JUNGLE IS MASSIVE
I still can’t believe I went into the jungle. I watched I’m a Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here! – the South Africa version with its ‘All Star’ cast of former contestants – and thought it’s a show you watch, not a show you do. Yet I did do it, the original, in Australia in November 2022. I thought it would be super challenging and, in the spirit of Andy Warhol, I felt I like I was jumping headfirst into pop culture. I love how Andy Warhol started modelling in his later years. No better time than now to be yourself. I also got paid well to do it and I can’t pretend that wasn’t another good reason. With Jon Moss and his money-sucking lawsuit breathing down my neck, I felt like it was a gig I couldn’t turn down. I kept my fears to myself, except for heights; I wasn’t teetering on anything or jumping out of a helicopter. I made a promise to myself that there would be no nelly screaming. Paul Burrell she won’t be! Maybe just a hint of Gillian McKeith. The odd well-rehearsed stage faint in front of a spitting snake. Remembering the whole time, your brothers are watching. South-east London is watching.
I heard that on Big Brother there are hairdressers and make-up artists in the next room. Not the case on I’m a Celebrity . . . but you go in thinking there will coffee breaks. When we first landed in the helicopter and started the long trek towards camp, reality-TV star-turned-presenter Olivia Atwood was complaining, ‘There must be an easier way into the camp. How do they get all the lights and camera equipment in, they can’t drag it all the way through here?’ I thought to myself, Jesus stop moaning, but she was right. There were easier ways to get into the camp. They want you to feel absolutely stranded. They made each one of us get into separate Jeeps with blacked-out windows. It was the start of the rituals to wind you up and get you rattled.
The day I did my first trial on the beach in a suffocating water tank I saw security give Olivia Atwood some food. I thought it was a choc ice at first and was a bit jealous before I discovered Oliva was feeling unwell and needed a sugar pick-up. It was a protein bar. We were only on day two and Olivia was being monitored carefully. The first task was a baptism of fire. I wasn’t bothered about what I had to do but I was bothered about being on TV in a wet T-shirt. I knew I had more to get over but I threw a dry towel over my shoulders and refused to take it off on camera.
‘Can we lose the towel?’
‘No!’
I nailed that water task and I felt completely fearless. Moments before I was cursing everyone; I hated PK, I hated Ant and Dec and the universe. I tapped it out using EFT, chanting ‘I am fearless, I am confident, I am happy, I am strong.’ I do these mantras every day, especially since doing it in the jungle because I realised how much it was helping me. My spiritual practices in the camp were amplified in the edits for comedy effect, though. I didn’t keep anyone awake. I wasn’t noisy, but they taped what I was doing and played it back endlessly to make it look like that was all I did. I did my morning rituals in the treehouse, which was away from the camp. I did hear a loud bird squawking in the morning and maybe my campmates thought the noise was coming from me.
After being in isolation for several days prior to entering the jungle, I was taken on a speedboat for some pre-show filming. We were shooting the I’m a Celebrity opening sequence and doing the master interview. I had to try on my jungle uniform and I was terrified. I had cut up one of the hats and created a crown with the help of Ben Fletcher who runs my art studio. It had a bit of a Basquiat vibe, like a punk crown. We customised one of the shirts with big red polka-dots. I wanted to customise everything but that would have meant the show giving away too much control. You quickly realise that, when they say, ‘Let’s talk about it,’ they mean ‘NO.’
I get that the show is designed to make you crazy, but they should know that you are already crazy when you step off the flight to Australia. I stepped off mine from Mexico wearing a lion’s head I bought on the internet. I was told that my code name for the jungle was ‘Lion’ so I was being super subtle. An American fellow passenger was the only one to comment on my lion drag. He asked for a picture and, of course, I agreed – I knew I looked good as Simba. I could just about see through the eyes of the mask and had to hold on to the strapping security guard so I didn’t lose my Balenciaga. From Brisbane airport we were driven to a posh suburb to stay in a safe house and go into isolation.
