The honeymoons are over, folks! These poor bastards got four days to undertake some conflict-causing holiday activities (horse-riding, crocodile canoeing, bed-sharing) before being rushed right back to the real world.
My spidey senses tell me that all of these couples gave it up (sexually) on their honeymoons, though rudely none of them would tell us any juicy info about freaky peccadilloes such as dirty-talk, or post-sex crying.
Never mind, maybe that’ll come later, when they’ve stopped even pretending to like each other.
In Sydney, Christie’s packing to move to Mark’s Victoria farm, which will never work in a million years, no matter how many pairs of cowboy boots she packs.
She arrives, wearing the boots and a flannelette shirt, to pronounce that the house is like “going back in time.”
“It reminds me of my school,” she says, bafflingly.
Xavier is preparing to welcome Simone into his “man space”. He has done his hair in its best quiff and is wearing his tightest shorts. He’s ready.
He has neglected to make any space for her in his anally-organised wardrobe. He offers her some shelf space in his TV stand.
In Melbourne, Clare is preparing her French bulldog Dutchy for Jono's arrival. Clare conducts a conversation with the dog, but it's clear the canine is not actually responding but rather suffers sinus issues from years of selective breeding.
Clare has thoughtfully bought Jono a T-shirt to remind him of his honeymoon tantrum.
He pulls up in his ute, and he is still listening to Journey on a loop. Once inside, it's the moment of truth. Dutchy is so unimpressed she actually vomits, but that could be the breeding issue I mentioned earlier.
Also in Melbourne, Erin's packing up her childhood bedroom from which she hasn't budged in 25 years to move into Bryce's place. Her parents don't let her have boys sleep over yet.
Erin describes her mother as a "1950s housewife" and blames her for Erin not having learned "any of the skills that a normal 25-year-old should have".
Those must include packing, since she just appears to have slung a whole bunch of stuff over her arm. Nevertheless, she's impressed with Bryce's pad, and touched at his little gestures: a card, her favourite Milky Bar, and pink flowers.
"I die. I'm just dying," she tells him. She speaks as if she's on Instagram.
Meanwhile, across town (see what I did there?) Dutchy has stopped vomiting but still can't breath without snorting. It's useful for cute imagined conversations with humans, but not for respiration.
At bedtime, the couple encounters a setback. Clare, like a normal civilised human woman, conducts her toilette before bedtime: cleanse, tone, moisturise and brush teeth. Jono? Jono only cleans his teeth once a day, in the morning. Once clean Clare gets to the bedroom, he's snoring like Dutchy.
He is awakened in the morning by Clare's other dog, whose name I didn't catch (and whose nightwear is on point).