Three years ago, in 2015, when Jamie Biscuits still had most of his hair, the cast members of Made In Chelsea spent the summer in Los Angeles. The following year, they went to New York. We can only imagine that someone did something unspeakable in the Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse (I’m not saying that Mark Francis shat the shower, but then I’m not not saying that either) because the gang have been confined to Europe ever since. There was the trip to Cannes, made exotic by American import Alik Alfus who SPENT THE WHOLE HOLIDAY IN A STATE OF SHOUTY DISBELIEF ABOUT BEING IN FRANCE. There was last summer’s Ibizan expedition, which led to a rumoured boost in production of Spanish baby talc, and this year, before Brexit really kicks in and makes visas awkward, the gang are in Croatia. (I’m already looking forward to next year’s seaside summer special, Made In Scarborough.)
Biscuits has come of age. Watching him with his teenage girlfriend Ell is like watching a shaken Vietnam vet giving a troubling school assembly. He has seen things, man. He’s not like Ell. He no longer has the energy to run around exploring everything that the Eastern European coastline has to offer. He wants long siestas, whole afternoons devoted to eating Croatian Frito Lays with the curtains drawn. Ella wants to scuba dive. Biscuits can’t because one time ‘a barracuda came past me and I was sick into my regulator.’ Regulators! Throw up.
OG Sam (Thompson) is still seeing Habbs – I think this is going to be a big series for Habbs, partly because it’s impossible to name the island they are staying on without doing an accidental impression of her. She’s Hvar-ing a Hvarry nice time. Sam ‘thought Croatia was a bit barren’, and he’s pleasantly surprised by the fact that if you come with enough money it is still perfectly possible to drink rosé on a yacht. He’s still cross with Liv, he’s reluctant to put a ‘label’ on his connection with Habbs (which is clearly selfish boy code for ‘LET MY PENIS ENJOY ITS GRAND TOUR. IT WANTS MORE STAMPS IN ITS PASSPORT. CHLAMYDIA SHAPED ONES.’) Sophie refuses to help Ollie Locke wax his bumhole. We all know Binky would have done it. Special mention must be made of Ollie’s ‘some people have a schlong. I have a schlort.’ Ollie, the pun is mightier than the pork sword.
Mark Francis distils his entire essence into his single line. ‘I don’t understand why one would go on a boat with people one doesn’t know.’ If you’re a Mark Francis fan, do not book a tour of the HMS Belfast hoping for a sighting. You will be disappointed.’ Victoria delivers the equally strong ‘if life gives you lemons…squeeze them into people’s eyes.’
Liv texts Sam to see if he wants to go for a drink. ‘DENIED!’ cries robot Sam, who is very upset that Liv sent him a broadcast message and not a coiled, perfumed piece of parchment with her deepest sorrow etched in her blood, or better yet, Digby’s blood. Miles speaks a little Croatian, and Biscuits notices that Ell is impressed, so offers his service as a Croatian tutor. If any men in your life still refuse to believe that mansplaining is an endemic problem, just buy them a five minute meet and greet session with Jamie Biscuits. Miles and Elle run off giggling to get ice cream, and Sophie suggests that Biscuits is ‘Gohleehath’ to Miles’ David. At the moment, poor Biscuits does not have the upper body strength to deal with Sophie’s pronunciation, let alone anything else.
Harry fights with Liv and Digby about Sam, while Sam takes Habbs for a romantic candlelit dinner on a yacht. That’s how to date. Outsource your arguments so you can give your partner your full attention, otherwise you end up eating an enormous steak without noticing and flicking chocolate mousse all over the tablecloth. We learn that Sam went to Vegas, didn’t get with anyone and is a massive liar. Ah, Sam. If you really didn’t believe in labels, you would have told Habbs the truth! Also, was it really worth it? Did you have the best and most mindblowing sex of your life in Nevada, or did you wake up feeling confused and tender, with half a melting daiquiri down your shirt and one shoe on?
Miles is, to use Biscuits’ expression, ‘schweffing,’ (and the posher and more obnoxious you are, the less likely it is that you’ll have to Google it) and reminding Ell at frequent intervals that they are both sexy and French, and they might as well be sexy and French together. I am so jealous of French people. There is nothing sexy about someone who says ‘I’m English, you’re English, we’re both extremely sunburned, let me finger you under this beach towel patterned like St George’s flag’.
Digby tries to force Sam to apologise to Liv. Sam heads him off, muttering ‘You haven’t come to shout at me, have you? I am very tired.’ I am getting this printed on a t shirt. The gang go to a beach bar. Someone in the background is whooping, but it sounds like soft sobbing. Miles tells Biscuits that Ell is flirting with him, while shrugging Gallicly and extravagantly. ‘I’m very confident, I don’t get insecure,’ squeaks Biscuits. Liv shouts at Sam, Sam shouts back because Liv didn’t send him his own, carefully worded message. Liv says Sam has a point, and then they burst into tears and hug it out. Hooray! Everything is happy and relaxed, and it will stay that way until Liv catches up with the gossip and tells Habbs that Sam stuck his willy in a glitter cannon.
Hero of the week
This has to be Ollie, for his fabulous bottom and top levels of body confidence, and Sophie, for standing her ground and refusing to violate Ollie with a Veet strip.
Villain of the week
Obviously Sam, the big idiot! We’re all Hvarry, Hvarry disappointed in you.