Nonsense is what I asked for. And nonsense is what I got.
This week’s episode has received mixed reviews. It seems that people have applied the three date rule to Made in Chelsea
– they’ve given it a good go, but they’ve hit their limit and they can’t carry on pretending. I on the other hand, have decided that it’s only just kicking off. Because of the nonsense. All the glorious, glorious nonsense. I’m actually really looking forward to my next Made in Chelsea
The opening shooting scene seemed to be a bugbear with many. I think my nerves are deadened to seeing people in tweed wandering around with a gun camply tucked under their arm. I went to Exeter University, for heavens sake. I spent a year living above a boy who hung his rotting pheasants out of his window. I personally thought the shooting scene was genius – everything from David Brent’s* clumsy grass-shooting to the barks of “LOVELY DAY FOR IT” as they casually waved weaponry around was brilliant. And as much as I hate to admit it, they all looked very smart in their tweed – the sight of Caggie’s upturned collar and tumbling blonde locks was nearly enough to engage my interest in her again. Although my heart went out to poor old Funda, arguably the most normal of the lot, who with Chihuahua intact looked like Michelle Heaton in a PG Wodehouse novel.
*I have made an executive decision to only refer to Spencer with this epithet henceforth.
As the series develops, so does my love for Francis and he certainly didn’t disappoint this Monday. I like him best when he’s being stern. Powerful. “Write that down,” he purred in a meeting. “Business is a jungle,” he declared. “But I love animals”. And it seems his smooth, velvety ways have not gone unnoticed by his sexy blonde intern. After suddenly informing him over lunch that everyone assumes she’s just “an eastern European whore” (which we didn’t, incidentally, but thanks for the heads up) Agne decided to pump her flirtations up a notch. Which I’m fine about, actually. You sow your wild oats now, Francis. I’ll pretty much be ready for marriage on our inevitable meeting. Until then, I’m happy to watch you caught somewhere between intense discomfort and arousal as Agne makes her advances more and more heavy-handed.
It’s not just Francis getting all the action –this week, a new love triangle ensued. After an excruciating lunch with Amber, (did he not get the memo, "lunch" is how these people say "I’d rather snog a rotten flannel") new affections for Hugo suddenly surfaced. Watching Rosie and Millie inexplicably fight over Bepe di Marco’s missing brother was nothing short of hilarious. It all came to a head at the slightly uncomfortable man auction where Cheska proved herself as the dark horse of the show, persistently squawking “TAKE YOUR TOP OFF!” like a mad, menopausal drunk. And lovely pale Rosie, with all her burgundy lipstick and Catherine Hepburn Steeliness lost out to Millie. Minxy, thigh-flashing, lap-straddling, St Tropezed Millie. Sigh. We’ve all been there, love. You hold out for a man who likes you for your brains.
Of course, I could not review this episode without mentioning the mother of all breakups – Gabriollie. I’ve been absolutely dreading this bit since I saw it on a press preview last month – something about reality telly breakups genuinely distresses me. When watching Big Brother in my formative years, Kinga’s disappearing bottle didn’t upset me, nor George Galloway’s creepy cat impression. But I found Chanelle and Ziggy’s famous showdown completely absolutely unbearable to watch – maybe it’s because I, like many women, have been there. And reliving it, even through someone else really is uncomfortable. As I watched Ollie pace towards Gabriella, I had that sinking feeling. The same one we all got when Gemma thought Micky Norcross was bringing the champagne over to her. But then Ollie uttered those infamous words: “we need to talk, sweediepie” and I realised it was actually going to be all right. Gabriollie’s televised breakup would not really remind me of any of mine. Instead, with the volume down and some imaginary subtitles, it looked like a scene from a particularly hammy Spanish soap opera.
And oh, how they tease us! The preview of next week’s episode shows that Ollie has a secret reason for his break up which will be revealed. “I know why,” tweeted the twitter-account manager of Sunday Times Style, instantly making him Britain’s most powerful man. Possible reasons have been flying around my head since Monday night. Because he needed to dedicate more time to finding union jack themed clothing? Her hair was thicker than his? I don’t know. I literally cannot imagine what would have made him break up with female Gabriella, a woman. Your guess is as good as mine.
I’ll tell you what though, I’m bloody looking forward to finding out. I’m loving all the sudden drama and silliness. Just stave away from the boring Caggie-Brent-Funda love-trial and keep the dull, set-up, round-in-circles conversations to a minimum. But, yeah. I had fun. You’ve got my number, right? Let’s do this again next week.
Dolly Alderton is reviewing Made in Chelsea which is on Mondays, E4 at 10pm.