Another day, another #meetoo feeding frenzy.

Gregg Wallace was only partly right in his assessment of those addicted to the blame-gravy train.

They happen to come in all shapes, sizes, ages, and backgrounds, but they all have one common characteristic: they are addicted to being the centre of attention.

#memememetoo

It’s always about them.

But many of today’s pervy palavers have one common denominator.

The BBC.

The BBC threw Gregg the lines, and he delivered. At any time, if they’d deemed it unacceptable, a senior member of the production could gagged him (guffaw) via changes to the often innuendo-loaded script.

They never.

For any off-screen high jinx that had seemingly stretched the limits, they could have taken him to one side and told him to stop, Gregg, uuh, stop!

Or even opened the oven door to stop the soufflé rising

They never.

Not even John Toad opened his wide mouth at the time, but his toad-in-the-hole low profile since the storm broke does seem a tad odd? He after all married a contestant from one of the series.

Maybe that’s more socially acceptable than cracking a joke about your aunt’s beefburger.

But let’s move on to the main course.

For many presenters, the person on screen is a persona created in tandem with the programme strategists (remember Lorraine Kelly successfully arguing that one at a tax tribunal, much to the chagrin of HMRC).

These guys are acting.

Nobody’s arresting Johnny Depp for piracy, are they?

Over the course of time, the Gregg Wallace persona – the ooer-Matron, cheeky chappie, juxtaposed with the monotone, straight-faced Toad  –  was facilitated, nurtured, and egged on by the BBC.

Yes, the BBC, which no, Gregg, does not stand for big black cock.