Archives
May 2008
27/05/08
The Apprentice - Week 10
27/05/08
23/05/08
22/05/08
21/05/08
15/05/08
14/05/08
08/05/08
07/05/08
07/05/08
01/05/08
27 May 2008
22:18:00 o'clock BST
It's 7am in the Apprentice house when the phone rings. Claire, who apparently sleeps in a twin set and pearls, is the one who answers. “Sir Alan would like you to go to a breakers' yard in Wembley”, Frances The PA implores breathily, before hanging up the phone and emailing her CV to Office Angels. “What's a breakers' yard?” Claire wonders. It's a scrap-yard, dear – and one of you will end up on the business equivalent a little later on...
An hour later, Big Al purrs up at the junk yard in his Rolls Royce. Sadly, his chauffeur fails to park it a little too close to the crusher.
“This week's task is all about cars”, he sighs, while Nick Hewer examines his fingernails and Margaret Mountford thinks about that nice bit of scrag end she's got in for her tea. It's week 10, kids, and you can't blame them for being fed up. The novelty of being on telly has turned into a chore. And you can tell they're all browned off because they can't even be arsed to come up with one of those wildly inventive / bafflingly random locations for the morning briefing. Sir Alan could have taken them all to the Scalextric aisle of Toys-R-Us, for example. Or announced the details of this week's challenge via loudhailer from an M25 flyover, while the contestants leapt from lane to lane below, dodging traffic in a twisted, corporate re-imagining of Frogger (last candidate smeared up the fast lane courtesy of Eddie Stobart wins).
Cars, eh? Well, I was hoping that this week's task would see the teams setting up minicab services, but this is not to be. It's a shame, as I would have liked to see Lucinda driving along at 14 miles per hour with her nose to the wheel; Claire singing along to Heart FM as passengers wonder how many bones they'll break if they throw themselves from a moving vehicle into oncoming traffic; or Lee getting attacks of extreme road rage every time he spots an hopeful-looking old lady standing by a Belisha Beacon. Instead, each team has to select a couple of high-performance cars and then hire them out to people with more money than sense.
The cars they have to choose from are very fancy and very expensive and very fast and very shiny and very very boring. Sorry, everyone, but I just can't get excited about supercars. It's not because I'm a frothing environmentalist, or that I went to school with Vicki Butler-Henderson and lived in fear of her sticking my head down the toilet. I think it'smore because I'll never be able to afford one. That and the fact that every time a Porsche roars past me, with the driver wearing a grin that can only be described as “sh*t-eating”, a large part of me prays that it will end up wrapped around a road sign. I can't be alone in this.
The two teams are given a short while to sit in various driving seats, honking horns and making vroom-vroom noises, before they come to their decisions on which cars to promote. Renaissance leader Michael selects the red one and the black one (oh, all right then, the Ferrari and something called a Spyker). Meanwhile, the pair of penis extensions that Lee chooses are the moderately-priced (hem hem) Aston Martin and something called a Zonda, which looks like Penelope Pitstop's Compact Pussycat as re-imagined by the Terminator and costs £2750. That's £2750. A. Day.
“Who likes fast cars?” asks Nick Hewer. Dur, I don't know, Nick. Although I believe Princess Anne is keen. “BOYS like fast cars!” he declares. Thanks for narrowing that down, Nick, but you're wrong. Until last week I thought that the Nissan Skyline and Nissan Sunny were probably fairly similar (apparently they're not) and I still lean to one side when I'm driving round a tight bend in Mario Kart. I know nothing and I care even less. To add weight to my point, Michael doesn't like fast cars either.
“I'm finding it difficult to familiarise myself with what we're doing today”, he says, before letting out a lion yawn and promptly falling asleep in a puddle of his own drool and self-satisfaction. Margaret casts her eyes heavenwards and, in doing so, implies that she spends her weekends in greasy overalls with her head tucked under the bonnet of her MG. Maybe it's true. However, it's far easier to picture her behind the wheel of a mobility shopper, swerving into pyramids of baked bean tins down her local Netto.
Michael decides that he needs to prove his sales skills by taking sole responsibility for one of his cars, so he gives the responsibility of the Spyker to team-mates Claire and Helene.
“How do you think Michael is?” Claire asks, once he's out of earshot.
“I think he's sh*t”, replies Helene, without missing a beat.
“Yer, I think he's sh*t an' all”, Claire sighs.
