Whos On I'm A Celeb This Year
So, it’s that time of year again. The time when your evening routine involuntarily shifts from “maybe I’ll read a book” to “I must watch a celebrity eat a kangaroo testicle.”...
So, it’s that time of year again. The time when your evening routine involuntarily shifts from “maybe I’ll read a book” to “I must watch a celebrity eat a kangaroo testicle.” Yes, I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here! is back, and with it comes the annual question: Who on earth is on it this year?
Let’s be honest. For the first ten minutes of the launch show, you’ll be squinting at the screen, thinking, “I’ve seen that face somewhere… in a queue for a coffee, maybe?” That’s the magic of this show. It takes people you’ve vaguely heard of and throws them into a jungle where they become the most important part of your dinner conversation.
The lineup is, as always, a glorious mixed bag of humanity. You’ve got your sports legend, who we collectively pretend we remember winning that one gold medal in 2008. They’ll be the calm, stoic one who just gets on with washing pots in the creek, making the rest of us feel deeply inadequate.
Then there’s the soap star. You know the one. They were in a prime-time drama for three years, and now they’re ready to “show their real self.” Their real self is usually just a person who cries a lot about missing their dog, which is honestly a mood we can all get behind.
But the true star of the series is always the absolute wildcard. This year, it’s reportedly a reality TV villain from a show you’ve never watched. They’ll walk in, declare they’re “not here to make friends,” and then spend the next three weeks crying in the bush telegraph because no one wants to be their friend. It’s chef’s kiss television.
And we can’t forget the “who?” contestant. The one your partner will say, “Oh, they’re a huge pop star in Australia!” and you’ll nod sagely while frantically Googling them under the table. They’ll end up being the most lovable person there, purely because they eat a witchetty grub with the enthusiasm of a toddler trying spaghetti for the first time.
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Honestly, the casting directors deserve a pay rise. They’ve somehow found a professional diver from the 1980s, a Love Islander who has the emotional range of a teaspoon, and a radio DJ who thinks telling people off for snoring is a leadership skill. It’s like they raided a charity shop of fame and picked out the most mismatched outfits.
Let’s talk about the trials, because that’s where the real magic happens. You’ll be snuggled on your sofa, eating a perfectly nice bag of crisps, while they’re being pelted with critters. It’s the ultimate “could be worse” moment. Suddenly, your overdue electricity bill feels like a minor inconvenience compared to having a spider helmet put on your head.
I remember last year, I watched a former boyband member try to put a star on the map. He spent ten minutes screaming at a bucket of eels. I felt a deep, spiritual connection to him. That’s exactly how I feel on a Monday morning when my inbox is full. Pure, primal terror.
The banter around the campfire is another thing. It’s a masterclass in awkward small talk. They’ll sit there, starving, and discuss the finer points of a “bark coffee.” By week two, they’re all convinced they’re best friends for life. By week three, they’re hiding each other’s socks.
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Why do we watch this? It’s a fair question. We watch because it’s a perfect mirror of our own lives, if our lives involved sleeping on a bamboo bed and being fed by a man in a khaki hat. It’s about survival, but in the most relatable way. We’ve all had that colleague who hogs the kettle. That’s just a smaller-scale jungle.
The real joy is watching them break. The morning after a big trial is peak television. They shuffle out of camp looking like they’ve been through a war, while Ant and Dec stand there, chipper as ever, asking, “How was that for you, mate?” It’s the most passive-aggressive vibe since your mum asked if you “liked the meal she spent three hours making.”
So, who’s in the jungle this year? Honestly, it doesn’t matter. By the end of the first week, you’ll have forgotten who they were before. They’ll just be “the one with the phobia of balloons” or “the one who keeps talking about their new podcast.” You’ll love them, you’ll hate them, and you’ll vote to save them purely out of spite for the other campmates.
So grab a blanket, a cuppa, and prepare to nod along. Because whether it’s a Hollywood actor or a YouTuber you’ve never heard of, we’re all just here for the same thing: watching other people eat bugs so we don’t have to. And that, my friends, is the true meaning of comfort television.
