Here Comes the Clown

by Dom Joly

  On the flight towards the camp we introduced ourselves – Shaun Ryder, who hated small talk, was quite silent and I shall never forget the look of sheer terror in Nigel Havers’ eyes. What the hell was going on in this camp?

  The first person I saw when I entered was Gillian McKeith, who stared at me with the sullen, hostile eyes of the schoolyard madam. Others were more friendly – I recognised Stacey Solomon, a sweet ugly duckling with a good singing voice from The X Factor. I sat on my damp hammock and tried to control the rising feelings of panic. This had been a terrible mistake . . .

  It’s incredible how quickly the human spirit adapts to unpleasant situations. Pretty soon, camp was home and I dreaded being taken out of it to some unknown destination and task. It was classic hostage psychology that wouldn’t have been out of place in Guantánamo Bay. We were being controlled by an all-seeing power, and most people quickly fell into line.

  Everybody in camp was pretty open and friendly – some, like Lembit Opik, overly so. I was quickly filled in about the ‘Gillian situation’. It turned out that ‘Dr’ Gillian McKeith – a woman famous for analysing people’s stools on television (and not being a doctor) – was afraid of everything and behaving like a selfish harridan. The public had smelt fear and, like a bloodthirsty crowd at the Colosseum, were baying for her blood. Gillian didn’t help herself – she had a medical excuse for everything and behaved like a spoilt child around the camp. My favourite fact about her was that her husband (poor man) had been unable to join her children in Australia . . . because he had a phobia of flying . . . What a family.

  Before we got on the show, we were sent to a psychiatrist in North London to be evaluated. It’s a catch 22 for these types of shows. They don’t want to be criticised for making money out of exploiting vulnerable, mentally unstable celebs . . . On the other hand, it’s vulnerable, mentally unstable celebs that make the best telly. The solution is to give people a psych test that, just by the fact that Gillian McKeith passed, is clearly utterly useless. Nevertheless, this then gives the production company a defence that we have all been intensively screened psychologically and everything is in hand. I got nervous before mine and consumed an entire bottle of champagne for lunch in a fish restaurant just down the road. So I was in a good mood when I arrived and thought that I dealt with the shrink’s probing questions with both humour and aplomb. When it was over I asked her jokingly whether I had ‘passed’.

  She looked at me for quite a while in that disconcerting manner that shrinks do, before telling me that I had indeed passed . . . but that she felt that I would really benefit from seeing someone regularly when this was all over. She even gave me the number of someone to ring. I left her office sheepishly and wandered off down the road muttering to myself about how there was nothing wrong with me, nothing I couldn’t sort out myself . . . Maybe I should have taken her up on the offer?

  Back in the jungle, if we were taken out of camp to do a trial we would be marched silently over precarious rope bridges before being bundled into blacked-out vans that we termed ‘Beirut buses’. This was more hostage stuff, and I rapidly gained a tiny insight into what people like John McCarthy must go through (obviously without the all-important fear of death) and how you clung to anything that provided a sense of stability or continuity.

  I was moved to a ‘prison’ about four days after entering camp and I longed to return to my uncomfortable damp hammock that had so freaked me out on arrival. I got incredibly close to Jenny Eclair, whom I loved. Others were more of a disappointment. I was expecting Britt Ekland, a woman who had lived a seriously interesting life, to be brimming with stories. She was dull as ditchwater and the only interesting fact we got out of her was that she jogged backwards every day (because Mick Jagger did the same). Lembit Opik was a man so out of touch with reality that it hurt. He was considering running for London Mayor. Nobody bothered to tell him how utterly ludicrous the idea was. When we got out, we found that he’d been ditched by a Cheeky Girl and had a young girlfriend who would drape herself around him in some seriously hideous public displays of affection. Nigel Havers became more and more agitated by the whole experience and turned increasingly to me for guidance as to what was happening. For instance, a trial would be announced – it would be called something like The Creepy Tunnel of Doom:

  ‘What do you think it is, old boy?’ Nigel would ask nervously.

  ‘I think it’s a dark tunnel that you have to crawl through while they pour insects all over you,’ I’d reply.

  ‘Monstrous . . . simply monstrous, what kind of show is this?’ Nigel would say with a thousand-yard stare.

  Nigel eventually cracked when we were all trooped down to an area where we were put into makeshift docks and had electrodes attached to our bodies. The idea was that we would be electrocuted every time we got a question wrong. I knew that we would not really be electrocuted, as Health and Safety would not allow it. The electrodes would just give us an annoying buzz that would make the nerves judder. Nevertheless, I surreptitiously put my hand under my shirt and removed one of said electrodes. Sadly, I was too far away from Nigel to tell him to do the same. He had a wonderful hissy fit and stormed out of the enclosure, where he proceeded to have a screaming row with a producer.

  ‘I will not sit here and be electrocuted. This is inhuman. This has gone too far, we’re not animals . . .’

