The current “I’m a celebrity get me out of here” is a hot topic of conversation in our household, with three family members, wife, teenage daughter and nine year old son glued to what is happening in the Australian jungle studio. By permeation I find myself knowing the characters involved and which ones seem to be claiming the nation’s heart, much the same I find with ‘The Archers’, I have a grasp of the story line even though the first few notes of the theme tune has me scuttling off to audio sanctuary. As a fifty five year old bloke/git I don’t ‘do’ popular culture, I rarely watch TV or football, I don’t ‘do’ Facebook , ‘twitter’ seems driven by egotistical self publicists, and X factor is for those who enjoy over produced karaoke. OK that maybe a little derisive as I appreciate there are millions who do get pleasure from these things so I’ll willingly tolerate them on that basis, I just don’t feel the need to partake. Last night in a moment of father-son bonding I did sit down with Barney to watch half an hour of ‘I’m a celeb’, and if Edwina Currie does not emerge Queen of the Jungle I for one will be a little surprised, like her (John Major did) or not she has that rare and mystical quality known as charisma. Whilst on the matter of royalty, one of the other other cornerstones of popular British life I could happily live without is the monarchy. Politically and culturally they are a benign vestige and have learnt after their various mishaps to keep their mouths shut on anything contentious, keep your head down and metaphorically it doesn’t get shot off, a tactic which is also used by some in the Oz jungle. Again, as with the other previously mentioned facets of pop culture I’ll tolerate the Windsors because they generally seem to do no harm and provide plenty of people with escape from the mundanities of their own lives. Apart from any political misgivings, I rather pity them as I would an animal that is born in captivity and will never experience the wild. To have every aspect of your life controlled, prescribed and scrutinised then to only say what is expected of you, and have that mantra of ‘born to serve’ hanging over you must sometimes be hellish, though I expect the odd palace and a bevy of servants softens the blow! I wonder if some of them would prefer to take the Edward V111 route and say “I’m a celebrity get me out of here”.