It’s a jungle out there for poor celebrities
Who’d be a celebrity these days? Barely a day goes by without some much-admired public figure falling from grace. Seriously, I’m scared to read the headlines. If they’ve only died, it comes as a relief.
That’s why if I find a disputed $450 million Leonardo in my basement, I’m not joining the A-list, I’m sloping off to live quietly somewhere far from the oppression of modern telecommunications. Like Suffolk.
Or I could try the Australian jungle, where a load of celebrities are preparing to go stir crazy as they willingly eat wallaby testicles. Not straight off the marsupial, I hasten to add but, hey, there’s gotta be a new twist every year. So to speak.
Amir Khan, former world champion boxer, will hunker down alongside Boris Johnson’s father, a WAG, some Youtuber with 1.2million subscribers and that nice lassie off Coronation Street.
Yes, I know it sound like the dramatis personae of a particularly vivid cheese dream, topped off by a walk-in part from Silvio Berlusconi and a cameo appearance by your nan’s cat. But that’s 21st century entertainment for you.
Not wishing to spoil the surprise, I reckon they will variously be brave and cowardly, unredemptively grumpy, curmudgeonly with a twinkle, game for a laugh and reasonably hot in a bikini. Essentially, just like the rest of us.