I only found out that my DJ friend Chris Moyles was also heading into the jungle days before I flew out of London to join Culture Club for some American dates. My manager, Tiffany, has been living with Chris in London for several years and had managed to keep the jungle news quiet. And, yes, I can confirm they are more than friends. They have two blue cats, and they are constantly refurbishing the house. It’s what you get for dating a Cancerian. Chris is a Pisces who has zero interest in Star signs. Tiffany dropped the bombshell about Chris going in because it was about to accidently-on-purpose appear in the press. I was excited. I’d never slept out in the elements with Chris, but he has fixed my TV and brought my weekly shopping over. He is part of my life these days and even if we had a bust-up in the jungle, I know we could never officially fall out. Tiff would never allow it!
I was the only celebrity to have company during isolation. Who knows what the other campmates asked for. Chris got a running machine and was called a diva for it online. But Chris runs all the time. A running machine for Chris is like coffee to me. It turns out that I should stop drinking coffee because my blood type, O, is very acidic. But I have already given up so much. I love my espresso doppio with double cream and a top-up of hot water. I like it sweet with a little sugar. I could live on sweet coffee. Now that sounds like an opening line to a Prince song.
Sadie Turner, who helps run my art business, stayed in the house with me. We are both spiritual seekers and nut jobs and kundalini yoga freaks. I call her, the spiritual gangster’. Sadie is smart and sweet but with an edge. She calls it her ‘swivel head’. It’s where Brighton meets The Exorcist. A more helpful person you could not meet but push her at your peril. She gives amazing advice and seeks wisdom. She’s an ‘everything’ type of person, like all my friends. The recovery sister of a hypocrite. I do drink now. We both do. I think it’s under control, but I keep an eye on it.
The producers took our phones, but we managed to get the internet working almost immediately on my laptop. This was how I found out politician Matt Hancock was entering the jungle. The password was at the back of the router, which wasn’t even hidden, so I immediately did a search to see who was coming. I watched videos of everyone on YouTube and researched their astrological information. I knew their moons, their dunes and their pantaloons. I was shocked to find out Matt Hancock was a Libran. We had two Librans: Matt and Mike Tindall. ‘Oh no’, I thought. ‘I’m probably going to get on quite well with Matt Hancock.’ I knew that I would like Mike.
While we were in the safe house we were taken for daily walks by girls from the production team who actually spoke to us, and even the burly security guys were civilised. Sometimes, halfway through our walk, we would get detoured because of another celeb heading our way. Chris was in a house close by and one day he came to visit, and we chatted through the fence. Another night we broke out for a long evening walk in the rain and went down to the beach at the back of the house. Huge frogs were everywhere. I love frogs.
Sadie and I tried to live on rice for a few days before I finally left isolation after eleven days. But I think we made it too tasty. We added salt, and salt makes everything more delicious. We were getting groceries delivered daily and Sadie kept adding naughty things like crisps and Tim Tams. She was trying to follow a low FODMAP diet but, even when things were not on her eating list, she kept saying, ‘Tim Tams are FODMAP. So are chocolate rice cakes.’ I gave up trying to prepare myself because I had no idea what I was preparing for.
I put a little bit of light make-up on before leaving the house for the final time. I’d been awake the entire night, shaving everything. I was freaked out. Off into the unknown. Sadie wanted to follow me and hide in a tree.
The guy who drove me on the day my official journey into camp started wouldn’t speak to me. I was getting one-word answers or grunts to everything. I was alone at this point and had no idea where he was taking me. I thought, ‘They are taking this whole thing far too seriously.’ I was driven to a harbour but had to sit in the car for about two hours. Right from the start I found the silent treatment annoying.
