As a woman of a 'certain age', I've met plenty of Gregg Wallaces in my time

This week has seen Wallace go from hero to zero

Gregg Wallaces.

They’re ten a penny.

This week has seen endless new allegations about the MasterChef presenter’s behaviour, from inappropriate touching and groping to unacceptable comments, as the BBC cancels its screenings of the programme’s Christmas specials.

Wallace has stepped away from the series.

It makes my blood simmer to read each fresh statement, coming mainly from contestants and colleagues.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

We’ve had Kirsty Wark being the first to go public with her experience, before Rod Stewart called Wallace a ‘bully’ for his treatment of Penny Lancaster, Melanie Sykes said she quit TV because of Wallace’s behaviour, and even a BSL translator at the live MasterChef show said that the presenter was disrespectful.

And that’s just a smattering.

If this is a case of no smoke without fire, then his souffle is well and truly flambeed.

Just women, all trying to do their jobs, being - allegedly - undermined.

I get the same sensation of anger when I read below the line on social media and see his florid defence, from those who quickly pile on to support someone they don’t even know. The chat is usually entirely disingenuous, with anonymous accounts saying, ‘it’s just banter’, blaming the ‘woke’, and acting as if this 60-year-old presenter is some kind of scion of masculinity.

Oh please, spare me.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

We all know the script. What you can and can’t say at work. How to treat other humans.

The rules of mutual respect apply to everyone, including celebrities. However, there are those who seem to think that anything goes.

“But why didn’t they say something at the time?” is their refrain to victims, when they know perfectly well the answer to that question.

It’s an all too familiar reaction, post Mohamed Al-Fayed, Harvey Weinstein and even Jimmy Savile.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

And then there’s the pretence that they don’t understand why the chat you might have with, say, a partner, might not go down well with a colleague or stranger.

Being successful isn’t an invitation to burn your How to Behave at Work for Dummies handbook.

It’s at times like this that I begin to think that imposter syndrome might be a good thing. At least, then, you’re always hugely grateful for your position, and don’t start punching down, by acting as if your colleagues are your personal smorgasbord.

If I were Wallace, I’d forever be wondering how I’d managed to bag such an excellent gig, which amounts to saying ‘buttery biscuit base’ a few times and going into raptures over sticky toffee pudding.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad
Gregg WallaceGregg Wallace
Gregg Wallace | Getty Images

He’s kept that plum role for nearly two decades, yet there is nothing particularly unique, charming or talented about him.

If our roles were reversed, I would have kept my ego in check and been SO well behaved.

I’d toe the line neater than a Cirque du Soleil tightrope walker. I’d keep my breath minty fresh and say all my pleases and thank yous.

“Be nice to the people you meet on the way up; they’re the same people you meet on the way down,” as Hollywood playwright, Wilson Mizner, once said, after observing the way stars treated others.

Great advice.

Anyway, Wallace has pushed a lot of our buttons.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

I’m too skint to be middle class, but I am a woman ‘of a certain age’ - aka the demographic that Wallace tried to dismiss in the video post that he ill-advisedly used to defend himself. He has since apologised for that. Perhaps after he realised that women aren’t an easy-to-scapegoat minority but a significant chunk of the population.

I’m surprised he didn’t blame ‘crazy cat ladies’ and transform himself into the Trump of cookery shows.

Anyway, I have met many Wallaces in my time.

Firstly, let’s debunk the ‘banter’ thing. Unless you count nervous laughter, nobody finds it amusing when inappropriate comments are made, especially from a senior member of staff to a junior or younger colleague.

Why would anyone think it’s funny? It’s a power play. A way to humiliate and alpha someone.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

Outside of work and in common with most women, I’ve been followed, harassed and assaulted, with most of those incidents taking place in my teens and twenties.

It seems par for the course. However, there have also been more minor, but still memorable, office-based occurrences.

For example, I remember when one now former, much older colleague in a previous career told me that he’d seen me at the weekend and had recognised me in the street, by ‘my ass’.

He didn’t laugh, I didn’t either. He just regarded me, and got a kick out of my embarrassment.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

I didn’t report it, but never forgot, and avoided him from then on.

More recently, I had another, similar moment with a painter, who came round to my house, while my other half was out at work. He chatted normally at first, then dropped a few innuendos to make me squirm. As most women do, I planned my escape route. I don’t like being put in that position.

And a few weeks ago, there was a taxi driver, who told me an overtly sexual story. He took his eyes off the road, to watch my reaction in the rear view mirror. When I didn’t flinch, he told me the story again. I said nothing. I could tell he wasn’t happy. He wanted a giggle, at least.

It’s not banter. That’s a game, and only one side is enjoying it.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

My eighty-something mum has some stories to make your hair curl, from being a working woman in the Fifties. She’s the generation who’d be the first to say ‘poor Gregg’, because they were brought up to believe that men were always right and were in possession of appetites they couldn't tame.

I’m sorry, but they are very much in control.

I just hope that the next MasterChef presenter will be a bit nicer to people they meet on the way up.

Comments

 0 comments

Want to join the conversation? Please or to comment on this article.

Dare to be Honest
Follow us
©National World Publishing Ltd. All rights reserved.Cookie SettingsTerms and ConditionsPrivacy notice