Marbella was once a docile and peaceful Spanish town. Then a Club 18-30 charter bus from Huddersfield arrived and all was changed forever. It's now the world capital for the fake-tanned and the stiletto clad. But enough of George Osborne. When it comes to the cast of shows like this – there's a few others, Desperate Scousewives, Geordie Shore, Buxton Bints – it's the only place to see and be seen. Routinely they parade up and down the promenade, showing themselves off to the gathered throng, their counterfeit perfumes spontaneously combusting in the heat. Sadly, no-one is consumed by a passing shark. Well they are, but when it realises what it's got in its mouth it spits them out pronto. It's the shark equivalent of us finding a plaster in a sausage. The Only Way Is Marbs is terrible TV. The only good thing is it makes you feel glad you've got a caravan. Ask yourself while watching, have the Spanish, in deep economic turmoil, not suffered enough?
