Dear Gordon...

... I've always tried to like you.  I always thought the media were making you out to be a complete plonker.  But when you had that hotel "triste" with some peroxided Annie Lennox look alike and a pile of drugs, I started to have my doubts.  And when you came to Australia and were rude to our very own Tracey Grimshaw, I'd had enough.  So when I read your autobiography "Gordon Ramsay - Humble Pie", I thought, "Here you go man.  One. Last.  Chance."  Because basically, an autobiography is your chance to defend and glorify yourself.  I really wanted it to work for us Gordon.  I admired your work ethic, I passed on tidbits to The Husband about how you motivated your team and how loyal they were to you.  I tried.  I really tried.

But then I read it, and with respect to you Gordon, I think your own words tell the story more eloquently than my own interpretation of them...

"..But who am I kidding?  I can't stand all that school stuff.."I got into a lot of trouble not so long ago when I said in a glossy magazine that in my kid's playground, I'd never seen so many pigs trotters in my life.  I meant some of the mothers - all dolled up to the nines.  Those women, looked bored to tears, using hubby's little bit of plastic, trotting to buy their lamb shanks, then a little bit of Pilates, then pick up the kids.  Outside the school yard, it's a nightmare.  I don't want to talk about their split-fucking-hollandaise sauce.  I want them to leave me alone.  So that's why I do one school run a term, and only one, no matter how much Megan likes me to show up.  Those mothers can be so fucking superficial....The nativity play is like hell on earth.  All the dad's rushing in with their bald heads and their pin stripe suits, bawling their eyes out when they see their little darlings up there on stage, and the mothers rushing to the front so they can use the zoom lenses on their video cameras.  Dear God.  Save me from all that."

You know what I thought when I read this Gordon?
What a cynical git you are.  You mock me and you mock my life.
And you mock the lives of my friends.  And probably the life of your wife and your friends.
You see Gordon, it's not all about the lamb shanks.  In the school yard, some mothers are dolled up to the nines, because they have just rushed out of work and rushed to school, so they can actually meet their child coming out of class (as obviously your daughter would love you to do).  Some mothers may have just done pilates, but maybe they worked in the school canteen or did reading help in their child's class before that.  Maybe they have done shift work and been up all night.  Those parents in the school yards actually have lives with purpose.  Their "purpose" is a personal and private one.  Maybe they are taking a break from work while their children are at school, maybe they can't find work, maybe they are retraining, maybe they are working part time, maybe they are working full time.  Each choice has it's consequences.  We don't need a bit twat like yourself judging us without knowing our stories.

And each parent in that school yard has a story.

Please don't judge us so freely and callously.  You have no idea.
We're over Gordon.  You and me, we're done.