If I’d started going to French conversation classes in September and hadn’t missed a week I think my language skills would be fairly impressive right now. Basic, but I’d be confident about arriving in a strange town and finding the bibliotheque and the syndicat d’initiative and the boulangerie. If I’d done an hour’s sewing every Monday I could have made a...bugger only knows, but something. I could have mastered basic car repair or finally got through to BT and discovered why our broadband is so bad, or phoned up my Granny and had a chat because the dear lady is well into her eighties and all time is precious and...but no. I have spent the better part of the Autumn watching a load of P-Middy wannabes drink off brand champagne and climb into chauffered cars as their buses pull out of shot.
And I wouldn’t change a goddamned thing.
The second season finale of Made In Chelsea is upon us, and in keeping with the tradition of the show we already know exactly what is going to happen. Millie will find out that her ferrety faced ex boyfriend Hugo committed ruderies with Rosie. We’re not quite sure why, because Rosie looks like a squirrel with flat fur and Millie looks like...Millie. We already know the what, so this episode will be an exploration of the Why and the How. (You’d think that scripted reality would owe much to Stanislavski and Strasberg but Chelsea’s approach is an homage to Bertolt Brecht.)
We begin with Millie and Caggie talking about their feelings, so we’ll gloss over that to discuss Millie’s glittery dandruff. Her shoulders are all asparkle, I guess posh people just have more aesthetically pleasing body problems - unless she had her shoulders vajazzled. Sha-jazzled? Ladies of the British Isles, I implore you to ape her approach to flange fashion. Reposition it. We’re in for a cold Winter.
No-one on the show has feelings I can ever relate to. I just want to hear Binkie say “gosh, I’m peckish”
There is more bitching and drinks planning and talking about “feelings.” No-one on the show has feelings I can ever relate to. I just want to hear Binkie say “gosh, I’m peckish” or for Hugo to yawn “I’m turning in guys, I feel really sleepy.” The boys are playing rugby - well, standing on a rugby pitch, in rugby clothes, talking about rugby. Apparently Jamie Biscuits was the Under Fifteens England Captain. I do hope he played with a ball made from compressed Jaffa Cakes. Mind you, I suspect he still devotes much time to ball play. Bwahahahahahahahahaha. The boys wonder whether Proudlock will be “sporting his dangly earring” - yes, probably, seeing as that’s the only piece of continuity on the show. Also we find out that a gentleman never tells of his intimate exploits, but Jamie is no gentleman and he desperately, breathlessly wants the others to know that he “made love to” Gabriella. He gives love a bad name. (As well as biscuits and other people called Jamie.)
The set up for the final act of the episode begins. Turns out that Francis and Mark Francis share many things - no, not just an indefensible belief in their own evolutionary superiority! A name AND a birthday to boot. For someone suggesting a cohosting of festivities Mark Francis seems a little hostile. The way he says “Francis” makes Jerry Seinfeld’sacknowledgements of arch enemy Newman seem cordial. The party is to have a Great Gatsby theme, and before you mock the literary pretensions of the wealthy and vacuous I’ll have you remember that they share their passion for the novel with literary luminary and former Hills star Lauren Conrad.
Back in the park Rosie has arrived and is explaining to Millie “I got defensive because I felt accused.” No, you little worm. You got defensive because you shagging well shagged your friend’s boyfriend! The clue that Rosie is now sexy slash evil is in her outfit. She’s dressed in enough studded pleather to upholster a sofa in the reception area of a commercial dungeon. She looks not unlike Sandy at the end of Grease if Sandy were played by Liz Jones instead of Olivia Newton John.
For the sake of our eyes we’re taken back to Binkie and Cheska’s brunch and Gabriella lurches in and confirms that she’s been bumming Jamie Biscuits before she’s even sat down. She collapses, moaning “I’m so tired I might LITERALLY have a baby.” From what I can gather she’s not been laid all year so you can forgive her for being a bit overexcited about having sperm inside her. Don’t tell Liz/Rosie Jones though! She’ll be at you with a funnel. Luckily Gabs can’t remember much of the sexytime, so we’re all spared a blow by blow account.
