Made In Chelsea 14.9: Sophie Has A Soiree, Biscuits Causes An Affray And Boulle Isn’t Allowed To DJ

I think I’ve dreamed of seeing Made In Chelsea's Jamie Biscuits bare chested in a boxing ring. You know, in the kind of dreams you have when you’ve finally drifted off to sleep when attempting to see off the first part of a pounding, poisonous white wine hangover.

Late at night when I’ve eaten GM laden barbecue pizza toppings, or those samosas turned see through with grease, packed with neon green peas, they have produced deeply disturbing visions in the earliest stages of REM. But nothing has shaken me to my core quite like the sight of Digby pounding away at nothing, his face slick with sweat as he experiences some sort of sporting vinegar stroke.

Thank goodness for Mytton, who is treating the entire boxing exercise as an end of term assembly skit, and looks like he could barely be bothered to put the big gloves on. He’s probably much more interested in pretending to be Mickey Mouse than in actually hitting anyone.

Anyway, they’re only boxing in order to have a natural, normal chat establishing that Digby is still seeing Liv, and he’s claiming he ‘doesn’t want to put a label on it’ when he’d clearly love to make Liv wear a pink pointy cone hat, rescue her from a gorilla, drag her to his castle and start a plumbing business. And Mytton is going on a date with Habs. Which means that sometime in the Spring, Habs and Mytton will be on the Hungerford bridge screaming and sobbing because someone organised an orgy and the other one wasn’t invited. Why does anyone in Chelsea ever bloody bother doing anything? It never ends well.

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Frankie gets her hair done for her running date with pervy James, who just wants to get a good look at her bum in leggings. I’m horrified that Frankie can contemplate doing any sort of sweaty exercise with her hair touching her back. I would rather wear a sports bra made of rusty nails and broken glass than think about running with any bit of hair touching my face. Still, off they go, and James makes her run to a bench beside a hamper full of white wine. ‘Are you nervous, is that why you brought wine?’ jokes Frankie, to a very defensive James. Frankie, run! Again! In the opposite direction!

Sophie is planning to host a circus soiree, a plot device exposing multiple fault lines of tragedy. Firstly, she rings up Ryan and asks him to be a last minute strongman (Oooh! That’s a business idea! lastminutestrongman.com! We’ll work out what the company would do later) This is a brief, approximate transcript of the conversation. ‘Haiiiiii, Ryan! I’m in the bath! Which is sexy! Would you do me a favour and carry me into the party I’m having which I planned around a nebulous concept because some PR company gave me a free top hat! Anyway, let me feel your muscles! It will be sexy! Don’t forget, I’m naked! Ciao!’ I think Sophie would quite like to have sex with Ryan, maybe for a Christmas and birthday present, and I don’t think Ryan could pick her out of a line up with Victoria and Mark Francis.

The other tragedy is darling, desperate Boulle, who describes himself as a ‘diablo’ and reveals himself to be in possession of more than one set of throwing knives. He wants to be the party, even though no-one has explained to him that all humans have a very specific window of time in which they are interested in or aroused by anyone doing fire poi. It begins after year nine SATS and ends before your mock GCSEs.

Sophie grinds fine pink Himalayan into the wound by asking Boulle’s BFF Fred to be the other sexy strongman. Fred does come out with the most brilliant line of the episode, when explaining to Boulle why he doesn’t want to help him to demonstrate his throwing knives, even though Boulle claims to be known for his ‘precision and accuracy’. Fred counters ‘I’ve lived with you for five years, you can barely piss in the toilet.'

A series of bad decisions are made, in which Mytton invites Biscuits and Sam Prince to his first date with Habs, and Habs invited her friend Clemmie, who has 14 names and might be the only genuinely posh person to appear on the show since 2013. Clemmie is the good sort of posh, the kind who thinks everything is completely ridiculous and hilarious, which is lucky because Biscuits’ big boast is ‘I once did a thousand monkey bars in a row in 2007.’ Utterly bloody Biscuits is only there because he’s got wind of Frankie and James’ liaison, and he’d probably go on a date with his bank manager in a long blonde wig if he thought it would make Frankie jealous. Biscuits asks Clemmie to go to mini golf, purely to take selfies and see whether Frankie goes on an Insta deep dive and accidentally likes a five year old picture from Clemmie’s grad ball.

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It’s party time! We see stunning women with excellent posture stomping down a catwalk in vast feathery capes, then Sophie, looking comparatively underwhelming in city shorts and a snazzy beaded jacket, possibly from boohoo.com. How you can enter a room being carried by enormous, bare chested men and still look like you only decided you were going out at lunchtime and put on an emergency outfit in the disabled loos is beyond me. But that’s the other thread of the tragedy. Sophie still has enough chutzpah to stride over to Louise, suggesting she might like to borrow Ryan again some time. ‘He’s busy,’ says Louise firmly, aware that Sophie would get Ryan’s name tattooed on her forehead tomorrow if she thought it would improve her chances.

Boulle, who has been allowed to DJ, has turned up in a suit that he might have had made especially, and is distraught because there aren’t any decks. I have a horrible feeling that Boulle might just be permitted to DJ through his own phone speakers in the men’s cloak room while the caterers are clearing up.

Biscuits is on the brink of lighting a flare in order to get Frankie to look up and notice he’s on a date with Clemmie. Eventually he gives up, comes over, and behaves so tediously and obnoxiously that James has to use the words ‘global business management’ like fire extinguisher foam, in order to kill the heat. Later, James tells Frankie she has ‘too much baggage’ and he ‘kind of want[s] to sack you off.’ ‘That’s not nice!’ exclaims Frankie. As tactics go, I don’t think that’s such a bad one.

I wonder how many people could be stopped in their bastard tracks if someone were to just confront them baldly and say ‘What you just did then was completely horrible.’ This does lead to a lengthy, slurpy kiss, the sort of thing that, were you to witness it on the tube, would force you to get off six stops early and wait for the next train. Also, Liv snaps and asks Digby to be her boyfriend, which is lovely and adorable, and I really hope their love is smooth and incident free and not wrecked by Sam Prince being an indiscreet arsehole about something in six weeks. (But if I was a gambling woman, I’d absolutely go to Ladbrokes and put twenty quid on Sam P wrecking everything before the clocks go forward…)

Hero of the week

As much as it seems wrong to give this award to someone for acting like a decent human being, Ryan’s atattoo’d (sorry) about Louise’s inking, and his ‘it’s ultimately your body and your choice’ speech was very cheering.

Villain of the week

Perhaps he should get a special dispensation, because he’s clearly heartbroken, but Biscuits’ rudeness and the way he is using Clemmie to hurt Frankie is entirely, indisputably villainous.

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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.