It begins with a shooting. Has Mark Francis decided to celebrate his love-hate relationship with pardies by making everyone attend a soiree inspired by The Wire? No, Rosie, Binky and Louise are doing posh shooting, so everyone is wearing tweed and behaving as if they’re about to audition for a Jilly Cooper straight-to-video novelisation classic. However, Rosie looks surprisingly natural with a gun. There’s an eerie chill and self-possession to her. I’m going to be very careful about writing nice things concerning Ms Fortescue from now on. Binky is bemoaning the demise of her fling with nice but dim Will, who was sweet and hot and had less charisma than a Bhs towel sale. ‘The trouble with you is that you attract good-looking boys with no personality,’ explains Rosie, burning harder than a Le Creuset taken from the oven with no gloves. Ouch.
The bois are having a ‘breakfast club’ brunch, which is, happily, just lots of waffles and chat about how lovely it is to be a lovely bro. We were worried that Mytton was going to show up and scratch his flaky dandruff all over Spenny’s eggs. They’re excited about Sophie’s imminent birthday party, which is going to have a sexy Bavarian theme, or, as we know it, a total sausage fest. I say!
Stephanie Pratt can’t stay away, and she’s barely out of the Heathrow cab rank before she’s wandering the shops with Lucy, looking for a leather jacket ‘in every colour.’ You see, you date Spencer once, and you never, ever get over it. Stephanie’s reunion with Stevie is a little more nervewracking. Stevie is so nervous that his shirt is more or less unbuttoned to his balls. ‘You might want to show a little less chest,’ counsels Proudlock wisely. Bloody hell, when Pruders is telling you to put it away you have crossed a line. Stephanie doesn’t want to look at Stevie’s balls. She wants to be his friend. And she doesn’t want him to date any of her friends. Good luck, chaps. Good luck.
Tiffany clearly doesn’t want to date her friends, either. Namely, Sam, who, being too young to have been alive when his Chelsea elders attempted to seduce women on golf courses, has taken her to see the links. Golf is a great leveller. There’s a lot of weird clothes and awkward stances and everyone looks like a bit of a twat. So you think Sam could be safe there, hiding in plain site. But no. His awkwardness beams from the course like ketchup on a cream cashmere jumper. When he attempts a smooch with Tiffany, she ducks and sticks her face in his stinky armpit instead. Nice.
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We learn that Toff studies politics, and Biscuits’ politics ‘are rubbish’, and that he doesn’t vote, which is a bit of a relief, to be honest. I fear that he’d try to nab some unpaid Candy Kittens through Workfare, for ‘the experience.’ And Binky bumps into Alex, who is delivering an emotional, handwritten letter. We could say that Alex’s heart is on his sleeve, only his shirt is so skimpy that there isn’t really room for it. And Lucy tells Stephanie that she thinks Louise has cheated on Alik. NOOOOO! ‘It’s something I need to tell everyone because it’s NOT gossip,’ she explains. Lucy, I don’t know who taught you the English language, but you’d be within your rights to ask for your money back.
It’s time for the Bavarian sausage-y pardy, and predictably, there are knitted waistcoats, baffling shirts and bad hats a-go-go. Everyone has rinsed Proudlock’s wardrobe. In fact, I suspect Proudlock has stayed up all night with a loom, making emergency sausagy clothes. Birthday girl Sophie is immune, having got her outfit from the sort of supplier that has a website with a dedicated ‘sexy german’ category. ‘Look at those titties!’ exclaims Binky, having an appreciative poke. Sophie does not seem displeased. Binky extends the girly bonding by bringing out Mytton’s missive. Which he sees. ‘It came from the heart, it was really hard to write, to go back over those times,’ he whines, when she cuts him off. ‘Was it really for me, or for you?’ Ballsy Binky is totally my jam right now.
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Louise is confronted about the cheating, and she pulls what can now be known as the Mytton defence. The night before Alik came to town, she got wasted and can’t remember. Everyone in Chelsea must have a liver shaped like a banana. The awkwardness is abated by new boy Josh, who spots Stephanie and rushes over to tell her how well travelled and dog owning he is. Stevie will not like this.
After another swerved smooch between Tiff and Sam, Louise takes the plunge and tells Alik she may or may not have cheated, but isn’t quite sure. ‘Let’s not put our socks on over our boots,’ advises Alik, which is the sort of advice you’d only give someone if you felt so suddenly and dramatically heartbroken that you may as well have had a partial lobotomy with a teaspoon. And then Alik tells Louise she needs to find out what the hell she didn’t do, and our worlds fall apart. We can’t even right now.
Hero of the week
OK, we can’t keep giving her awards, but the way Binky handled Mytton’s emotional manipulation was magnificent. It made me understand why people are into football. He dove in like a big diva striker, and she elegantly, instantly took him down with some stylish defence play. Brava!
Villain of the week
As much as we believe people are innocent until proven guilty, it’s got to be Louise. She has previous. And even if she didn’t do it, she put us in a very bad, sad mood. Poorly done, Louise.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.