I’m A Celebrity 2010: Episode 6 Recap by Bren

Disclaimer: any feelings of fondness towards gillian mckeith displayed yesterday were a temporary glitch. normal service has been resumed

Episode 6/Day 7

The weekend has arrived in the Aussie Outback, and to celebrate… it rains.

Because we’re all imbeciles, the producers want us to remember Shaun’s dip, which occurred when Allison entered the camp yesterday. When I say entered the camp I don’t mean in a ‘partially-sharpened stick up the anus’ kind of way. To drag our five-seconds of attention-span brains to the correct place, we’re shown a montage of Shaun saying there were too many people in the jungle, as he stalked around the camp with a face darker than Linford’s bumcrack on a wintry December evening.

But that was yesterday. After a good night’s sleep, Shaun says he’s feeling slightly better. And so, on with the show.

Today is going to be Gillian’s 5th Bushtucker Trial; considering the Slebs have been in the jungle for 6 days, this is an enviable strike rate that the England opening batsmen could do well to emulate. If being picked on is enviable. Come on people, don’t you think it’s time to give someone else a crack? So to speak.

You’ll remember that today’s challenge is called ‘Calamity Cave’? Our intrepid Caver From The Jungle is to be guided to a bunch of stars which have been cunningly hidden inside a cave. Guided? Why? How? I hear you ask. By her little friend, is my cunning reply. Gillian has to select another junglist to be her eyes, because she has to wear a set of blackout goggles and will receive ‘Up a bit, down a bit, left a bit, right a bit’ instructions from her Seeing Eye Person.

As Linford has been so comforting towards her all week, Gillian picks Sheryl. Masterful decision. To accompany the visual spectacle of the trial, ITV lays on a backing track which, if I’m not mistaken, is the music from Tim Burton’s Beetlegeuse.

Sheryl, bless her, provides top quality directions to the temporarily ‘blind as a bat and partially stupid’ Gillian, but the duo quickly encounter a near exercise-stopping difficulty. Gillian doesn’t propel herself forward. After seven and a half minutes of Sheryl shouting ‘Go forward!’, Gillian slowly penetrates (fnarr!) the main cave. Watching this was more frustrating than watching frustrating things on the television on a Saturday night. In the dying seconds of the allotted ten minutes Gillian has a total meltdown. It’s impossible to feel sorry for her; she’s been such a pussy that her physical existence seems to be on the cusp of being pointless. Despite behaving like a total drip, Gillian managed to retrieve five stars which is not too shabby for someone with the backbone of a jellyfish.

And here is a weather update from the Australian jungle. It’s still shitting it down.

Back in the camp there’s an air of relief that Gillian’s ability to retrieve stars continues. Good spirits and back-slapping abound, as campmates congratulate themselves on having such a magnificent pussy star retriever.

a magnificent pussy

Much later in the day the rain actually stops. To celebrate this happy event Shaun and Nigel retire to a couch from where they can watch Kayla performing more of her slightly ridiculous bunny-hop exercises. This is arse-watching at its most blatant and it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. I mean, yes, she’s got a nice pert little bum, but Stacey is far more ogleable.

However, as Phil Collins sang, there’s something in the air tonight, because there’s more than just a hint of perv going round. Dodgy behaviour isn’t confined to Stadler and Waldorf Shaun and Nigel. Linford gets in on the action too, when he performs some cheapo Shiatsu-style massage on Kayla. The expressions on the faces of the couch boys is a heady blend of pleasure and pain.

Shaun and Nigel

The rain eases off and as the Jungleurs sit around the fire and attempt to dry their underwear, Britt decides it is her turn to let fly some kiss-and-tellisms. My ears prick up as I look forward to some quality Peter Sellers material, but all we get is that she fingered his ring in a cupboard at an airport.

Disappointed, I put the kettle on because I have no wish to pollute my mind with anything to do with either George Hamilton and/or Rod Stewart in the sack.

And the rain still, erm, rains.

As a result of Gillian’s ballsyness during yesterday’s challenge, the meal that the camp gets is (wait for it) Camel. The camp divides on a basis that approximates gender. While the boys slope off to talk shit and watch, most of the girls prepare food. Allison multi-tasks. She prepares food and talks. And talks. And talks. And talks some more. I can’t help but notice that when it was time to eat, there was some strict eye-balling going on around the dishing-up zone. Gillian, I also noticed, was being put under intense scrutiny. Watch this space for some further bitching.

Later, the producers reveal their latest brainchild – a game for all the camp to play.

Everyone will get asked a Trivial Pursuit-style question about themselves. Those who offer up the correct answer get to visit a Jungle Pub. Unfortunates who perform less than 100% will remain in front of the campfire roasting their nuts. In loving memory of our two co-hosts, who have possibly shuffled off this moral coil in the three-and-a-half minutes since we last saw them, the game has been called ‘Saturday Night Takeaway’. Linford openly sneers as the titles to SNT are shown on the specially imported Jungle-style big screen television.

Sadly, Sheryl and Linford are the only Outbackers who get their questions wrong. But, as a reward, they don’t get to spend time hanging around with Lembit. Every cloud does indeed have a silver lining.

Our quiz winners leg-it to a previously unseen bit of the jungle that has been made up to look like a pub. They get to enjoy beer, chips and tomato ketchup, cheese and pickle and music from a jukebox. It looks like a fun night, made even better by a temporary gap in the rain. Shaun looks much happier than this morning as he sits on a bar stool sipping beer and listening, in an embarrassed kind of way, to his own work when it popped up on the jukebox.

Almost everyone gets to their feet and energetically throws themselves in to an explosion of arms and legs as they dance madly. Nigel sits quietly on his bar stool, nursing his half-pint of mild. The evening closes with Lembit, being an even bigger saddo than I would have believed possible; he wandered around the camp squeezing the dregs of tomato ketchup on to his fingers, and sucking the residue off.

The next morning Ant or Dec stride in to the camp to announce that the contestant facing the Dreaded Digger challenge will be…

Gillian. Again.

You can follow ‘I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!’ on ITV but, let’s face it, you’d rather be reading about it here. And who can blame you.

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