It’s the morning after the jungle fairy tale ended, and the Australian sun is already beating down on the sun-bleached hills outside Murwillumbah, where the echoes of 13 million votes still hang in the air like the last notes of the show’s iconic theme. Just 24 hours ago, I’m A Celebrity… Get Me Out Of Here! crowned its 25th King of the Jungle in a finale that shattered viewing records and left an entire nation – from Manchester teens to London theater buffs – clutching their remotes in a mix of elation and devastation. YouTuber AngryGinge, the 24-year-old firecracker with a million-watt grin and a knack for turning Bushtucker Trials into viral gold, snatched the crown with a staggering 65% of the public vote. It was a win for the underdogs, the social media savants who proved that raw charisma can outshine even the glossiest CVs.

But spare a thought – or ten – for the silver fox who came so achingly close. Tom Read Wilson, the velvet-voiced receptionist from Celebs Go Dating who entered the camp like a posh porcupine armed with wit sharper than a witchetty grub, finished a heart-wrenching second. In an exclusive sit-down with this publication, mere hours after the confetti settled and the champagne (oh, how Tom missed that) flowed for the winners, the 39-year-old broke down in floods of tears. Not the performative kind we’ve seen in a dozen campfire chats, but the raw, shoulder-shaking sobs of a man who poured his soul into the Outback and emerged not just runner-up, but reborn.

We meet in a quiet corner of the show’s wrap-party pavilion, the air still thick with the scent of barbecued kangaroo and lingering insect repellent. Tom, fresh-faced but red-eyed, sips a ginger tea – “Darling, after three weeks of rice and beans, this is positively Bacchanalian” – and adjusts his signature cravat, a nod to the dapper persona that won over a nation. He’s traded his khaki fatigues for a crisp linen shirt, but the jungle hasn’t quite left him; there’s a faint tan line on his neck and a haunted glint in those expressive eyes that suggest the spiders and snakes were the least of his battles.

“I truly gave everything I had,” he says, his voice – that plummy, poetic timbre that could narrate a sonnet or soothe a savage dating disaster – cracking like fine china under pressure. The tears come unbidden, spilling over as he clasps a trembling hand to his mouth. “And that’s enough for me. Truly, it is. But oh, God, it hurts in the most exquisite way.” He pauses, dabbing at his cheeks with a monogrammed handkerchief (because of course he has one), and lets out a watery laugh. “You enter this mad, magnificent circus thinking it’s about the stars and the votes, the crowns and the confetti. But it’s not. It’s about stripping away every layer until you’re just… you. Naked, vulnerable, and utterly, gloriously alive.”

For those who’ve been glued to their screens since November 16, Tom’s journey was the stuff of reality TV legend – a late entry on November 20 that turned the camp upside down faster than a cyclone in the Wet Tropics. Paired with Vogue Williams as Chief Explorers in the treetop Leader’s Lodge, he arrived with the wide-eyed terror of a man who’d rather face a fermented duck egg than a day without decent espresso. “Abject terror,” he’d confessed pre-entry, his phobia of heights making the zip-line drop into camp feel like a plummet into the abyss. But terror? It fueled him. Within days, Tom had the nation in stitches with his florid descriptions – calling a kangaroo’s hop “a balletic defiance of gravity” – and melting hearts with his quiet acts of kindness, like braiding Ruby Wax’s hair during a midnight meltdown or serenading a homesick Aitch with a impromptu rendition of “My Fair Lady” show tunes.

He wasn’t just a contestant; he was a phenomenon. Fans dubbed him “The Gentleman of the Jungle,” his posh pedigree – a Royal Academy of Music alum who’d voiced Squidward in SpongeBob SquarePants: The Musical and charmed his way to victory on Celebrity Mastermind with a specialist subject of Audrey Hepburn flicks – clashing hilariously with the grit of trial after trial. Remember the moment in Week Two when he faced “The Chamber of Horrors,” emerging covered in cockroaches but quipping, “Darlings, I’ve hosted speed-dating nights with less baggage”? Or the campfire confession where he admitted his “low point” – a sleepless night wracked by doubts about his worth beyond the cravat and the charm? Viewers never saw the full extent of it on air, but in our interview, he opens up: “There was a night, oh, around Day 12, where the isolation hit like a freight train. No champagne, no couture, just me and my thoughts echoing louder than the cicadas. I sobbed into my sleeping bag, whispering, ‘I’m a wreck, a proper hot mess.’ But the campmates? They rallied. Martin Kemp shared his war stories from the music biz, Shona McGarty wrapped me in a hug that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and resilience. That’s the real magic – not the votes, but the bonds.”

Those bonds carried him to the final three, alongside AngryGinge and Shona McGarty, in a showdown that pitted YouTube bravado against EastEnders grit and Tom’s unflappable elegance. The Bushtucker Bonanza was pure theater: Tom made show history by swallowing a whole fermented duck egg – yolk and all – without so much as a flinch, then devoured a huntsman spider in record time, declaring it “crunchier than a failed soufflé, but with more existential dread.” Ginge’s double cheeseburger starter had Twitter ablaze, and Shona’s prawns pil pil earned her a standing ovation from the camp. But as the votes tallied – 53% for Ginge, 25% for Tom, 22% for Shona – the air grew thick with anticipation. When Ant and Dec announced the runner-up, Tom’s face crumpled, not in defeat, but in a profound, grateful release. “That’s as it should be,” he told the roaring crowd, hugging Ginge like a brother. “You’ve earned every glittering inch of that crown, my friend.”

Now, back in the real world – or as real as a post-jungle media blitz gets – Tom’s reflecting with a clarity that borders on catharsis. The tears flow again as he recounts calling his mum from the satellite phone, her voice a lifeline amid the chaos. “She said, ‘Tom, you’ve always been my king – crowns or no.’ And I just… lost it. Because that’s what this was: a love letter to everyone who’s ever felt like the supporting actor in their own life.” He wipes his eyes, composing himself with that trademark poise. “Finishing second? It’s not a loss. It’s a launchpad. I went in fearful as a porcupine, as I said, and came out… well, still a bit prickly, but unbreakable.”

The outpouring from fans has been his balm. Social media is a tidal wave of #TomForKing hashtags, with one viral TikTok edit of his trial triumphs racking up 5 million views. “You didn’t just survive the jungle; you enchanted it,” reads a tweet from a tearful viewer. Even Ginge, in his winner’s glow, posted a tribute: “Tom, you’re the heart of this madness. Second place? Nah, you’re first in mine.” And the campmates? They’ve already planned a reunion – “cravats and kangaroo optional,” Tom jokes.

As our chat winds down, Tom raises his tea in a mock toast. “To the jungle: for the terror, the triumphs, and the tears that wash it all clean. I gave everything, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Because in the end, darling, it’s not about the crown – it’s about the courage.” He smiles through fresh tears, that voice steady once more. “And I’ve got buckets of that now.”