I was eventually taken to a jetty with a red carpet, bowls of fruit, exotic drinks and a 1970s-looking yacht. That is when I first met Sue Cleaver from Coronation Street, TV presenter Scarlette Douglas and Hollyoaks actor Owen Warner, who asked me my name. I was in full Boy George drag and I had been all over the press, so I must assume he was nervous or lives under a rock? Maybe it’s a generational thing. I had to choose one person to join me after meeting them for ten minutes. Owen was out but only because choosing the hot guy was just too gay. I knew that my VIP experience was obviously a trick, so I thought better of inviting Sue.
I chose Scarlette; young, fit, great earrings, glamorous but determined. She looked like she could handle anything. As the boat cast off, we started chatting. ‘Save it for the camera,’ came the order. Nothing is more entertaining than the truth of the moment. Everything else feels a bit fake.
I nibbled some cheese from the buffet and let Scarlette enjoy all the prawns. After about four hours, some of which we spent alone resting in cabins, we arrived at the location. I had to practice zen because doing things is how I relax.
The yacht stopped offshore and we had to climb into a little dinghy and row to shore. They handed me a tiny lifejacket and I said, ‘I am not wearing that.’ Scarlette looked like a supermodel in hers. They found me a bigger lifejacket and we climbed into the dinghy. I was excited that my new lifejacket had bright-orange trim. Laughing and screaming, we sang, ‘Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream . . . ’ That laughter soon stopped when we found out where we were sleeping.
Walking on to that hot beach in full Boy George drag was hideous. I was hungry and it was late. The nightmare had begun. Marooned on an ugly island, sleeping outside. My mattress was wet. I folded it over like a martyr.
We had just met Olivia and Chris on the beach after climbing clumsily out of the dinghy. Olivia had had to choose someone to jump out of a helicopter with her and she chose Chris. I couldn’t believe he had done it. I felt like I already knew Olivia. Her banter had banter and she was having a non-stop bitch-off with Chris. You would think they knew each other but certain people just click; no smalltalk.
The mood changed when the first delicious meal of rice and beans arrived. I’d hardly touched the buffet on the boat so I was up for eating anything. It was bland and Oliva’s portion was frozen in the middle. We sat around a man-made fire in our new uniforms and slowly tried to eat the gruel. We all gave Olivia a bit of our food, but she wasn’t eating anything. I got the impression she prefers a bit of fine dining. While I was in the camp, I’d tried to prepare myself so was taking the new wonder drug Ozempic, which dampens your appetite, but that night I really felt the hunger. I was awake all night. It got so cold I screamed at the crew to relight the fire. I had a mosquito net around the bed, which added shadows and drama. I could feel them filming me and spotted a tiny red light in the pitch black. So I meditated under the moon on my bunk. It was an amazing meditation and a good time to remember what I was about to experience. I tried to have a spiritual word with myself. Sometimes you need to take your own best advice.
I convinced some of my camp mates to use EFT and all of them said, ‘I think that tapping works.’ Even comedian Babatunde Aléshé who is an evangelical. Baba was cool with the tapping but resisted my attempts to send him positive vibes. Before our first trial together I was chanting and jokingly tried to throw him a little blessing. ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘keep it.’ LOL. I’m not suggesting that his rejection of my goodwill was the reason we only got three stars, but it didn’t help. Conceptually, rejecting positivity is an act of self-sabotage. During an early conversation in the camp Baba said, ‘You’re into black magic, though, right?’ He was looking at my tattooed arms making all the wrong assumptions.
The task I did with Baba and Chris Moyles was probably the most intimidating. We were inside a tiny replica of the Angel of the North called Angel of Agony, with Chris right at the top and Baba above me. I took the lowest position and had to put my hand into holes with creatures in without looking, unscrewing stars to try and avoid upsetting snakes or rats. Once I had the stars, I had to push them through a tiny slit up to Baba and then he passed it to Chris. They obviously made it impossible by dropping a ton of cockroaches and ants on us. Baba was screaming and kept dropping the stars. We got three stars, which was cringe.
