Caressing Cerys

He shows her his sit-up skills, she shows him her bum in a bikini and before you can say "witchety grub" they're flirting like teenagers at a school dance.

Romance could well blossom once more in the jungle and, who knows, maybe even lead to a fairytale wedding just like Jordan and Pete's tasteful affair with Cerys radiant in a Barbie-pink puffball dress arriving in a big carriage shaped like a leek and Marc, handsome in gold brocade, marching down the aisle to the theme from EastEnders...

Stop! It's all very well dreaming, but as far as I'm concerned freshly-divorced Cerys needs to exercise some caution around the lofty lothario; for years she's been living in seclusion on a huge estate in Nashville, so she will not be aware that Marc is a serial celebrity.

This is not his first foray into sleb slumming. There was Celebrity Poker Club in 2003, and who can forget his fist-shaking, teeth-baring El Diablo in Celebrity Wrestling in 2005?

Well, everyone actually.

All I'll say, Cerys, is be careful.

You've only just returned to the dating scene and it's not unlikely that by the time you've given your heart to Marc, he'll be dressed in a big white hat, cutting one up and grinning at Gordon Ramsay saying: "Cerys who?"

For now, though, it's an entertaining distraction and no doubt we'll be hearing, via the red tops, what Marc's girlfriend has to say about it.

I'm a Celebrity is one of the few reality shows that hasn't passed its sell-by date yet. It is still annoyingly and gloriously watchable, mainly thanks to the brilliant presenting of Ant and Dec.

In just a matter of days their send-up of the Malcolm McClaren/Janeeeeeece Dickinson/Lynne Franks door knocking moment, their chanting and the use of the word Junior, have already been the talk of our office.

No other reality show gets a mention these days and yet I'm a Celeb was the topic of conversation everywhere I went in Echo Towers the day after it started.

So let's look at the creatures crawling beneath the canopy this year.

The Marsh - a drab but opinionated beast; lost ability to fly (out of helicopters) so programme makers concocted excuse about running out of light or too much wind or some nonsense to allow him to save face.

The Ryder Richardson - houseproud and even-tempered, likes to parade in skimpy garments but still be regarded as one of the guys.

The Hopkins - the much-spotted celebritchy, a species regarded as dangerously cunning, but in reality a bit dim. Aggressive towards fellow females but passive around large wallets.

The J - one-lettered warbler of unknown origin.

The Bannerman - relaxed in its natural habitat of celebrity reality show. Already involved in courting ritual with...

The Matthews - usually only spotted on the front of Catatonia album covers, the indigenous Welsh songbird appears keen to mate.

The Burton-Race - migrates to France regularly. Good with seeds.

The Atkinson - is a diet, or is on a diet?

The Franks - a feisty shrew this one, but showing signs of too many winters. Emits a strange chant when under attack and will only eat washed veg.

The Dickinson - by far the most exotic of all the jungle creatures and by miles the most entertaining. This colourful, bonkers bird can survive for years without food and has cleverly managed to adapt its facial features in order to blend in with its native plasticised terrain of LA. Becomes agitated at the sight of eels and The Franks (see above).

Jungle japes to Jungle Book.

My Boy Jack (Sunday, ITV1, 9pm) was a superb dramatisation of the story of Rudyard Kipling's decision to not only encourage, but more-or-less force his only son to join the Army, despite the poor sod being as good as blind without his glasses and just 17 years of age.

John (or Jack, played by Daniel Radcliffe) duly enlisted to fight for King and country, oh and his war-obsessed, tyrannical old man (played by David Haig).

He was immediately shot dead as soon as he arrived, one day after his 18th birthday.

The usual obstacles of driving rain, rapid gunfire and explosives were nothing in comparison with Jack's steamed-up, opaque glasses and, literally a blind man, he ran straight into the line of fire.

Kipling and his wife (played by Kim Catrall) were devastated, and it is said he lived in torment about the part he played in his lad's death for the rest of his life.

Good, you big bloody bully - made me cry too, you did.

My husband never shed a tear though, but he reckons that was because earlier on I'd pointed out that, as Jack, Daniel Radcliffe, with his round specs and silly moustache, looked like one of the Monty Python guys in the rolled-up trousers and knotted hanky sketches.