LEEMING TAKES AN ALMIGHTY PLUNGE 22 November
NOT since Anthea Turner pottered around the Celebrity Big Brother house with her feather duster and Marigolds has there been a more annoying specimen to grace a reality TV show than Jan Leeming.
This is a woman who, for years, earned a living telling us: "Here is the news" in clipped and sombre tones.
How were we to know that beneath the elegant composed facade was a deluded, belligerent whinger whose sense of self-worth is as breathtakingly shocking as her singing?
Of course the genius of I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! is to showcase the foibles, petulance and over-inflated egos of the participants.
The trade-off being a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to haul their dwindling careers out of the doldrums. For some, this has worked. Carol Thatcher is never off the box, Joe Pasquale now presents The Price Is Right. It was a springboard for Tara Palmer Tomkinson and turned Jordan and Peter Andre into multi-millionaires.
Quite what Jan hopes to achieve is questionable.
Star of the musical stage? Judging by David Gest's face when she lacerated his eardrums with Summertime, I don't think so. Renowned chef? ("They come from far and wide for my roasts") Or seductress? ("Oh Toby, you've got such a wonderful physique")?
I can't wait for her to discover that back home she's already hitting the headlines - as the woman most likely to make you stick your foot through the screen.
As a rule, I'm A Celeb is compulsive viewing because it's the televisual equivalent of the public stocks. But this year its success hasn't been dependent on tormenting contestants with slimy stuff.
Nope, the producers have given them something far less palatable than cockroaches and witchetty grubs. They've given them Jan, on a plate.
The most grisly creature ever to prowl the Australian jungle. Did you notice even the snakes backed off as she was lowered into their pit?
When world-famous anthropologist Desmond Morris observed that as time passes the celebrities will slowly lose the will to glamourise themselves he clearly hadn't factored in the Leeming. If there's been a scene where she isn't brushing her hair, preening or making girlie eyes at any male in her line of vision, I've missed it.
I'm not being ageist but is there a sadder sight in the world than a postmenopausal predator?
"I don't think they'll vote me out. I'm going to be here for a long time," Jan crowed on learning the great British public had punished her with yet another trial, adding: "I think they should call it the Jan Leeming Show."
Naturally she failed to register the embarrassed silence that met this self-serving and absurdly inaccurate observation.
This is what makes Jan morbidly fascinating - every hostile nuance, smirk or despairing facial gesture just passes her by.
She remains oblivious to the suffering her moaning inflicts and seems blissfully unaware that her "me, me, me" attitude has driven Faith Brown, the woman who put the tough in cookie, to tears... and Lauren Booth to broadcast profanities.
When told the group would be split into boy/girl camps she announced: "I'm not really a woman's woman."
You can say that again, missus. Women's women have a sense of humour, understand the value of self deprecation, never shed phoney tears and wouldn't dream of telling the public they'd rather face a gruelling task alongside a man than a woman.
Can we be absolutely sure Jan doesn't have a secret love-child called Anthea Turner?
Mirror