I decided to chant and sing as I pushed my hand through a membrane and into the first hole towards a snake. I was chanting Om and Hare Krishna and to my surprise the snake stayed out of my way. In fact, none of the creatures moved. I think the chanting and singing took me out of my state of utter panic. Obviously, I knew the creatures wouldn’t kill me, but your head goes completely. I also thought it would be fun to bring a bit of chanting to the masses. One of the animal handlers gave me the thumbs-up when we finished the task. I knew then that I would chant my way through everything.
And it was bloody well I did because the camp was hideous. An utter khazi. The floor is a manmade carpet of wood chippings, leaves and dirt. The beds are open to the elements, the army-style sleeping bags are coarse and damp. The beds are nabbed first-and if you’re not fast or female-you get one of the uncomfortable hammocks. I was lucky to get a bed but I kept thinking about snakes and spiders. I did a little prayer every night to the creepy crawlies. ‘Dear creatures, can we share this space and leave each other alone?’ I think it worked. Politician Matt Hancock should have prayed because on day one a scorpion bit his finger. He let out a scream and turned into a little boy, but he was braver than I would have been. I couldn’t help wondering if ITV had planted the scorpion. It was just too perfect.
We named the scorpion Keir Starmer after the Labour leader. I bet if Keir was watching, he was screaming his head off. You would be amazed who watches the show. Later that same day Seann Walsh let out a comic scream as a scorpion crawled up his thigh. Seann screamed much louder than Matt. Mike Tindall came to the rescue with a piece of cardboard and lifted the creature off. When creatures appear in the camp, they send in guys wearing full camouflage with covered faces and industrial visors. It’s like an actor from Dad’s Army crossed with Darth Vader.
My friend Kevin Bishop said Seann Walsh was ‘good people’. I met Kevin through Sadie, but I knew who he was because he turned me into a witch in Star Stories, which was a satire on George Michael and Wham! Watch it on YouTube. Hilarious. Seann was as lovely as Kevin promised. He laughed at everything I said. If you can make a comedian laugh, that’s love absolute. Seann was smart, eccentric, baffled, bludgeoned, satirical, sweet and out of his comfort zone. I started on him immediately, ‘Alright, love rat.’ He took it very well, but he knew I was on his side. ‘It’s a bloody tabloid headline, not a fact,’ I assured him.
In his mind, he was in the jungle to repair some damage he’d done to his career. He instantly showed people who he was and he stayed in longer than I did, partly because he kept his mouth shut and didn’t say any of the things out loud that he was whispering in my ear! He’s instantly likeable though, a good Irishman. Technically, he was born in the UK like me. His dad is a glorious Paddy who was a functioning heroin addict for years. He said to Seann, ‘Tell Boy George about the drugs. He’ll feckin’ love it.’
Not everyone was quite as easy, though. Like everyone, I was miffed by Matt Hancock’s arrival in the jungle, but I wanted to keep an open mind. It was hard to do that, though. I remember being interviewed about him and I just burst into tears. I remembered Mum being rushed to hospital during lockdown and how I couldn’t be by her side. Seeing him in person just brought it all to the surface and I was emotional and angry. After the interview, I wanted to be alone and took myself away from the rest of the camp. Seann Walsh came to check on me – he’s such a peace maker – and I was letting off steam about Matt.
Matt kept saying he did nothing wrong and that it was a technicality. I found this annoying. He should have just said sorry because it wasn’t a technicality for the rest of us. We obeyed the rules and he, like many politicians, flaunted them. Matt appeared behind me at that point, and I had to be honest. I told him I’d been slagging him off. He actually took it very calmly. Meanwhile, I had no idea Seann was pulling faces behind our backs as we thrashed it out. Seann had arrived with Matt, which was clearly pointed – the two scandalous celebs entering together – but Seann’s scandal was personal. It was between himself and the two ladies involved, not the entire nation. But whatever the producers tried to twist, asking me if I hated Matt, of course I didn’t.