The camera pans out to reveal he’s with...an actual bird! An owl!
While everyone at home was sponging themselves down with anti-bac Mark Francis Francis were having their pardy invitations sent out in the form of Louis Vuitton Rubiks’ Cubes. If someone makes me do an eighties logic puzzle before I can come to their gathering I’m probably going to stay at home because I can’t imagine there will be anyone going to the party that I want to pull. Francis rings Fred to check on his attendance and Fred is “chilling with his bird.” The camera pans out to reveal he’s with...an actual bird! An owl! This is one of the greatest things I have ever seen on television. Best gag in two seasons. I’m serious. Mark Francis tires of the Gatsby theme already. He wishes to add “camels and doves, orchids, lace, semi nude women! Gold leaf!” Fred tells him that covering everything in gold leaf is a little wasteful so Mark Francis suggests copper leaf as an alternative. “What’s the point in having a party if you can’t spend lots of money?” I’ve said it before and I shall say it again. The boy is a Marie Antoinette for our times and I can’t help but love him for it.
We watch two squirmy innuendo laden menages - firstly Hugo, Millie and Spencer then Binkie, Ollie and Cheska. Who’s producing this? De Sade? I can’t quite bring myself to describe it (and I need to stop for a second and pour the anti bacterial lotion into my ear to cleanse my brain) but it’s all fairly wittery and I promise nothing vital takes place. Oh, Jamie meets his old crush Louise who is cross because she knows about Jamie’s bunk up with Gabs. Now, who do we think told her, boys and girls? That’s right, Rosie!
Onward to the party, a blur of pearls, bubbles, sparkle and fur, although I can’t see any copper leaf anywhere. Mark Francis, you have let me down. The girls all look beautiful and Spencer has slicked his hair back in the gentleman date rapist style that was so popular at the time.
The boys are giving Francis the present they chose earlier - a bullet proof briefcase. They’re trying to make him guess what it is, and every time one of them says “it’s something you’d use at work” Francis blinks hard and says “night vision goggles?” I’ve often wondered what a day at Boulle Enterprises entails, and now we know. Francis’ job is to be Paris Hilton circa 2004. Crumbs, Gabriellla and Jamie Biscuits are having a run in, but they both dismiss their night of passion as “crazy drunken fun”. By which they probably mean that Jamie got a bad case of whisky dick and passed out as Gabriella spent the night trying and failing to move him because he was trapping her right arm.
Will this be the moment she recants her slagginess and is exhalted or will she just turn into a pillar of salt?
Now for the climax of the series. The moment we’ve all wondered about and waited and hoped for. Rosie...HAS HAIR WITH VOLUME! Her vintage effect hair band is lifting it a good inch away from her scalp! Will this be the moment she recants her slagginess and is exhalted or will she just turn into a pillar of salt? We wait with bated breath but it’s time to hang out with Spencer and Caggie who are having a chad. Spencer reassures her “you’ll always be my girl...in a manner of speaking.” He’s just a boy standing in front of a girl asking for an inconclusive answer in order to get another series commissioned. Elsewhere Millie is in pieces, dealing with the bombshell Caggie dropped before she went off with Spencer. Hugo and Rosie have been going like stoats. (They go to the shops like stoats, they go to the dentist like stoats. They are both stoaty people.) Millie waits for the guests to assemble and toasts “my best friend, Rosie Fortescue, for hooking up with Hugo when we were together and lying about it. Here’s to friendship.”
Whispering “you’re fucking disgusting” to Rosie (who has mysteriously changed out of her black dress and into her white one) she storms out and collapses into Caggie’s arms. Then a load of fireworks go off. It’s astonishing how sharply Millie’s despair contrasts with the party euphoria. This couldn’t have gone better if it had been scripted and directed.
Hopefully in a few months Rosie will have repented and earned a head full of bouncy curls, Millie will be in love with someone who is kind to her, Hugo will have discovered his happy place (on the end of Spencer’s cock) and Caggie will have worked through her emotional issues by killing bad cousin Alice with a sword. In the meantime, it’s been S W One-derful. Thanks for joining the pardy.
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