I'm a Witchety Grub, Get Me Out Of Here

I was watching I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here the other night, when it occurred to me how wildly unequal 'animal rights' really are.

We can rest assured that - were witchety grubs cute fluffy little critters with big eyes and smily mouths - there'd be a public outcry at people eating them alive. Just for a bit of a prime-time laugh.

I mean, imagine if it was kittens. Or even mice.

The ITV complaints department wouldn't be getting much sleep, put it that way.

Slightly off-topic, it's what I always think about dolphin-friendly tuna. I mean, talk about bloody double standards. 'Thank God for that - I can enjoy my Pret roll with a clear conscience. No cute, funny, clever little dolphins were injured in the making of this lunch. It just killed a load of poxy tuna, and who gives a shit about them, eh?'

If it's any consolation to the retching D-listers faced with a bowlful of writhing critters - the following ordeal probably won't be much fun for the critters, either.

Maybe some ragingly ambitious witchety grubs dream all their lives of having their untimely death broadcast on national television - and seethe with fury and jealousy when their unambitious mate is the one plucked from obscurity by the ITV grub-gatherers. Leaving them alone and forgotten on their humble leaf.

However, I doubt it.

Poor old witchety grubs. They may not be as cute as kittens or dolphins - but they're far more human and likeable than the ghastly Robert Kilroy-Silk. A man of such extraordinary, epic loathesomeness, he could stand beside Mark Thatcher, Piers Morgan and Jeffrey Archer - and he'd still be the one you aimed the gun at.

(Incidentally, if you imagine a younger, uglier and far less successful version of Kilroy-Silk - looking spookily similar to Dr Evil, and wearing a never-ending succession of pastel turtlenecks from Gap - you have a vivid picture of my erstwhile nemesis Alan the Arse.)

Save the Witchety Grubs. Eat the D-listers.

J x