  The next day he upped and left us. It was not a place for him. Shaun Ryder, however, was enjoying himself more and more and coming out of his shell. I loved Shaun; he was smart and funny and very entertaining. He loathed Gillian McKeith as much as the rest of us. Time after time, she would be chosen to do a trial and she would freak out and come back with no stars. People were getting seriously hungry and very irritable. She would jump out of her skin at the sight of a micro-bug and a leaf falling would send her into a fit.

  One morning I woke up early and wandered down to tend the fire and sip on a cup of hot, smoky water. I looked up to see Shaun waking up. He nodded at me and then looked down below him to where McKeith was asleep, cocooned in a large sleeping bag. Shaun looked at me and grinned. He produced a long stick that he kept under his bed and subtly prodded the sleeping McKeith before quickly hiding the stick. She went mental, jumping up and screaming hysterically about animal attacks and bolted to the telegraph room. He’d been doing this regularly every night. We howled with laughter – the jungle had turned us into cruel creatures.

  I often wondered what my family was up to while I was on the show. It turned out that they were living in the hideous Versace hotel (a place that looks like Elton John has vomited all over it) and being bussed out on the hour-long drive to the set every morning at the crack of dawn to watch the show in a tent. Stacey told me that they would sit and watch the thing, praying that I hadn’t been mean to anybody, as things then became very tense with whichever relative or friend of that person was there. If there was no major incident and I wasn’t chucked out, then they would be bussed back to the Versace and have the day to play around in at the pool. They had an absolute blast and would have stayed for another month if asked. Meanwhile back home, my lovely mum, who normally pooh-poohs any of these sorts of programmes, became hooked and watched every episode and became almost proud of the notoriety that my being on the show caused in her Shepherd’s Bush street.

  People often ask whether the jungle experience is as bad as it seems on telly.

  ‘I bet it’s fixed and is much better than it seems,’ they’d say confidently.

  Curiously, I think it was worse than it appeared on the telly. You didn’t see the hours and hours of terminal boredom. You could never really get the sense of creeping paranoia that hit you when the public vote approached. However bravely you faced the thing, it was a very unsettling experience having the UK population decide whether you were an arse or not. When McKeith wasn’t initially voted out, we all freaked out. Maybe we’d completely got it wrong and she was somehow popular or liked? Stranger things have happened in showbiz but than
kfully it turned out that people were just voting intelligently to keep her in so that she could be tormented more. She, of course, misunderstood this completely and started to think she was queen bee. It didn’t seem humanly possible, but she actually started to behave even worse than before.

  Despite all the deprivations, paranoia and McKeith, I found myself loving the experience. It was something to do with the total detachment from modern life. All one’s daily stresses were removed and all you had to worry about was the day ahead of you. The jungle experience was one that, even if you had all the money in the world, you could not replicate. To be thrown into a hostile rainforest with a random bunch of high-achieving personalities with a crew of about three hundred running the entire experience . . . I didn’t regret my decision for a moment, although I was very relieved to get out and find that I hadn’t embarrassed my wife or kids too much. When I got out, it was to find them babysitting Stacey Solomon’s kid and hanging out with the Ryder clan. My son was even wearing a Happy Mondays T-shirt. It was all very hard to adjust to.

  Best of all for me was the long-forgotten feeling of going clothes shopping and selecting a slim-fit shirt that actually fitted. I don’t think I took the damn thing off for about three weeks, until it started to physically fall apart. I lost two-and-a-half stone during my time in the jungle (actually not a jungle – a rainforest – but I’m quibbling). People pay vast sums of money to go to places where they are starved and pummelled into better shape. I’m a Celebrity provided me with the same service, paid me handsomely, and as a bonus I wasn’t surrounded by the rich, hairy Russians who normally frequent international health clinics. Result.

  Chapter 11

  Now What?

  Back in the UK, I was inundated with weird requests on the back of my jungle ‘performance’. Two of them synergised rather wonderfully. I had long wanted to visit Patagonia and Antarctica, and I got an offer from a friend who ran a posh travel company to accompany him down through Argentina and onto a boat that would take us to explore the edge of the Frozen Continent. I’d already agreed when another came in – would I like to do Total Wipeout, the curiously addictive TV assault course? My kids were avid fans of the show and demanded that I do it. I was unsure until I read further and found that filming took place just outside Buenos Aires, and they would cover a business class return flight to the Argentinian capital. This was a no-brainer. Fly to Buenos Aires, become Total Wipeout champion and then move on to explore Antarctica. I said yes immediately.

  I normally check, if I can, to see who is on these sorts of shows as there is usually someone I have pissed off in the past and it’s best to be prepared, but I didn’t bother on this occasion and turned up at Gatwick, wondering what awaited me. Once in the business lounge, it turned out that what awaited me was a large and entertaining piss-up. Everybody was either nervous of meeting each other or of flying, and we all got gloriously pissed on free champagne. The first person I saw was Simon Day, a fantastically funny comedian who was in The Fast Show. He was instantly friendly and welcoming, and I relaxed. He told me that he didn’t drink any more, but then appeared to forget all about it five minutes later and joined in with everyone else.