Everyone was pretty tight-lipped around Matt until I had my outburst, but even then it was mostly off camera, which I thought was disingenuous of them. I believe telling people straight to their face is best if it is not going to harm them. Matt took it like a politician, like he didn’t give a shit. I understand how tough it was for Matt Hancock to enter the camp. He was a marked man because of his Covid antics as (un) Health Secretary. But once I had made my point to Matt I decided to live and let live.
I was accused of bullying Matt, which was never the case. I tried to discuss controversial stuff with Matt, but he was very guarded. We talked about transgender rights and safe spaces for women. I was told he was ‘anti-trans’, which is quite common right now, but he insisted he wasn’t. In the camp, men, women, gays and straights were sharing a sleeping space and a very smelly toilet and yet there was relative harmony. Of course, there were times when the women felt uncomfortable or that feminine needs were not catered for. Sometimes I would catch myself moaning and realise it didn’t read well. With the lack of food and comfort, you must be a saint not to moan occasionally but, once you remember you are meant to be having a hideous time, you get over it or get sent home.
Matt had gone in as the villain and was getting it from everywhere. At first he was chosen by the public for every task, and just got on with it. He had no choice because he had to appear fearless. He told us about taking part in Celebrity SAS: Who Dares Wins. He surely was looking for love.
ITV put a red chair into the camp right by the fire and Matt was crowned leader of the camp after a leadership contest. He fell back on the chair while trying to adjust it. I did chuckle. Luckily for us, Matt was a well-behaved leader, and I could see his confidence growing. I had my back up instantly and was planning to disobey any of his orders. It felt like a wind-up having him as a leader after everything but all he did was dish out camp chores. He also got to sleep in the retro RV motorhome in the corner of the camp.
The RV was sold to us as a luxury experience. It had comfy beds but it was full of spiders. No one really wanted to go in there but Matt chose journalist Charlene White as his deputy. She refused to sleep in there with him and told us she needed to be ‘neutral’, which made no sense. But I understood why a married woman would be uncomfortable sharing a bedroom with a stranger. A male stranger.
Charlene was already established as camp matriarch. Such a bossy Cancerian in the kitchen but with a contradictory sweet side that wanted to make sure you ate. I found her strong character challenging but I also took note of how thoughtful she was. I was amazed that she left first. You are not voted out of camp; you just don’t get voted for.
Charlene helped stabilise the camp. She was mum with Sue as her trusty sidekick. Two perfect bookends of an opinionated bookshelf. They seemed to personify two books that inspired me: Mary Beard’s Woman & Power versus Rage Becomes Her by Soraya Chemaly. They are both smart, but Sue holds the sarcasm card. Meryl Streep playing Margaret Thatcher also came to mind. ‘If you want something spoken about, ask a man. If you want something done, ask a woman.’
I can be very laid back and I enjoy being taken care of. I’m happy to do anything if I’m asked in the right way. When I arrived with Chris, Olivia and Scarlette, the camp was already almost full. Some things had been predetermined by the force of personality and people were setting up their barriers. There were accusations about camp mates not pulling their weight, but you can’t all be in control. It’s a fact that some people were very aware of the cameras and being helpful in a way they never were previously.
The younger camp mates have grown up in a pop culture where everyone is self-aware, or at least camera-conscious. I had to get comfortable with being around a bunch of strangers and never being alone. I love my own company. Being on camera without my hat or make-up was a trial. I don’t become an entirely different person when I’m dressed up, but the energy shifts and people treat me very differently. I know I have battled for years with my public persona, and I am getting much better at being both Boy George and George O’Dowd. They are both me, of course, but I like how Boy George dresses. Being in the jungle was the most exposing thing on the surface. Because of the editing there was a very false idea of me portrayed but this was true for all of us. The stories in the press just wanted to make me look difficult. It doesn’t appear to have worked with everyone. Since coming out of I’m a Celebrity . . . people have been super nice to me. ‘We loved you in the jungle, you were absolutely real.’
