Jan Moir thrills us with her tales of cooking at Christmazzzzzzz

Stephen Gately's partner Andrew Cowles has complained to the PCC over Jan Moir's hate-filled, homophobic article about the singer's death. The Guardian reports:

Cowles complained through his solitictors, Mishcon de Reya, citing breaches of accuracy, intrusion into grief or shock and discrimination.

Given that in Moir's follow-up article (where she whined about the response to her article but said she wasn't complaining) she said:

I would like to say sorry if I have caused distress by the insensitive timing of the column

then she seems to have admitted she did intrude into grief and shock.

But it still seems highly unlikely the PCC will act againt Moir or the Mail.

In the meantime, Moir is still churning out her dreadful columns, including two in the last two days. Is there no end to the torture?

Yesterday's effort was particularly painful. Offensive for her inanity rather than her intolerance, she begins:

First, a confession. I have never, ever cooked Christmas lunch. Not once.

Yeh, we guessed 'not once' from the 'never, ever'.

And then:

yours truly has not so much as sliced a cross into a Brussels' bottom and said arise, Sir Sprout, and prepare to meet thy chestnutty doom.

Err...what?

She then runs through a series of conflicting recipe ideas from Delia, Gordon and Nigella about cooking shallots and de-boning a goose. And painting ham with marmalade. She mentions Waitrose and Fortnum's. That's a Mail writer who knows her audience.

And it really is that fascinating. She goes, tediously, on:

For this year, for the first time, I am cooking the lunch. Yes. Me. In charge of Christmas. At last. Holy bacon-wrapped chipolatas, I have been itching to do it for years. Dying to do it!

Like her first sentence, she seems so utterly bereft of anything to say she has to repeat everything. Everything! Yes. Her.

She then refers to 'bacon-wrapped chipolatas' as:

wind[ing] bits of flat pig around bits of round pig.

Cringe. Does she think her readers have a mental age of three? Or is that just her?

Her blathering on and on about her tedious domestic life continues:

no Brussels sprouts because Mr Jan Moir hates them.

Thanks for that. She's married? Some poor sod has to put up with this drivel everyday?

And:

Now my niece has just made a special request for her favourite blinis instead of brown bread with the salmon.

Could it be that Moir is deliberately trying to be as bland and uninteresting as possible to curry favour with the PCC?

Or is that just her default setting when she's not being intolerant and two-faced.