The truth will set you free, they say, but it doesn’t half turn your stomach. To be human is to lie, and to believe in lies. No matter how honest we believe ourselves to be, our instinct is to protect and preserve, to filter our world view and our observations in order to spare ourselves pain and keep our loved ones safe. This is, I feel, the difference between being a writer and a journalist. A true journalist is one who seeks to speak truth to power, at any cost. A writer, such as your faithful correspondent, simply seeks to keep the gags coming at a rate of at least one per paragraph. (Also a person who hopes to one day be drenched by a city bus while looking winsome in a tulle tutu.) Anyway, it is with an aching soul that I briefly assume the mantle of journalist by bringing you an incontrovertible truth. My heart is sinking and you’re all going down with it. When you hear brace, brace. I have suddenly realised, after watching tonight's episode of Made In Chelsea, that Jamie Biscuits is essentially Hugh Hefner to be, the Peter Stringfellow of the future.
Biscuits is turning 30. The owners of crueller, keener eyes than mine might wonder whether this is the first time this has happened, or whether he may have already had a practice run, say, 15 years ago. We spot Biscuits looking pensive by the statue of Peter Pan, in Kensington Gardens. ‘Do you know why Peter Pan is good?’ he asks Sophie, Ell and Eliza. ‘Is it because he wanted to be young forever?’ posits Sophie. Biscuits, in a manner that suggests he did not bother to listen to the answer to the question he asked says ‘It’s because he wanted to be young forever!’ This is Chelsea, so obviously Biscuits can only solve the problem of ageing with a party. Yeast infection? Have a party. Wellness restaurant not doing so well? Have a party? Off to prison owing to a few white collar tax oopsies? Party. Broken hearted? That’s a trick question, the answer is SPA. Ell establishes that the ‘essence of Jamie Laing’ is ‘girls, candy, kids, humour.’ ‘It sounds like Michael Jackson’s list,’ observes Sophie. I do hate it when they beat me to a punchline.
Louise is nursing Sam, announcing ‘this will heal your broken heart’ and handing him a mug of herbal tea. In most cases, one’s life is incrementally better in the seconds before the herbal tea is drunk. I suppose it could be worse. She’s not racking up lines of matcha powder for him. Sad Sam brings us a truly dazzling mixed metaphor, explaining ‘Jamie called this and I was too blind to hear it.’ At the same time, Habbs is brunching with Biscuits and making some highly commended efforts, telling him ‘I’m not going to follow in your books.’ Louise rolls up to brunch, white, fluffy and furious – Knightsbridge’s own Abominable Snowman. She accuses Habbs of a wide range of misdemeanours, including social climbing. Say what you like about MIC, it’s got a lot better since Julian Fellowes got a job as an uncredited script editor.
Boringly, Livis still in love with Digby and has resolved to win him back now that he has returned from New York. Oh, no. There’s a meeting on a park bench – he doesn’t trust her, but it’s not over yet. If they’re on a bridge at night time, the end is nigh. If they’re sat outside during the day and within whistling distance of a coffee kiosk, it means a significant shag/item of jewellery is on the horizon, and everything is still to play for.
Sophie decides to hire a children’s entertainer for the Biscuits bash but is hampered by her own fear of clowns. Fred is chosen, because he has taught some tricks to his tiny dog. I am very pleased to see the dog is back, and being looked after, and not begging for scraps outside the Bluebird – but also slightly concerned about puppy labour laws. Biscuits comes over to cheer up Sam, and Louise disgraces herself as follows: She shouts at Biscuits until she starts to look slightly blue from oxygen deprivation. When Sam makes her a hot chocolate, she says ‘How many calories are in this?!’ and not ‘thank you Sam’. Then she suggests that Sam throws away Habbs’ left behind shoes because ‘I bet they’re all cheap’. CALM DOWN, LOUISE! You’re not Macbeth, seeking vengeance! Habbs broke up with Sam. She didn’t murder him. This is a bad look for you.
Tedious Miles is jealous that Digby is talking to Liv and not him, because Liv did several bad things, and he only did one. Worse still, James Taylor is taking it upon himself to plead Miles’ case for Digby. Make him go away! My Myspace page is more relevant than James Taylor. Digby tells Ryan about New York – even though I’m not entirely convinced that he left the UK, and I suspect he spent two weeks hiding out in a Premier Inn in Milton Keynes. ‘It was so nice to get away and focus on myself’. As if anyone in Chelsea has ever done anything else. Also, what is Ryan growing on his chin? It’s less of a goatee and more of a facial clip frame for a soul patch. Someone needs to stop this.
Time for the big Biscuits birthday bash! There are M&Ms with his face on them! Mytton wears a troubling yet compelling candy coloured ski jacket! Louise shouts at Habbs again in a way that makes Maggie Smith sound like Ray Winstone! Digby is the saddest man to ever wear face glitter! Tristan chats to Sam and has the most adult, mature interaction that has ever happened in the history of the programme – possibly in reality TV, with a kind ‘Sorry to hear of your loss, let’s have a beer.’ This is how you do it. Perhaps inspired by Tristan, Sam has a very sweet conversation with Habbs. ‘I hope you find someone and you feel about them the way I felt about you.’ You’d have to be blind not to hear how sweet that is.
Hero of the week
Sam has been unusually grown up in the aftermath of his heartbreak, so he deserves the prize. Let’s give Sophie a special mention for attempting to be brave around clowns.
Villain of the week
Louise, what are you doing? Stop being so rude, stop hurting people when you’re not prepared to walk a mile in their reasonably priced shoes and stop whatever is happening to Ryan’s face! He will look like an old timey circus strong man, and ruin Christmas for everyone, and it will be all your fault. (Ryan’s face is obviously his own business but this seems like a good time to mention it.