A few years ago, Gordon Ramsay was just a chef with a potty mouth and a face like a sharpei. Now he's turned into some kind of sex symbol.
Don't believe me? Then tune into Gordon Ramsay's Hotel Nightmares. Yes, our furrow faced friend has stepped out of the kitchen and is using his expertise as a seasoned meanie to lambast hotel owners who really should know better than to use Auntie Dorothy's floral nightgown as a bedspread or allow great wads of hair to collect in the drain.
When we're not treated to views of Gordon's trademark expressions of disbelief and horror, signified by ever more rapid rubbing of his brow and eyes, there is the odd money shot: just the other day, I caught a peek of his pert little bum (actually, it's neither) as he stepped into the shower. The thought did occur to me: my, how far Gordon's come. He started out cooking rump, and now he's showing his.
I did, however, find this little splash of nudity bizarre, coming as it did in the middle of a programme highlighting the problem of inadequate security at hospitality establishments. Nonetheless, Gordon carried it off with flair, managing to appear simultaneously coy and furiously put out by the hotel's shortcomings, as if it were somehow the manager's fault that he had to take his clothes off to shower. Also, I won't pretend it wasn't refreshing to have a man's bits flashed across my TV screen, even if his bum is about 99th on my list of posterior must-sees, hovering somewhere between Bill Crosby and the guy who pumps gas at the Shell on the corner of my road.
Don't believe me? Then tune into Gordon Ramsay's Hotel Nightmares. Yes, our furrow faced friend has stepped out of the kitchen and is using his expertise as a seasoned meanie to lambast hotel owners who really should know better than to use Auntie Dorothy's floral nightgown as a bedspread or allow great wads of hair to collect in the drain.
When we're not treated to views of Gordon's trademark expressions of disbelief and horror, signified by ever more rapid rubbing of his brow and eyes, there is the odd money shot: just the other day, I caught a peek of his pert little bum (actually, it's neither) as he stepped into the shower. The thought did occur to me: my, how far Gordon's come. He started out cooking rump, and now he's showing his.
I did, however, find this little splash of nudity bizarre, coming as it did in the middle of a programme highlighting the problem of inadequate security at hospitality establishments. Nonetheless, Gordon carried it off with flair, managing to appear simultaneously coy and furiously put out by the hotel's shortcomings, as if it were somehow the manager's fault that he had to take his clothes off to shower. Also, I won't pretend it wasn't refreshing to have a man's bits flashed across my TV screen, even if his bum is about 99th on my list of posterior must-sees, hovering somewhere between Bill Crosby and the guy who pumps gas at the Shell on the corner of my road.
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