As you get older you discover, as I have, that less things in life make you tingle. I’m ten btw. One of the few things that really orders my jimmies any more is the visage of that wonderful, tantalising green grocer…
I pray to Gregg every night. I have a little shrine. My wife says we should probably use that room for the baby, but I tell that woman to shut her little female mouth (am I right, lads? (heck, yeah)).
It is the good faith that Gregg is out there and happily scrolling through my blog posts that is the impetus for my heart to beat. If I knew he wasn’t then I’d probably go back to my day job, or something.
It’s not a weird thing, okay? A lot of people share my affection. Gregg doesn’t affect my personal love life, those things are entirely non-overlapping magisteria. And before you ask, I did not ask my wife to wear a Gregg Wallace mask when we tried to conceive. It’s not a fetish.
We are a registered society who meet up every Wednesday to discuss our feelings for Gregg. We watch backlogs of Masterchef a lot. Sometimes we roleplay, and no, they do not get out of hand. I tell my wife I go bowling.
I had this dream where I could feel the soft (and yet firm simultaneously) hands of Gregg-sama reach for me, pulling me towards his kingdom of broccoli and sprouts above. I made him a dish and he looked at me and said those words: ‘Kawr, mate’ before throwing open the green gates of Gregg-opolis.
Since then I’ve had to wear Huggies to sleep.
Gregg if you are reading this please respond to my letters.