Ladies of the jungle: Myleene Klass, Phina Oruche, Faith Brown, Jan Leeming and Lauren Booth. Picture: PA.
Ooooh! Oooooh! It's only three days to go before I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here starts! The thrills, the spills, the bugs and the no, no, I can't do it. Sorry. No matter how hard I try, I can't get excited about it.
And yet, the show is entering its sixth series (on Monday, at 9pm, on ITV1, in case you happen to be living in a hole). The programme that even hardened reality-lovers have occasionally rolled their eyes at is back. But this time, can it retain its bizarrely unshakeable appeal?
It's probably as simple as this: we're used to seeing 'ordinary people' joyfully demeaning themselves in the desperate hope of becoming extraordinarily famous people. Here, we are given a programme where people who are supposed to be famous already are so desperate to become more famous that they're willing to demean themselves, all in the cause of the greater good.
No, hang on, not 'good', rather in the cause of 'property development programme presenting offers'.
So, who's in it this year? No, 'who cares' is only one answer, the real answer is this (and be aware, each name will probably be followed with a 'who?'): Toby Anstis (worked in a cupboard), Lauren Booth (related by marriage to a politician), David Gest (terrifying), Faith Brown (huge knockers), Phina Oruche (who?) and Jason Donovan (Jason Donovan). And some others.
But Jason Donovan! Jason, back our on screens with your hunky louche Aussieness! Jason with your patchy pop past and a penchant for suing people! Jason, we salute you! And won't write anything potentially libellous about you! Just in case!
It should be fun, though, if you like watching people you can't quite place eating kangaroo testicles (and who doesn't?). Still, if you were looking forward to enjoying the benefits of the career boost that biting down on hopping-mammal-balls would get you, wouldn't you smile and chew? If you knew you were sticking your bottom in a bucket of bees or wading through puddles of castrated crocodiles, tantrumming like a toddler in front of an audience of millions, but all for a guaranteed six-figure fee, wouldn't you do it?
But that's the thing, isn't it? What price fame? And what price dignity?
