Every so often, the Intellectual Hooligan is filled with a primeval urge to howl an anguished, resonant, almighty WTF. We've already – not so long ago – had bile-duct-rupturingly awful logo design. Now, dear reader, I give you —
Davina McCall's Spaghetti Amatriciana
The email above landed in my inbox a while back with an ominous, turd-like thud, courtesy (if courtesy be the word) of mid-tempo-food chain ASK.
Why, in the name of Satan's elbow, did someone think that I'd want to eat Davina McCall's anything?
And the question is begged (YES, DEFIANTLY I USE THE PASSIVE VOICE): what's next?
- Bruce Forsyth's Toad in the Hole?
- Ant & Dec's Dough Balls?
- Andrew Lloyd Webber's Turkey Supreme?
- Cilla Black's Stewed Prunes?
- Alan Sugar's Big Creamy Sundae?
- Anne Robinson's Sour Bake?
Over to you, dear readers, for further suggestions.