Delia's new series has been such brilliant television. Initially we watched it for the humour value, as she stirred-in packet sauces and reached for frozen griddled aubergine slices - what is she thinking! And we cringed as she told a meeting at her football club that of course she was just in it for the money why else would anyone own a football club. And we mocked as she never touched her food, keeping her hands clean at tool's length. Imagine Jamie Oliver using tongs to toss his salad! She quite clearly hates food and hates cooking and hates herself.

But as the series has gone on she has been more and more honest and has freely exposed herself as really a complete trainwreck of a person: anxious, fussy and spiteful - the Anne Robinson of the cooking world, complete with frozen hair. And she's become her own Louis Theroux, showing us around her bizarre millionaire lifestyle and her brain-dead husband and admitting that she's never been any good as a cook. We come to pity her as she deconstructs herself onscreen as deftly as she deconstructs subtle recipes into frozen food stir-togethers. And so now we watch in awe and respect, for all the self-promotion and horror, seeing her as someone struggling to understand themself and genuinely trying to help more people cook. It's like watching a film actor after they've recovered from drug addiction, you can't help but have more respect for them for the sheer broken humanity.

This post was originally on LiveJournal.