Why Gregg Wallace needs a visit from three Ghosts of Middle-Class Women of a Certain Age

‘Twas Christmas morning and Master Gregg Wallace was pulling on his “Santa’s Come” sweater and preparing for the day ahead. He planned to pop out to the pub before pottering home to slip something into his wife’s stocking.

But before he could leave, a voice came out of nowhere. It was Nigella. “Gregg, on this day you are going to be visited by three ghosts of middle-class women of a certain age. Dismiss them at your peril.”

Gregg didn’t fancy this but he did fancy Nigella so he paused and replied: “I have no use for them. I’m a working-class, cheeky chappie cockney who just likes a bit of banter followed by extra helpings of roly poly”. But it was no use, like Gregg’s career, Nigella had vanished.

Gregg Wallace may need to learn the error of his ways from some supernatural visitors (Picture: Yui Mok) | PA

Ghost of Your Career Past

Pulling on his sheepskin coat, Gregg stepped outside into the cold and frosty morning. As he walked along the road, snow started to fall, like icing sugar on Spotted Dick. Suddenly a figure appeared and began walking by his side.

It was Kirsty Wark. “Gregg, I am the Ghost of Your Career Past. You are a dinosaur and cannot continue to make sexualised comments that make women uncomfortable. If you want to have a future, you must change.”

Gregg pulled up his sheepskin collar and quickened his pace. At Ye Olde Dog and Duck, he was relieved to see it was business as usual. The regulars were roasting their nuts by the fireside and his usual bar stool was free, next to the KP Advent Calendar featuring girls in bikinis.

Not about women

Gregg took his place but the friendly landlord was nowhere to be seen. Instead comedian Jo Brand appeared behind the bar with his foaming pint of ale. “Gregg, I am the Ghost of Your Career Present which is behind you, in true pantomime style. This isn’t about women, age or class. It’s about you and the inappropriate things you say. We just don’t want to hear them. You need to change.”

She was right. Gregg stood up and, like a real man, necked his beer. He did need to change. He’d left his “I Like Stuffing” novelty jumper with flashing lights on the radiator back home and it would now be as hot as his wife.

Gregg headed for the door. Outside the snow was falling faster and thicker but luckily a taxi was sitting at the rank opposite. He climbed in the back but before he could speak, the driver turned around.

Pass the turkey

It was John Torode’s wife Lisa Faulkner. “Gregg, I am the Ghost of Your Career Future. Unless you change your behaviour, I’ll be presenting Masterchef with John from now on. This is your last chance.”

As if by magic, he was back outside his home. Gregg ran inside to find the whole family gathered around the dinner table. “I’m home but I’m not really because this is a new me. I’ve learned my lesson and from now on I’m going to be a better man. Now pass the turkey,” he said.

Gregg really wanted breast, leg or thigh but he knew those days were gone and he must avoid any parts with sexual connotations. “Just some wing for me this year,” he said, proving that, at Christmas, miracles really can happen.