Mr B and I are having our annual discussion about how we would each fare in the Celebrity Jungle. We never, ever resolve this discussion, possibly because neither of us can be counted among even Z List celebrities and
so would be unlikely to catch the eye, or the interest, of the TV production company concerned. Even though we could, don't you know, be the new Ant and Dec. Albeit rather more grizzled and decidedly less manically inclined.
We always base our discussion on the premise that we are many years younger and considerably fitter than we are today. Even so, it is unlikely in the extreme that either of us would survive the very first challenge, particularly if that involved the
consumption of the less savoury parts of what we like to term as Documentary Animals. And that is in spite of (or perhaps because of) being one, as you well know, who is Always Thinking About My Stomach.
B reminds me tartly - though truthfully - that I wouldn't even make it into the Jungle Camp if entrance required me to jump from a helicopter. He is talking, you can tell, about one who cannot even jump into the water from the side of a swimming pool. Nevertheless,
I reckon I might be quite good at teamwork, at keeping my temper, and at getting along with people. Mr B says this simply Would Not Be Enough to win me the crown of Queen of the Jungle. Ah, well, we shall just have to watch as others try and fail, we tell
ourselves. There's going to be altogether far too much Jungle over the next three weeks.
As I mentioned in an earlier blog, Daytime TV tends to get a bad press from many people - but if you're severely Mobility
Challenged, like my poor Mr B, well there's nothing quite like it for helping you live the life you'd like to be living, though vicariously. We once had an elderly neighbour whose wife absolutely refused to have a television in the house. One day we invited
him round to watch a rugby match. This was quite an expedition which involved Mr B in driving the car out of our drive, into next door's drive, collecting our frail neighbour from his back door then reversing out and into our drive so that we could help our
visitor out of the car and in through our back door. Being Mr B, he accomplished this (and the equally tortuous return journey) with a minimum of fuss and bother like the gent he was. And is.
had dressed up for the occasion, in smart suit and tie, apologising profusely for what he saw as his rudeness in still wearing his carpet slippers. He sat in front of our TV totally mesmerised by the sporting action on screen, unable to take his eyes off the
match in progress. It made me sad to think how much more pleasurable his everyday life would be, were his wife to relent on her Stand Against Television.
Celebrity Jungle may be predictable in its annual TV
appearance but every so often a programme presents a surprise. So it was this morning when a programme about Oxford Street turned attention on - guess what - The Ice Bar. Regular readers will recall that this was one of the (several) stops on our Jolly Girls
Progress the other weekend when we were up in the Big Smoke (which isn't actually smokey anymore) to celebrate the Eldest of the Darling Daughters' 50th birthday. As my friend Delia remarked, when I phoned her for a quick chat, my girls and I certainly know
how to push the boat out. Or, as I always say, why celebrate in one place, when you can celebrate all over the place?
So, there it was on TV this morning, the story of how, once a year, the icy interior of
the Ice Bar is demolished with fresh ice brought in for a total redesign. I immediately wanted to phone the Darling Daughters to tell them to turn on their TVs to catch this insight into the fascinating back story to the Ice Palace. Then I remembered that
the Eldest and the Youngest would both be at work while their sister, Middle of the Darling Daughters, would never manage to persuade Faris and The Twinkles to switch over from Andy and his Dinosaur Adventures. At least Mr B got to see for himself what I have
been going on about since my visit to the Land of Chills.
Which is the other thing about TV - seeing, up close and personal, scenarios you would never be able to experience, places you would never be able
to visit, people you would never meet, even though they figure high on your list of Dinner Guests I Would Love To Invite To My House. Stand up, the Celebrated David Attenborough, a True Master of Television, welcoming viewers into fantastic worlds apart on
Planet Earth part 2.
Savagely beautiful, Planet Earth makes the Celebrity Jungle look rather, well, tame don't you agree?