Even the great chef himself ...liked a bit on the side..... ....and not culinary .........a silver fox ....nice too ....i would pork/plug bang /fuck her.......why no........ ...just becaue you love someone ........ does not mean that sex is love ......sex is a mandatory function ...........if your wife is not coming across ....... then another broad will............... and gordon is fucking loaded ..........he needed new fresh .......women like famous rich men who can cook .........don't hate the player .......its the game i keep saying ....
Why Christmas is the most miserable time to be a mistress: It'll make wives everywhere want to hurl mince pies at her, but here the woman who had a secret seven-year affair with Gordon Ramsay risks the wrath of millions to explain her festive anguish
Wrapped in the loving arms of the tall, solid, tousled blond man, I was high on happiness. It was ten days before Christmas in 2007 and anyone witnessing our tender embrace would probably assume two things. That we were in an exclusive relationship and that we were sleeping together.
While the latter assumption was absolutely true, the former very definitely wasn't.
I was in my mid-30s, living in Los Angeles, and Gordon was in the city filming his TV series Hell's Kitchen. It was on this particular December visit that the chef I'd had a seven-year relationship with presented me with a Christmas gift.
He'd flown in from Atlantic City and we met up at an LA celebrity hotspot, staying in one of the luxurious bungalows. The following morning there was a cosy familiarity between us.
I slipped past his driver (incognito) and told myself it was all part of the fun of the affair, spontaneous and exciting.
At 37, our relationship was the longest, albeit unwisest, I'd ever had with a man (and is, in fact, still the longest relationship I've ever been in). But the passion I felt went hand-in-hand with feelings of acute loneliness. I'd spent the previous six Christmases by myself, never once getting to wake up on Christmas morning lying next to the man I'd fallen for, and now here I was again. Alone.
Christmas is soul-sappingly miserable when you're involved with a married man. However much you believe they care for you, it's their wife they always go back to on this the most magical day of the year.
And the trouble with those agonisingly long 24 hours is that inevitably you end up with too much thinking time. The words from John Lennon's Happy Xmas, 'So this is Christmas/And what have you done? Another year over...' would twirl endlessly around my mind, reminding me that I hadn't done much. Except that is, wait around for a man who was perfectly happy with his lot. Having his (Christmas) cake and eating it.
That Christmas, all by myself in Los Angeles, time slowed almost to a standstill. My friends had left town with their loved ones and little ones to make precious memories together with their families. Everyone always invites you, but who wants to be a spare wheel on Christmas Day?
Besides, seeing couples together would only underline what I didn't have: a faithful and committed man who loved me and wanted to be with me. Christmas is about spending time with those you love — a notion I was very much reminded of that year.
Throughout the day there were only so many hours I could reminisce about the clandestine nights Gordon and I had spent together at various swanky hotels in Los Angeles and London.
Too much thinking time meant I was well aware that, no matter how many hotel meet-ups we had, there was never any talk of a future.
I knew, as I dined on a meal-for-one and nursed a glass of Chardonnay, opening a gift my parents had sent over from the UK while watching re-runs of Sex And The City on the TV, that I was kidding myself if I thought next year things would be any different.
I kept my mobile close to hand and jumped when it rang, but he didn't call me on Christmas Day itself, as he hadn't done the six years previously. As the day went by, many emotions coursed through me — sadness, emptiness and anger.
As much as it pains me to admit it, I would regularly indulge in 'Googling Gordon' to see where he was. Yes I kept tabs on him — what mistress doesn't? I'd religiously follow the gossip columnists and bloggers to see where he'd been spotted (and with whom), and if he was on a television programme then I'd make damn sure I watched it. At the very least so I had something to chat about next time we were in touch. Of course falling down the Gordon rabbit-hole for hours (and hours) ultimately only made me feel worse.
I was living a lifestyle I thought I wanted. I was working on television format ideas with a Hollywood production company and I was with a man who made my heart race even if he was very much married. I wanted a life for us — as 'us' — and yet the reality was I just got crumbs, glimpses of what that life could be.
