For three weeks every winter, the nation settles down with an evening cuppa to watch a select group of “celebrities” endure what is sold as the ultimate test of human endurance: I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!
We watch, absorbed and disgusted, as a retired politician or a fading reality star must navigate a swamp, eat a kangaroo’s dangly bits, or share their bed with a dozen large, hairy spiders.
Contestants are thrown together and expected to get along and to work together. They share a toilet in a shed, and they have to deal with their own and each others’ waste on a daily basis.
They are set ridiculous tasks, mostly against the clock and often involving water and mud. If they complete those tasks successfully, everyone gets to eat. If they don’t, well it’s rice and beans all round.
When it’s all over, they emerge, blinking into the real world, hailed as heroes for surviving the horrors of the Australian wilderness. One of them will ultimately be browned King or Queen of the jungle.
Meanwhile, up and down the country, there will be demolition and construction workers watching all this unfold, thinking: “That looks like an average day at work”.
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