The Apprentice, episode 1, in 3 paragraphs

Potatoes which are actually experiences. Everyone forgetting everything always. Alan doesn’t have lines on his face, he has deep, impenetrable ridges of the variety that climbers look avidly for in cliff faces. Very-Shoreditch-yuppy-arty-farty-bollocks. Sword falling idiots. You are a total shambles. Slow-motion leaves and slow-motion pigeons. A woman with a very long necklace. Nick’s face, as if mere moments after a very painful operation. Potato appointment. Pure human desperation. Sarah not realising that you need actual money to buy things. No genuine people who actually live in London. Karen looking fed-up. Onlookers with smug faces. Need to sell the T-shirts! Insulting words about Gandhi. Arty farty Robert dressing up hotdogs. Obscene greed and undesirable personality traits presented as good ways to be a professionally minded human being. Alan wearing a funky purple and black tie.

Allegedly interesting tasks coming up. Endlessly frustrating hot dogs. Water on the boardroom table that rarely gets drunk and if it does, you don’t see it often. Felipe’s mole face. Multiple headscarf changes. A guy with white shoes, London hair and no socks. No shower curtain! Emotional abuse. Charles’s CV. The T-shirt fiasco and total transvestites (er, I meant travesties). Ridiculous hot dogs and Felipe’s sausage sellers. It all somehow working out. “I did manage Steven actually.” Lots of talk of instructing drivers. High heels and bags of potatoes. Incredibly transparent sales pitches. Edgy Shoreditch. Boys who can’t stop interrupting. A collection of people you very much hope aren’t the only ones left if Ebola kills everyone else. Viper! A free wheelbarrow. Karen Brady’s boardroom transformation. Fundamental business errors. Valuable sausages.

The losers’ café. Wrong reason boardroom bringing. Responsibility for hot dogs. Alan Sugar’s ever-growing ears. Boys forgetting T-shirts. Task passenger. Supposedly uplifting images of what are, in reality, imprisoned and helpless exotic zoo animals. Generic shots of London, lifeless and bleak and massive and depressing – in HD. Daft slogans. Peculiar ears. Running in high heels. Nasty remarks about northern people in general. More terrible team names. A social worker you would never want near any vulnerable person, ever. Felipe can’t high-five. Girls pushing a wheelbarrow about inelegantly. Generic sunset shot. Grown ladies turning into demented children. Horrified buyers. Shutup Steven. Big error.  Handy scapegoats. A guy saying he can make women do what he wants. Zero common sense…

Young, Dumb and brash as they come: “The Apprentice” returns…

Poor, poor project manager Edward-what’s-his-face (this isn’t a conclusive review of the show. For actual names and dependable information minus lashings of perfectly justified sarcasm, there are approximately 1 million other articles now going up). Sitting there in the board-room all ganged-up on by his gigantic fellow contestants, trying desperately to hang onto the miniscule amount of credibility that he miraculously still possessed, to begin with, at least, he reminded me a lot of a sorry-looking pigeon I once wanted to rescue by the side of the road in Bournemouth when I was 13. Like Edward, that pigeon was very sad-looking and stuck in a hopeless situation where he was pretty much done for. He was sitting close to the curb on the main road, but every few seconds he’d look over his shoulder — a sitting pigeon has shoulders, everyone knows that — and look back at me with an expression that said “I need to get over to the other side of the road for a reason I don’t fully understand, but clearly I’ve broken both my legs and have a dodgy wing and am screwed so I can’t. Bollocks. Think you can help me out? Nobody else is going to. Once you break both your legs and get a dodgy wing then you get pretty much abandoned in the world of birds. If you do then I promise I’ll have a tweet-tweet with all the other pigeons and ask them to stop shitting on you and your kind.”

He was the most expressive pigeon I have ever known.

I thought: I can help, course I can! but my Mum and Dad had other ideas, what with controlling every aspect of my life, and all. “You can’t pick up the pigeon,” they kept telling me, “you might catch a deadly disease”. And with that, the pigeon buried his head in his wing and gave up, there by the curb. Looking well pissed-off.

I still have nightmares about that day, and I never did find out what became of my pigeony friend.

And now back to Edward. I’m fed-up with wondering if that pigeon got flattened or not.

At least, to begin with I wanted to rescue Edward from the board-room. But then, very quickly, I wanted to drag his short arse out of the board-room and beat him to death with an enormous calculator in the shape of a caveman’s club.

I feel bad saying that, seeing as Edward is a real person with a Mum and Dad and (maybe, it’s just about possible) a girlfriend or boyfriend he loves dearly, not just an image on a screen. But then again, when you’ve trained at one of the biggest accountancy firms in the country and you STILL don’t know what an Orange looks like…

6 things that I’ve concluded from this first episode:

1) Nick Hewer’s going to need a face-transplant by the end of the series, or possibly mid-way, but that should come as no revelation to you. Hopefully that happens before he frowns so hard that he opens up a fourth dimension where everyone looks like his best friend Alan Sugar.

2) Alan Sugar really does look like a gremlin.

3) All oranges should come with name badges.

4) This series is going to be great entertainment for us The General Public, and a horrible heart-attack in the making for Alan Sugar.

5) If you are terrible at Maths, whatever you do don’t let it stop you from becoming an accountant in charge of large amounts of money.

6) There is no shame in being an accountant. Absolutely none. And if you’re an accountant and people mock you, it’s just because they are jealous. Take no notice of the fact that they’re always the first to get shot in gangster films, or the hatred bestowed upon each and every one of them by most of the Western world. Alan Sugar says so, and he invented the Amstrad E-m@iler Telephone, so there, stick that in your pipe and smoke it!