Made in Chelsea – TV review

The ghastly but gorgeous stars of Made in Chelsea are, like, literally fascinating

• Made in Chelsea on 4oD

If watching The Only Way is Essex is like going to a city farm – you know, with cows and pigs and stuff, quite nice, but also familiar because you've almost certainly encountered these creatures in other places – then Made in Chelsea (E4) is like going to the zoo proper. Ridiculously beautiful (and beautifully ridiculous) animals strut and rut, groom and preen. Birds of paradise, peacocks, cockatoos – anything with cock in it, basically. And tigers, sharks and snakes. Even the foxes and rats are exotic, expensive shiny ones. Nothing here is like anything you come across in the real world, outside London SW3.

Right, what's going on then? There's a party in Jamie's hotel suite: loads of fizz, pillow fights, strip poker, girls – possibly Binky and Cheska, I'm not entirely sure – in the bath. (I love that kind of party; why is it that I've never been to one?) Next day there are sore heads for Jamie, Proudcock, Andy. And pants in champagne glasses, plus a visit from Jamie's accountant, who says Jamie is spending too much – living in a £2,500-a-night hotel, plus Mahiki and all that, he needs to make cuts. Except that Jamie is heir to the McVitie's biscuit empire, so he doesn't really need to make any cuts at all. Hahaha.

The aftershocks of Spencer's cheating on Louise, and Millie's slapping of him, still rumble on. It's pretty much all anyone is talking and thinking about. "Like I'd literally never slapped anyone like that ever," Millie tells the girls over cocktails at Beaufort House (note to self: hang out more at Beaufort House). "Like I never like thought that would happen." That's Millie Mackintosh the confectionery heiress, like literally toffee-nosed. It's a cruel irony that these skinny thoroughbreds got so filthy rich by stuffing us plebs full of sweets and biscuits. Well, their grandaddies did. Now they have to do, like, literally nothing. Except drink champagne, and cheat on each other, and slap each other, and obsess over their silly lives, and say "like" and "literally" a lot.

Wait, though, Mark Francis is working. He's been asked to edit an arty magazine. He and Victoria are at the Design Museum looking for ideas and inspiration. "OK, so where does it start?" Victoria asks. "It's started, I'm working, we're working right now." "No way!" "Yeah!" "Oh my God, high five, we're both working people!" Jobs, what a laugh!

These are ghastly, ghastly people – vacuous, petty, dull, offensive. But there is kind of open-mouthed fascination in watching MiC. It's about incredulity more than anything else, tinged with just a hint of jealousy and lechery. Well, they are rather splendid to look at. Can you sponsor them, like meerkats at the zoo? No, they hardly need the money, that would be wrong. Follow them on Twitter then, that's the nearest we're going to get to them. I do, I'm afraid. Well, Millie – she's, like, literally my favourite.

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• This article was amended on 9 April 2013. It originally contained a review of BBC1's The Prisoners, which was replaced in the schedules by a programme about Margaret Thatcher, following her death.

Contributor

Sam Wollaston

The GuardianTramp

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