Made In Chelsea 15.4: Sam’s Seeing A Goth, Romance Is On The Back Burner For Toff, And Alik Thinks Art School Can Bugger Off

F Scott Fitzgerald once said ‘the rich are different’, but I don’t think this is true at all. If I didn’t have to work full time, and I hadn’t fallen out with my hairdresser, I would be skipping about West London and enjoying a constant blonde, banal, bacchanalia. I’d only drink champagne and organic birch water, I’d say Namaste without irony and with a long, drawn out middle syllable, like a bendy sheep. During the day, I would only eat food prepared in places with twee combo names that sound like Dickensian slang for vulva – Thruppence and Fluffer, Nancy and Squeeze, The Barnaby Rudge.

I’d wear earrings so enormous and Calder-esque in scale that my cheeks would bleed every time I strongly disagreed with someone. And I would spend all of my time and what remained of my money trying to channel my estranged father – Neil Buchanan, from Art Attack. For this is what Mytton, Liv, Biscuits and Alik are up to on Made In Chelsea, paying a finger paint tribute to Jackson Pollock while wearing the sort of white plastic overalls favoured by LCD Soundsystem superfans and asbestos detectors.

‘I was talking to artists, and they said art school is a waste of money,’ explains Alik, who is pumping an arc of red acrylic paint like a man with a bucket of burgers, a bottle of ketchup and the motor skills of a dehydrated jellyfish. Yeah, man, screw the system and save your money, those idiots can’t teach you anything! Seriously though, maybe invest in some J cloths and a big bottle of carpet cleaner

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Sam is also in for a Pollocking. He’s moved back in with Louise while his kitchen gets ripped out – I’m pretty sure I’ve had chewing gum that lasted for longer than Sam’s old kitchen – and he’s being a gracious guest by inviting all of his friends over for vast, surface splattering sandwiches. Meanwhile Louise is frowning at a ringing phone. The caller ID says Emilia! Is Ryan cheating? No, it’s Sam’s new woman! ‘We should take her out for a meal!’ says Louise. Sam scowls. ‘You’re genuinely not a nice person.’ Sam, she’s offering you free food. Take it. At university, I once joined a cult for a fortnight because they lured me in with a baked potato. This way you get table service, and regardless of what Louise’s intentions are, she’s probably not going to wake you up in the middle of the night to drink your own wee.

Liv alienates 50 per cent of the viewing audience – OK, let’s be real, 85 – by saying that she can’t be friends with girls because they’re all such evil bitches and she just gets on much, much better with boys. ‘I find the girls quite sneaky. Especially your friend Habbs,’ she says pointedly to Mytton, before Biscuits launches into an impression that is as cruel as it is accurate and hilarious. Habbs turns up, spots the happy gang and says ‘eauuuuuuu nyerrrrrrrr!’ She does speak as though she hasn’t had new batteries since the Christmas of 2014. Still, she recovers herself and invites Liv shopping, and her invitation is brusquely declined. ‘At least they’re putting out the olive branch,’ says Mytton, who could go slightly further and admit that he was the one who put this beef on the barbecue.

Toff is trying to take the edge off her dinner date with James Taylor by bringing Mimi. James is countering Toff’s moves by bringing a spare man – his friend Miles. The only thing that’s surprising about this is that we’ve been watching Made In Chelsea since 2011 and this is the first Miles we’ve met. Miles speaks French, and so does Mimi, after a fashion. ‘J’ai un boyfriend!’ James didn’t know! How did James not know? I’m pretty sure Mimi made Toff put in a full page advert in The Lady. Miles is what your granny might call a ‘nightclub impresario’, and runs nights that Groupon would call ‘now available at 80 per cent off – bring ten mates or more and receive a further 10 per cent discount!’

