In reality

Last night I watched the final series of ‘The Island’, a reality TV series hosted by Bear Grills. A group of strangers are  marooned on a desert island,  where armed with basic tools, a days supply of water, cameras  and some cooking pots and left to get on with it. In this particular series they were divided into two groups, one younger and made up of under 30’s and a second of older folk, who were delivered to different sides of the island, with no idea of each others existence. It wasn’t long before they bumped into each other,and they ended up living together as one. 

As with all these reality programmes, there was conflict from the start, and very quickly you could tell who was going to be the King and Queen of pain in the arse, who were the peacemakers, the quiet ones, the brash jack the lads, the people you are glad you don’t have to live next door to, or perhaps wished you did. And then gradually when hunger sets in, when the fire goes out, its freezing and wet and all you have for supper is a handful of rancid cockles, that’s when you start to see people unravel and it’s completely riveting (to me anyway). 

 I wonder what the locals must make of it, a bunch of wimpy Westerners barely being able to survive five weeks without reaching for the emergency phone, while snivelling over their barely smoking fire. Can the contestants honestly pretend they had no idea what they were letting themselves in for? Or perhaps they believed there  really was a greasy spoon cafe just around the corner, or as the rumour goes, a hotel for Bear G to retire to after a busy day of sheltering from the beating sun by getting inside the rotting carcase of a camel. As you do. 

Apart from anything else, it must seem like self indulgence of the highest order to have even the choice to decide to rough it,  purely for the benefit of us lot who sit at home chortling  at their discomfort from the safety of our Ikea sofas? 

I remember when T and I were trekking through the Himalayas in Nepal. We would walk all day, stopping for pancakes and mint tea,  and then as it got dark would find somewhere to stay for the night , setting off again as the sun rose, pink and heavy over the horizon. Looking back on it, life was simple. Every day we would pass local tradesmen, small and wiry,  like worker ants transporting their teetering towering loads to distant communities further up the trail, goat and yak herders clambering their way around boulders and  brambles, their heavily laden animals barged past, bells clanging, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one false step would send them plunging to certain death below. One afternoon, out of breath with hearts thumping,  we stopped for a break and started chatting to the pots and pans man who was taking a tea break. He literally carried pretty much every kitchen accessory on his head,  which would have included the kitchen sink if there was an inch of space, and his arrival was heralded by a loud clanking and banging like an out of control percussion band. He spoke pretty good English and was very amused by the endless streams of Westerners who chose to walk the mountain paths with no purpose other than for the pleasure of walking. While he was under no illusion as to the  benefits that this influx had brought to his local economy, improvements such as sanitation, running water and electricity, and the opportunities for making a good living from tourism, he simply could not understand why anyone in their right mind would choose this option for pleasure,  for their holidays, not to mention pay handsomely for the privilege?  There were moments in our month long trek when I had to agree with him.

My absolutely most favourite, and pretty much the first in these types of programmes was ‘ Castaway’. Set on a remote island in the outer Hebrides, a group of people took part in a social experiment ( and moments of pure TV gold)  by setting up a community and living together for a year. Although I didn’t actually apply for it, I was still surprised that the producers didn’t ever ring me up and beg me to be one of them. Obviously they had all gone through a pretty rigorous vetting process in order to determine their suitability for such a venture,  and as far as I remember nobody actually left before time was up, but it was touch and go at times. The island was exquisite, long golden beaches and hills, despite rain, bogs  and a freezing winter. They created poly tunnels, grew their own fruit and vegetables, butchered their own meat, built living spaces and a school, pumped water from a local loch and generally ( to me anyway) despite the endless meetings and arguments it looked pretty amazing and something I would, without a shadow of a doubt have loved to do.

Probably the person who came out of ‘Castaway’  with the best job was Ben Fogle, the blue eyed Tatler boy who took to island life like a seal to water, and who though not my type at all ( and to the annoyance of his fellow castaways) managed to boost the ratings with his effortless charm and engaging manner.He has gone on to make a name for himself with his own programmes where he visits people who have upped sticks  and gone off to live in far flung places, again, compelling viewing. 

Within all of us there is a desire to give it all up and to escape to the idyll of somewhere without mod cons or phones, where you can live the good life on your terms, to get back to basics. And though there may be an element of bravado for the cameras, not one single person Ben Fogle visited showed the least interest in returning home to their former cosy lives, despite the hardships and the inevitable isolation. It was not hard to feel a stab of envy for any of them, for their kids who ran free and wild, the simplicity of their day to day living off the land, of working with and around nature. But as always there is a downside as one by one they admitted to loneliness, of missing friends and family, of the kids longing for other kids. Though their lives were not and could never be, totally perfect, in my book they were pretty much half way there. Then again, its always easier to envy the bigger picture  when you can just walk across the room and turn on a tap, or open the fridge when you fancy a sandwich and when the trip to the loo isnt likely to involve snakes or spiders the size of dinner plates. 

And then there are the reality programmes that are also competitons, when people get voted off each week earning  the right to stay by eating revolting things or having fish guts poured  all over their  faces while rats and snakes writhe up their legs. The ideal destination for a slightly past their sell by date minor celebrity and again, extremely good value, though the novelty has slightly worn off in my opinion, a bit like Big Brother which was a great concept and great viewing for the first couple of series, but frankly is about as appealing as cold congealed sick these days. It seems that people will do pretty much anything now   just to get on telly, the brasher the better, the more tasteless and tacky and sordid the bigger the ratings, the 99p shop window of celebrity. 

And just as you think it can’t  get any worse, has anyone here seen ‘Naked Attraction’?.