There and then, I decided to put my laptop away because no good could come of focussing on what I didn't have. I vowed never to spend Christmas on my own again. Even if that mean I'd be pulling crackers with just my parents in Wales.
During our on/off relationship, Gordon never asked me what I was doing at Christmas. And I never told him how awful that day always was.
Instead, when he phoned a few days later, I reverted to my bright, cheery persona, joking about when we'd next see one another.
Gordon and I met in the winter of 2001. I was 31 and working in sales for an events and limo company in London's Belgravia. Gordon was 36 and a household name, thanks to Boiling Point, an ITV fly-on-the-wall series documenting the opening of his first flagship restaurant. Back then, I was a live-for-today girl, ploughing my earnings into renting a centrally located apartment. Nothing happened that night but he asked for my number and I was happy to give it to him. I found myself attracted to him, and I thought, as I'm not seeing anyone, why not?
A couple of dates later and I couldn't get enough of him. In the early years, the appeal of spending time with him outweighed the negatives. I idolised Gordon and would have done anything for him. I really liked him and I believed the feeling was mutual.
It was while I was 'seeing' Gordon, and struggling with being the other woman that I decided to start a support group called Mistresses Anonymous. I ended up running it for a decade.
I was inundated by women wanting to sign up and chat to one another. While I primarily offered online support, I did organise a few in-person group meetings in Los Angeles and Canada, where I, at 42, eventually created and hosted a self-help reality TV series. From a 'professional' perspective I know perfectly well it was a vital lifeline for other women in the same boat as me and from a personal perspective, I'd tell myself at least I wasn't alone.
At best, it was a diversionary tactic; at worst, it reminded me what an idiot I was, placing my heart and happiness in the hands of a married man. I found myself giving the other members the very advice I couldn't follow myself — get out of the relationship now, you deserve better than this.
It will come as no surprise that the support group's busiest day was Christmas Day, when I'd be the wingwoman for mistresses who were in a desperate state. What came up again and again was that every mistress wants their married man to be with them on Christmas Day. A lot of the women who got in touch had issued ultimatums, or piled on the pressure.
The men had often been forced to sneak out to see them or make things up to them with an expensive gift. But it was never enough.
And I knew exactly what they were going through.
Each Christmas I'd be abandoned. For 48 hours my phone would remain silent, it was as though I didn't exist. I didn't buy Gordon presents, but that's because he couldn't take them home with him. And while Gordon and I would sometimes speak over the Christmas period, waiting for the phone to ring was agonising.
Over time I became quite frustrated about the situation I was in. But then he'd phone and I'd be bright and breezy. I was always available if I was needed, a bit pathetic really. And that's what I was — someone to massage his ego and tend to his needs. Understandably, my self-esteem plummeted.
That last California Christmas gave me a lot of thinking time. I'd spent the best part of my 30s living a lifestyle I thought I wanted, but in reality I'd wasted the best years of my life. Halfway through my affair with Gordon I couldn't help but look at other women my age who were settled down with a husband and a family. While I don't think I ever wanted children, I would have enjoyed a more settled lifestyle.
And I did dream of doing the normal things people do in relationships: meeting friends and family, sharing a home, going round John Lewis sizing up crockery or curtains — even squabbling loudly in the street together — all things I could never have done.
I stopped seeing Gordon in 2008 when our seven-year affair became public after the News of the World ran a story about us. I was 38, finally older and wiser. He denied what we had at the time and attempted to erase me from his life. Hindsight has allowed me the time to understand that.
Today I'm 53 and very happily single. The loves of my life are furry and have four paws. They are my re-homed rescue dogs Benji, Charlotte and Tiny. I live in the family home, enjoy village life with my dear elderly parents and Christmas is now a time to count my blessings. I focus on what I do have, rather than what I don't.
I have no need for a man in my life, but if I did meet someone, I'd make sure they weren't married. I'd never again have an affair; take it from me, no good can come of it.