Woo hoo! Spencer Matthews is back in down, and svelte enough to fit into his red plaid shirt from Series 5! Lock up your daughters! Stock up on condoms! Put protective sheeting down in your orgy rooms! I bet he’s already got hundreds and thousands of women in that Ferrari, and when he breaks they’ll all fall out, hooting their boobs and shrieking like erotic jesters tumbling from a sexy clown car! In fact, who’s that sexy brunette in the front, with the voluminous hair?! Oh, it’s Mytton.
‘So, what have you been doing abroad?’ asks Biscuits. ‘You’ve got a big tan, you’ve lost weight, you’ve had your teeth whitened…’ Lemme guess - he’s been trying to save money by going to Asia for a cheap root canal and caught dysentery from a dodgy general anaesthetic. Or he’s fallen in love!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh. He’s not joking. ‘I can’t wait for you to meet Lauren, we’ll all have some fun!’ he coos.
‘What, not all of us?!’ cackles Mytton, laughing a little too long and hard to remind everyone watching of their naughty, sexy posh impishness. Boak.
Louise takes Alik shopping, in what looks like a hotel lobby. Maybe she’s the only person in the world to buy something from one of those strange foyer gift shops, and when she’s not on screen she lives in embellished sarongs that cost €700. Alik becomes more incoherent and horny than Fred Flinstone looking at a series of nudey cave paintings. ‘Me likey! Hubba hubba hubba!’ he yells as Louise tries on different squares of shearling. ‘I love shopping with you!’ Louise coos, and for a tenth of a second, Alik’s true feelings fill his face, as he appears to blink tears away. But he shakes it off to become the boner botherer we all know and are almost convinced by. ‘I was looking for the underwear that’s fun to wear!’ he shouts into the creepy, cream carpeted void of silence. Even the tumbleweed remains unmoved.
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Binky turns up to tell them she’s so angry with Fran that she doesn’t want their alcohol. Louise says she’s not welcome in her house any more. Binky reminds her that, as Fran’s flatmate, she does not have that luxury. Lucy is also staying sober to prove a point, and refuses Sam’s booze as he desperately tries to persuade her that he wants to make it work with Tiff. ‘Your words don’t mean anything at the moment,’ she hisses. ‘Tiffany is very mature.’
‘Girls are usually, like, five years more mature than boys,’ says Sam, smugly. Yeah, way to get the women on your side, dude. Top ‘all girls are the same’ chat there.
‘In your case, maybe a little more,’ rejoins Lucy, and everyone at home delivers a vigorous air punch.
Fran, because she hasn’t yet finished being a worm (and not a lovely worm that comes out in the rain and does good things in your garden, the kind that lives in your bum when you don’t wash your hands properly) texts Mytton to tell him she’s ‘feeling low’ about the Binky sitch and wants some advice. FRAN, YOU ARE A BIG POO. And we finally meet Spenny’s girlfriend Lauren, who looks a bit like Series One stalwart Amber Atherton and talks as if she’s reciting the pages of a rude novel where people have sex on glass boardroom tables after they have removed their very expensive blazers. ‘Fnarr, wasn’t it lovely on the massive yacht?!’ she says. I think. ‘Let’s have more Champs!’ responds Spenny. None for me mate, I just did a sick down my vest.
Spencer tells Lucy about Lauren, and she doesn’t believe he could change his ways. ‘Have you been faithful? You looked down when I asked you that!’ she cackles, slightly triumphantly. ‘I always look down. I was…making sure my napkin was still there,’ says Spenny. People are nicking the napkins of well to do diners in West London and sticking them on Ebay, or just using the crumbs for sustenance. Always be vigilant, Spenny. You don’t want a less privileged person pinching a little of the lobster that just fell out of your well fed mouth.
Low level class warfare aside, Lucy confides to Spencer that she ‘does not get a good vibe’ from Josh, just as Josh is telling Stephanie that Spencer is ace, so he’s ‘already committed’ them to a double date. That’s a turn on, isn’t it? Someone who organises your romantic outings with the same sensibility as an HR manager locking down dates for a tribunal. But Stephanie is sweet about Spenny. ‘I owe him my friendship with Lucy’. Awwwww!
Arse worm Fran wriggles her way to drinks with Biscuits and Mytton, who has the audacity to say ‘I think Binky thinks people are conspiring against her. She doesn’t really accept her own wrongdoings.’ Urgh, he really is the anus to Fran’s parasite.
It’s time for ‘Meeting Spenny’s sexy lady drinks!’ And it’s taken me almost eight series, but I’ve finally figured out why social events in Chelsea always look delightful. The bar is, at best, half empty. No-one has to queue, no-one is sweaty, no-one is resentfully clutching their balled up ‘good’ coat that their Mum bought them from Karen Millen, or anxiously clamping an elbow over a handbag because they’ve already had two iPhones nicked this year. The rich are different. When they’re drinking, they get to sit down. Andy wears a thick navy jumper and claims he’s working ‘the bear look’ - good luck with that one down Old Compton Street - and Lucy and Josh studiously ignore each other until Josh breaks and shrieks ‘WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME!?’ Relaxing.
