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Some years back, I vowed never to do any reality television. It was something I was never particularly interested in, and given I rarely watched these shows, why would I go and take part and humiliate myself in front of the country? What could I possibly gain?
I’d tried marriage and failed, so Married at First Sight didn’t - and still doesn’t - appeal, and Dancing with the Stars is my worst nightmare. I was once sounded out in the TV3 lifts about appearing on Dancing with the Stars and when the doors opened a few seconds later I bolted, muttering something that started with the letter F. They smartly and wisely took that as a no.
Arrogantly, and at the risk of sounding like a snob, I somehow thought as a bloke who did news and current affairs on television and radio that I was above that sort of thing, and it wasn’t something I should or needed to do. I apologise for sounding like a first-class prat and then some.
Now that I’m part of this year’s Celebrity Treasure Island, here’s something I thought I’d never say: I’m so glad I said yes. But I very nearly didn’t, and I would have missed out on, well, the experience of a lifetime.
In March, I received a text that read, “Want to be part of Celebrity Treasure Island 2024?” I recognised the number; it came from a senior TVNZ programmer I know. I put the phone down and went into shock. I ignored it for days; never got back to them. I thought it might have been a prank or they had sent it to the wrong person. I guess I was scared.
It didn’t go away, and an email hit my inbox a few days later asking if I had seen the invite? Again, I left it a day or two then replied saying I couldn’t see how it would work as I had just started a small business and if I wasn’t there it would collapse. Blah, blah, excuses. I was doing all I could to say no without saying no.
The makers picked up on this and sent the big producer my way. He talked me across the line. I agreed and then sat at my desk thinking I wouldn’t be smart enough, young enough, strong enough, quick enough or brave enough. I am 50; everything is sore and aches.
I knew I had the ability to be enormously strong and mentally patient; I knew I had some outdoor fishing and survival skills. So I swore my kids to secrecy and they more than met their side of the bargain. Totally brilliant effort, they gave it up to no one.
I guess I also said yes because my dad, who died of cancer in 2010, always wanted me to challenge myself in the bush to see if I could cope. I knew he was watching over me, I sensed it at times, especially when a pīwakawaka (fantail) would fly close to me.
And I knew my kids were in my corner. My son, Buster, kept telling me not to come back having embarrassed myself and our family. Whether I met those expectations remains top secret.
On the day we set off, I first had to meet my team in a hotel lobby. When I arrived, I was jeered and a few in my team made “arrggh” type noises. One of my new teammates said they never thought they’d see me on a programme like this.
I remember seeing Carmel Sepuloni, Labour’s deputy leader and former deputy prime minister, and wondering what either of us had done to deserve each other. Then I thought, “Taxpayers will have something to say about this.”
But we all quickly bonded, and I realised we were all serious about winning and hellishly determined.
I was soon introduced to the scale of the project. It is massive, impressive and runs like clockwork. I have nothing but admiration for the talent, skill and professionalism of the people who make it happen.
The programme makers put so much effort, skill and dedication into their craft, not to mention budget, the last thing they want is for me to stuff it up by giving the game away. What I can tell you – and it’s why I am glad I said yes – is that I have made new friends for life.
I know some of my fellow contestants held preconceived ideas about me based on what they had seen or heard. I hope when all was said and done on the island they had changed their view.
One thing stood out for me, which set the tone for the show. No cell phones. We had to talk face to face; we had no interruptions. Devices have fundamentally changed how humans interact, and that became even more obvious for me during this experience.
Just this month, there’s been news that kids are starting school unable to talk properly. Too much screen time – for them and their parents – is one of the causes. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, we’re producing a “zombie generation” because our reliance on these devices has pushed us down a rabbit hole. They’re rewiring our brains so we’re becoming poorer communicators and worse at simply living in the moment.
On our first night, cold and pitch dark, when 24 hours before we’d been strangers, we were huddled together telling the team our most personal life stories. No one was distracted by their phones.
It was spine-tingling. As I spoke, I could feel myself choking up and a stream of tears was running down my face.
The bond created that night was remarkable. And then it got quieter and quieter as the team nodded off.
Tomorrow it was game on. One person would be leaving the island; no one wanted it to be them.