And, dear reader, how right they are. Instead of parking his car in the city, which is teeming with investment bankers looking to blow a wad of cash on something that will distract them from their hollow and pointless lives for a few fleeting minutes (as Claire and Helene find to their benefit), Michael pitches his Ferrari in Knightsbridge – a shopping area popular solely with yummy mummies and tourists who want to buy a box of tea in the Harrods food hall just so they can take home a branded carrier bag. After he discovers that the only people interested in his motor are German teenagers with cameraphones, he decides that a better location would be Portobello Market. It's a no-brainer, of course. I've often nipped up there to buy two cauliflowers for a pound, and come away having spent a month's wages on 20 minutes of pretending that I'm Tom Cruise in Days of Thunder.
Needless to say, nobody signs up. The only man interested in renting the car for a couple of hours is put off by the fact that the deposit is a whopping £5000 – and he fails to be convinced by Michael stalking him all the way to Paddington, going “You're going to regret not doing it! You'll regret it to your grave! Don't leave me!” in his horrid, needy child voice. I'm surprised the guy doesn't t get behind the wheel purely for the satisfaction of running Sophocles over. By the look in his eye, I think he's tempted.
Meanwhile, Team Alpha attempt to come up with a way to make the Zonda more affordable. Lucinda suggests setting up a raffle for £50 a ticket, with the winner getting to take the car out for a day. However, after Lee mistakenly credits the increasingly prissy and annoying Alex with the raffle idea, Cindy leaps onto her high horse and starts bleating about the injustice of it all.
“It's like a woodpecker on your head”, sighs Lee, before making a half-hearted attempt at a tapping noise. “At some point you're going to turn around and go 'GET OFF!' to the woodpecker”, he continues, before going on to have an argument with a door. Looks like someone's been on the Woodpecker, not the other way around...
Lee and Alex head off to the Stock Exchange, where the Zonda is stared at by an array of puzzled builders. Lucinda, meanwhile, stays at home cutting out raffle tickets with the good humoured delight of somebody who's searching for an engagement ring that they've just dropped in a blocked toilet. The Aston Martin rusts on the drive until later that afternoon, when Lucinda tips up at Paternoster Square to see if either Lee or Alex will help her to promote it. Lee, who has yet to secure any takers for the Zonda whatsoever, point blank refuses – leaving Lucinda crying in the back of the people carrier as if she's been told to dive it through a mine field, and not stand next to it for a couple of hours going “Nice little runner”.
“F*ck”, she says.
Bigger than f*ck, Lucinda.
That evening, the two teams pitch up under separate marquees at Canary Wharf. Here, they have a few hours to nag the overpaid into parting with their not-so-hard-earned for the chance of sticking to the national speed limit in vehicles that go three times as fast. Michael, who has the name of his car written on his hand, puts off most potential customers with his incessant pestering and petulant whining, only managing to sign someone up by throwing a couple of bottles of champagne into the bargain (hmm, booze and driving - a cocktail not to be recommended). Claire, meanwhile, machine-guns a few more people into hiring the car - but Helene makes no sales at all, despite one adoring customer trying to tell her that he'd rather take her for a spin. Helene smiles politely, but you can tell she's wondering which of his eyes to scratch out first.
Over on Team Alpha, Lucinda has stopped throwing tantrums. And seeing as though they seem to have given up on the raffle ticket idea altogether, she decides to shadow Lee and Alex for a while in a bid to learn more about the cars. However, the fairies must be visiting Canary Wharf today, as a distracted Lucinda takes absolutely nothing in. Not only does she start referring to the Zonda as a “Zoner”, but she also describes it as being “like a Batmobile but heavier” to one particular customer who slowly backs away. Eventually, she makes her one sale of the task, which is for an hour in the Aston Martin and clocks in at a bank-breaking, er, £65. Lee and Alex, meanwhile, rake in thousands of pounds – and, right at the end of the day, have to race across Canary Wharf in order to meet a man who wants to make a last-minute purchase.
In the boardroom, Nick and Margaret pay attention for long enough to reveal that Renaissance took a total of £2114. Alpha, meanwhile, made £11,815. Their treat is to go to a wine tasting in Mayfair, where Alex describes one of the ludicrously pricey 20-year-old tipples as being “a bit like trifle”. After the cameras switch off, he then goes on to recognise such flavours as scotch egg, meat and potato pie and dream topping. I'm not making it up, honest.
