There was more going on in the jungle last night than in Jake Quickenden’s head, although admittedly that isn’t a difficult feat to accomplish. What started off as a nice cocktail party comprising of blended bull genitals and swine anus (sounds like my wife’s cooking) ended with an X Factor reject, a rap star and a prim and proper newsreader performing the most awful yet addictive jungle ditty since Insania. Meanwhile, Edwina Currie was lying flat on her back (and not for the first time) and passing her thoughts secretively on the other campmates while Vicky Michelle was playing with toy parrots. Kendra was proudly boasting that she doesn’t remember the names of most of her one night stands and finally, Jimmy ‘BullyBanter’ Bullard became the surprise first evictee.
So where do I start with this one? Okay, okay, the beginning it is. Continue reading
Jimmy and Foggy locked in a shed together, Kendra using her thrusting head and her tongue and Tinchy Stryder trying to orienter; yes it was another bizarre 90 minutes in the Australian jungle packed full of Z Listers and critters. Don’t ask me which is which.
The viewing public had very kindly decided that we were to endure another trial full of Kendra whining (‘Oh my gawwwwd, I cyaaaan’t you GUYS’ etc) and doing little else, leaving the producers a bit narked that they were spending thousands on putting these trials together and they were hardly being used. You’d think that using her mouth in order to guarantee being fed at the end of the day would come naturally to Kendra, given her past career choice, but alas, she was barely able to burst her head through Mona Lisa before she was giving up on each segment of the trial. Even Ant and Dec were starting to lose their trademark cheeriness and you could tell that they just hoped she would get her head stuck in one of those frames. If so, could we just leave her there for the remainder of the series? Continue reading
Anyone who was expecting X Factor loser Jake Quickenden to make a pig’s ear of last night’s live trial was proven badly wrong. Instead, he made a pig’s testicle of it which was exactly what he’d been asked to do. It didn’t matter that he had to orally transfer the bollocks of several swine between containers; Jake was just happy that for once the public had voted for him. If only they had done that during The X Factor.
As if giving him a 24 hour Text Santa broadcast marathon wasn’t enough for the demure ego of Philip Schofield, ITV paid homage to his gameshow, The Cube in the live trial. They already had an extra set of ad breaks ready for if Kendra Wilkinson was voted to take part, given that it would have lasted all of 30 seconds (aka the time it takes her to say ‘Oh my Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd’) but thankfully, have a go lad Jake was up for the challenge. And I’m not talking the challenge of getting frisky with Irish Nadia (whoever she is); that already looks as if it’s going to be a walk in the park.
Securing ten stars for playing with building bricks (something Jake only just mastered last week) and counting eels (again, counting being something that’s just recently been added to Jake’s skills list), Jake managed to claim a full lot of meals for camp (or, if Gemma were still here, a snack). This went down very well and was the second day in a row of successes in the Bushtucker Trials.
Gemma Collins spouts diarrhoea on a daily basis, although admittedly this is generally out of her mouth. Last night, the fluorescent yellow excrement (that’s me never eating custard again) was flowing heavily from both ends, as Gemma had a bit of a dicky tummy from all of the deep fried porridge she was having to endure. Always one to play things down, Gemma became convinced that she had malaria, of all things, and, despite walking around and having the energy to constantly complain and lift Craig Charles up with her feet, she insisted that she was suffering from the killer disease (which, by the way, isn’t carried by the mosquitoes in Australia)
When she wasn’t dying from Malaria or threatening to kill herself (yes, she did that again. Tasteful) she was complaining about how much she was suffering from starvation, which prompted the amiable Craig to gently point out that they were in a better position than many of the starving people in the world. This blew Gemma’s mind and she promised never to complain about being hungry again, although I can’t see that lasting. If she thinks the hunger is hard now, goodness only knows how she will feel after 2-3 weeks on congealed rice and bean mush.