It matters less if you know you’re being guarded and behaving nothing like yourself just to stay in. I cannot for the life of me be anyone but whoever I am in the moment. I have a revolving personality and my perspective can change as quickly as it becomes rigid. I have started to accept that I know less than I realise. Getting high on your own supply of nothingness is a rare gift. Being away from my phone and the computer was life-affirming. I was told my ability to ‘self-regulate’ was unmatched. I have always been able to fly off the handle then fly right back. A quality I got from Dad. Smash the house up. Break all your records in half. Breathe. Someone put the kettle on. The fact I only lost it a few times in the jungle is massive.
The water situation was hideous. They make you collect water from a pump, which you must then carry up the hill in a bucket and boil on the wood fire. You were supposed to let it cool, but it was put into the dispensers while it was warm. It was Mike Tindall who was carrying everything. He quickly became the in-house lumberjack and water bearer. I could see Mike liked to keep busy. A good way to avoid awkward conversations. At first, he was quite closed and didn’t reveal much, which was annoying because we all wanted Royal gossip. He opened up enough to rap and sing and tell us how much he loved musical theatre. He had some Royal stories but none about Harry and Meghan. Shame.
The smoke from the fire is impossible to get away from. If you move one way, it follows you. It’s like ITV are controlling the wind. Not everyone’s wind was controllable. One day we were sheltering from a vicious storm in the Telegraph Hut and Sue Cleaver let out a ‘whatever you ate before you came in’ fart. Owen ran out of the door and the rest of us swallowed it. It was tastier than some of the food. It’s okay, Sue, my mum used to say, ‘Better out than in.’ Sue’s jungle fart was iconic. Of all the people in the camp Sue was the hardest to read and yet I felt I had known her forever. Everyone in a soap seems like your best friend. Well, maybe not Owen but I’ve never really watched Hollyoaks. I was in it once as myself. I played Boy George the DJ.
Sue is a Virgo, like Jon Moss. I tried not to think about it but they do have some similar characteristics. Right now, I prefer Sue. She was consistent and I don’t think she was that bothered about winning. She won me over with her northern sarcasm and biting wit. An eye roll from Sue was as iconic as her farts. She also knows a million poofs and we talked about The Three Principles, which I have been trying to live by. Sue is one of those people I will never have to explain myself to.
I might have pissed her off when I came to Matt’s defence when he was given the cooking task. Sue was backseat-cooking, telling everyone what to do while not lifting a finger. There was a lot of that, including from me. I kept telling them they were over-cooking stuff or not cooking it correctly. I offered advice about cooking certain vegetables but the dash-it-in-the-pan process took over. When the food arrived the mood in the camp became very aggressive. Every night it seemed to arrive later and later. Who had energy for finesse?
Whoever won the stars would read out the menu. There was never any mention of the vegetarian option, but it was mostly some sort of mushroom. Cooking anything is a nightmare. Heston Blumenthal would battle with the fire, the pots and the blunt knives. There is nowhere to prepare anything, and it’s just set up to be an absolute nightmare.
One night we had potatoes, mmm, and Matt was talking out loud as if he was at the House of Commons: ‘I think I should parboil the potatoes first.’ Which is, of course, exactly what you should do. Sue piped up, ‘No, no, it will take too long, just shove them in the pan.’ And Matt was about to surrender. I went up to Matt and whispered, ‘Everyone knows you parboil potatoes, ask fucking Jamie Oliver, not Eileen Grimshaw. Grow some balls.’
Sue’s face was a picture for the rest of the evening and I thought, ‘She hates me.’ It’s very possible that Sue didn’t even notice me talking to Matt but, later that evening down where the washing up was done in a rusty, leaf-filled bath, I heard there was plenty of bitching about Matt.
‘Who does he think he is?’
‘He’s getting pretty full of himself.’
