Jo Thornely recaps The Bachelor episode 12: Hamish Blake is a bad, bad boy

HE MADE the Bachelor take his pants off and sing songs to him on the toilet, but that’s not the real reason Richie shouldn’t have invited him on his date.

ROSES are red,

And toddlers are loud;

Everyone’s awesome,

But six is a crowd.

Okay, it feels like we’re on the home stretch now — the voiceovers are getting longer, people are over-using words like “connection” and “emotionally invested”, and producers are running out of ideas for dates that aren’t unbelievably stupid.

So let’s see ... in the highly liberated and progressive world of The Bachelor we’ve already tested the girls’ skills in raising babies, cooking, and picking up dry-cleaning, so when the effervescent and adorable Faith scores a single date, there’s really only one more feminist box to tick: Testing to see if she can handle your wingman Hamish Blake pretending to be a toddler.

His alphabetti spaghetti spells out ‘career pinnacle’.

“I’m a big fan of Hamish Blake” enthuses Richie. “He is the number one funnyman in Australia” he adds, causing us to batten down the hatches against an imminent “ha ha” tornado.

For the purposes of the date, but for no other discernible reason, Hamish is three-year-old Rory, who needs help eating, drinking, and going to the toilet.

Sorry, what?

Okay look, the supreme idiocy of the date concept is saved somewhat by Blake’s irreverence when he says things like “Is mummy the only girl for daddy?”

“I heard that my daddy’s type is blondes,” and the vaguely metaphorical: “do you like the icecream inside mummy?”

This could literally be car crash television.

The family stops at a cafe where Richie and Rory/Hamish both teach us all a very important lesson: Looks mean nothing if you have the personality of the last paper towel on the roll. Choose your wingman very carefully, because if he has an interesting and engaging personality, he can:

A) Have a tantrum and execute a table-flip:

From past experience, you should finish your wine before doing this.

B) Pour a full bottle of soft drink on the floor:

Coincidentally splashing five additional blondes.

C) Cop a squat and drop a ball:

Never strike a child.

And D) ask your date to take him to the toilet and sing a toilet song:

This one’s called ‘Urinal My Dreams’.

... and still end up being the best guy on the date.

Faith complains that if they didn’t have Rory/Hamish with them, they’d probably have kissed by now, proving that toddlers are indeed the world’s finest contraceptives.

Mind you, it doesn’t help if you’re the dud guy trying to pull the funny guy’s pants off. You’ve pretty much lost control of the whole situation by that point.

This changes the word ‘daddy’ completely.

Eventually Faith and Richie get some quiet couch time to chat, relax, and wonder why there still hasn’t been any obvious sponsorship of this show.

Hello Menulog, yes we would like three Menulogs and a bottle of Menulog please.

They chat about feelings and have a pash. It’s boring. Someone wake Hamish up.

The next day, scandalously, we learn that Richie didn’t give Faith a rose. Richie. The Rose-Sprayer. Didn’t give someone a rose. Kissing Faith and not giving her a rose is like driving her to the shops and not returning her with a full tank of petrol.

Probably, I don’t really get cars.

Still, there’s no time to waste as Token Brunette And Unofficial Commentator Rachael also gets a single date. Something’s up, though — there’s no motorised transportation as Rachael just wanders by foot to a different part of the garden to meet Richie.

The theme of the date is “the 5 senses”, and Richie says he’s come up with some interesting and quirky ideas, a lie that can be seen from space.

For “sight”, he pulls out a camera and suggests they take some selfies. Interesting. Quirky.

For “smell”, a fragrance specialist behind a hedge guides them through creating their own fragrance. They fiddle with different bottles and scents, and finally settle on a combination described by Rachael as having “lots of smells in there”.

It’s like a boy’s boarding school dormitory, but in perfume form. They name it “Richie Can’t Speak French” and move on.

“Touch” thankfully doesn’t involve any blindfolds, but Richie does offer one of his world famous foot rubs.

He got his technique down and everything, he don’t be ticklin’ or nothin’.

Regardless, she opts instead for a considerably less interesting and quirky hand massage, realising that without Hamish Blake there, there’s no point in doing anything interesting.

Careful not to drip oil on his Samuel L. Jackson.

“Taste” is a sushi picnic and Rachael eats a single piece, preferring raw fish to cooked haggis. Interestingly these are the only two food items that we’ve actually seen anyone put in their mouths in 12 episodes, not counting roses.

For “sound”, Richie reads Rachael a letter from her mother, including a bit about how she hopes she finds love. Here is my strong advice: On your second date with a guy, he should not read you a letter from your mother about anything, under any circumstances.

You think she’s sad now, wait until he reads her a text from her uncle.

Rachael senses that this might be a good time to tell Richie that he’s the diamond that she’s been waiting for. Richie senses that this might be a good time to say “ha ha”.

He doesn’t seem to think it’s a good time to hand out a rose or a pash, though. Richie. Mate. Who even ARE you?

The complete lack of roses makes the cocktail party a tense affair. Nobody knows who’s safe. Nobody knows who’s at risk. Everybody looks amazing. Olena, knowing I drew her in the office sweep, has even dressed as a ‘V’ for ‘Victory’.

But not a ‘B’ for ‘Bra’.

Not having had much camera time lately, Alex is happy for some White Rose Hideaway Time with Richie, having stashed a photo album full of photos of her son in the couch cushions.

There comes a time in every single mother’s life where she has to just bite the bullet, put on a pleather bustier, and ask a guy if he’s ready to be her step-baby-daddy.

As a busy mum, wipe-clean fabrics make a lot of sense.

Alex tells us to camera that she’s glad that wall is finally down, and we can only presume that she’s referring to that notoriously difficult eighth-time-you’ve-mentioned-your-son wall. It’s a toughie.

Richie doesn’t drop any clues as to whether he’s ready for the responsibility of vicarious parenthood yet, so by the time we get to the Rosatorium, nobody except Hamish Blake feels safe.

Osher, stern in a woven girder suit, paves the way for Richie to pave the girls’ pathways with rose-shaped bricks. It’s the least certain and most dragged-out rose ceremony of the series so far, but the endless close-ups and voice-overs are barely noticeable over the audible clenched sphincters of the Rosatorium — nay, the nation.

The edges of the primarily pale group are shaved away piece by piece until only Intruder Steph and Token Brunette Rachael remain.

For one of these girls, time is shorter than short shorts.

Days pass, and Steph is given her ticket home. For the first time in weeks, she is not stoked.

Bye, Steph. We’ll miss your ... your um ... your way of being stoked about stuff.

And as illustrated here, your excellent defensive boxing stance.

Jo Thornely doesn’t get enough attention at her day job, so she writes for various outlets, takes up way too much bandwidth on the internet, and loves it when you explain her jokes back to her on Twitter. Follow her @JoThornely or check out her Bachelor podcast.