After a ludicrously long ‘what we did this summer’ catch up, which is somewhere between being forced to read a tedious first day of school essay and being trapped in the student union by a mature student with beads in their hair and a home made hemp manbag, we begin in Devon. Binky and Louise are horseriding on the beach, channelling Putin, or perhaps one of those weird velvet paintings you can only get from provincial branches of Boots, if you’re a Nan.
Apparently Louise has been telling Sam to raise his game and act more adult, so he’s back in London being taught to rollerskate with the help of Toff, and a big pole. ‘Everyone my age has had a proper girlfriend. I’M SO UP FOR DATING. Would you…?’ he asks, looking at Toff hopefully who briskly cuts him off with ‘We must find you someone.’ Poor Sam. If his strategy is to wander around London saying ‘I am so, so fucking desperate just to smell a woman’s hair,’ his virginity is as indelible as an off brand Sharpie.
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Sam also wants a job, and he’s hoping Biscuits will give him an internship, even though he’s only ever attempted employment once before, as a bartender, and he got fired three times. This makes Sam look bad, but it makes his old boss look worse. He tries to talk Biscuits into it over tennis, with Doublespeak. ‘Do you not want me to be your intern?’ He, ahem, aces the interview. Why should Biscuits hire him? ‘I can’t touch type, I don’t give much chat back - even though that was why I got fired.’ Biscuits hires him, natch. At least he can’t feel too guilty about not paying him.
Spencer is drinking green tea, as he is preparing to dress as a saint for his saints and sinners themed birthday party. Let’s hope he chooses St Stylites, and is forced to spend the evening stood alone, in a hair shirt, on a giant plinth. He suggests Proudlock goes as a sinner, because he’s been snogging Lucy. One suspects Spencer isn’t cross about that, but at Proudlock’s reluctance to kiss and tell. He won’t reveal any information, but says she’s a ‘cool chick’ three times. If MIC wasn’t completely real and authentic, I’d suggest he’d missed a line and was looking for a prompt.
Boringly Biscuits and Mytton make up straight away, post New York, but Binky is not so easy. Binks is working for every woman who has ever been wronged with a bad man. She looks so ravishing that I would like to have sex with whoever administered her blow dry. ‘I don’t think “friends” is on the cards yet, but you can sleep easy tonight - rest assured I’m fine,’ she tells him, before swishing off. High five, Binks! However, the diversion comes in handy - Andy is around, and he’s getting a bit hot and heavy with Louise. This can only end badly.
This might be because she’s met someone in Devon. Will, and a guy called Logan, Lonan, or possibly Lenin, roll up and introduce themselves to Binky and Louise during a barbecue. Between Will’s beard and Lonan’s glasses, they almost make up an entire hipster. They both work as personal trainers, have previous with Mytton (he schtupped Will’s ex, obviously) and claim they know a roll based gym manoeuvre that can bring a girl to orgasm. ‘You’re not very muscly at all,’ is Binky’s taut response, prodding them. This might be the best neg that has ever been shown on television. But she does think they smell nice.
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The bois are out having a big drink (Spenny is not sticking to the green tea) and bump into Lucy and her sister, Tiffany. Everyone starts nudging Proudlock, primary school style, and saying ‘Wooooooh! It’s your girlfriend.’ For once, Proudlock looks uneasy. The back of his neck goes pink. Tiffany is hilariously unhelpful. ‘[Proudlock] is hard to read. You’re just going to have to talk to him.’ She makes Lucy look warm and forthcoming.
Despite Andy’s best efforts, Alik has arrived! He’s VERY EXCITED, and we’re wondering whether HIS EARS HAVEN’T POPPED YET. He wants to go to Big Ben, and ‘where is the Queen, what is it called?’ He’s less sure about the traditional roast dinner. ‘Is it a barbecue? Do we have it outside?’ Alik soon changes his focus when he learns Louise has been hanging out with Andy the ex in Devon. He is NOT HAPPY. MOST PERTURBED, IN FACT.
Spencer is never knowingly not like David Brent, but manages to surpass his best efforts at his own birthday party, in a sheer white shirt, almost unbuttoned to the navel, tight white slacks, and enormous, slightly wings. Which saint is he supposed to be? The patron saint of man made fibres? At least he’s wearing a shirt, unlike Biscuits. Biscuits might be chilly, but he’s cheerful. Sam is working out quite well. ‘I was on the loo, having a poo, with no loo paper. And he came over, with loo paper!’ Sam, brownnosing is AN EXPRESSION, not…never mind.
Alik, still QUITE LOUD, bumps into Andy. Sensibly he has also worn wings. In nature, when you fear a predator, you make yourself big. However, nothing can disguise Andy’s metaphorical black and yellow fur. ‘If [Andy] likes a girl and she’s got a boyfriend, he doesn’t give a shit,’ Spencer has explained, stirring harder than an auntie who has just been told by a passive aggressive mother that her gravy is a bit lumpy. Stevie reveals that he looks a bit like Claire Balding when his hair gets long (you should be so lucky, Stefan) and Proudlock secretly asks Lucy out for a date, in secret. But whisper it. Whisper to the cameras. We leave with Binky flirting with beard and or specs, while Mytton swigs and looks sad. A strong start to the series. But where in the name of Faberge is Mark Francis?
Hero of the week
I’m going to give this to new girl Tiffany, for being uncompromising, even brutal, in her assessment of Lucy’s new love. ‘Proudlock doesn’t know what you’re thinking either’ she pointed out, making her our new postergirl for straightforward, balls out, unsoftened love advice. Let’s be like Tiffany and stop dicking about. If you want to know what a guy wants, don’t ask your mates. Ask the guy.
Villain of the week
No shortage of nomimations, as per ush. It’s tempting to give it to Spenny for stirring, but it is his birthday. Or Biscuits, for being a shitty employer. But let’s present it to Andy, who is gazing at Louise like he intends to lick her up and down and would have to be shown how to stop, with hands. Andy, she’s happy. Leave her be. You can always write a bloody song about it.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.