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Why I'm A Celebrity was my destiny and my triumph, by Richard Madeley

LIKE Luke Skywalker, we must all follow our destiny, whatever the risks, whatever the personal cost. My path was not the Force but ITV’s I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here.

I accepted the challenge and emerged triumphant, despite crashing out embarrassingly after flailing around in a vat of rotten fruit and becoming unwell while viewers called to their partners in the kitchen: ‘Ha ha, come and look at this. It’s that wanker Madeley.’

What inner reserves of strength and courage did I call upon? I cannot honestly say, except it was a lot like those guys in Vietnam who survived years being kept in a submerged bamboo cage by the Viet Cong. But with the added struggle of collecting plastic stars.

Sure, alongside my incredible wife Judy I had already revolutionised ITV’s output on This Morning. After our hard-hitting mix of celebrity chat and household cleaning tips, daytime TV could never be the same again.

But a restless spirit like mine is always looking for the next mountain to climb, and so I stepped in to fill the enormous boots of Piers Morgan on Good Morning Britain with the delectable Susanna Reid, prompting favourable comparisons with another broadcasting legend, Alan Partridge.

Thus I found myself offered a much sought-after role on I’m A Celebrity, part of an incredible team of amazing guys like Danny Miller, Frankie Bridge and Naughty Boy, many of whom you will have heard of.

But fate is a cruel mistress and I was forced to pull out due to Covid rules, the sort of bureaucratic do-gooder nonsense that is sadly all too common in politically correct modern Britain. 

But I’m confident I will be back for the next series, like a phoenix from the ashes, because the producers know millions, or at the very least dozens, of ITV viewers would love to see me barfing as I attempt to eat a raw tree frog bladder.

​​Answering by saying his number: Weird things your dad does on the phone

YOUR dad uses phones in very strange ways. Here are some of the weirder ones to try and not get stressed about.

Answering by saying his number

Your dad might answer a call in an odd, formal manner, by reciting his number, then his name, followed by ‘speaking’. The fact that your name and photo have popped up on his screen won’t stop him sounding like a character in an Edwardian period drama and being surprised when he hears your voice.

Holding down buttons

Your dad is from a different era and does not believe buttons should be ‘tapped’, or ‘clicked’ – they should be uncomfortably held down until the call is completed. If this prevents the phone ever working properly for him, it’s because of bad weather ‘affecting the wires’.

Deferring to the landline

Calling your dad will immediately raise in his mind the question of cost: ‘Are you at home?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I’ll call you back on the landline, it’ll save a fortune.’ Your dad will then spend 15 minutes enlightening you on the cost and frequency of his top-ups before allowing you to leave, and forget to call you back.

Answering without accepting the call

While visiting your folks, you’ll see your dad pick up his mobile as if it’s the landline and answer without accepting the call. A depressing palaver will ensue as he gets increasingly exasperated while pressing all the buttons and saying ‘Hello?’

Not locking his phone

If you manage to have a conversation with your dad on his mobile, rest assured he won’t end the call. The phone will go straight onto the sideboard, unlocked, and you’ll hear his random mutterings: ‘Just put that there…’ and ‘Ooh that chilli con carne isn’t agreeing with me bowels, love.’

Enunciating when the signal drops out

Your dad’s landline rarely suffers from loss of signal, so when it happens during a call on his mobile his solution is to be louder and monosyllabic: ‘Hel-lo. Hel-lo. Can. You. Hear. Me?’ You should invent a phone that just redials when it hears this confusion and make a killing in the ‘clueless dad’ market.

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