I’m A Celebrity (Reviewer) Get Me Out of Here: Day 2
I could have gone out to the pub last night. I could have gone out to dinner with friends. I could have pleased my mum by doing as she had suggested; joining the Young Conservatives (seriously…), and ‘finding myself a husband’. Instead, like millions of others, I reluctantly lost an hour of my life down the drain by watching ‘I’m a Celebrity, Get me out of Here!’. I’m not bitter.
In yesterday’s episode, the theme was genitalia. Or at least, it was in my head. Joe kicked things off by announcing to the group that he had christened his penis ‘Alfie’. Brien ran into a shed full of cameras in order to clear things up: ‘I do not have a name for my penis’. Phew. George clearly thought the matter unresolved: ‘I do not have a name for my penis’ he said, followed, confusingly by ‘I guess its ‘Junior George’. Ha frickin’ ha. Apparently Dec calls his ‘Tony Blair’. I wasn’t aware that genitals could vote – those suffragettes didn’t die for nothing.
Esther revealed later: ‘We miscalculated the food – we could always chew on log’. Filthy woman – always insists on bringing down the tone. Nicola too, expressed concern about the food: ‘If I lose weight, and my boobs shrink, I’ll be devastated’. Never mind love, at least your surgeon will be quids in. Esther reassured everyone by saying ‘I suppose we could have some hot water. Hot Water’s really nice and it fills you up’. Does it? I don’t think that it does. That’s ‘pizza’, you’re thinking of. I give you Esther Rantzen, everybody, flying the flag for the bulimic population of our audience.
Joe and Nicola were roped into the challenge. I was quite looking forward to it. Before the commercial break, the audience was treated to footage of two unidentifiable contestants being chained underwater. Being drowned, in other words. ‘Brilliant!’ I thought. ‘This is more my sort of thing! ‘Torture porn’ telly!’.Which is why I was surprised when the revealed challenge was a Bushtucker trial. I hadn’t anticipated such an intricate plot when I began watching. No matter: the ‘eating nasties’ competition was rewarding enough. Nicola immediately started wailing: ‘I’m not happy – I don’t wanna do this!’. Oh do shut up, you guileless tramp. The license-fee-paying majority has paid good money to enjoy watching you suffer. Don’t spoil it.
Joe, bless him, replied that it couldn’t be worse than soya beans, whatever it was. Has he not seen the show before? Perhaps he’s fatally allegic to soy.
They served up scorpions on sticks. I’ve got a scorpion in a boiled sweet which my sister bought me last Christmas from Harvey Nicks. It looks a bit puzzled, so I think the harvesters must have taken him by surprise. Joe complained that he’s ‘got a really bad gag reflex’. So have I, mate, but I’m still bloody watching. We paid a brief visit to the campsite at this point, so as not to miss out on Carly sobbing to Esther about how much she missed her fiancée. Something tells me that she isn’t ex-military.
Back at the ice-cream van, Nicola was soldiering on with aplomb. ‘She’s a machine!’ exclaimed an impressed Ant McPartlin. Yes, she is. One fashioned entirely out of stupidity and silicone. In an inspired choice, the theme from ‘Psycho’ was playing on a continuous loop in the background whilst Nicola was eating the crocodile paw. I was really rooting for her – its simply astonishing what Glamour models will put in their mouths. Joe looked defeated by the alligator penis, but managed to observe ‘Half the battle’s getting’ it in, innit?’ good-naturedly, shortly before spewing Roo ‘juice’ all down his chin. What price celebrity?
Spoiler alert! Nicola won. Back at camp, she was telling the others that ‘…the last one I had to eat was the ball bag’. Plus ça change, eh Nicola? Esther looked on excitedly, saying ‘She swallowed it all!’. I. Felt. Dirty.
More from the jungle tomorrow, unless I can find a better job in between now and then.
By Nicolette Smith