SHHH! Can you hear that horrible sound? It’s a sort of slithering and squelching mixed with farting and belching – and its seems to be getting closer.

In fact, by this Sunday evening, if you’re not keeping a close eye on the remote, it could well be in your living room in all its hideousness.

I refer, of course, to the new series of I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! (starts Sunday, ITV1, 9pm).

This year there is a truly stellar line-up of top famous folk, including some of the biggest names in showbiz.

Only joking, it’s the usual rag-tag mob of “resting” actors, glamour models, “personalities” and retired sportsmen.

There’s real-life couple Colin and Justin, Scots house fluffer-uppers and stars of low-budget makeover shows on obscure channels and, just to ensure that whatever sort of retro-baroque look they inflict on their jungle abode stays neat as a new pin, there’s the giant-barnetted, Marigold glove-obsessed Kim Woodburn off How Clean is Your House?

So far, so camp in camp 2009, which continues apace with news that former Page 3 stunna and now Britain’s best known lesbian, Sam Fox, will also be roughing it, as will the alarmingly tangerine-hued American actor George Hamilton and cheeky, chirpy chef Gino D’Acampo.

No, I’m not kidding.

Other names in the frame are snooker’s Jimmy White, ex-footie player Colin Hendry, ex-Ender Lucy Benjamin, a former MissTeeq member and a Strictly champion.

Causing the biggest stir though is the alleged return of the walking car crash that is Jordan, no longer referred to as Katie Price these days seeing as her trashy alter-ego appears to have taken control once more.

Her fellow jungle japesters are reportedly irked already at news “leaked” out that Jordan is pocketing a whopping £350,000 to their paltry £65,000, the poor lambs.

And she’s got the cheek to be traipsing in a week late.

Sam Fox is apparently ready to have a right go.

I can hardly contain the excitement. Well, maybe I can.

Had they wanted real stars, all they needed to do was fly in Derek Acorah, medium without equal, and he could channel, say, Michael Jackson, Elvis or Gary Glitter.

Oh, sorry, maybe not Glitter, he’s still alive, despite the best efforts of the utterly bizarre and sinister The Execution of Gary Glitter (Channel 4, Monday, 9pm), where they sentenced the ex-glam rocker to death – but only in a pretend way in the name of entertainment.

Yes, the Scouser with the Scout (can you believe, Acorah’s spiritual guide is a dead Native American , a rarity in the world of mediuming, huh?) was over on Sky 1 on Friday holding a Live Séance with the aim of “speaking” to the late Michael Jackson through the ether, or more precisely through one of his old trilbies, no doubt with a view to asking him deeply searching questions about the hereafter such as: does it hurt when you die?

What is on the “other side”?

Do you have a body?

Wings?

Can you still watch X-Factor?

Stuff like that.

But no, it was all a bit surface and showy.

Lots of dramatic build-up, mainly by presenter June Sarpong making a less-than-triumphant return from her own particular dead zone, and her guest, the permanently surprised looking David Gest, former husband of Liza Minelli and friend of the stars, especially Michael – according to him.

It got more bizarre. Gest, who is now a punk at 60, complete with red Mohican weave, was spewing anecdotes about his great friendship with the crystal-gloved King of Pop, but was not part of the séance.

Four of Michael Jackson’s most devoted fans were, though, and when I say devoted, I mean in an Annie Wilkes “I’m your number one fan” in Stephen King’s Misery sort of way.

After what seemed like hours, there was a hush and lots of cameras zooming in on darting eyes and ashen faces as they sat around a table in a house in Ireland that Jackson had rented in 2006.

As one, they touched the hat of destiny and almost immediately Michael was there in the room with them (via Derek, and with a pronounced Liverpudlian accent, but let’s not split hairs) and suddenly the fans were crying, laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief.

Me too.

Derek declined to ask those “meaning of life/death” questions and instead informed the assembled needy that their idol was with his nan and that he was happy and that his best memory was of a gig at a racecourse.

Which was actually the result of some confusion when one of the fans, love him, asked Michael which of his Jacko tribute gigs he liked best and Derek obviously wasn’t too sure.

Oh, and Michael also said he was a bit peeved at not being laid to rest beside Marilyn.

Astonishing stuff.

Sarpong looked on bewildered. We all did.

And then, before you could say “it’s close to midnight”, it ended with Acorah as visibly shaken as the sobbing group, but not as visibly shaken as the guy who counted the enormous viewing figures and advertising revenue it brought in.

Is there anyone out there? Loads, and they’re all gullible.