Not much of this was ever said to Matt’s face but we all bitched about each other at times. Scarlette even upset Seann and he blew a fuse off camera. But we had some great times too. Watching Scarlette teaching Matt the electric snake dance was priceless and then there was the attempt to get Matt to sing his favourite Abba song. Sue would serenade Matt in the voice of Margaret Thatcher. ‘I Will Survive’ in the voice of Maggie was TV gold but, like so many hilarious moments, it was never broadcast.
I asked Matt, ‘If you were on Mastermind, what would your specialist subject be? Maggie’s handbags?’
He looked at me with sulky contempt. I told him about when I met Margaret Thatcher and had my photograph taken with her. He probably thought I was trying to smoulder up. Gagging for the Tory Whip!
After my initial outburst at Matt, it was inevitable that we would get a task together. During our food trial together, he suggested I was flirting with him. I might have been if it was on camera. He did look a bit like Fran Healey from Travis. I thought I was being smart choosing the vegetarian food option for our challenge, but it turns out stinky tofu is even more disgusting than a bull’s penis. I thought shoving it in my mouth quickly was the best, but I was soon retching. If Matt was cast as The Villain, I was The Diva and we both felt pressure to get every single star. And we nailed it. I wasn’t just doing it for the gays, but I was doing it for the gays.
There was another task in a pub. We all thought it was a nice night out, but the beer tasted like fizzy vomit. We did tasks to win pizza, crisps, French fries, chocolate and alcohol. You had to choose a partner. I chose Seann on another trial and Chris was furious. At the pub, Chris Radio X’d me out and chose Mike. He was calling Seann my new boyfriend. God, I love jealous straight guys!
Luckily for me, I didn’t fancy anyone in the jungle. When I came out, all my gay friends were saying, ‘What about Owen? He’s hot.’ He is easy on the eye and, yes, I did have to avoid staring at him at times, but Mike is more my type. Like Owen, footballer Jill Scott was instantly likeable. An Aquarian like Mum and Dad and, like Dad, could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Jill was ‘so what?’ about being gay, which I understand. She didn’t hide it or talk about it all the time.
I wasn’t the person who talked most in the jungle, but I was the most outspoken. I did feel that any vaguely controversial subjects were cut short. I felt Scarlette came in for Matt over me a few times but maybe she has political aspirations.
Scarlette was another camp mate whose early exit surprised me. It made you wonder what the public are being shown. It rarely made sense. At first I thought Scarlette could be a winner because she got stuck into everything. Though she upset me when she asked about my court case and prison. The question was casually and thoughtlessly posed out of the blue, interrupting a terse conversation between me and Matt. At the time, it felt like she had been told to ask the question. She had no idea of the facts and it upset me. ITV will insist they do not instruct conversations, but they plant questions in people’s minds. I was even asked to talk to Jill about being gay.
I had just done a task where I was covered in gunk, and I saw Sue and Mike climbing into a Jeep while the rest of us were told to walk. It wasn’t any old hill, it was steep and I told them, ‘I’m older than Sue and I’m asthmatic, I’m not walking up the hill unless you’re filming me.’ They insisted there were no Jeeps available, but I dug my heels in. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘How do I get out of here?’
I found a wheelbarrow and I plonked myself in it with a bottle of water and said, ‘I’ve got the patience of a saint. Fuck off!’ I forgot to tell them I was a south-east London saint. I meditated for what must have been thirty minutes. I could feel the camera boring into my soul. I asked the guy to stop filming me. He said, ‘I’m not allowed,’ so I ran down the hill and found the crew camp, grabbed an apple, took a massive slug of orange squash, went into another tent and zipped it shut. It was exciting and dangerous, I don’t even know why I did it. I found aspects of the camp very compliant. But at that point I felt like one of The Slits on the cover of Cut, a mud-covered savage in a reality TV nightmare.
A stocky security guard in camouflage pulled open the zip on my hiding place and said, ‘You’re acting like a brat.’
‘What are you going to do, beat me up?’ I shouted and zipped myself back in.
It took a while but eventually a Jeep arrived and took me back to the camp and the guy who called me a brat got into trouble. I asked explicitly for nothing to be done to him. But what is this, Hunger Games? Suddenly they can speak to me.