Toff takes Stanley Johnson out for dinner at the Buddha Bar, and Stanley is staring at his chopsticks with the bemused delight of a person who is staying in a hotel for the very first time and discovered that he can keep the pen that’s in the room. He advises Toff to put romance on the back burner and focus on her career, not James Taylor. Good call, Stanley! Toff learns that Stanley is very romantic with his wife, and he keeps love alive by being good at boiling eggs. Eggsellent, if you will. (No more egg puns, we’ve all had en eouf.)

Alik goes for a strange drink with Mark Francis, in order to ask some advice on his entry into the art world. Like ‘What is art? And how many millions of pounds will people pay for some paint I poured on the floor?’ Alik is furious about the fact that Louise has posted something on social media celebrating her two year anniversary with Ryan, when two years ago she was in St Barths with Alik, if he does ‘the math’. Alik, move on! Sam has had about eight new kitchens fitted since you broke up. Mark Francis takes him to a gallery, where the vibe is decidedly ‘Damian Hirst for Debenhams’, and is presumably less reflective of a specific aesthetic position than the fact that it was the only place they could get permission to film with a day’s notice. Alik invites Mark and Victoria to have dinner with his father, who is shortly arriving in London. Entire Broadway musicals have been written on the back of flimsier conceits.

Sam takes Emilia to meet Louise and Ryan, who has sprayed on an extra bit of beard for the occasion. Ryan spends a little too long admiring Emilia’s wrist tattoos. ‘This is a ram’s skull, and I’ve got a human skull to match.’ Maybe that’s what Ryan is going to do in order to take things to the next level for the big anniversary – get a giant tattoo of Louise’s skull! Sam tells everyone that Emilia is ‘fun’ and ‘weird’ and ‘different’ and various other words that mean Sam is on the brink of taking Emilia on a taxidermy course, and Emilia will struggle to look pleased. Eventually Emilia tells Sam that she doesn’t want someone who describes her as avant garde, while looking very pleased with himself. ‘Until you’re ready? To commit? Like I am? This isn’t going anywhere?’ she announces. Oh, she’ll be back. The upward inflection says so.

Just as Liv and Digby have pulled their love back from the brink of crisis, and are wearing matching oatmeal jumpers again, they find their relationship is in jeopardy once more. Auxilliary Miles is already gunning for a major storyline by claiming that Digby has been DMing Miles’ ex on Instagram – just as Liv is telling Louise she wants to be with Digby for the rest of her life. Accusations are flung. Phones are unlocked and studied. Mytton’s eyebrows do acrobatics. Eventually Digby shows his phone which seems to say that this girl messaged him, and he did not reply. Who should we believe? Do we care? Are Digby and his ‘ex’ running some sort of scam which involves gaining the confidences of every affluent West London 20 something and then indoctrinating them all into a baked potato based cult?

Just when we’re salivating at the prospect of some proper old fashioned stagy weirdness, we get an amuse bouche of oddness, a coincidence so ridiculous that it could only be topped if someone sent a stripper to the venue, and it was Spencer Matthews. Ryan and Louise’s anniversary dinner is happening just two tables away from Alik’s meal with his Dad, Victoria and Mark Francis. Alik’s Dad looks like Willie Nelson just ate James Bay, so he can’t possibly even be hungry. What’s he doing out at dinner? He wishes Louise and Ryan well – a little too well, bordering on the prurient. Although even he tells Alik to shut up and stop boring on about what was going on two years ago. Ryan is so weirded out that he leaves. I hope Louise doesn’t rush after him before eating whatever he has ordered for dinner. Although, knowing Ryan, he’s gone off menu and got Stanley Johnson’s wife to cook up a bushel of boiled eggs.

Hero of the week

For once, it’s Biscuits for his brilliant hype man efforts. The nicest thing he could think of to say about Mytton? ‘He looks like Robin Thicke!’ It’s undeniable, and very funny.

Villain of the week

While I have my suspicions about Miles, it’s too soon to brand him with the stamp of evil, so let’s give it to whoever organised those rooftop drinks, and forced Alik and Mark Francis to drink champagne in a place that looked colder than a regional flagship branch of Iceland. I hope the boys were wrapped in foil blankets immediately afterwards

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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.