It’s week two, and the American Adventure is still cracking on apace. No-one has requested that Biscuits is forcibly removed from the country for abuse of the expression ‘going there’. Binky has not wept a new Hudson and triggered major coastal flooding. Andy has not turned up with his guitar and ruined everything. But Proudlock is skating on thin ice – he’s reworked his topknot so that it sits right on the back of his head, like the fascinator of the drunkest auntie in the wedding party. He might think it says ‘relaxed, debonair traveller who is at home in all corners of the world’. We beg him to remember the five-borough-wide bedbug epidemic of 2012. Proudlock, get a haircut, or you’ll end up bringing a follicular hedgerow warzone back to the King’s Road. ‘Thank you, brother!’ he says, as he pays the pretzel vendor. I am choosing to believe he actually has a long lost sibling who is forced to sell tasteless bread snacks to idiots in order to make a living, and can’t even be bothered to learn his name.
He’s buying pretzels for Billie and Stevie – the latter has never tried one, and the former doesn’t like them, but no matter, it’s the law that you must eat them in Manhattan. Stevie is testing out his alter ego, Stefan, after cockblocker Lucy told Billie that Stevie is ‘a good egg.’ ‘Stefan is a REALLY bad guy!’ exclaims Proudlock helpfully, making Stevie sound like he never calls his mum, hides in the loo when the restaurant bill comes and fly tips in other people’s skips. Sexy. ‘This was fun,’ says Billie, flatly, ‘but I have to go to work.’ Possibly the least convincing excuse anyone has ever come up with in the history of MIC.
Even ‘Stefan’ is no match for Spenny, who is still planning to court Billie aggressively, possibly with his cool new raindrop noise mouth trick, which at least shows Spenny has finally learned to use his own saliva in a non sexual context. ‘Even the promiscuous animals deserve a shot at love sometime. I really like her!’ he tells Binky. Spencer, how do you know? Greggs customers have spent more time getting to know their steak slices than you have bonding with Billie.
Rosie is also hoping for romance. She’s on a blind double date with Jules, one of Alik’s pals. Can it be a double date and a blind date? Surely it’s a date with one eye open. A winking date. Anyway, Jules is beautiful, slightly intense and has the sort of immovable side parting that reminds one of those organisations that brought together youthful supporters of fascism in Europe in the thirties. And he describes himself as ‘earnest’. He likes moderation ‘in moderation’. Essentially he’s the sort of guy who has more than one after hours ‘business contact’ in his phone book, but will eventually introduce you to his five wives. ‘I’m having the greatest time!’ he murmurs in monotone after 90 seconds. Rosie, you should rip open his shirt and check for a motherboard.
We go on a brief but fabulous excursion to church, of all places, with Mark Francis and Victoria. ‘Respire the air of God,’ sighs Mark. ‘Coming to church is so grounding. Here, we are all equal,’ he intones dreamily. Victoria looks horrified. ‘But, when we leave…?’ she murmurs, dumbstruck. Don’t worry, Victoria, some Baker Harbers are more equal than others.
Biscuits has a chat with Lucy about his decision to take Mytton’s side, post the Binky incident, or Binkcident. ‘I’m very loyal,’ he explains, when Lucy points out he’s been friends with Binky for decades and mates with Alex for about two months, and under contractual obligation at that. He then tells Lucy that it isn’t loyal for Binky to apologise and want to be her friend again. Biscuits, loyal does not mean what you think it means. It is in no way connected with ‘being a massive arsehole’. Did the pages of your dictionary get stuck together? (If so, bloody hell, you’ll wank over anything.)
Thanks to Biscuits, Mytton is currently pulling up outside the Algonquin with a big bag. He doesn’t actually go in, which makes one suspect he’s actually staying at the Midtown Holiday Inn around the corner. He rings Binky and is baffled when she isn’t thrilled to hear from him. ‘I’ll be at Central Park from nine tonight!’ he explains, expecting her to turn up. Alex, do you know that Central Park isn’t just a patch of grass outside a coffee shop? It has TWO ice rinks. I once spent 14 hours lost in it and I never meant to go inside at all, I was looking for a specialist restaurant that sells 42 different kinds of mac’n’cheese. Wikipedia says it’s 843 acres. That’s almost eight and a half times Winnie the Pooh’s habitat. If Binky deigns to turn up, you will never, ever find each other. Binky tells him to go fuck himself for reasons other than his poor geography, and is shaken up but triumphant.
