Made in Chelsea/St Andrews

Monday night. The void between finishing off that stressful 1000 word history ‘o fart essay and waiting for Ebony and Ivory at Ma Bells. Tonight we give our Barbours and Hunters a rest, not leaving our humble Hope Street abode. The television is pulled out from the closet, given pride of place as the honiez assemble. We are now ready for an emotional rollercoaster of blood, sweat, and, where there’s Louise, there’s tears. I am of course talking about Made in Chelsea, the marmite of television shows.

Breaking the aforementioned stereotypes, I am an avid admirer of the show, ranking it up there with such greats as The Inbetweeners and The Office. If you’re laughing in disgust at this, then I’m guessing you’ve never bore witness to an episode. That, Sir or Madam, makes you everything you hate about the show.  On the other hand, if you’re sitting smugly, having made it this far, thinking you’re above it, then I’m just going to say you’ve really just got the wrong end of the carbon rod. Yes, they spend far too long sitting in cafes. Yes, they spend far too long concerned with life’s trivial matters. Yes, there’s more drama than is ever necessary, but that is what makes it wonderful. The sheer lack of thought that goes into every encounter, the awkward silences we’re made to endure, and, above all, the constant need for a partner, a party and attention. Sound familiar?

As we sit in front of the television revelling in the awkward misfortune of our beloved cast, one can’t not be drawn into comparisons to home. A veteran of ‘that’ night in the lizard: pumped up on alcohol, unable to think more than five minutes into the future, thrown at the guy you see everywhere and can’t help but notice. In the heat of the moment, nothing can go wrong. He must have me and we shall be one. Unfortunately though, things do not always go to plan. Before long I’m aisle-dodging in Tesco like there’s no tomorrow. Now imagine having to go up to that person to talk about last night’s events. Even better, imagine a friend. There we have the brilliance of the show. Replace the library with a coffee shop, or Taste with a cocktail bar, the Lizard with Mahiki, and the Kingdom of Fife isn’t that far away from SW3. They may be frivolous, lack a sense of reality and possess somewhat questionable social skills, but it’s these imperfections that make the show what it is. 

Admittedly there are moments of frustration, with which even the most hardened MIC fans struggle. As with all things, however, you have to take the rough with the smooth. To appreciate the magically awkward highs, you have to contend with the rather pompous lows. Would you want too much of a good thing? I’m not going to get all up in your grill about it. For many of you I’ll be preaching to the choir. But if you’re yet to sample the joys of MIC, I’d recommend just one episode. It’ll be like that ‘quiet night out’ you’ll remember for years to come.