Made in Chelsea - and I wish it had stayed there.

I think I’m gonna be sad, I think it’s today yeah.... do you know why?  Because I put myself through an hour of agony and fury last night for no reason whatsoever.

Against my better judgement at 10.10pm I decided to stop listening to the Carpenters and watch the TWAT INFESTED Made in Chelsea and even now, 12 hours later, I am still suffering from indescribable rage.

In case you are lucky enough to not know what the hell I am talking about, Made in Chelsea is a reality tv show based (surprisingly) in Chelsea.  It was hot on the heels of The Only Way is Essex when it came out and prided itself on being basically the same show but with people called Proudlock and Binky instead of Ricky and Pat.  To put it bluntly, TOWIE might be ridiculous mong filled crap but Made in Chelsea is too - it just doesn’t realise it because it’s head is so far up its own ass it hasn’t seen daylight for a month.

The main storyline has always been how the terrifyingly arrogant Spencer loves the ‘loose, hippy-ish, mouthful of toffee/spunk’ Caggie, but she flits from man to man, country to country quicker than Judith Chalmers, always rebuffing his advances but pouting like a blowfish every time he attempts to move on and find someone else.  The rest of the cast are there to make parties look busy and to stare at each other for a REALLY LONG TIME when someone says something slightly inappropriate.

The biggest issue I have with this program is that 9 times out of 10 they aren’t even in Chelsea.  They spend most of their time on Embankment, the Cotswolds, skiing in France or poncing around St Tropez on a yacht.  At least TOWIE has the decency to base its show in Essex and not venture outside of it.  Made in Chelsea should be called Made in The World, as I don’t think I’ve seen one episode where they were in Chelsea the entire time? 

My second issue is with Spencer, the guy who used to look like Gaston from Beauty and the Beast on acid but has now undergone a makeover that has left him looking like a slightly fatter, calmer Spencer Pratt.  He has spent the current series waiting to find out who his friends fancy, then declaring his undying love for the same girl, warranting this by basically saying he has fucked these girls over before and is therefore entitled to a second go.  In last night’s episode, Spencer’s best friend Jamie confessed his attraction to Louise, who coincidentally is Spencer’s ex girlfriend and the girl Spencer has now decided he is still in love with.  There was an excruciating moment when Jamie and Spencer, together in the same bar, decided to call Louise and see who she answered the phone to – Louise didn’t answer either phone call and there was a brief second that restored my faith in humanity and gave me the impression Louise had worked out they are both over privileged goons, but then she shattered my hopes and dreams and rung Jamie back – a call he promptly ignored.

I know what you are thinking – why do I even care?  Well for a start, as much as the whole program makes me wish my family were too poor to own a tv, I really like Jamie – regardless of his insistence at saying “pardy” instead of “party”.  He’s funny and from what you can tell from the show, pretty genuine.  Spencer worms his way around London like a Viagra-d up Joey Barton, leaving his ejaculative slime over every drink, girl and surface he encounters on a daily basis and thinks he can get with anyone he wants.  Probably even LESBIANS.

Jamie got the girl.  The episode ended with Jamie and Louise awkwardly attempting an Oscar worthy kiss but instead resulted in Louise clinging onto Jamie’s face for dear life as he’s at least 4 foot taller than her.  Spencer watched this all from the door of the party, where he promptly stood looking absolutely crestfallen before flouncing out, unable to avoid the door hitting his ass as he made his swift exit.  Hugo (another mutual friend and basically the person Goofy would be if he was a real boy and not a cartoon dog) stood observing the situation with his lazy eye and his even lazier girlfriend, so lazy in fact she never opens her mouth wider than 2mm and has a voice like a slowly depleting whoopee cushion.  Caggie is nowhere to be seen and is never mentioned, which basically means a boy she met trekking round the arse end of India is probably balls deep inside her because they have known each other for longer than 6 seconds.  Millie (Professor Green’s girlfriend and probably the thickest of them all) had words with The Brain (Rosie) and watched the blue vein in her head pulse more and more until she burst all of the blood vessels in her eyes at the sheer cheek of Millie attempting to reconcile with her even though she slept with her boyfriend behind her back.  Gabriella, the new face of Proactiv and Jimmy Hill’s Italian, female body double, spent most of the episode laughing like a banshee, moaning like a bitch and wrecking various old buildings in Chelsea with her chin bone.  The rest of the cast need not to be mentioned, so I sincerely hope they aren’t on the payroll.

I will try not to watch the next episode, but I can’t promise anything – If I have run out of pins to stick into my eyeballs I may have no other choice.  If I ever see Proudlock’s gold earring dangling in the moonlight in my real vision, I will rip it out and staple it to his left eyeball.