The new series of I’m A Celebrity…Get Me Out Of Here! started on TV last night.
“Celebrity” is one of those words that has changed meaning in recent years, like “literally”, “sick” and “friends”. Once used to refer to giants of screen, sport or literature, it now means anyone who has been on the X-Factor, appeared briefly in a soap or has found, to their horror, that they are not famous anymore.
So this year nine celebrities and Caitlyn Jenner (even I’ve heard of her) have gathered in the jungle in Australia, where over the next three weeks they will endure ghastly trials, shortage of food and the boisterousness of Ian Wright’s laugh.
They will sleep in the open, with snakes, frogs and spiders crawling over them. They will shower in freezing water. They will eat kangaroo anus to earn a meal, though had I to do that I would never eat again. They will crawl into dark spaces filled with bugs, rats and cockroaches.
They will be well paid for all of this, and a closely watching team of experts will ensure that they are never in any danger.
It’s formulaic mindless rubbish. Every year I swear I will not watch it. Every year I do.
But I mention this guilty pleasure only because of the photo at the top of this post, which is not from the programme. By co-incidence it arrived earlier today from Tinson2, currently working at a vineyard near Melbourne, and is a picture of something that jumped out of a vine this morning and ran up his arm.
He is not being especially well paid for all of this, and has no closely watching teams of experts to ensure that he is never in any danger. He will not even get the chance to see Nadine Coyle in a bikini.
But the title of this post is mine, used purely because it matches the title of the show. Tinson2 would never use the phrase. He is eight months in Australia now, after his two years in Canada, and is enjoying every single second.
In three weeks time somebody on I’m A Celebrity will be voted King or Queen of the Jungle. To us it’s him.