Take the nooses down, drop the razor blades, take the electric heaters out of the bathroom and get off the edges of those very tall buildings – The Apprentice is back!
Starting tonight on BBC1, 16 idiotic, unimpressive hopefuls will compete in British television’s only watchable reality tripe to win a not-particularly-good job in a beige office in Brentwood. And I, for one, can’t bloody wait. Even the trailer’s amusing, with one of the contestants declaring ‘I would say I’m the best salesperson in… probably Europe’. The lack of self-awareness and bravado on display is already marvellous and it’s not even started yet. I suspect the production team talk them into making these kind of bullshit statements, touching them up with toadying comments, offering them redbull and injecting charlie into their pert young buttocks whilst they’re not looking.
For those of you who, like me, are chomping at the bit to watch this rubbish, you can click here and have a preview of the pin-stripe pricks lined up for your entertainment. In fact, while you’re here, let’s have a look at the pick of the bunch together.
ARGH! What the fuck?! What tree did they shake this weirdo from? I suspect it was the weirdo willow. With that clit-tickling beard, harsh parting and blank thousand yard stare, this bozo screams entertainment from the get-go. Your card’s marked, de-Lacy Brown!
She’s certainly winning me over on the pretty face front – but then we have a peek at Lindi’s credentials and see she’s achieved NVQs in Customer Services. Plural! Does that mean she’s worked in more than one branch of Specsavers? Well done, love.
They’re making these up aren’t they? ‘Separated from his wife – he still likes to spend time with his children’. You’ll not get any sympathy from me, Ian, especially not with that stern expression on your face. And have a word with your barber.
‘Bluuuuue Bjayoooou’ as squinty eyed crooner Roy Orbison once didn’t sing in the past. There seems to be a weird haircut competition going on here. Can anyone join in, Raef? Raef’s interests include Cognac.
Fiery redhead Jenny ‘is a stickler for detail’. She also has a very thin face and an unpronouncable name. Apparently she’s been named ‘Salesperson of the Year’ three times – but the source is unquoted. I’ve been named ‘Best Lover of the Year’ a record four times, by voices in my head whilst I’m having a Tommy Tank. IT MEANS NOTHING, JENNY.
I’m running out of steam over here… there’s SIXTEEN of the bastards. SIX bloody TEEN.
Eight now, eight later. That’s a deal.
Shazia is unique amongst the other contestants in that there’s absolutely nothing in her profile to laugh at. Or take note of, for that matter. She’s one of eleven children who has, it seems, done bloody well for herself. Well done Shazia but you’d better have a personality or yer fired. This is television, not a job interview after all.
‘Johannesburg-born Claire Young is nicknamed the Rottweiler because of her ability to go after whatever she wants’. And also because she pisses in public without shame. And looks like a Rottweiler. She was once a club 18-30 holiday rep, so don’t go expecting anything particularly intelligent to come out of her face. Most likely to urge the others to drink ten shots in a row and get their tits out for the lads.
B-Tec educated Lee has a papier-mache face and an icy stare that could wither even the most robust cactus. He inevitably likes football and rugby and apparently does impressions of ‘reverse pterodactyls’. So that’s a gag to watch out for. Go Lee, with your hilarious impressions of things that existed years ago going backwards.
To be continued…
Get back to work.