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Put the boot into Chelsea.

Byline: Jenny Eclair

WHILE I'm a Celeb's Hugo has been in Oz, I've been keeping an eye on his London chums. I love Made in Chelsea because by comparison I feel like Mother Teresa!

MIC is an orgy of self-obsession. There is no conversation that doesn't involve feelings or relationships... never have so many people thought so much about so little. It's great!

This week Millie (the Quality Street heiress) had to have her dog fostered because she's not allowed dogs in her building (wouldn't you think to ask?) Cue freak rare-breed pup being limo'd away, complete with his previous owner's designer shoe as a sort of stiletto doggie-chew memento ...while Millie cried special invisible, dry tears.

TANTRUMS The other thing Millie did this week apart from shop and "paaarteh" was say horrible bitchy things to a girl called Victoria, whom she accused of looking like Cruella de Vil, a dog and a drag act.

I tell you, she wouldn't last two minutes in Peckham with that kind of potty mouth.

Every season Made in Chelsea introduces new, slightly younger, cast members, possibly to make the original cast members feel paranoid and old.

Certainly golden boy Spencer has had his nose put out of joint by Andy, the new mop-topped alpha male on the block.

Andy has so riled Spencer that he's taken to having David Brentlike tantrums in the watering holes of SW3. Bliss! Everyone behaves really atrociously but simultaneously impeccably.

There is swearing but it's done so poshly it doesn't sound like swearing, which kind of defeats the object of the exercise.

In fact, I'm rather pleased I'm common enough to swear properly!

Anyway, one of my favourite scenes this week was an awkward "mothers of the regulars" having lunch together.

Binky, Cheska (yes, really) and Ollie's mummies all met up in yet another white-napkinned joint, only to turn "Mafia" when Jamie (who had been mean to Binky) walked in.

Binky's mum told Jamie she'd like to kill him for spurning her daughter. They might look all blow-dries and cashmere, but hell hath no fury like a Chelsea Mum.

Jamie babbled a bit and left, possibly to buy a hat for yet another fancy dress party.

This week's theme was prohibition, although Francis (rich but unfortunate) obviously didn't know what prohibition meant and arrived wearing an Austrian Tyrolean titfer... and hence saw the girl he fancied snog the man with the best name ever: Proudlock!

Keep up!

No one in MIC has anything that resembles a real job. In fact I don't know why they don't give up any pretence of adult responsibility whatsoever and instead spend every programme running around Chelsea playing kiss-chase.

To spice things up a bit, guess who fancies coming over from South London to play? Me! Now that would really make them run!


Ire...Binky and Billie's mothers
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Title Annotation:Features; Opinion, Column
Publication:Sunday Mirror (London, England)
Date:Dec 2, 2012
Previous Article:God save us from the likes of Hugh.
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