Meanwhile, Michael, Claire and Helene mopeat each other in the local caff. “I sold f*ck all at the end of the day”, admits Helene, making the excuse that she's an internal manager and not a salesperson. However, back in the boardroom, Sir Alan doesn't think this is good enough. After telling her that she has the look of the Mona Lisa (could be worse, he could have said a Picasso), he lays his cards on the table. “What's starting to bother me about you is thinking where you'd slot into my organisation”, he barks. “I'm struggling to understand what you do.”
I believe that what Helene mainly does is stand around rolling her eyes and going “Fer f*cks sake Lucinda”, but apparently not. Instead, she claims that she's worked her way up the corporate ladder by being an excellent manager and employee. However, she probably shouldn't have wasted her breath; she seems doomed for the chop, especially when Big Grey Al starts dishing out the backhanded compliments to Mikey.
“He is a disaster zone and you might be wondering what he's still doing here”, he sneers. “But he's very young, and he has some good points about him.” That's as good as it gets from him, y'know. He might as well have proposed.
Michael readily agrees. “I am naive!” he chirrups. “I am a young man! But I think I've shown glimmers of brilliance”, he continues, as Fanta comes out of my nose. What glimmers Michael? When? Where? I've watched you for ten sodding weeks now and not seen hide nor hair of them. All I've seen you do is dance craply in a launderette, flirt with Raef, and berate various brides-to-be for not purchasing your profiterole towers. The only thing you've been brilliant at is shifting blame. Grrrrrr.
“I've only been working for a year! It means more to me than anything in my life!” Michael cries, in a bid to escape the firing line one more time. (If that second part of his statement is true, I truly pity him.) Helene, meanwhile, tries to stay in the game by honking “I want to work for you Sir Alan” over and over again in increasing decibels until I feel like smashing my foot through my TV screen and booting her out of the door myself.
Hours pass in which the Greys repeatedly send the three of them out of the boardroom to be glared at by Frances, before bringing them back in again like it's a big game of office hokey-cokey. However, Sophocles has run out of lives – and ends up with the finger pointed in his direction.
“I think he took a liking to me”, Michael says, while being ferried down the motorway. “He saw something in me that reminded him of what he was like when he was younger, and that's got to be a good thing”, he smiles. Yes Michael. One day you might end up running a multi-million pound company too. And on that same day, Satan will finally get around to opening that ice rink. Let's not hold our breath.
Bye bye Michael. I'm glad to see the back of the snivelling wretch, but I'm also a bit sorry that I'm not going to get to watch him being torn apart in the interviews next week. What did you make of tonight's show? Let me know in the comments boxes below...
Written by joebrettuk Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | 
digg this
22:18:00 o'clock BST
The Apprentice - Week 10
An hour later, Big Al purrs up at the junk yard in his Rolls Royce. Sadly, his chauffeur fails to park it a little too close to the crusher.
“This week's task is all about cars”, he sighs, while Nick Hewer examines his fingernails and Margaret Mountford thinks about that nice bit of scrag end she's got in for her tea. It's week 10, kids, and you can't blame them for being fed up. The novelty of being on telly has turned into a chore. And you can tell they're all browned off because they can't even be arsed to come up with one of those wildly inventive / bafflingly random locations for the morning briefing. Sir Alan could have taken them all to the Scalextric aisle of Toys-R-Us, for example. Or announced the details of this week's challenge via loudhailer from an M25 flyover, while the contestants leapt from lane to lane below, dodging traffic in a twisted, corporate re-imagining of Frogger (last candidate smeared up the fast lane courtesy of Eddie Stobart wins).
Cars, eh? Well, I was hoping that this week's task would see the teams setting up minicab services, but this is not to be. It's a shame, as I would have liked to see Lucinda driving along at 14 miles per hour with her nose to the wheel; Claire singing along to Heart FM as passengers wonder how many bones they'll break if they throw themselves from a moving vehicle into oncoming traffic; or Lee getting attacks of extreme road rage every time he spots an hopeful-looking old lady standing by a Belisha Beacon. Instead, each team has to select a couple of high-performance cars and then hire them out to people with more money than sense.
