The 'Love Island' Week That Was

Come on now – we're six weeks in, you know how it goes: we look back semi-fondly at the Love Island week that was and stud the analysis with tweets so you don't have to do too much reading. It's Friday! I don’t want to read on a Friday! Come on! SHOW BABBY MEMES—

Who are you mate, and what do you want? Over the course of this season, Michael has had the most undulating journey, shown the most faces of man – first person to be pied at the opening coupling, coiner of the phrase "it is what it is"; friend and protector of Yewande when coupled up with her during all the Danny shit; slow-burn Amber heart-melter, laughing in beanbags. And then the heel-turn: Casa Amor, Joanna, "sit down", finding everything he wanted in the villa but not leaving when she did.

Now he's back, still in tight jeans but changed slightly, attempting meek and sweet after a fortnight of being a completely proper bastard, and you can sort of see Amber leaning back into his orbit, smiling again, her tongue between her teeth. Just like they can't stop us all from storming Area 51 – you can shoot me, but you can’t shoot all of us! You can't shoot our spirit! – enough of us together can rage that villa, climb the walls and peel Michael away from Amber. I will take you by your little ears and drag you through the streets—

This third or fourth-iteration Michael is inspired, of course, by the addition of Greg, an incredibly charming "what if Conor McGregor wasn't a goth?" Irishman sent in there specifically to cheer Amber up, like a sort of sexy muscular therapy dog. Haven't seen a lot from him so far – he's had two dates and about three minutes of screen time, and it took me two full episodes to notice he had a tattoo – but his highlight so far, in fact one of the series' highlights so far, was his first interaction with Maura.

"Are you Irish?" she yelled (she is always yelling. I am in love with her.), to which he said, "Yeah." "Where?" "Limerick." And then they both made a full ten seconds of what I can only call "Irish noises", speaking at and over and through each other in a lingua franca that sounded alien to all but the very most Irish of ears. I like Greg, is what I'm saying. I hope he cucks Curtis so hard he performs a sort of sobbing, farewell cha-cha out on the deck.

Finally, it seems, the horny bubble has burst, and all the shagging I've been asking for – no, sorry, demanding – for the last few weeks has happened. Sort of? I think? I honestly don't know.

Jordan tickled Anna with an Ann Summers-issue feather-in-a-plug and they had a conspiratorial conversation post-hideaway about how they hadn't had sex (the greatest marker ever that they actually, you know, had sex), while Curtis and Maura— look, listen. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about Curtis having sex. He has the sexual allure of a council tax reminder. But in the past six weeks he seems to have snake-charmed two entire women into touching his dick on television, and we have to confront that fact.

He whispered "naughty girl" underneath a pulsating duvet. He had his socks on throughout. He whispered "there was some thrusting" inaudibly to Tommy* beneath a cushion. This isn’t the shagging we wanted, but it is the shagging we deserve. Curtis is having sexual contact with someone. If you're going through a dry spell, this information alone should be enough to get you to re-download Tinder, leave the house this weekend and go and get something.

* Tommy, by the way, did some light-to-heavy fingerwork on telly maybe two, three full weeks ago, and since then… nothing. He even walked into the hideaway in swimming shorts and went out there only having cuddled. Has he gone off shagging, or something? Is he training for another boxing match? Are they putting bromide in the water to suppress everybody's sex appetites? The last great mystery for Reddit nerds to try and solve on r/conspiracy: Where. Has. Tommy. Fury's. Dick. Gone.

They're there, aren’t they! They’re definitely there. Having a go. Saying things. I mean, obviously I’m glad of the addition of India – a funny new brunette for arguably the two best boys, Ovie and Chris, to squabble over* – and you really have to say: Harley is in there, too. I suppose it really does put this whole charade into sharp focus, doesn't it. Remember Callum? Remember Lavena? Maria? Stevie? All of these people breeze into our lives, consume them entirely for a few days, then float off again, forgotten to all but the Wikipedia page I just checked and am thankful for whoever is maintaining. You had a go, Harley, is what I'm saying. And I thank you for trying.

* Though come the fuck on, Chris, mate. On one hand: I laud the bravery of going up against Ovie in a sexual combat arena. On the other hand: is it the greatest act of self-sabotage ever committed to screen? You're not winning against Ovie, are you? Come on. Just make sure you give up in a timely manner before you embarrass yourself.

Please someone tell me how Ovie opened a Coke can so powerfully that I clicked about five places up the Kinsey Scale??? Please??? Can someone tell me, please??? Please???

@joelgolby