Naomi – she had her knockers, but I thought she had a strong chance to be in the final three. Speaking of her norks, the producers, clearly aware that the blonde would be leaving the Fray, milked every cleavage shot they possibly could. This was the Naomi bosom show, and it was relentless. I felt sorry for her when she finally faced Sugar’s extended finger, in truth, as Simon had clearly ballsed up royally on so many accounts that I actually lost count and ran out of space as I took notes.
Yes – I take notes. I’m not anal, I do this for you.
Two teams of three were in it to win it. Naomi, Simon and Tre were in one team, doomed to fail and the other was made up of Katrina, Katie and Lohit. The latter is quite likely to win the whole thing, I think, unless Sir Alan is as homophobic as he is sexist.
Briefed at the BT Tower, that awful 60s-eyesore phallus, Alan told the gangs that this project was all about pricing and products. They were to sell items they’d selected on a shopping channel – the potential for disaster was lip-smackingly immense.
The shopping channel was based in glamorous Peterborough – pride of Cambridgeshire. Katie was quiet this episode, slinking into the background aside from one snipe at Kristina and some burbled bollocks about their target customer who she named ‘Mavis’. What is it with Katie’s need to personify everything? Remember ‘Jay’, the target market for the Jams? She’s the sort of twat who names her car ‘Lucy’ or something equally as pathetic. Alongside Katie’s nonsense, their seemed to be an inordinate amount of Simon acting like a walking, mechanised CV. ‘I’m a risk taker’. ‘I go out on a limb’. ‘I talk about myself endlessly even though I have the brain of an average 12 year old’. (I made that last one up, obviously). Tre was a silent man this time round, only popping his head in to be miserable occasionally, ending his sentences with those now dreaded words, ‘as such’. I get the feeling he’s had his brain replaced with n Amstrad email phone to impress Alan and his cronies.
When it came to selling, Kristina went solo, trying to sell a chocolate fountain (a talking point at any dinner party, so long as you live in the 70s) which looked like it was chugging out liquid plops. She then moved onto a ‘steam broom’. What you’d need one of those for, the good lord only knows. Kristina confirmed this, calling out ‘Jesus Christ!’ as her attachment fell apart, causing quite a flurry of stressed activity in the production room. In contrast, Katie and Lohit were natural – in fact, I think we’ve seen their future.
Tre and Naomi, taking instruction from a mute Simon, tried to sell the wheelchair he had procured which turned out to be their main source of profit. The wheelchair idea was roundly mocked, but it turned out to be Simon’s saviour, even despite Alan’s obvious contempt for the item. Tre was hilarious when caught on camera, looking simultaneously embarassed and terrified, walking off set at one point in sheer panic. Naomi managed well, on the basis of her presenting performance she shouldn’t have gone, but then you have to remember she chose a lorry-load of shit for Simon to sell, so it’s probably the fair choice.
Simon’s turn on camera was perhaps the funniest thing I’ve seen on reality TV since Tourette’s Pete fell in a swimming pool. Constructing a trampoline onscreen, he managed to screw the legs on the thing in such a way that it looked like he was indulging in a little do-it-yourself. I mean wanking. The crew fell apart laughing as he remained oblivious, turning his plastic phallus very calmly and announcing that anyone can have fun on it, kids, old people – anyone can jump on. Worth a good belly-laugh I thought, very Carry On…
Alan watched the whole lot on a monitor back in London and we were subject to his criticisms as he watched. This was a great idea, as it was essentially like watching yourself watching the Apprentice, but a version of yourself with curly white hair and messy beard. And an East London accent with peppered yiddish slang.
So, in the boardroom, Naomi copped the boot. I have to admit I agreed with Sugar’s summation. but felt Tre needed a much bigger kicking. The bloke skulked around in the background contributing nothing. At least Simon and Naomi applied themselves, Tre did naught but act like a petulant little sod who was having the worst birthday ever. Simon’s a lucky boy, but Sugar’s clearly taken a shine to the jammy little swine. Two weeks left… I shall be sad when it finally fucks off.