The Wallabies, sorry, Wombats, won immunity from the public vote. On receiving this less than welcome news, Jimmy’s Greying Bun of Despair drooped alarmingly. He squirmed, embarrassed. “Deep dahn, ah trarred,” he protested. Suddenly remembering other people were in the jungle with him and the show was I’m A Celebrity, not Bullard’s Bantz, he muttered: “Sa did fe ovvehs.” Cheers, Jim-Bob.
The Bushtucker trial, which all the Wombats had to endure, was called “Vile Vineyard”. The four looked hopeful that it would involve nothing more than having to neck four pints of Lambrini each, but alas it was not to be. Based loosely on Spin The Bottle, they had to drink such delicacies as puréed camel testicles. Blended sheeps’ eyes. Blended cockroach, cricket and meal worms. The Wombats were awesome and necked the lot, possibly because they were so hungry they’d started contemplating eating each other and this was a more acceptable alternative. Titchy Tinchy had to drink puréed pig’s anus. “Up yer bum,” encouraged Mel, with a serendipitous choice of toasts.
Bantz swaggered back into camp as though he’d conducted the entire trial himself and was personally responsible for all 10 stars. Jimmy, you’re an arse. Only banter, mate.
Edwina, who I am reluctantly coming to if not exactly like, then tolerate, lay on the camp sofa and talked to herself. “Breeze. Birds. Trees. My body says, have a rest.” Yes Eds. You have a rest and talk to yourself. Introspection took over. She was positively Delphic. “I must smile more. My grim disapproval is too bloody obvious.” Indeed. Plato said much the same thing. Eddy then revealed the not entirely surprising fact that she isn’t keen on Kendra. “I find that young woman so bloody irritating. Out of the jungle, I wouldn’t give her the time of day.” Eds will emerge from camp with a new career in TV, take my word for it. Her arse will be so comfortably ensconced on the This Morning sofa that not even rent-a-right-wing-gob Katie Hopkins will be able to dislodge it.
Michael and Vicki did the Treasure Chest quest, which required Michael to dress as Big Bird and wobble on a high wire, his body covered in feathers, knobbly legs encased in yellow lycra. “Wee Woo Waaaah! Hankle Pankle!” he shrieked, as the wires shook alarmingly. Look, you had to see it, okay? Watch it on catch-up.”To be honest, I felt a complete prat,” confessed Michael. “That’s done a certain amount of reputational damage.” They won a package of cheese and crackers so small a mouse would have complained about portion size.
Eds decided it was time to share the news with the unwary viewer that she enjoyed sex. “Since I was in my early twenties, I’ve like young men. I wonder if this lot have heard of coo-garrrs.” She chatted easily about her husband’s sex face. Foggy was repelled. “Imagine her and her husband going for it.” I don’t want to, Foggy. I really don’t.
The final night in camp with all 10 slebs was treated as though it was the Last Supper. There was a show. Michael rapped. His delivery was more News At Ten than street, but no less enjoyable for it.
Jimmy, the man who was originally tipped to win the whole thing, went out. His cruel bantz were his undoing. Take note, kids. Saying mean things and then justifying them as banter fools nobody.