The scene is set not in a bustling village square but in the bright, buzzing clutch of a daytime studio, where the conversation swirls as eagerly as a cyclone. On screen, the familiar warmth of Lisa Riley radiates even through the television lens, a beacon of cheer and stubborn grit that has charmed millions. Tonight, the spotlight shifts from her beloved Emmerdale exploits to the wild, unpredictable arena of I’m a Celebrity, where Lisa has carved a path that’s equal parts bravery and stubborn charm. Enter Paddy, the actor who plays her on-screen husband, stepping into a different kind of spotlight: a live, intimate reaction that invites the audience to feel every flutter of anticipation and every pang of pride.

He arrives with a smile that’s half apology for the intrusion, half invitation to share in the moment. The studio’s energy shifts as he sits down, the hosts’ questions forming a soft gale around him as he braces to speak about Lisa, a friend for nearly thirty years. It’s a revelation, really—the way time folds itself when people you’ve lived with in the limelight become a little closer in the quiet of their real lives. He speaks of Lisa not as a character on a screen but as a person who has become a kind of northern star in their shared journey. She’s “the mother of the group” in the jungle, he says, a phrase that lands with a warm thud of certainty: Lisa as the steadying force, the glue, the unflinching heart that keeps the chaos of the camp in some kind of compassionate rhythm.

The conversation threads back to those first, awkward days when the jungle framed itself as a strange, almost comic stage. The hosts tease with the memory of those initial days when the contestants burst in, dancing, laughing, and proclaiming a makeshift family. And then there’s Lisa, quiet and observant, a contrast that surfaces to reveal the depth of her courage. Paddy notes the evolution with a tenderness that feels almost protective: how she’s learned to unfurl her voice, not just to endure but to reveal the layers of who she is—her humor, her stubborn kindness, her old-fashioned resilience.

As he talks, his words wrap around her late mother, Kath, a personal thread that lends a hush to the room. He remembers Lisa’s grief, the years of mourning that never quite left her, and how that same ache threads through her present day, giving a quiet gravity to her laughter and to the tenderness she shows those around her. The memories are not a parade of sadness but a map—how Lisa carries both joy and sorrow with equal courage, turning pain into empathy, fear into a quiet resolve to be there for others.

There’s a moment of warmth when he reveals a secret truth: Lisa spoke of her upcoming arc, the secret that kept her grounded in the jungle’s labyrinth of days and nights. Paddy confesses he knew about it weeks, even months, before the public knew. And though the revelation could have cracked trust, it instead deepens it, a reminder that in the world behind the camera, trust remains a currency more precious than any prize. He didn’t tell anyone, he says; not even his own wife. The restraint itself becomes a testament to a different kind of loyalty—the loyalty of friends who guard each other’s confidences as fiercely as they guard each other’s lives.

Then comes the moment of conquest in the camp—the trials that tested Lisa’s mettle. Paddy smiles with pride as he recalls how she delivered in the most punishing moments, executing trials with a blend of sly wit and unyielding grit. The phrase “harnessed that power” floats into the room, and the host’s eyes sparkle, as if passing a baton to the audience: Lisa wasn’t just playing to the crowd; she was mastering a core strength she’s always carried, even in her most unguarded moments. And the people watching aren’t surprised; they’re riveted, watching a familiar face transform into a figure who can navigate fear while keeping her humanity intact.

A thread of playful reverence runs through the interview as Paddy is pressed about following in Lisa’s footsteps. Would he, too, brave the jungle’s harsh whispers and ferocious hunger? He answers with a self-deprecating grin, a candid confession that his own temperament—quiet, perhaps a touch too introspective—wouldn’t survive the first round. He jokes about how he’d be the one voted out, a light, self-mocking note that makes the studio laugh and the audience lean in closer. It’s not bravado; it’s honesty, the kind that earns respect and makes viewers