Tonight I am tweeting Masterchef. It's only on once this week. It’s like Haley’s comet, zooming across the TV sky once every 75 years.

At the end of the last episode, Gregg claimed that John had been replaced by a double. In fact, Gregg was had neurological damage.

Gregg's neurological issues meant that when he saw John he experienced none of his usual emotions: love, joy, trust, passion.

Instead he felt nothing. Indifference. His mind processed this in the only way he could: that the man standing before him was not John.

Fortunately Gregg has been taking part in experimental treatments and has recovered in time for tonight's episode. Good luck Gregg!

I am Greg. The man in Masterchef is Gregg. Mixing this up is the worst thing you can do. It's worse than murder or blackmail.

If you dislike Masterchef, now is a good time to unfollow me. I'll be honest, anytime is a good time to unfollow me.

Out of the sky, a mysterious M appears. Criminals shriek. Women faint. Dogs explode. Two men stride out of the darkness: Masterchef.

Last week the contestants were thrown into the world of furries, adults who like to dress up as animals to have sex. It was a revelation.

I missed that episode. There's a gap in my life. Missing memories. An emotional Atlantis, buried beneath the waves of memories.

Jason Atherton! Fomer England captain Jason Atherton! What an honour.

The ultimate mass catering challenge never takes place in Basildon. Nothing ultimate takes place in Basildon.

Andrew looks like an indie drummer from 1992, rudely brought forward in time by the magic of food.

John: "Imagine a cucumber. Then double it! This challenge is even BIGGER than that."

John: "They have to choose the right leader." As he speaks, random images of Mussolini flash on the screen. Hardly subtle.

Cous-cous. Andrew finds himself on the wrong side of a class war. His wilted spinach will do him no good when faced by angry men with chips.

Chicken curry. My signature dish. I write my signature in chicken curry. It's almost totally indecipherable.

"What's the biggest amount of bechamel you've ever made," Gregg asks, whilst pointing at a woman's vagina. Scandalous.

This is like watching two potatoes arguing, with Andrew as the sprig of parsley trapped between them.

Each episode the BBC spends most of its budget on CGIing a V-neck sweater on Gregg. In reality he is topless. Always topless.

Tonight John is wearing Vera Wang. Gregg is wearing Clockwise by C&A.