Who'd have thought we'd get a resolution to the "Who's the daddy?" storyline this early in the series? Turn away now if you missed the show on Friday and don't want to know which sperm won the race to Sophie's egg.
I assumed they'd let this one run until the end of episode six, knowing they can tackle the fallout in the already confirmed series seven. But, following a DNA test, Friday night saw the revelation that Mark is the man who sired Sophie's unborn baby, despite Jeremy's claim that he would surely win "the sperm war".
Dramatically, this is going to thwart Mark in a way he's never been thwarted before – and there is almost nothing funnier than a thwarted Mark. On hearing the news of his paternity he smashed his fists ineffectually against the new boiler, demanding it comply with his order to cool down. Ironic. But, as one friend pointed out, what if Sophie just told Mark he was the dad because, between him, Jeremy and late entrant Jeff, Mark is the most responsible and likely to keep his saddle on the alimony pony?
Meanwhile, Jeremy made another of his misguided, largely dishonest attempts to woo a new woman. Elena, the beauteous brunette from downstairs, turned out to be a drug dealer – Jez's perfect woman. Despite making a total prat of himself at the chat-up stage, he managed to lure her into his studenty grief hole with a promise of a go on his bongos.
It never ceases to amaze me how Jeremy's cack-handed seductions so often succeed. Nancy, Big Suze, Sophie and Elena are all way out of the league of someone who can't hold down a job and yet still labours under the illusion he's the new Aphex Twin. The romantic storylines are an essential part of Peep Show but they're the only element that really betrays the fact that the writers are men. Sure, Mark and Jeremy never keep the girl, but the fact that they get any girl in the first place (particularly the pin-ups they're currently romancing) feels like something of a stretch.
It's also surprising that Robert Webb, who recently presented an episode of My Life in Verse, completely failed to mention his character's astonishing talent for poetry. Jeremy's stirring poem on the war in Iraq – Fuck you, Bush – really was quite unlike anything I've heard before. It's a wonder the set designers didn't opt to paint Jez's bedroom walls black and strew the surfaces with joss sticks, so perfectly does the writing capture his arrested development.
Favourite moments this week:
Mark looking at Jeremy in the supermarket and thinking: "He actually thinks he has suave spermatozoa."
Mark impotently screaming at the new boiler: "Obey my commands, Orac!" (one for Blake's Seven fans.)
Jeremy thinking to himself as he wooed Russian neighbour Elena: "Yeah, Russian men are probably all infertile. Thanks Chernobyl."
Jeremy telling Mark he'd been lying about the paternity test results: "You can hit me if you like. Or fork me." Mark: "I don't want to fork you, Jeremy." Jez: "Fork my leg."
Did episode two do it for you?
