Gordon Ramsay has more nervous tics that One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. He twitches, jiggles and burps ‘Uh?’ while swearing like Tourette’s bus. Why no-one has certified this man mental is quite beyond us.

And we’ve not even looked at his weird, weird face. It looks like a cliff face that’s falling into tge sea.

With that, the fact he got get on fire, it’s hard to imagine that anyone actually noticed any difference from him. He looks weird, swears a lot and cooks flesh. If you were in the next room, you’d carry on doing your crossword wouldn’t you?

All this happened while Gordo was shooting a documentary in Costa Rica about the illegal shark fin industry.

It’s here that you assume that Ramsay nearly set himself on fire while cooking some hideously dull looking meal. You’d be wrong.

See, some fishmonger’s henchman attempted to set fire to him.

How great is that? Give that henchman a Bafta!

Not talking up the incident in any way, shape or form, Ramsay told Playboy magazine:

“That was a little bit hairy… The fishmongers have these armed guards patrolling fortress-like towers, so we tried to get in and ran into a guard.

“They poured petrol all over my hair and neck and tried to set us on fire.”

So there.

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If you were ever faced with the task of cooking wrinkle faced chef Gordon Ramsay a meal, you’d probably find that it wouldn’t be up to standard. Instead of constructive criticism, a fiery Ramsay would slam into the kitchen, take you by the scruff of the neck and threaten to hack your eyes out with bread knives.

All because the carrots and mashed potatoes were touching on the plate.

Whilst our speciality of microwaved noodles fails in comparison to Ramsay’s Michelin grub, the TV cook is actually better known for his filthy mouth and bad temper. Notoriety equals an easy payday for the ‘celeb in endorsing a product. This is presumably what the people at Gordon’s Gin thought would happen, especially when someone with the same forename is believed to be a lover of said product, but this lazy marketing ploy has backfired. Sales are down and Ramsay is off!

We’re used to seeing actresses and pop stars flogging us anti-ageing moisturiser with newly discovered ingredients such as Absalieboloxs that will counteract the ravages of time. Extracted from matured bat droppings, these lotions will then be snapped up as pointless people such as Paris Hilton who can then claim it made her feel so refreshed that she felt young enough to another sex tape.

But flogging alcohol with a famous person attached? It does seem a little odd, especially in a world when we’re continually told that young people are breaking their livers every weekend when venturing out into town. But then again, the people behind alcopops haven’t asked Kerry Katona to promote their bland tasting sugary drinks, so the nations press can’t take the moral high ground just yet.

Surely gin is seen as a classier drink, like what villains drink in films? Or to put in a real life context, an ingredient to put into a fancy sounding cocktail that give little change out of a £10 note.

Adverts for the Gordon’s had shown Ramsay standing infront of a white background while gin and lime wedges are poured on to his horribly craggy head. Either this is some sort of weird way of making a cocktail, or the reaction of a consumer who just had a mouthful of the stuff. We sincerely hope that Ramsay didn’t scoop up what was on the floor and use it in a recipe, health and safety worriers would go bananas.

A spokesperson from Gordon’s gin HQ slurred:

“Gordon just doesn’t cut the mustard anymore. He is not what the brand needs and they are looking for a new, more positive direction.”

If he has been suggesting a mustard flavoured gin, then that could be a justified reason to send him on his way. He isn’t the mad scientist of the food world, Heston Whatshisface owns the crown for combining roadkill and cake together for some sort of main course.

We don’t think that Gordon Ramsay will be without a sponsorship deal for long, it’s quite likely that an ironing company might take to the challenge of making the lines on his face disappear.

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Delia Smith is the Jay-Z of the middle-class television chef world, albeit a Jay-Z who keeps getting drunk at football matches and has fingers like chubby uncooked sausages.

So why is Delia Smith like Jay-Z? Well, her forthcoming gangsta rap album All Eyez On Me (I'm Making Flapjacks) is certainly one reason, and the other is that she's about to break her own self-enforced retirement. The BBC has announced that Delia Smith is set to make her television comeback next year, six years after announcing that she'd hung up her whisk for good, with an update of her 1971 book How To Cheat At Cooking. Of course, the TV cooking landscape has changed immeasurably over the last six years, so it's clear that Delia needs a gimmick – which is why she plans on screaming all her recipes like they're red-eyed, wobbly-legged football chants.

Look around at the state of television cookery at the moment and what have you got? Gordon Ramsay bellowing swearwords. Jamie Oliver slowly transforming into a Shed Seven-loving Michael Winner. Nigella Lawson dressed in tinfoil knickers pretending that she's friends with poor people. Heston Blumenthal cooking a burger atom by atom using a particle accelerator made out of unicorn piss. Food Poker – a programme so hopelessly schizophrenic that it's like a nightmarish Vietnam veteran's flashback as presented by Matt Allwright.

What TV cookery needs now is a steady hand – an awoken monolith who can show these upstarts how things are done. And, clearly, that means Delia Smith. Delia Smith is the undisputed queen of the TV kitchen – if Delia writes a recipe involving cranberries, the whole country sells out of cranberries in a day. If Delia shows us how to make omelettes properly, the whole country sells out of omelette pans in a day. And if Delia turns up on YouTube drunkenly shouting into a microphone at a football match, the whole country lurches around sporting venues all red-eyed screaming "Let's be 'avin you! Come on!" the next day. That's the all-encompassing power of Delia Smith's influence.

And now, after a six-year absence, Delia Smith is returning to television to teach us slack-jawed morons how to cook food without buggering it up by hitting packets of pasta with wooden spoons like bloody cavemen. Next year Delia Smith will return to the BBC with an updated version of her 1971 book How To Cheat At Cooking, with a BBC spokesperson saying:

"It's going to be something we've not done before with Delia, showing how to cut corners, but not cut corners on quality or taste. We're also going to show her life beyond the kitchen. It's great that she's coming back and it's showing more of her life than ever before."

Now, we know what you're thinking. Delia Smith's How To Cheat At Cooking sounds an awful lot like Nigella Express, but hopefully it won't copy Nigella Express' 'don't worry if you haven't got any eggs, use one of your shoes or whatever instead' mentality. Or end each show with Delia Smith smearing butterscotch sauce across her face in a silky nightie like Nigella does. We really hope that last one doesn't happen, by the way. We have trouble enough sleeping as it is.

But, hey, if anyone's qualified to stare into a TV camera and awkwardly intone ways that the general public can cheat at cooking, it's Delia Smith. All we have to do now is see if Delia Smith cheats at cooking the same way we cheat at cooking – but let's hope not, because watching a 66-year-old woman eat a three-day-old slice of takeaway pizza in front of Loose Women with one sausagey hand rammed down the front of her trousers isn't entertainment. But it is strangely arousing.