The cars they have to choose from are very fancy and very expensive and very fast and very shiny and very very boring. Sorry, everyone, but I just can't get excited about supercars. It's not because I'm a frothing environmentalist, or that I went to school with Vicki Butler-Henderson and lived in fear of her sticking my head down the toilet. I think it'smore because I'll never be able to afford one. That and the fact that every time a Porsche roars past me, with the driver wearing a grin that can only be described as “sh*t-eating”, a large part of me prays that it will end up wrapped around a road sign. I can't be alone in this.
The two teams are given a short while to sit in various driving seats, honking horns and making vroom-vroom noises, before they come to their decisions on which cars to promote. Renaissance leader Michael selects the red one and the black one (oh, all right then, the Ferrari and something called a Spyker). Meanwhile, the pair of penis extensions that Lee chooses are the moderately-priced (hem hem) Aston Martin and something called a Zonda, which looks like Penelope Pitstop's Compact Pussycat as re-imagined by the Terminator and costs £2750. That's £2750. A. Day.
“Who likes fast cars?” asks Nick Hewer. Dur, I don't know, Nick. Although I believe Princess Anne is keen. “BOYS like fast cars!” he declares. Thanks for narrowing that down, Nick, but you're wrong. Until last week I thought that the Nissan Skyline and Nissan Sunny were probably fairly similar (apparently they're not) and I still lean to one side when I'm driving round a tight bend in Mario Kart. I know nothing and I care even less. To add weight to my point, Michael doesn't like fast cars either.
“I'm finding it difficult to familiarise myself with what we're doing today”, he says, before letting out a lion yawn and promptly falling asleep in a puddle of his own drool and self-satisfaction. Margaret casts her eyes heavenwards and, in doing so, implies that she spends her weekends in greasy overalls with her head tucked under the bonnet of her MG. Maybe it's true. However, it's far easier to picture her behind the wheel of a mobility shopper, swerving into pyramids of baked bean tins down her local Netto.
Michael decides that he needs to prove his sales skills by taking sole responsibility for one of his cars, so he gives the responsibility of the Spyker to team-mates Claire and Helene.
“How do you think Michael is?” Claire asks, once he's out of earshot.
“I think he's sh*t”, replies Helene, without missing a beat.
“Yer, I think he's sh*t an' all”, Claire sighs.
And, dear reader, how right they are. Instead of parking his car in the city, which is teeming with investment bankers looking to blow a wad of cash on something that will distract them from their hollow and pointless lives for a few fleeting minutes (as Claire and Helene find to their benefit), Michael pitches his Ferrari in Knightsbridge – a shopping area popular solely with yummy mummies and tourists who want to buy a box of tea in the Harrods food hall just so they can take home a branded carrier bag. After he discovers that the only people interested in his motor are German teenagers with cameraphones, he decides that a better location would be Portobello Market. It's a no-brainer, of course. I've often nipped up there to buy two cauliflowers for a pound, and come away having spent a month's wages on 20 minutes of pretending that I'm Tom Cruise in Days of Thunder.
Needless to say, nobody signs up. The only man interested in renting the car for a couple of hours is put off by the fact that the deposit is a whopping £5000 – and he fails to be convinced by Michael stalking him all the way to Paddington, going “You're going to regret not doing it! You'll regret it to your grave! Don't leave me!” in his horrid, needy child voice. I'm surprised the guy doesn't t get behind the wheel purely for the satisfaction of running Sophocles over. By the look in his eye, I think he's tempted.
Meanwhile, Team Alpha attempt to come up with a way to make the Zonda more affordable. Lucinda suggests setting up a raffle for £50 a ticket, with the winner getting to take the car out for a day. However, after Lee mistakenly credits the increasingly prissy and annoying Alex with the raffle idea, Cindy leaps onto her high horse and starts bleating about the injustice of it all.
“It's like a woodpecker on your head”, sighs Lee, before making a half-hearted attempt at a tapping noise. “At some point you're going to turn around and go 'GET OFF!' to the woodpecker”, he continues, before going on to have an argument with a door. Looks like someone's been on the Woodpecker, not the other way around...
Lee and Alex head off to the Stock Exchange, where the Zonda is stared at by an array of puzzled builders. Lucinda, meanwhile, stays at home cutting out raffle tickets with the good humoured delight of somebody who's searching for an engagement ring that they've just dropped in a blocked toilet. The Aston Martin rusts on the drive until later that afternoon, when Lucinda tips up at Paternoster Square to see if either Lee or Alex will help her to promote it. Lee, who has yet to secure any takers for the Zonda whatsoever, point blank refuses – leaving Lucinda crying in the back of the people carrier as if she's been told to dive it through a mine field, and not stand next to it for a couple of hours going “Nice little runner”.
