My favourite thing about Married at First Sight Australia (weeknights, E4) is the final word of the title, which feels like the programme makers are making a point. It suggests the grumpy landmass of Australia has just said, "Look, there is no such thing as people getting 'married at first sight'," and the programme makers are responding to this Antipodean cynicism with a firm, "Oh no? Check this out. These people are Married at First Sight, Australia."

Of course, the first four words of the title are actually a lie. Because my other favourite thing about Married at First Sight Australia is that the people in it, unlike other international variants, can’t actually get married. Australian law forbids such whimsical television foolishness. (The country is, after all, home of the most romantic television wedding ever, that of Scott and Charlene.) So instead the various couples simply have a commitment ceremony, of the sort that you could, in reality, hold for your cats. (That’s my weekend plans sorted.)

At the start of the series a bunch of relationship experts pair up some confused Australians who agree to be “married”. The participants and experts both keep referring to the show as an “experiment”. I suspect that repeatedly using the word “experiment” has some important legal purpose. Presumably defining it thusly means the participants can no more sue the programme makers than some algae can sue a lab technician. That said, I’ve encountered more self-aware algae than some of the people on this show. (Dan, for example, is what you’d get if you drew stubble on a steak and then taught it how to lie to people.)

As experiments go, the results are a little predictable (spoiler alert: none of the people from the earlier series of Married at First Sight are still “married”), but then social scientists regularly write papers in which they prove the obvious (kicking people makes them feel sad; we suspected it, but we haven’t conclusively proved it with a longitudinal study before).

Ireland’s Fittest Family: Hanging from a log suspended over a filthy trench. Perfect metaphor for 2021

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Seeing a bunch of effete English people in a stately home in Ireland is quite triggering

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Patrick Freyne: It is now late-period Dermot Bannon. He is on the verge of losing it

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In Bling Empire people hang out of cars with their shirts off. Big deal. I did that in Newbridge

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In keeping with other recent dating-show phenomena, the people here have the type of very modern jobs that Mr Benn would struggle to find costumes for – barista, radio announcer, healthcare consultant, office administrator – and they are largely glossy, pouty or beefy and, because it’s Australia, often barefoot and in shorts. (Yes, Australians “marry at first sight” as well as anyone else, but barefoot and in shorts.)

Their emotions are usually heralded by erratic drums or melancholy piano arpeggios. Do the emotions trigger the music or does the music inform the emotion? I know when I hear mournful piano music I stare sadly out the window and when the erratic drums begin I quickly instigate a fight with a loved one.

Anyway, this week the following things happened:

Mike and Heidi babysit Heidi's friend's children Riley and Bambi. Mike arranges a treasure hunt for the kids but, sadly, does not rename Riley and Bambi with proper names like Mairead and Colm. Also, the word "hunt" is triggering to Bambi because of the film.

Meanwhile, Susie believes she has figured out a lot about the care and maintenance of a Billy. “I think I’m really starting to get a good idea of how to treat Billy and what works with him and what doesn’t,” she says while Billy looks uncomfortable.

Then her father arrives, and he is terrifying. He decides to give Billy helpful relationship advice. “I tell you now, if you cannot handle her you are a dead man,” is the type of thing Susie’s father says. And: “You’re too weak. You’re way too weak. You’re just not strong enough to do this.”

By the end of the programme Billy is a broken man, weeping, bitter and intent on getting a pretend divorce from his pretend wife. “This is the worst thing that ever happened to me in my life,” he says, reasonably.

Elsewhere, Martha takes her “husband”, Michael, to a family lunch where he learns from her Uncle Dave that “you don’t just marry Martha, you marry the whole family”, which if meant literally would be no more grotesque than the premise of this programme.

Nic is upset because someone stole the “k” from his name and also because his brother-in-law Ivan has told him he’s not good enough for his sister, Nic’s “wife” Cyrell, and asked him to leave the house. So he goes outside and sits forlornly in the grass in the front garden like a four-year-old.

Mark spices up his “marriage” to Ning by giving her some time on her own, after which they kiss in bed together, just the two of them and their camera crew. Yes, when a man and a woman and a small production team love each other very much, sometimes they create a franchise.

We also meet the aforementioned Dan, who is, quite literally, a wide boy. (He’s very wide, thanks to protein shakes and enwidening exercises.) He plots an extra-“marital” affair with Jessika (who presumably stole the k from Nic) yet is still affronted by another character’s suggestion that he might not be sincere. He’s very sincere. Sincere about lying.

Jessika, on the other hand, is doing her best to manipulate her hapless “spouse”, Mick, with fake kindness and suspicious smoothies while planning a liaison with her one true love, wide stubbled beef (Dan).

If this were an Alfred Hitchcock film, Jessika would definitely be poisoning those smoothies. As it's a worthy television "experiment" I assume they would only let a participant poison Mick for an episode or two before stepping in and writing an academic paper on it ("Poison makes people sad: a longitudinal study").

Like all self-satisfied manipulators, Jess is really terrible at deceit, unable to stop herself twirling an invisible moustache and rubbing her manicured fingers together like Gollum. As it is, Mick thinks the smoothie tastes funny. (I feel I should clarify for legal purposes that the poison is purely metaphorical.)

If I was reviewing this programme a year ago I’d probably have lamented how, in the olden days, the relationship between husband, wife, soundman, lighting director and cameraperson was pure and real. But now, in 2021, all I can hope for all of you is that you have a love as enduring and rewarding as that between Jessika with a ‘k’ and Mick and wide stubbled beef. I imagine all of us, single or in couples or thrupples or married to someone’s entire family, dream of relationships that involve restaurants and going outside.