Like a perfect cross between Carry On and Eurotrash, the Jilly Cooper classic starts with a couple bonking on a Concorde – and only ramps up from there. Brace yourself for a supremely fun time

I’m going to go out on a limb here and state that no television series in history has been able to communicate exactly what it is faster than Rivals. Its opening shot is a man bonking a red-stilettoed woman in the toilet of a Concorde to the rhythm of Robert Palmer’s Addicted to Love, while the passengers outside eat prawn cocktails and chain-smoke like their lives depend on it. At the moment of climax, the plane goes supersonic, a champagne bottle pops its cork and everyone cheers. From this point onwards, you can’t say you didn’t know what you were in for.

There was a feeling, when it was announced that Jilly Cooper’s novel was being adapted for Disney+, that it would automatically be drained of fun. Those fears were unfounded. Watching this show is like drinking the very essence of Cooper, distilled and concentrated. It is a cavalcade of nudity and terrible wigs, an orgy of knowing bad taste. If such a spectrum existed, you would place Rivals between the Carry On movies and Eurotrash.