In totally shocking, unexpected coincidence news, Lucy sits down on a bench to take a phone call and encounters Jules, who puts the moves on. ‘Is that a London accent? Do you hang out at the Tate?’ he asks, using lines that would have a less beautiful man experiencing the business end of a lady’s handbag. ‘No, I’m more into… hanging out,’ explains Lucy, who declines to give him her number, but takes his, smartly turning a flirty opportunity into a chance to teach the kids about Stranger Danger. She doesn’t text him, but bumps into him at Cheska’s leaving party. (Cheska has to return to London, for work. Seriously?) And it’s a little peculiar because Rosie is there also. And Rosie actually likes hanging out in galleries. Who will win the fringe-y earnest man in this metaphorical game of sexy Hook-A-Duck? Maybe both sides will concede defeat. Jules has a ‘dance move’ which involves the shaking of invisible dice. It would be no great loss.
Almost faster than Fran, Cheska, Louise and Rosie can cry, ‘Oh no, where is Binky?’ Binky buggers off to meet Alex. (To be fair, if I looked as hot as Binky in her orange dress I would set up a three day conference with catering at which all my exes were assembled, so I could take to the stage and say, ‘AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! See this? See this? You’re not getting any of this, asshats!’ for a solid 72 hours.) Alex doesn’t understand why Binky doesn’t want to be friends, which makes me think that he’s not just a morally bankrupt hair farm, he’s genuinely mentally challenged. Then Biscuits shows up, having heard that Mytton has been schtupping his ex, Tara. ‘I did not kiss her,’ Alex says truthfully, leaving a deafening silence where he’s supposed to explain ‘but I did penetrate her vagina with my penis, consensually.’ Biscuits is distraught. ‘I’ve lied for you, I’ve lied about you,’ he weeps, convinced that this mutual fib off should add up to some total of honour and truth telling. ‘You know what state I get in,’ pleads Alex, conjuring up the ‘When in the presence of women I am not dating, I turn into an oestrogen hungry werewolf.’ Biscuits isn’t buying it. ‘Go to London, you prick, I fucking hate you,’ he screams. Alex, best return that BFF picture frame to the Terminal 4 branch of Accessorize.
Ultimately duplicity did not work for Mytton or Biscuits, but Spencer isn’t put off. He’s taking Billie on a tandem bicycle, claiming that he doesn’t date often and coming up with gems like, ‘The good thing about Jamie being gay is that he’s a great wingman.’ Spencer Matthews, you’re nothing if not horrifyingly consistent. However, who knows what Stefan might come up with? At this stage, it’s all to play for.
READ MORE: MIC NY: Binky's Ditched Alex And No-One Is Perplexed - But Will Stevie Have Sex?
Biscuits turns up to the girls’ apartment and apologises to Binky, for pretty much everything he’s done in life so far. Binky forgives him instantly. Mytton has less luck when he goes to see Spencer and Biscuits. Rather than say, ‘I’m so sorry for being the worst man in the world, please cut off my arms, legs and stupid cheating penis,’ he barges in and accuses Biscuits of being as terrible as he is – it somehow comes back to Biscuits telling Lucy about the orgy. Possibly by pure coincidence, he’s wearing a black shirt, to represent evil, while Biscuits and Spenny are angelic in pale grey. He’s thrown out and slinks to the airport, where he bumps into Binky, who stares at him for a full three minutes. ‘Get in a cab! GET IN A CAB!’ we all shriek at the telly, and she does! Go Binks!
Hero, or SAINT of the week
It’s a tough choice, but I’m (obviously) going to pick Mark Francis, who breathed the air of God and restored peace to the group, across two continents. It’s no coincidence that when the world’s greatest musk fan went to church, Biscuits found redemption and Mytton was hurled from heaven into the underworld, although he probably went via the Virgin Upper Class lounge, which mars the argument slightly. If Mark were to seek religious ordination, he would look so chic in priestly robes.
Sinner of the week
Clearly it’s Myttons, but saying as much feels like a journalism cheat, as if I’m writing ‘BREAKING: SUN HOT!’ or ‘DON’T BUY AN EPILATING KIT FROM ARGOS UNLESS YOU’RE INTO A SPECIFIC SORT OF LOW LEVEL SADOMASOCHISM!’ So I might award a lesser badge of wickedness to Jules, for no reason other than I’m terribly suspicious of his fringe.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.