikely that Ms. Lawson was indulging in some sort of public sex game. The fact that this happened in a restaurant is entirely irrelevant.”

“Well aaactually” said Brain, “the fact that it happened in a busy restaurant in precisely my point.”

“Ooo-Kay” I replied “go on.” I have to admit that Brain had me blindsided here and I was curious to see what his latest crackpot theory was. He was doing that coy, single leg swing foot scuffing thing that kids do when they’re called out in front of the class to defend their indefensible behaviour.

“Well,” said Brain, “Nigella’s husband in Charles Saatchi, right? He might be an art dealer now, but he used to be in advertising. The man practically invented the concept of public image. For a man like that to start strangling his wife in full view of the photographers, who he would have spotted as he walked into the place, something really drastic must have happened. Either he’s mentally ill, in which case we should empathise, or he’s just found out something really bad. So bad that it’s made him go against all his PR training and instinct and start strangling the woman he married. A woman who is also generally regarded as something of a national treasure.”

“It’s an interesting theory” I said, stroking my chin. “Complete horseshit, of course, but intriguing. Just be careful about what you make me think in future. It gets embarrassing sometimes.”

“Ok” said Brain. I swear if he had a face there would have been a smirk on it.

I often dismiss what Brain says because most of it is just indecipherable gobbledegook. He’s sometimes right about things though, especially when I think he’s joking. So now we have a court case where it would appear that Nigella has been high as a kite for the last ten years. This would certainly explain her cookery programs. A serious case of the munchies there. Also – allegedly- she has allowed her maids to spend up to a million quid a year on Mr Saatchi’s credit card. I think this probably counts as something drastic.

What’s that Brain? You think that’s just the tip of the iceberg? You think that even more revelations may come to light that are even more exciting and dramatic? Are you joking? You have an alarming tendency to be right when you’re joking. You never joke about me winning the lottery do you? You contrary, wrinkly grey twat.

© Copyright Michael Grimes 2013


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About thedailygrime

At that awkward age - too young to be a grumpy old man, but just acerbic and downtrodden enough to have an opinion. Read it here.

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