When I finally got to Australia, I felt so weird. Even though I had known I was going for such a long time and I had tried to prepare myself, it did not feel real at all. The day I arrived I just wanted to get in there; I couldn’t believe it was happening plus I didn’t want ITV to change their minds. As far as I was concerned, the quicker I got in there the better, then they couldn’t ditch me.
For the first week of being in Australia, though, you just chill in your hotel room. You are allowed out around the hotel, but you’ve got to have a chaperone so that you don’t bump into anyone else on the show (I felt like I was in MI5, it was amazing). So you really honestly don’t know who else is going to be in that camp with you as you aren’t even allowed your phone or wi-fi to check. That’s why when people are saying they miss their families and it’s only been a week in the jungle, in actual fact they haven’t spoken to their families for a fortnight.
Just two days before I went into the jungle, I found out on an Australian news channel that Donald Trump was now the US President. I remember thinking about this a lot in camp; I would just be sitting in my hammock so many times thinking, ‘God, what world am I going to come out to? Will there even be a world there? I don’t know if this show is even being televised any more. Has he stopped all the TV stations? Is he just broadcasting himself twenty-four hours a day?’ It was really frustrating just not even knowing what was going on out there.
Eventually the day arrived, D-Day, and we had a quick last-minute meeting about the dos and don’ts of the jungle, which were all pretty much common sense. They asked if I had any questions. I only had one.
‘I really don’t want to say the C-word on the show.’
‘No, you cannot say the C-word.’
‘So what do I say instead?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I would never say that C-word on TV, the one that rhymes with “runt”. I mean “celebrity”. If I can’t do a trial, what do I say? Because, well, I can’t say, “I’m a celebrity, get me out of here.” I just can’t. I’ll have to say, “I’m sometimes on the telly, get me out of here,” because the thought of saying the word “celebrity” absolutely makes me cringe.’
‘Haha, don’t worry, I am sure when you are covered in a hundred thousand bugs you will soon be able to say the C-word, believe me.’
I was ready for my dream to come true. I knew that in a few hours’ time I was going to meet Ant and Dec. I was blindfolded and put some headphones on. ‘OK, Scarlett, when we take the headphones and blindfold off, you are going to walk around the corner where you will be greeted by Ant and Dec.’
‘Thank you. I hope I make it. My legs feel like jelly.’
I had so many thoughts going through my mind. There had been lots of speculation about who was going into the jungle that year. The papers back at home were saying it was going to be Nigel Farage. Oooh, I didn’t know if I could stay if he was in there, I thought, because I’d want to push him in the camp fire. I was so nervous about who my camp mates might be. I don’t know why but I was convinced the Chuckle Brothers were going to be in there. Imagine the trials (‘to me, to you’).
The blindfold was off. The headphones were off. It was happening. I walked round and lived my fantasy. My two hundred bonds of hair extensions were blowing in the breeze, I could feel one of my eyelashes coming off, I had now realised my spray tan looked patchy in the sunlight, I had my £40 white and gold kimono dress on and gold heels that I couldn’t walk properly in (Bambi on ice) but they looked good so it was all fine. Despite all this and having a sweaty tash, I could see my heroes in the flesh. It finally felt real, I was going on I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here!
‘Oh my God, I’m going to meet the real Ant and Dec!’ I was saying in my head. I held back the tears of excitement that threatened to come from being face to face with them. Think of something cool to say, I kept whispering to myself. ‘Oh my God, it’s really you, Wonkey Donkey was the highlight of my week as a kid!’ I blurted out. (Smooth, real smooth, Scarlett.) I hugged both of them, getting a nice bronzer mark on Ant’s crisp white shirt.
As I stood in the line-up, realising I was going to be living with legends like Carol Vorderman, Larry Lamb, Lisa Snowdon and Sam Quek (I mean a gold Olympian, not only that but a kick-ass Girl Power Olympian who, alongside her team mates, had put the words ‘women’s hockey’ on everybody in the UK’s lips), I could hardly contain myself. God, if my eleven-year-old self could see me now. All those nights I cried myself to sleep because of the bullying, wishing I could be anybody else but me, wishing I could fit in more. How silly of me.
If I could have a conversation now with my eleven-year-old self I would say, ‘Scarlett, you think you’re goofy, a little bit different to most other people; your brain constantly asks weird questions, you’re a sensitive soul who feels like she doesn’t quite fit in and struggles with accepting compliments.
