Our favourite piss-breathed survivalist is back on our screens with The Island With Bear Grylls. And apart from the slightly misleading title (the men and women have been pitted against each other on two separate islands) the show has been a glorious festival of how to royally fuck up in a survival situation. Fighting, fainting, fuckwittery – this show’s got the lot. Plus, luckily enough for Bear haters, he only occasionally vox-pops onto the screen with handy, sometimes patronising, survival tips. These Bear pearls of wisdom are usually shoved in between highlights of the men and women bitching, botching and slowly dehydrating their way towards death. One of Bears’ expert tips was that ‘positivity is the key to survival’. Which is odd, because Wikipedia told me the key was food, water and shelter, but then who am I to argue with a man who so positively drinks his own piss?
I tried camping for three days this week on nothing but positivity and all I got was mild sunburn, dehydration and the unwavering conviction that I could run for PM in the next election. So tonight I’ll be tuning in to the show to see where I went wrong and check up on the islanders. If you’ve missed the show for the last couple of weeks this handy catch-up guide will save you the bother of sitting through the hours of incompetence we’ve witnessed so far. Though mostly you’ve just missed them whining their way through increasing levels of grubbiness. Think Bruce Willis’ vest in Die Hard and you’re there.
On the men’s island we saw 14 blokes dropped into the sea as Bear told them they were at least 75 metres away from shore. Bear may need to check his measuring skills, as by his standards he probably thinks he has a metre long penis. Two crawl stokes in and the men were ashore – miraculously avoiding the swirling currents and local menacing wildlife. Perhaps Bear pushed them all ashore with his record breaking wang? Who knows. Anyway, led by podgy builder Paul they trekked through the dense jungle and found an all important beach and set up camp. I say camp – they gathered some leaves, had a lie down and possibly a little cry. To ensure they could boil water, so it’s suitable for drinking, the lads set about making a fire. After his fellow islanders laughed for a solid 2 hours that the producers had sent Kyle, a web technician, to the island it was down to him (and his geeky glasses) to save the day. The fire was lit (briefly) and water was in plentifulish supply. Less plentiful was the manly bonding. Man’s-man and all round, alpha male irritant, Paul left after a spat with angry fellow builder Andy. He proudly announced to the nation that he’s the man to call if you need your IKEA furniture building. Now, I’ve not got a spirit level or 30 years in the building industry AND I’m a girl, but I can put together an IKEA Malm with my fucking eyes closed. These people need shelter, not a cheap, yet stylish, storage option. After building himself a bed, Andy also fucked off home for a cup of tea and will no doubt be billing the producers for double time and materials. Builder-less the menfolk are gamely making attempts to wedge bits of twig together but their main aim is hunting for food. Barney decided he was the man for the job but got depression and PTSD for about 20 minutes after nearly dying, FYI he didn’t, he was just being a fanny after having an unexpected swim. He soon perked up after decapitating an Iguana and spit-roasting it (not like that). He’s also a paramedic which makes me slightly afraid to dial 999 next time I’m in need of medical attention.
Prediction: It’s all going to go a bit Lord of the Flies. My money’s on Barney losing it and going on a rampage … The only thing that can save the men now is if a distracting copy of Playboy washes ashore. Their moral was boosted by their unlikely erections in times of crisis in last weeks show.
Let me just kick this off by saying I’m embarrassed for them. I’m embarrassed to be associated with them and for the love of God will someone give the poor loves a SatNav for Christmas, the dozy, directionless fuckwits. That said, let’s start at the beginning … The 14 women were ditched a little closer than the 75 metres deemed manly by Bear and also avoided the treacherous, yet probably quite balmy, ocean currents. Once ashore they all gathered round for a chat about what to do next. For fuck’s sake ladies this isn’t a trip to Bluewater. After a lengthy chat they bravely soldiered into the jungle stopping after about 5 minutes to set up camp, have another chat and shit themselves every time a bug flew by. On route Jaime had a panic attack after a ‘snake’ went straight for her … Or it could have been Bear having a piss before the long boat ride home. Clearly traumatised, it was down to the other women to soothingly calm Jaime by rolling their eyes when she wasn’t looking.
Apart from the snake incident all seemed to be going well for the women. They found some yam-like roots for dinner, got a fire going in a traditional bushcraft way and settled down for the night. They even protected their fire from a downpour by using last season’s fashion must-have, a poncho! Bravo ladies, you’re winning and staying classy. Then it all went to shit. The group split up, one intrepid group of women set off to find the beach and the others stayed in camp to keep the fire going. The beach hunters found the beach – hurrah! Dehydrated they not-so wisely took two sips out of a coconut and set off back to camp, without a water supply, in 35 degree heat. Tossers. What followed brought a shame so monumental upon them, their families and women-kind that it will go down in history as the most epic of all the fails. They repeatedly set off and ended up hours later, in the blisteringly hot sun, exactly where they’d started. Still without water, food or shelter or a fucking clue. Time after time they tried and failed. These women were just minutes away from a Darwin award. Death by stupidity was surely the title of the next episode, but their fellow camp mates rescued them. And by rescue them, I mean ran at them flailing as if they’d just spotted Ryan Gosling across the pub while on their mates’ hen-do. Let’s be clear – this rescue party consisted of Fran – who’d collapsed and been taken away for medical attention (they gave her a can of Lilt and told her to get a grip) and Julia who’s scouseness knows no bounds and Chavala (yes, really) a psychotherapist who lost her shit minutes in to the show and just keeps crying.
Prediction: Without Kate Humble to walk them through this the women will all die. She’s the only woman capable of rallying the dry, husk-like, women’s spirit with her undying enthusiasm – she presented Airport Live, the woman can survive the bleakest of situations. Kate can also talk them through how to look vaguely presentable in utility clothing. Problem solved.