I’m (kind of) a Celebrity is back- complete with creepy critters and huge challenges; and that’s just the celebs themselves. Ten million of us tuned in last night to see a group of people we’re sure we’ve seen somewhere before thrown together in an Australian torture camp. For most, it would be a horrendous dive in living conditions but for Gemma at least, it was a step up from Essex life.
The series began in the usual way; ten famous-ish faces from footballers to models to Red Dwarf pilots/cabbies to someone who once went out with that Playboy pervert; everyone had a legitimate claim to fame and spent the first five minutes talking to the screen from a comfortable cocktail providing hotel about how excited they were by the challenge that lay ahead. It is destined to be their last feelings of positivity for three weeks.
Michael Buerk, the amiable BBC news guy, was the first to arrive, followed closely by his intellectual match, Tinchy Stryder. After not quite mastering a ‘friends 4 lyf’ handshake, Michael and the Tinch got off to a heartwarming start; setting in place this year’s version of the Joe Swash and George Takei love-in. Michael is a likeable chap; himself pointing out the irony of a celebrity snob entering a celebrity reality show and, like any good journalist; he soon had former PlayGirls teaching him how to twerk.
Once the awkward ‘so erm, who are you?’ conversations were done with (‘Of COURSE I know what ‘Hello, Hello, is!’) it was time to get down to business. One set of celebrities were heading to jail (‘Not AGAIN!’ cried the legendary Craig Charles) while the other would be their rescue team.
I’m not surprised that Kian Egan won I’m A Celebrity. At the beginning of the show’s run, I’d have happily put money on Joey Essex winning. In fact, I can remember saying to PLA Jr that “there’s no way Joey isn’t going to win this.” She agreed, being a TOWIE and Joey fan. I’d never seen him before he went into the jungle, but I liked his open, child-like approach to everything. He wasn’t a soaring intellectual giant, but he knew he wasn’t and he was always ready to learn something new and accept advice. He’s very funny and he seems to have the sweetest nature.
About the time that everybody was agreeing that there was no way Joey wouldn’t win , he seemed to get less prominent in the highlights shows. Whether that was a deliberate decision by the producers I don’t know, but other characters came more to the fore and Joey came fourth.
In the end, the final three were the right ones, I think. Lucy Pargeter was a bit of a cow at times, but I felt like I could relate to her – I’d have been stroppy too under those circumstances. David Emanuel is just a gorgeous man – I could listen to his lilting, soothing voice all day. He mucked in, worked hard and supported anyone who was upset.
And then Kian. If you were writing a romantic novel and you wanted a hero, you could do worse than Kian. Rock-solid dependable, apparently fearless, kind, protective and strong. And he can cook, he can sing, he speaks with a beautiful Irish accent and he loves his wife. He’s adorable – and he even looked sweet with a crown of leaves on his head.
A Strictly/I’m a Celebrity mash-up, what could be better than that? Endearing Argentine tango expert Vincent Simone isn’t dancing the Strictly boards this year, and he’s joined the I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here bunch instead. He likes to put on the Italian stallion act, but frankly he’s more of a Thelwell pony with an adorable accent. He has become one of my favourites over the years, sweet once you see past the preposterous flirting and self-aggrandisement. His professional dancing partner is the fantastic Flavia Cacace, so you know he must be a decent sort.
His slippery grasp of English is always a delight. He and model/writer (and ex-wife of Midge Ure Wiki tells me) Annabel Giles were about to join the jungle gang last night. But only after an Aussie hat cork-threading challenge in a cabin, featuring increasing numbers of copulating rats, cockroaches and the usual bug suspects.
Annabel, who has a lovely line in dry wit, said she had been “Hoping to get a macho man to protect her”. Then realised she was going to have to BE that man. As the bugs and rodents streamed in, Vincent and Annabel leapt on chairs, clutched each other, screamed like banshees. Vincent plaintively crying “I want my Mama!”. His explanation for the fact that all the rats seemed to be shagging was: “My aura stimulates menopauses with them”.