It’s the autumn so it’s back to the interminable tv blockbusters, Strictly and X Factor. Add another to that list – The Apprentice now with 20 candidates wanting a £250,000 Sugar Daddy which means it’ll probably be 2015 before we find out which of the wannabe semi-rich and nearly famous at any price desperate ones gets the final finger. Sigh. I can’t help thinking that this is yet another programme well past its sell-by date. Like Big Brother it started out as an interesting experiment and has just become a sad parody of itself. And the biggest saddo is bloody Sugar himself.
He drives me nuts. Almost as much as the bloody sycophantic BBC who opened the show with an introduction that went something like ‘In a City built on commerce, one man stands out; a corporate heavyweight’. Blimey that’s a big claim for a bloke who built Amstrad and ran Tottenham HFC during a pretty fallow period. And then we get the fawning over his bloody title; it was bad enough when everyone had to call him ‘Sralan’ but now it’s yes Lord Sugar, no Lord Sugar, three bags full (of sugar?) Lord Sugar. Why doesn’t anyone just call him plain Alan? What the worst that could happen? It’s not just a respect thing, he seems to have a frigging ego as big as that Lady Penelope car he drives around in.
Last night he tried to be funny at least twice and failed miserably. Was the team name Summit, summat that somebody jut thought up? he asked, echoing a line that one of the candidates had cracked two minutes before, but without the comic timing. He also made a crack about penguins in the Arctic. Wrong ice-cap Alan mate. Then he sacked some bloke who’d made a clanger over t-shirts but at least he didn’t sell them for £50 to the printer who’d sloganed them up for £150 as the girls did. Er..where was the business logic there? And the woman who was Project Manager of the girls team was just hideously ineffective. She tried to sell toilet brushes to London Zoo to clean penguins (maybe the rare Arctic variety). They resisted her charms; quelle surprise. Would you seriously consider giving her a £¼ million? No me neither.
I couldn’t watch it tonight; I’ve already lost the will to do so. In fact I’m looking forward to the exploratory probe I’m having rammed up me on Friday more than one more episode of this tired old Sugar-love fest. Surely it’s time now to fire him and get Baroness Brady in the chair. Or Karren to you and me.