We live in a world of too many ‘helpful’ comments, and something must be done. Genuinely helpful comments can stay. Discreetly let us know when we’re running up the Camden tube escalator with our skirts tucked into our knickers. Do some subtle nudging and pointing when a metre of ragged bog roll is stuck to the heel of our shoe. But – and I direct this mainly at the stranger who told me that there was a hole in the arse of my jumpsuit, 20 minutes before I boarded a flight – don’t be the person who points out a problem unless there is an immediate and obvious fix. So, Louise, don’t come to Ollie’s house in this week's Made In Chelsea and ‘helpfully’ comment about the fake tan on his bath robe. It’s his house, his robe, and you know that they have yet to invent a version of Vanish that can tackle St Tropez. It’s an occupational hazard. Let him lounge.
Ollie doesn’t seem too perturbed – he’s cheerful enough to come up with a plan to reunite Liv with the Thobbeys, and suggests a book cover engagement photoshoot hybrid. I really want to see some romantic special effects – perhaps the book cover will be reflected in Ollie’s eyes, or the cover of the book will be Ollie holding the book, which is a picture of Ollie holding the book, which is a photo of…you get the, ah, picture.
Miles is the worst flatmate – sorry Habbs, apartment mate, in the world, which is a surprise to no-one but Habbs and Emily. He’s having regular noisy sex with half of Instagram – Tinder for the terminally lazy – and when he’s not doing that, he’s noisily boozing with James Taylor. Urghhh, I really hoped I’d seen the last of James Taylor. There’s something about his face that makes me think that if you were crossing the road and he saw you while he was driving his stupid Ferrari, he’d speed up. Miles acts up for James Taylor’s sake, showing off about what a harcore party animal he is, then wrecks everything by pouring some tea onto his lap and crying ‘Oh, gosh!’
Victoria wants to make her own hot sauce – Mark Francis wants to call it FUCKING HOT SAUCE – but Mark clearly needs warming up because he’s sitting indoors, wearing an odd trench/biker hybrid, which has been buttoned and zipped all the way up to the neck. Biscuits bonds with Tristan and invites him to come clay pigeon shooting. ‘Hello, we’ve been having this lovely chat, I think we’re getting on really well. LET’S TAKE OUR FRIENDSHIP TO THE NEXT LEVEL BY GOING TO A PLACE WHERE CONVERSATION IS IMPOSSIBLE AND EAR DEFENDERS MUST BE WORN.’ Disloyally, Biscuits tells Tristan that he doesn’t think Sam is going to make it work with Habbs. Sam will spend about a third of the episode wailing about this. Sam, why can’t you just be better? When will you realise that there’s only one way to stop people from talking about how terrible you are? Be less terrible!
In contrast, Habbs has a very pleasant run in with Tristan, although he gently guides her through the word ‘an…tag oh nising’. Tristan, was that not a little con…descending? Liv takes Ollie’s author picture, while he tries out a range of poses. There’s Meeting A Partner’s Parents for the Very First Time While Holding In A Fart. There’s ‘I’ll Get The Bill Ohhhhhhh Bloody Hell It’s Three Hundred Quid’, and ‘Ughhhhh John Is Such A Twat. John’s Behind Me, Isn’t He?’ Still, Liv works her magic, but she’s not able to conjure Ryan into being. He hasn’t turned up for his engagement photo shoot. What a child!
Oblivious Miles meets Emily and Habbs for a showdown. ‘Ooooh, it’s a bit frisky outside!’ he mutters, rubbing his hands, which makes me nervous – the Instagram sex cannot be contained! They’re having it off in the street! Habbs points out that life with Miles is slightly less relaxing than visiting a spa run by Oliver Reed. ‘I don’t care, I’m going to live my life,’ says Miles. You do that, bro! In another apartment. Habbs is getting through the scary stuff, but Emily is staying quiet. Speak up for your girl! Habbs and Sam have an awkward date. Habbs is clearly sad that Biscuits has no faith in the union. All Sam wants to talk about is how this is Tristan’s fault. SAM! You are meant to be in love with Habbs. Being ‘in hate’ with Tristan is just pathetic.
Melissa and Harry bump into Miles and come up to bat for Habbs – this ends, unedifyingly, in a physical fight – with Harry making fun of Miles over his impending homelessness. You’re all covered in glory, well done everybody. Also, Harry, stop saying ‘myself’ when you mean ‘me’. You’re not checking Miles into a Premier Inn. Although I suppose soon someone will have to.
Tristan exhibits his wildlife photography. Mark Francis and Victoria are predictably snotty - also Victoria has brought her home made hot sauce in a little bag. Is she channeling Beyonce (and is this cultural appropriation) or is she simply turning into a full blown eccentric who is one condimental episode from going on holiday with a suitcase of salad cream? Biscuits tries the sauce, and offers Mark Francis the chance to lick it off his hand. He declines.
Sam strides up to Tristan, at his own party, and says ‘I thought you’d gone back to South Africa! Ha ha ha!’ Tristan graciously offers Sam a picture, and Sam makes a baffling reference to having ‘my own…picture hanging guy.’ Sam then goes to the staircase to yell at Biscuits for befriending his enemy. Isn’t it weird how the buildings are all different, but the Staircase of Harrowing Drama always looks so very familiar. Liv and Ryan have a very grown up reconciliation, while Miles and James Taylor smirk like satanic children as Habbs tries to make them change their obnoxious ways. I would rather live at a festival than live with Miles. I’d rather move to a place where they collected the bins every six months. He is worse than Harry Baron.
Hero of the week
I am starting to feel as though Tristan might be the first consistently upstanding man to ever appear on Made In Chelsea. He’s still sweet to Habbs, civil to Sam, and very mellow in the face of extreme provocation. He’s the sort of boy who wouldn’t open your advent calendar and eat your chocolate while you were away for the weekend. Mind you, neither is Ryan, I suppose…
Villain of the week
I reckon everyone who has ever lived with someone who never bought loo roll could come together, form an angry mob, and chase Miles out of the country right now. I like Jean Ralphio as a fictional character on Parks And Recreation. It makes me quite frightened to know he’s real and living in West London.
We learn that Miles is constantly bitching about Harry and Melissa, when he’s not swigging Bailey’s from the bottle, and it’s making Habbs sad. Biscuits