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Made In Chelsea 15.10: Liv Can't Keep Love Alive, Habbs And Sam Struggle With Their Sex Drive, And Biscuits Ends Up In A Bee Hive

How does a millennial say ‘I love you’? In our culture, there is a cheap, effective and nourishing way to demonstrate your devotion – you just have to produce an avocado. Made In Chelsea's Digby knows that he’s got to pull something big out of the bag in order to make it work with Liv, so he begins the episode by surprising her in bed and bringing her a breakfast of heart healthy monosaturated fat.

Liv appreciates the gesture but adds ‘I’m probably not going to eat it, pointing out that Digby has forgotten to bring up any mayonnaise. Is she being an ungrateful cow, or simply punching a hole in the fourth wall? Would Neighbours be a better programme if everyone said ‘Oh, I don’t want this, there’s no ketchup,’ before abandoning their plates of untouched food and dashing out of Harold’s Café to go and talk to Susan because they’re worried that Karl is going to try and form another pop group? Liv’s eyelashes also demand that we suspend our disbelief, unless she glued them on in her sleep. Anyone who has ever had eyelash extensions knows that you spend a hundred and fifty quid to wake up and discover that each eyelash has come to resemble a tiny Marx brother in the night.

Biscuits’ brand new Gallic girlfriend Ell, who was last seen well over a month ago, pops up to meet Boulle. ‘What first attracted me to you?’ says Biscuits, who doesn’t seem to be able to speak French but can speak English as a foreign language. Creepily, Boulle suggests that it is because Ell is still just about a teenager and Biscuits is pushing 30. Urghhhhh. But then, Ell apparently likes Biscuits because he dresses like Justin Bieber. The fact that some people are old enough to date but young enough to see that as an advantage makes me feel positively decrepit. Still, Biscuits is pretty sad and insecure about playing Tithonus to Ell’s Aurora, so Boulle offers him a go on some royal jelly. Which is no way to talk about Prince Philip.

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Sophie has broken out and demanded a separate storyline, having her leg strapped up because a champagne cork caught her on the Achilles tendon. This sounds, at best, implausible – this particular posh injury is on brand, but it seems to defy all the laws of physics. We can imagine Sophie, in a bedsit in Teddington, thinking ‘What will get me more screen time? Maybe I’ll tell them that a gang of lobsters cornered me and took my phone! No, this could lead to the arrest of some innocent lobsters.’ Mark Francis and Victoria come to see her. They do not bring a single grape. Can you think of any scenario in which you’d be poorly, and pleased to see that pair? Unless you have an extremely rare disease that can be cured by a sub par impression of Oscar Wilde, a bout of bed bound MRSA would be slightly more welcome than a visit from Chelsea’s very own Joan of Snark. Even though Sophie was felled by champagne, Mark has no qualms with ringing for more. ‘Pass me that atrocious looking bell,’ he sneers. It is a very normal looking bell.

Just as desperate and slightly less dignified is James Taylor, who has decided that he can get a storyline about being incredibly rude to Habbs about her nascent romance with Sam. He forces her to admit that their first erotic encounter hasn’t been earth shattering, but wise Habbs points out that it was after a big night, and ‘you always have to have sober sex’. ‘I don’t think it will last,’ says James, even though no-one asked him, and no-one cares. I would rather be trapped in an Uber with no air conditioning, driving from Crystal Palace to Wembley, listening to Nick Ferrari on LBC taking phone calls from the nation’s most enthusiastic racists than hear James Taylor’s opinion on literally anything, least of all what he thinks about Habbs’ sex life.

Not content with simply being irritating, James Taylor finds Sam and tells him that Habbs said he was bad in bed. Now he has ruined two people’s evenings! Well done, James Taylor! Give that chap a spin off series! Sadly, I will not be watching because I’ve got to catch up on old Ceefax pages I videoed from 1993.

Liv goes out boozing with Mytton and gets so drunk that she can’t stop using the strange, eighties expression ‘in the sack’. Digby forms a troubling alliance with Ryan, who tells him ‘Liv needs to stop saying things like “I miss my old friends”’. Ryan might have got Louise to renounce everything she loves and knows for protein powder, but I don’t think this will work with Liv, who won’t even eat an avocado unless it’s got bacon on it. Liv believes that all of her romantic issues could be solved if Mytton was somehow melded with Digby, which is no weirder than Biscuits’ plan to resolve all of his relationship anxiety by immersing himself in a cloud of Boulle’s bees. Sam overhears Biscuits trying to arrange a hair transplant, but he’s more preoccupied with how to hang onto Habbs. ‘Having sex with a girl for the first time is like being in the cockpit of a plane when it’s crashing,’ says Biscuits, and a nation of women do a simultaneous, terrified pelvic floor clench.

Sophie has persuaded Miles to wheel her around, and Miles agrees, convinced this is the beginning of a five year plan that ends with Sophie agreeing to some pity sex. Habbs has just learned why Sam hasn’t spoken to her for days, and rings James Taylor to shout at him. ‘I seriously couldn’t care less,’ huffs James Taylor, which is an odd thing to say when he clearly does care, having taken the time and trouble to spend several days on a sustained campaign of meddling. Happily, this very irritating problem resolves itself because Habbs realises how much she likes Sam, and they have a lovely snog. In your face, James Taylor! In other love news, Harry asks Melissa to move in with him, and Sophie appears to have taken to her ‘little brother’ Miles in a faintly pervy way. And Ell loves Biscuits just as he is, which is adorable but annoying for him because he has just spent several thousand pounds on hair plugs.

Liv rushes to the country to see her parents and have a big cry. Digby turns up and Mummy Bentley calls him ‘Diggers’, the sort of nickname that can only be borne of panic, when you have to evacuate your own sitting room because your daughter needs to dump her boyfriend in peace. ‘I’ve been a true gentleman’ huffs Digby, when a gentleman would never turn up at someone’s house without phoning ahead. ‘You need to figure out what you want,’ he repeats, when Liv is telling him very, very clearly that she wants to break up with him. Finally, he gets the message, although I have a horrible feeling that what happens next week is going to render all of this hard work completely pointless…

Hero of the week

It has to be Habbs for doing what no-one on MIC ever does, even when it has been proved as the only way of keeping a relationship going. She rose above the rumour spreading and told Sam how she felt! Biscuits is highly commended for bravery, and going into the pit of bees.

Villain of the week

Obviously it’s James Bloody Taylor, although his sad, bad work makes me miss Spencer Matthews! Once our villains were truly Machiavellian, now they’re just a bit crap.

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