A DOZEN celebrities have been fighting for their very careers, in that Welsh castle, but the only one I’ve ever felt vaguely sorry for is Adam Woodyatt.
Thirty-seven years it took Ian Beale to escape EastEnders, having suffered every indignity an actor can imagine and a nervous breakdown in his pyjamas that left him looking like Dr Zaius from Planet Of The Apes.
Yet now, when the poor, beaten sod’s finally shot of the place, Louise Minchin’s telling him: “Adam, you’re on poo patrol.”
It’s still a step up the showbusiness ladder, obviously, but probably not the huge one he was hoping for on the 21st I’m A Celebrity . . . Get Me Out Of Here! which, if you were compiling a list of the best series, would be lucky to make the top 20.
A week ago, in fact, a combination of bad weather and apathy meant it might even have been lucky to make it to the end of ITV’s scheduled run.
But it did, and the fact the series has endured and still been the only TV show in town is probably down to just four people.
First to the rescue was the brilliantly irritating Naughty Boy who, if self-pity ever becomes an Olympic sport, will be carrying Britain’s flag at the 2028 Los Angeles Games.
He’s also a reminder that ITV can pretend to be as woke, concerned and caring as it likes, the channel is still at its best when it’s throwing an oddball to the wolves and getting them gunged by the public.
As lazy, childish and attention-seeking as he was, though, Naughty Boy had to play second fiddle, for a lot of the past week, to someone I wasn’t necessarily expecting to like or enjoy but who has won me over with a crowd-pleasing vanity that was, if anything, underplayed by the L’Oreal advert.
He is David Ginola, who remains that rarest of beasts. A middle-aged male egomaniac who is wildly popular with everyone (watch and learn, Piers).
He’s done it with some style and a lofty disdain for his fellow campmates, as well.
So while they’re constantly trying to work out new tactics to worm their way into his affections, Ginola’s probably working out how quickly he can block Danny Miller’s mobile number and where exactly he’s going to hide when Kadeena Cox comes to visit him in the South of France.
The one exception to this rule, naturally, is Frankie Bridge, who clearly intrigues Ginola, though I’m not 100 per cent sure it’s because, as stated on Tuesday, he wants her to “Sing for me . . . One of your songs from The Saturdays.”
At least, I hope it’s not.
He’d really go down in my estimation if I discovered his intentions were honourable and he genuinely liked All Fired Up.
The two unimpeachable saviours of this enterprise, however, remain the hosts Ant & Dec.
Indeed, the camp action often feels like a terrible intrusion between their links, which seem to have carried more edge this year.
“What will Naughty Boy do without Arlene?” “He’ll probably get her face printed on a cheap, polyester cushion. That seems to work.”
You expect this sort of brilliance, of course.
The pleasant surprise has been the lesson in political satire they’ve given the rest of television.
If Frankie Boyle, Ian Hislop and The Last Leg rabble spew anger and outrage at Boris Johnson, it means less than nothing.
If Ant & Dec drop a charming bucketload on him with an “evening Prime Minister”, you sense he’s royally screwed.
It is a television performance for the ages, and all the more remarkable because they do it with minimal help from the campmates and none whatsoever from the voting public, who still haven’t worked out the most basic rule of this show is that you’re meant to save the Naughty Boy irritants while sacrificing bores like Matty Lee, who’s so devoid of personality I’m starting to believe he might have been knitted by Tom Daley.
Thanks to the nature of deadlines, it means, even by the time you read this, Ginola could also have packed his rucksack for an early exit.
I’ll prefer to remember him, though, moodily swaggering around camp telling Danny Miller: “I can’t wait to see my girlfriend and you know why?”
Yes, David. Because you’re worth it.
Strictly falls in to place
A WORTHY but dull series of Strictly Come Dancing has been dawdling its way towards the inevitable Rose Ayling-Ellis victory for weeks now without any incident worthy of note.
On Saturday night, however, things finally happened.
First signs of life came when John Whaite dropped partner Johannes Radebe flat on his arse attempting the so-called “carpet-fitters’ heave-ho” lift, which must have cheered viewers up no end.
The real show-stopper, though, was provided by AJ Odudu and Kai Widdrington, who were giving it the large ’un before their Sister Sledge salsa, right at the end of the show.
“There are lights, cheers from everywhere, wonderful outfits,” enthused AJ, before Kai added: “The judges will see everything.”
Just how much they’d see didn’t become apparent until AJ paused a second too long before the final lift and it suddenly looked like she was absconding from Ford open prison with three mobile phones up her fundament.
One leg was rooted to the floor, the other had Kai’s head wedged in a death lock, with no quick or dignified way of getting himself out of it, either.
Drop her, she breaks her neck. Shout “GET OFF ME” and it would’ve echoed all the way into Casualty.
So they just stuttered, tripped and untangled themselves to the most awkward finish ever.
The silence at the end couldn’t have been more deafening.
Tess stared at Shirley, Shirley stared back at AJ, Kai stared at his feet, there were a few knowing smirks from the other quarter-finalists and some empty words of encouragement from a couple of the judges.
As always, though, only one person said exactly what most of the viewers were probably thinking and, of course, got roundly booed for his troubles.
Craig Revel Horwood: “I love it when it goes wrong. Absolutely love it.”
Something funny
THIS Morning, John Bishop: “Basically, I keep living my life and hope something funny happens.”
One day, John. One day.
Random TV irritations
I’M A Celeb contestants weeping over letters from home like they’ve spent 30 years in a Soviet gulag, rather than a week and a half in telly’s equivalent of Center Parcs.
Cheyenne Davide telling us she’s keeping it “real”, while calling herself Snoochie Shy.
A pandemic of people who can’t stop telling us they’re “living their best life”.
That insanely annoying “hurry up” gesture Mark “The Beast” Labbett makes with his right hand in The Final Chase.
And that audience of whooping sycophants on The Jonathan Ross Show who actually applauded comedian Judi Love, 41, for announcing: “I’m buying a house.”
So hell only knows what sort of demented ovation Judi would get if she ever said anything funny.
Unexpected morons in the bagging area
THE Tournament, Alex Scott: “On its maiden voyage, The Titanic set sail from which UK port on the South Coast?”
Matylda: “Leeds.”
The Chase, Bradley Walsh: “Which London skyscraper did Prince Charles call an enormous salt cellar?” Winston: “The Empire State Building.”
Tipping Point, Ben Shephard: “Which pioneering brothers in aviation are honoured annually with a national day in the USA on December 17th?”
Lucy: “The Marx Brothers.”
Great sporting insights
PAUL MERSON: “It’s 0-0 to Liverpool.”
Neal Maupay: “It’s been a tough afternoon tonight.”
Sue Smith: “The ball could’ve gone anywhere and it didn’t.”
(Compiled by Graham Wray)
TV gold
BBC2’s seriously underrated comedy Two Doors Down.
Roger Jean Nsengiyumva’s outstanding performance as Jamil the Camberwell gangster on BBC1’s drama You Don’t Know Me, even if it is on completely the wrong channel.
Netflix’s Azzurri Road To Wembley, ’cos I’m a sucker for a happy ending. BBC2’s Phil Lynott: Songs For While I’m Away.
Ant & Dec’s show-saving performance on I’m A Celebrity.
And Goggleboxer Jenny pointedly turning to Lee, while watching the show’s latest trial: “Creepy Closets . . . Have you been in a few?”
Lookalike of the week
THIS week’s winner is Vanessa Feltz and Grandmama from The Addams Family.
Sent in by Jim Bailey, via email.
Picture research: Amy Reading
