Charlotte Lytton is a second year English Literature and Philosophy undergraduate at the University of Birmingham. Television Editor of Redbrick paper, she has had her work published on The Guardian Online, Time Out Online and BBC Online amongst others. Charlotte blogs at www.charlottelytton.wordpress.com

Very few things make me embarrassed to be a Londoner, but new show Made in Chelsea has managed to buck the trend. The latest in a spate of UK-trotting reality TV, this latest venture down stereotype lane is unappealing to say the least. The characters are overblown, arrogant clichés, and with such an outpouring of viewer vitriol since the first episode aired, I don’t have much hope for this West London coterie.

The ‘action’ kicks off in swish club Raffles, where 19 year old socialite Amber Atherton is hosting a jewellery launch. In strolls the show’s leading lady Caggie (really), draped in some kind of dead creature, which promptly sends all the Hooray Henrys in attendance into a tizz. The central plotline of Made in Chelsea is soon revealed: Cags is lusting after childhood pal Spencer, and episodes to come will reveal whether or not this Bollinger swigging blonde can split her chum from his girlfriend. Goody.

Completing the cast is fledgling gossip columnist Cheska with gal pal Binky (yes, really) and mega metrosexual boy toy Ollie. The trio spend most of their time discussing his hair, guffawing, coming out with posh platitudes and guffawing some more. People have expressed concerns that this elitist bunch won’t have the same ditzy appeal as chavvy contemporaries The Only Way is Essex, but after revealing that it was in fact Charles Dickens who wrote  Winnie the Pooh, they need not have worried. Clearly a private education can’t buy you everything.

With newest reality endeavour Geordie Shore almost upon us, it seems as though TV execs have decided to forgo quality entertainment in favour of simply pinpointing new areas of Britain to ridicule. The loveable tangerine-faced rogues of Essex won us over with their endearing ignorance, but these pompous diamond-drenched Sloane Rangers have done anything but. Made in Chelsea is essentially a plotless, aimless wasted hour of one’s life that can sadly never be reclaimed. If only I had some Bollinger to soften the blow.