  I looked around the table – there was the imposing presence of Razor Ruddock (a footballer with quite a reputation), Lady Sovereign (the poster girl for chav rappers), a couple of Olympians (Gail Emms and Dalton Grant), a ‘glamour girl’ called Nicola McLean, a Big Brother winner (Brian Belo) and various other minor celeb types. It was one of those weird showbiz happenings that gathered a stupidly disparate group together. It quickly went a bit pear-shaped. Lady Sovereign nearly got thrown off the plane for getting ludicrously drunk, trying to smoke and then starting a food fight. Razor Ruddock, Simon Day and I huddled together and drank more – it was going to be a long trip. As it turned out it was a rather short one.

  Come the day of filming and I should have seen the signs. Why did Endemol, the production company that made the programme, decide to film it in Argentina of all places? One of the reasons was that they’d bought a piece of land about half an hour outside the capital where the set had been built. I surmised that, with the recent Argentinian economic problems, the land had probably been dirt-cheap. Once the set had been built, the company simply flew in competitors from each different country like human sausages. One week it was France, then Germany, then the UK etc. Once the initial start-up had been paid off, it was a licence to print money. More importantly, I think that health and safety laws were a little laxer in Argentina than Europe. I should have taken the hint when I spotted two ambulances parked by the course but I was too adrenalised by then.

  We were all keen to try and get over the Big Red Balls that the show was so famous for. It was stricter than we thought – we weren’t allowed to watch anybody else compete and the course was soaked before every run so that it was extra slippery. I don’t remember too much except that I was doing really well. I was past the Big Red Balls and onto the last obstacle when it happened. I was on a platform in front of a revolving circle that had shapes cut into it. My plan was to soar effortlessly through the air, land in one of the holes, crouch until the circle reached the top and then hop off onto the winning podium. That was the plan. The reality was I jumped and landed inelegantly in a hole with the full weight of my body crushing my left foot. I was in shock and tumbled down into the water. The pain was excruciating but everyone was cheering and adrenaline forced me on. I reached the ladder, somehow climbed up and finished. I had the second fastest time. This was scant recompense, however, as I then collapsed and fell into the water. I was dragged to the shore where the presenter interviewed me with my shorts halfway down my legs.

  ‘I’m in a lot of pain,’ I remember saying before blacking out.

  I awoke in a hospital with a foot the size of my head. I got my mobile and rang the family back home. My son answered:

  ‘Hey Dad, did you win Total Wipeout – are you the champion?’

  ‘Not exactly, no . . .’ I replied. ‘Is Mum there?’ I had broken three metatarsals in my foot. I would not be going to Antarctica. I would be going straight home for an operation.

  The irony of me getting a ‘footballing’ injury in Argentina, despite my loathing of the game, was not lost on me. Every cab driver would ask me what was wrong with my foot. ‘Metatarsal,’ I would reply. ‘Ahh, Rooney, Beckham . . .’ they would smile sympathetically as though my top international football career was on hold for a while.

  On the plus side, being on the show did give me a great idea for a film script. Here’s the pitch:

  A disparate gang of minor celebs are in a Third-World country to compete on a cruel TV game show, in which one of them will get the chance to revive their flagging career. Unfortunately, a revolution breaks out in said country while they are there. The celebs have to park their egos and insecurities and use their multifarious and obscure skills to help each other escape the disintegrating and increasingly violent situation.

  This is probably a more in-depth pitch than the one Stallone did for Rocky and look how well that turned out. It’s a smash hit – trust me. Copyright Dom Joly.

  I was flown back to the UK to have quite a major operation on my foot. I was going to be in a cast for at least three months. This was a problem. I’d just agreed to have a go at doing some sort of live show with a view to touring the UK. This was my biggest phobia. Everyone you ever tell that you’re a comedian instantly assumes that you mean stand-up and that you’re very confident in front of a crowd. This couldn’t be further from the truth. I had only ever done stand-up once in my life, and that was for a joke. I’d got major prosthetics put on for the first time and then went on stage at The Comedy Store in London. Nobody recognised me and I just said the first thing that came into my head for as long as I could until I was booed off. I lasted fifteen minutes, as people assumed I was doing some clever set-up with a great punchline.

  It never came.

  Anyway, in character I’m ballsy and can approa
ch strangers and interact, but the idea of standing on stage as myself is utterly terrifying. So I thought I’d try and face my demons. In a movie, I would be freaking out, having panic attacks until the moment before I went on stage, when suddenly I would find some inner strength and I would slowly win the audience around, finishing with a standing ovation and triumph over adversity . . . This did not happen. I was awful. I had no experience of having to work a crowd and, for a lot of the tour, had no crowd to work.

  In honour of Stacey Solomon throwing a stone at my face on I’m a Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here! I had someone selling cloth stones for a pound a go in the foyer. At the end of the show, I got the audience to pelt me with the stones and then all get up and run screaming out of the theatre. I filmed this on an infra-red camera that I was holding. The idea I’d had was to take this footage of people running screaming out of theatre after theatre and use it as the trailer for the movie that Sam and I seemed destined never to make. It would have been good – a cinemagoer would hear one of those big movie voice-over voices:

  ‘From the people who brought you Trigger Happy TV and other slightly less successful shows, the hidden camera movie that is taking the country by storm . . .’