For months, the question of who would replace Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman on Strictly has been one of the biggest topics in UK showbiz – and no one could have predicted that the answer would involve the bumbling comedian Josh Widdicombe.
Finding a duo as iconic as Daly and Winkleman to present Strictly was clearly too much of a challenge for the BBC, so the news came that three (three!) presenters would be taking over the glitziest show on TV. Emma Willis, whose name had been widely reported on, felt like a predictable and safe, but strong, choice. Johannes Radebe, a beloved former Strictly pro, was more surprising, yet was instantly enveloped into the fandom’s warm embrace.
But Josh Widdicombe? Now that name seemed to come out of nowhere. Not that he lacks experience; over the years, Widdicombe has transitioned from gigging stand-up to all-round TV personality. His face never seems to be off our screens, and he’s the kind of celebrity everyone’s mum seems to have a soft spot for, whether he’s on Live at the Apollo, Have I Got News For You or the Graham Norton Show sofa.

Widdicombe actually has a connection to Strictly too, having appeared on the 2024 Christmas Special to dance a Charleston dressed as a penguin. Naturally, however, many have questioned whether the camp razzle and dazzle of Strictly will be embraced by a straight male comedian whose entire career revolves around his status as a Very Normal Guy. If this is you, I’d advise watching the Christmas special. Widdicombe is undeniably awkward, yes, but you can’t say the man isn’t giving it his all. In the YouTube comments beneath the cheesy festive routine, the show’s many armchair ballroom dancing experts can be found admitting that Widdicombe surprised them with his commitment to the role. I suspect – I hope – Strictly will be the same. He might have joked that the experience made for “the worst day of my career”, but clearly it didn’t put him off.
A West Country lad from a village in Devon (early interviews often refer to his hair being as woolly as the sheep he grew up surrounded by), Widdicombe fell into comedy more or less by accident. From his first appearance on Mock the Week, he quickly became a core member of the comedy class of the 2010s. Making the popular comedy panels of the era their playground, Widdicombe and co built their brands around poking fun at the day’s headlines (remember when we could laugh at the news?) and breaking off to perform short observational routines about everyday life in Britain.
It was this kind of material, about the mundanity of middle-class life, that became Widdicombe’s bread and butter. Michael McIntyre, who Widdicombe supported on tour early in his career, feels like a clear point of reference when it comes to subject matter, at least. But while the former’s comedy was frenetic and physical, Widdicombe’s style was far slouchier. Usually performing in a loose shirt (often plaid) and casual trousers, he was the comedy everyman – your slightly grumpy but ultimately affable neighbour.

“Relatable” is the word best used to describe Widdicombe’s persona on stage and screen, his work undeniably funny but without much of an edge. A rebellious streak clearly lurked beneath, however. For those who watched Taskmaster in the Dave days (or have since binged the back catalogue multiple times on YouTube), Widdicombe will always be remembered for calling Greg Davies’ bluff in the very first series by getting the word “Greg” tattooed on his foot. The look of genuine astonishment on Davies’ face made for an all-time TV moment, and will always serve as a reminder of Widdicombe’s ability to surprise.
Since then, Widdicombe’s star has swiftly ascended. While he’s remained a loyal core member of the presenting team on satirical Channel 4 series The Last Leg, the comic is a constant on quiz shows and presenting gigs. This ubiquity is testament to Widdecombe being well-liked within the TV industry, and a safe pair of hands who is playful and cheeky but, crucially, inoffensive. Given Strictly’s clear desire for a brand overhaul after their scandal-laden few years, these factors are crucial.
But while Widdicombe’s agent must be working double time to secure his success, the project that has arguably earned him the most praise in recent years is one he can really take the credit for. During lockdown, Widdicombe and fellow comedian Rob Beckett began Parenting Hell, a podcast about the realities of fatherhood. On paper, the whole “parenting is hard, actually” premise sounds pretty unbearable, particularly for mothers who know this all too well. But the podcast has proven a huge hit with all genders, and often riding high in the podcast charts.
Watch Apple TV+ free for 7 day
New subscribers only. £9.99/mo. after free trial. Plan auto-renews until cancelled.
Try for free
ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent.
Watch Apple TV+ free for 7 day
New subscribers only. £9.99/mo. after free trial. Plan auto-renews until cancelled.
Try for free
ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent.

Parenting Hell’s success seems paramount to the Josh-Widdicombe-on-Strictly pipeline. It’s proven that audiences are willing to stick with the comic week in, week out and that he has broad appeal. Strictly might be stereotyped as a show for the girls and the gays, but (and I’m whispering this) throwing a straight man in there too could certainly benefit the programme. Between them, Willis, Radebe and Widdicombe cover all bases, whether for long-time viewers who want an experienced presenter at the tightly run ship that is Strictly, fans obsessed with Radebe (or Jojo, as they call him like a dear friend), or those who loudly declare that Strictly isn’t for them but would likely love it if they gave it a chance.
Widdicombe will bring people into the show, but ultimately he’ll work because he’s not part of its furniture. You can imagine him in a position akin to Winkleman. She might have been involved with the Strictly Cinematic Universe from its first year, but she never quite stopped playing this slight interloper role. Winkleman clearly revelled in the chaos of it all, but was just as likely to widen her eyes or shake her head at the camera as if she remained perplexed by the whole thing two decades in. I can picture it now: the comedian operating from the baffled outsider position, raising his eyebrows and saying “blimey” every two to three minutes but ending up fully immersed in the world and getting his fake tan each week with glee. Throw all the glitter you want at him. Widdicombe will lap it up.