Spencer fetches Lauren and parades her around like that mad Texan woman who went on tour with Lady Di’s dresses. He claims that she’s plagued by exes, so he takes her to meet Stephanie and Lucy. Classy, Matthews. ‘I think we’ve all managed to find…peace? Is that right?’ he pleads, as Stephanie’s look said ‘I would bash your head in with the Belvedere but you’re not worth paying bottle service for.’ Stephanie has not forgiven or forgotten. ‘We didn’t get the gym body, we got the shitty end of the stick! And we got cheated on!’ You get the sense that she would have felt better about the rampant sex had Spenny provided her with abs.
Rosie releases her fashion range, announcing ‘I’d say the collection is very much inspired my my style,’ like a chef telling everyone that they decided to go into that particular line of business after realising they liked to eat. We learn Biscuits is not impartial to a little cross dressing, and Binky learn’s about the unholy Frytton alliance. ‘Is she going to start fucking him as well?’ she shrieks at Biscuits. Um, well, Binks, you know The Human Centipede…? Biscuits suggests that they make it up over a picnic. It’s as if he’s never met his own friends.
In further drag news, Louise has decked Buddy out in blue eyeshadow and a zebra print dog onesie for a conference call with Alik. Tiff is, according to Sam, ‘going well’. The bois have a fairly sexist chat about their partners, and say ‘bird’ a lot, as well as ‘I thought she kept you under lock and key.’ Happily they’re out getting their revenge - Stephanie is telling Lauren all about the time Spencer sneaked a waitress’s number when he was at dinner with Lucy, and then slept with her as Lucy flew home. ‘If he ever says thinking of you with an x, he’s cheated on you. When he does reverse psychology on you, he’s cheating on you. When his phone dies, he’s cheated on you,’ concludes Stephanie grimly. ‘I can’t change him, the change has to come from within’ is Lauren’s only comment. I’ll say this for Spenny, the girlfriends are slowly getting wiser.
Binky bumps into Fran, who is defensive and rude. ‘Alex thinks that when you feel guilty about something, you deflect the blame from someone else. You’re blaming me because you’ve chosen not to tell people things.’ Binky lets her have it with a slammed door and a shudder inducing line about how it was Fran’s fault for deciding to spend the night with Sam’s hand down her pants.’ Don’t be a slutshamer, Binks, but still - utterly bloody Fran.
Bloody hell, they’re all off to a gig in Brixton. ‘I’ll have four cham…BEERS, please, MATE,’ says Biscuits, authentically. Sophie claims she’s picky about bands - remember this is the same Sophie that spent her birthday dressed as the banned DVD cover of Das Booty. Biscuits does a quick moshing demo. ‘You have to do this’ he gurns ‘and then say ‘What’s up!’ No, you really, really don’t.
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Fran has slunk to the gig with Alex, who presumably carried her in his big stupid rancid vulture beak. She confronts Tiff and Sam, who are having a lovely time, and says ‘I definitely don’t feel like the most popular person tonight.’ OH, CRY US A SHITTING OCEAN. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, not to get into people’s beds. I just wanted to make peace.’ There are people living in caves with their gun collections who are better at pursuing peace than Fran is.
Mytton then brings Fran over to poor Binky, smugly chuntering ‘I think you guys need to have a chat.’ OH, FUCK OFF. I am so angry at Alex that I’m…hungry. I think the anger has burned through my MIC snack hummus. Echoing us two seconds ago, Binky cuts them off to say ‘Fran, fucking cry me a fucking river. if you don’t like it you can move out. I don’t want to live with you.’ Hurrah! Maybe Alex and Fran will be forced to leave and take part in a spin off reality show where they try, and fail, to find housemates, because they are so awful. It can be called ‘Boo! BOOOOOOO!’
More cheerfully, it ends with Lauren affirming her faith in South West London’s most serious shagger. ‘The Spencer they talk about isn’t the Spencer I know. I don’t want to change you.’
‘Thank you for the trust,’ he replies, as if he has performed pioneering surgery to save a sick child’s life instead of temporarily abstaining from putting his penis into all available spaces. Still, it would be nice if this one finally worked out. Legs crossed!
Hero of the week
For all his daft picnic chat, let’s give it to Jamie Biscuits for being bold in his enthusiasm for women’s clothes, and bringing drag to prime time on a Monday night. As a point of importance, this does not change the house attitude towards men with topknots.
Villain of the week
Frytton, because…because…EURGHHHH. I feel personally angry and betrayed and now I have to take a shower, and I’ve run out of Korres. Mytton has the worst ratio of hair to remorse I have ever seen on a human man. And now I can’t stop thinking about Sam’s hand in Fran’s pants, either. Urgh. You have made it a terrible day for unwanted imaginings.
Follow Daisy on Twitter @NotRollerGirl
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.