It was a long way back to camp, or did they take me the long way? Outside of the main camp when you went for trials they would give you bottles of water or they would let you drink from coolers. Later they tried to stop it and I said, ‘Give me the water or I’m just not going to go on set.’ When you arrive for a trial, they cover your head in a towel and walk you towards the set like you’re being kidnapped. Obviously, I kept lifting the towel. There was an aggressive woman with a clipboard who kept saying, ‘No talking.’ So I talked more and much louder.
I tried to incite a mutiny one afternoon because we failed a bushtucker trail and missed out on some chocolate treats. We kept getting the questions wrong because everyone relied on Matt to provide the answers. ‘Oh, he’s a politician. He must know everything.’ Turns out he didn’t. My chocolate revolution got the cold shoulder and Matt warned, ‘Recently on Celebrity Coach Trip the cast tried a mutiny, and they were all fired.’ I laughed. Coach Trip is budget TV, they flew us in here in helicopters.
There was a trial where four of us were in a massive swirling teacup, which got faster and faster as offal and animal parts flew in our faces. We had to throw hoops onto a target as the teacup spun around. As giblets were hitting me in the face, I started throwing the hoops wildly and chanting, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna and laughing hysterically, which surprised all my camp mates because, when I climbed into the teacup, I looked like I wanted to kill. I always saved it for the camera. When we finally got out of the teacup, I discovered that all my rings had hit the target. I did think to myself, ‘Chanting Hare Krishna absolutely works. It must be the universe because I wasn’t trying.’
So if the jungle did anything for me it was understanding that my spiritual practices were powerful and worked. I got into a routine of getting up before everyone else and going to the treehouse with my plastic mattress to do my yoga and chanting. It kept me sane, and I made a vow to myself that when I came out I would continue, and I have. You could say I’m a Celebrity . . . improved my kundalini. They portrayed me like a chanting menace. My friend Maxi Jazz from Faithless was watching from a hospice and I’m told he was entertained by me chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo because he was also a practising Nichiren Buddhist. I had no idea that he was dying but it made me cry to think I made him laugh at a time like that. He was an amazing man, oozing cool and calm, ripping off your tights with his teeth. NMRK Maxi.
* * *
When Ant and Dec appeared in the morning, everyone was tense and desperate not to get sent home. No one wanted to be first, but once it came to it you, it felt like you were beginning the next part of the adventure. Sue was completely delighted when she left, and I was ready to go. My sister, Siobhan and my nephew, Zech, were in Australia waiting for me and I was desperate to see them. The younger ones, like Jill, Owen and Scarlette, were the hungriest to go all the way. I think everyone was surprised by Matt staying in so long and there were people saying the British have short memories, but people are bloody-minded and like to stir things up too. I thought ITV would have secretly loved a Matt win. Some camp mates (and their families at the hotel, I later found out) were speculating that Matt must have a team of professional bots working around the clock voting for him. I laughed at this because it really didn’t matter.
Once you walk across the bridge and out of camp you realise just how easy leaving would have been. The press kept insisting I was constantly threatening to leave but I was not. I am annoyingly professional. I have walked out of things, like band meetings or rehearsals, but never from anything work-and pay-related.
I was the fourth out of the eleven to be unvoted out. Was I disappointed not to have got further? No. It was a blessed relief. I had (been well) paid (for) my dues. My sister met me on the bridge. It felt amazing just to see her.
As the doctor gave me a check-up, I watched the camp on TV monitors. Despite just leaving, I felt like I had never been there. My sister said she could see me struggling to find my place in the jungle from the first week.
Over the years watching the show, I have always found the letters from home segment cringey. When you tour for as long as I do, a few days away in an exotic location is hardly emotional. Weirdly, though, my sister’s letter, with its family titbits, made me very emotional. It didn’t contain anything profound, but it felt like a love letter piercing my heart.