Of all of Australia’s expansive land, dense jungles and home to every creeping, crawling, wriggling insect, the camp fitted snugly into a clearing in the trees. Hammocks of green tarpaulins, timber sliced into logs and placed around a fire of dying embers, and people.

They were the key of the ‘I’m a Celebrity’ camp, and a particular connection had bloomed between yourself and Aitch — who was better known to you as Harrison. Early in the hours of the sixth morning, whilst the boys revelled in their plush beds, specialised, you sat yourself down by the fire, dreading the cold plastic awaiting you.

“Y’alright?” Aitch — Harrison, you reminded yourself mentally — hunkered to perch beside you, sticking his hands out over the last glistening coals of the fire, camp bandana of red tied around his scalp. As per usual, he was striding about in none other than assigned cargo shorts and the vest over a tatted chest, though not cocky in his demeanour.