This week’s big question for OfCom is ‘Can you show a concealed semi on television?’ Because we’re treated to the sight of Jamie waking up in his boxers, and while he’s not quite packing a full Chocolate Finger Selection, he’s certainly looking less soft and spongy than, say, a Mini Roll. But his boner doesn’t make him any less belligerent. He’s surrounded by women’s things, and he’s furious about it. Frankie sleeps, snuggled in what appears to be an actual jumper, while he looks like he might be on the brink of shaking his fist at a single rose gold pool slide.
So far, so blah - but then Frankie emerges, helps herself to the actual toastJamiehas been eating, and then demands tea. Jamie has a plan. ‘You’re going to get gold stars if you don’t leave your clothes on the floor - you can tell your friends “See, I got a gold star!”’ suggests Jamie, with the misguided enthusiasm of an adult man who is desperate to go back to boarding school. He suggests she does what he does, and put his clothes on pegs ‘where they belong’. I like to think that Jamie and Frankie also have a chest of drawers containing large, grey plastic trays which they have been allowed to decorate with stickers. ‘I like living here with you - but are you going to give me a wardrobe,’ Frankie replies coolly, as masterful as Christian Grey refusing to have sex against an Ikea folding table while he waits for the delivery of a vintage teak G plan side. Not sure about the woman herself, but my goodness, I love her work.
Louise and Ryan have made a green juice so grey that I’m worried John Major fell into the Nutribullet when they weren’t paying attention. Louise tells Sam that he might want to pay more attention to Tiff - he gives her the fingers literal and figurative and runs off to contract diabetes with Toff, at the queasily named Squidge and Cutter - the cafe that noticed there was another chain of cafes called Scoff and Banter, and asked ‘Can we go one worse?’ Inspired by the ambience, Sam refers to popular gelatinous toastable confectionary as ‘marshys’. As in ‘Would you like another marshy?’ ‘No thanks, I’m full from longing for death.’ Meanwhile Tiff confides in Louise telling her that she tried to ‘plan an open air cinema’ for Sam, and he was very ungrateful. A whole open air cinema? Was it a date, or a poorly thought out winter business venture. Tiff adds that it might have been the film that put Sam off. I wonder if she took him to that alfresco screening of Cannibal Holocaust?
Jamie tells Boulle that he should be bothered about Liv and Fred dating. Francis redefines the idea of denial, insisting that nothing could come of a simple naked photo shoot, adding ‘I don’t think they’d actually follow it through..out of respect for me,’ as if he thinks he’s actually died, and Liv and Fred are doing snogging and tops at the back of the crematorium. What they are doing is fencing. Fred seems stunned that Liv is beating him, instead of dropping a silken hanky and begging for a go on the sal volatile. There’s a snog, even though Fred later tells Francis ‘I didn’t intend on kissing her’. Mate, of course not! You even picked a sport where your mouths are concealed by massive, sinister Daft Punk helmets, and you still had a go! This love is meant to be. Fred also apologises to Francis for ‘rubbing silk into the wound’ presumably because that’s what you do in Chelsea. If someone bleeds, you bind the gash with a nice Hermes scarf.
Louise, Ryan, Sam and Tiff go on their double date. Sam eats the entire bread basket, Louise screams at him for neglecting Tiff, and Tiff looks down as though Louise is her Mum, Sam is her babysitter and there’s an empty Malibu bottle dripping onto the Aubusson rug.
Jamie bitches about Frankie, and Boulle claims that he has lived with many women - his Mum, his sisters and his ‘….girlfriend….’ who he lived with for ages, despite the fact that no-one knows of her or has met her. I bet they met on holiday, and she lives in Australia now, but sends Boulle photos printed on thin magazine-y paper in which she looks oddly like Chrissy Teigen. Brave Tiff goes to talk to angry Sam, who complains that when Louise told him off for being a rubbish boyfriend ‘it almost felt to me like you were trying to tell me something.’ WOAH, ring Mensa! Sam is a one man Brains Trust! They make it up with an awkward hand flick and a snuggle on the sofa. Sam will be shivering on a blanket in Hyde Park, watching The Human Centipede, before the week is out.
Like an automated email from Grindr asking about the lack of recent activity on your account, the MIC producers have sensed that we’ve grown bored of balls, so this week’s dramatic, climactic events take place at a clay pigeon shoot. Toff marches up to Tiff to give her two unwanted pence about Sam - (‘I know you’re not going to want to hear this.’ ‘Maybe don’t say it then.’) Louise, looking ‘Shakespearean’ in her cape and bell sleeves, makes it up with her bro. Olivia talks to Fred and Julius about the Francissue - and Julius is getting so involved in their relationship that I’m starting to wonder whether he is going to start standing over their sleeping bodies at night with a pair of tweezers and whipping out any errant face and eyebrow hairs as they sprout up so that they still fancy each other in the morning.
Liv then confronts Francis, calling him out for being a cad, refusing to let him do any Hugh Grant style ‘Gosh, so English and awkward’ weaselling and tells him to fuck off! Hooray! And there’s even less love lost between Frankie and Jamie - well, from Frankie’s side, anyway - and Frankie appears to have delivered an ultimatum. Jamie needs to get her a wardrobe, or get out of her life. Thank goodness Oak Furniture Land is promising prompt pre Christmas delivery.
Hero of the week
Perhaps controversially, I shall pick Louise, who minds so much about her brother being a good boyfriend that she’s prepared to ruin dinner over it. It might be misguided, but it’s heartwarming to see her going to bat for Tiff.
Villain of the week
Frankie, in a glorious, Dynasty, pantomime, slightly loopy and bewildering way. She’s being one weird woman, but we don’t want her to stop. But Biscuits must never buy her a wardrobe, or she’ll exile him to Narnia. SECOND - whoever it was who named Cutter and Squidge.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.