Mark Francis Vandelli is what makes Made in Chelsea worthwhile. The rest can witter on nonsensically and poke their noses endlessly into each others’ business (darlings, it’s none of your concern if ski-jump hair Alex cheated on Binky, now butt the eff out, you hags, and let her sort it out to her own satisfaction), which is why, when Mark saunters onto screen, I always do a little cheer.
Usually quite a loud cheer.
Mark’s obvious disdain for the boys, bare tolerance of most of the girls and just plain can’t be fagged with most of what’s going on is bloody great. And he says the absolute best stuff too, as he sorts out his collection of priceless grape scissors, wanders around Chelsea in some ridiculous getup with Queen Bitch Victoria by his side, or ponders which paintings he’ll hang in his west wing.
So I thought he deserved a post of his own, dedicated to his fabulous self, and his fabulous mouth. Take it away, Mark.