Kendall departs as Love Island becomes a hyper-extended funeral of everybody's hopes and dreams

The descent of utopian paradise into dystopian nightmare is a theme that accounts for around a sixth of all mankind’s artistic endeavour and to that bold canon can now be added Love Island Series Four.

It was meant to be a static carnival of bimbos and himbos under the baking sun, low on cares and high on frottage-maximisation “challenges” and yet here we are at the end of week one, and already it’s a hyper-extended funeral of everybody’s hopes and dreams.

And for that one person is to blame. Adam, Sculptor of Guns, Destroyer of Worlds, and a man who seems to think that Fanny by Gaslight is less a Victorian melodrama and more a life motto, has now arrived at his true vocation - Love Island contestant - and everybody else must bear the cost.

For Mozart, it was the piano. For Adam, it psychologically undermining women.

Blessed with all the trustworthiness of a money changer at an African border, he is less a person, more some sort of obscure gadget for measuring the speed at which women can be made a convenience of, to be stored away in the shed between the plumb bob and the mini mattock.

A short precis of his time thus far would read thus: Can I have kiss please – no – you’re insecure – can I have a kiss please – no – you’re an overthinker – can I have a kiss please – no – oh look there’s someone else over there can I have a kiss please – yes- did you hear that she said yes so you can go home now thanks

Indeed, at this stage it would be unwise to rule out the possibility he is not even human. Certainly, his contribution thus far makes greater sense if viewed through the prism of Adam as sophisticated sex robot sent back through time to change the future for one very, unlucky lady.

When she has a chance to look back, it may be that shoe shop manager Kendall, who bears every outward resemblance to a decent, functioning and generally quite pleasant human being, will regret being transformed into an ambulant tearduct for at least 117 of her 120 hours of fame, by a man who, having failed to undermine her into kissing him with all the sophisticated techniques of northern club circuit hypnotist, then decided she had to go home instead.

Kendall, if you’re reading this (please be reading this), there are some truths you should hold to be self evident. When a chap you’ve known for three days, all of which have been spent under the unrelenting glare of 65 high definition cameras, is begging you to kiss him, bravely uttering the word “no” does not make you “insecure” or an “overthinker.” It makes you not yet fully estranged from your own basic human dignity, an item which you may be the first and last Love Island contestant able to proudly stow in the overhead lockers on your journey home.

And let’s be frank. That it should be Kendall and not Hayley to have departed is an outrage that is unlikely to be surpassed.

In brief flashes on Friday’s episode there appeared evidence that Eyal may be more than a collection of swimming trunks with human attached, and his cipher-like existence thus far could in fact be the result of having been imprisoned under the immovable boulder of granite-brained Hayley.

Admittedly, his burgeoning philosopher credentials were undermined by his bellowing across the garden at Jack, “I saw ya! F*ckin’ neckin’ on! F*ckin’ neckin’ on!” but people will always do what they can to fit in.

(Dani, by the way, has now relented and is snogging Jack for reasons of her own survival, their sudden proximity reminiscent of cursed early explorers of the Antarctic, discovered decades later spooning their last in some frozen crevass.)

That Hayley had taken more than four days to learn the name of the man she was sharing a bed with was at least finally set in some kind of context when she breezily made clear she has never even heard the word “Brexit” and in so took the view that it must be “something to do with trees.”

There is no level of mocking to which this incident has not already been subjected, and thus I decline to add my own but it should be made clear. Samira’s eyes widen in disbelief. Dani buries her head in disgust. Georgia knows that it concerns welfare and trade, both of which are absolutely correct. It is only Hayley who is entirely unaware of what Brexit is or means, and as such the whole exchange is very much the same as when the subject is raised in front of David Davis at cabinet.

To watch Hayley’s Panicked Survival Tour around the garden, suddenly telling Eyal she loves him, and seeing if the Eyal/Jack swap deal with Dani could perhaps be re-brokered was to be reminded of one of those old Dr Robert Winston documentaries on childhood psychology.

It is roughly at the age of two that human beings learn to grasp the concept that other people have, quite literally, a different perspective on the world – that their eyes are in a different camera position. It is from this Eureka moment that the game of hide and seek can be seen to develop, entirely organically. From there grows the capacity, which is rare in nature, to understand that other people have different lived experiences, different feelings, different emotions.

And yet, as Hayley tottered round the villa, unable to fathom that Eyal, Jack, Dani or indeed anyone else does not merely exist on earth to facilitate the best available outcomes for her, it was hard not to question whether or not she is yet to make it beyond this developmental landmark that in most people comes just before the advent of potty training.

That Eyal chose to save her was an outrage for which he will have to offer justification in the coming days, trapped as he still will be under her woeful presence. Already viewers are shouting ‘fix’. But walk a mile in the man’s flip flops first. What does saving Kendall do, beside extend the Adam oriented psychodrama for another week. Sadly, and through no fault of her own, Love Island will be a happier place without her.