Fans of double entendres will be disappointed when they see Frankie writhing about on Harry Baron’s bed, moaning ‘Oooh, it’s so hard!’ Come on, work for that sexy pun - this is less witty and subtle than a giant, spurting knob that has been spray painted onto the side of your house while you’re sleeping. (And then you’d have to spend all day dealing with well meaning local characters ringing your doorbell and saying ‘Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a…um…er….ah, a…'.) Anyway, this week on Made In Chelsea Harry and Frankie are swapping bedrooms, clearly signalling to the rest of us that they want to sleep in each others’ dirty sex sheets. Liv walks in and pontificates on the Tiff and Sam break up. ‘You can’t set rules on a break,’ says Harry, in his signature fury inducing talk-laugh. He’s another one who had no idea that Oral B ma-ha-ha-hade a toothpaste!
Mytton makes the world’s worst sandcastle, which he decorates with something that might be a snipped off spring of willow, or might be something he paid a local youth 20 euros for and just tried and failed to smoke. Mimi is trying to look wounded, brave and tragic, like Princess Diana, but I don’t remember Princess Diana ever being pictured while anxiously grabbing her left tit in an attempt to stop it escaping her cozzie. Sam has texted her to say he doesn’t want to ruin ‘an amazing friendship, and potentially more,’ which isn’t so much an erotic suggestion as the offer of the sort of crap prize you might get in the Reader’s Digest Sweepstake. ('Sadly, you have not won the £10,000,000,00000 - but you get the second prize of a ballpoint pen with cubic zirconia detailing!') Mimi is also sad because none of the girls want to be her friend, now that Tiff’s turned up. I’m trying very hard to feel sorry for her. Nothing yet, but I’ll keep you posted.
Louise and Ryan take Tiff on a picnic. Tiff learns what cojones are - and we discover, once Sam has turned up, that Tiff kissed a couple of boys, and slept with someone in Croatia and then again in Barcelona. Sam is furious - mainly about the availability of international transport in the 21st century. ‘HOW DID YOU GET FROM CROATIA TO BARCELONA?’ he screams. Well, Sam, Tiff had to be smuggled in a container ship, and ended up sitting in a giant pile of sardines for days on end, just to have the chance to sleep with someone who wasn’t you.
Like us, Liv has given up on Beautiful But Boring Sem. Let’s hope he got everything he wanted from his two weeks of being on British telly, and all of those sponsored Insta posts are earning him many tens of euros. Frankie says she’s over Biscuits and ready to be independent - or as independent as can be when you’re bouncing on beds with your boyfriend-in-waiting. ‘I don’t want to be with a guy who openly says he’s flirty and that I have to get on with it,’ she says, sensibly ruling out Harry…oh, no, wait, she’s talking about Biscuits. Ella and Julius turn up and immediately plan a dinner party with the sole objective of having the opportunity to shame Liv for being a bad friend. They are more furious and self righteous than a middle aged couple whose council recycling bin has just been nicked by another middle aged couple who say it must be theirs because they ordered one six weeks ago.
Tiff turns up to dinner with a beeee-yoo-tiful man called Pablo or Paolo. He works at a bar, and Tiff is quick to tell everyone he is also a part time model and professional volleyball player. His dreaminess is legion - he doesn’t even use emojis. Liv hates them and apparently only uses the horny devil and the aubergine. If there was a sequel to Gone Girl, the aubergine emoji would make the Cool Girl paragraph. Sam and Mimi have an awkward wine, where he almost apologises for having a rebound relationship with her, adding ‘For what it’s worth, I’ve got her back.’ Sam, it’s worth nothing. It’s worth less than the pound.
Biscuits Facetimes Mytton to tell him that he’s coming back to Ibiza. He’s shaved all his hair off. As Biscuits’ favourite pastimes include bleaching his locks and jumping into swimming pools, we’re not sure that the hair shaving was out of choice or necessity, but Mytton is a fan. Biscuits asks after Frankie. Why isn’t he Facetiming her? She’s probably got more battery on her phone than Mytton, who has just got the 10 per cent warning. Liv takes Sam Prince on a peculiar lunch date, where she expresses concern that he’s only eating chicken nuggets, and he attempts to force feeds her some mystery meat. Sam Prince, if a girl says no to anything, don’t ever assume she’s joking and just do it anyway.
Ella and Julius have their Liv shaming dinner party. Neither party will be blamed or shamed. ‘I texted you and made an effort. Why have you shown no effort?’ huffs Julius. Dude, did you check WhatsApp? Because sometimes you think you’re texting but it’s a WhatsApp and the other person has turned off their notifications. Or, more likely, Liv just hates you. Tiff and Pablo - Paolo - turn up, and Sam loses his mind. ‘You SHAGGED in Croatia, you shagged on a boat!’ he screams at Tiff, once again, seemingly more bothered by the idea of Tiff using transport than Tiff being with someone else. Julius horns in on the argument and Tiff shuts him down. ‘Shut up Julius, you are the most boring person at the table!’ This is so stressful to watch, but she is magnificent in a fight. I’m slowly beginning to understand why some people like boxing. ‘You’re doing a great big Spanish cock!’ yells Sam, as Mimi has the audacity to ask if they’ve slept together. What awful people! Poor, poor Pablo-Paolo. ‘You have to have a little bit of respect for people, OK!’ he responds. ‘So shut up!’ Urghhhh, who knows how this horror show will end, but let’s be real - Tiff’s taste is truly excellent.
Biscuits turns up, and takes Frankie off for what Harry Baron hopes is ‘the break up chat’. He’s not wrong. But we’re as bored and unconvinced by that relationship as they both clearly were, so never mind. Now we can look forward to Frankie becoming Harry’s girlfriend, and handling things with sensitivity and maturity as he continues to live his life as a flirty guy.
Hero of the week
Pablo (or possibly Paolo) has to take the award. Anyone else would have dumped Tiff, then run away from the dinner party, but he stayed for his main. He truly has cojones - or professional (volley)balls.
Villain of the week
Is it Sam, for having more double standards than Keith Richards running a Quaker tea parlour? Is it Sam Prince, for being a big meaty fork wielding boundary violator with? Or is it Harry Ba-ha-haron, for openly salivating over Frankie while the corpse of her last relationship is still warm to the touch? It’s Sam. But the others will probably get a go next week.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.