“F*ck”, she says.
Bigger than f*ck, Lucinda.
That evening, the two teams pitch up under separate marquees at Canary Wharf. Here, they have a few hours to nag the overpaid into parting with their not-so-hard-earned for the chance of sticking to the national speed limit in vehicles that go three times as fast. Michael, who has the name of his car written on his hand, puts off most potential customers with his incessant pestering and petulant whining, only managing to sign someone up by throwing a couple of bottles of champagne into the bargain (hmm, booze and driving - a cocktail not to be recommended). Claire, meanwhile, machine-guns a few more people into hiring the car - but Helene makes no sales at all, despite one adoring customer trying to tell her that he'd rather take her for a spin. Helene smiles politely, but you can tell she's wondering which of his eyes to scratch out first.
Over on Team Alpha, Lucinda has stopped throwing tantrums. And seeing as though they seem to have given up on the raffle ticket idea altogether, she decides to shadow Lee and Alex for a while in a bid to learn more about the cars. However, the fairies must be visiting Canary Wharf today, as a distracted Lucinda takes absolutely nothing in. Not only does she start referring to the Zonda as a “Zoner”, but she also describes it as being “like a Batmobile but heavier” to one particular customer who slowly backs away. Eventually, she makes her one sale of the task, which is for an hour in the Aston Martin and clocks in at a bank-breaking, er, £65. Lee and Alex, meanwhile, rake in thousands of pounds – and, right at the end of the day, have to race across Canary Wharf in order to meet a man who wants to make a last-minute purchase.
In the boardroom, Nick and Margaret pay attention for long enough to reveal that Renaissance took a total of £2114. Alpha, meanwhile, made £11,815. Their treat is to go to a wine tasting in Mayfair, where Alex describes one of the ludicrously pricey 20-year-old tipples as being “a bit like trifle”. After the cameras switch off, he then goes on to recognise such flavours as scotch egg, meat and potato pie and dream topping. I'm not making it up, honest.
Meanwhile, Michael, Claire and Helene mopeat each other in the local caff. “I sold f*ck all at the end of the day”, admits Helene, making the excuse that she's an internal manager and not a salesperson. However, back in the boardroom, Sir Alan doesn't think this is good enough. After telling her that she has the look of the Mona Lisa (could be worse, he could have said a Picasso), he lays his cards on the table. “What's starting to bother me about you is thinking where you'd slot into my organisation”, he barks. “I'm struggling to understand what you do.”
I believe that what Helene mainly does is stand around rolling her eyes and going “Fer f*cks sake Lucinda”, but apparently not. Instead, she claims that she's worked her way up the corporate ladder by being an excellent manager and employee. However, she probably shouldn't have wasted her breath; she seems doomed for the chop, especially when Big Grey Al starts dishing out the backhanded compliments to Mikey.
“He is a disaster zone and you might be wondering what he's still doing here”, he sneers. “But he's very young, and he has some good points about him.” That's as good as it gets from him, y'know. He might as well have proposed.
Michael readily agrees. “I am naive!” he chirrups. “I am a young man! But I think I've shown glimmers of brilliance”, he continues, as Fanta comes out of my nose. What glimmers Michael? When? Where? I've watched you for ten sodding weeks now and not seen hide nor hair of them. All I've seen you do is dance craply in a launderette, flirt with Raef, and berate various brides-to-be for not purchasing your profiterole towers. The only thing you've been brilliant at is shifting blame. Grrrrrr.
“I've only been working for a year! It means more to me than anything in my life!” Michael cries, in a bid to escape the firing line one more time. (If that second part of his statement is true, I truly pity him.) Helene, meanwhile, tries to stay in the game by honking “I want to work for you Sir Alan” over and over again in increasing decibels until I feel like smashing my foot through my TV screen and booting her out of the door myself.
Hours pass in which the Greys repeatedly send the three of them out of the boardroom to be glared at by Frances, before bringing them back in again like it's a big game of office hokey-cokey. However, Sophocles has run out of lives – and ends up with the finger pointed in his direction.
“I think he took a liking to me”, Michael says, while being ferried down the motorway. “He saw something in me that reminded him of what he was like when he was younger, and that's got to be a good thing”, he smiles. Yes Michael. One day you might end up running a multi-million pound company too. And on that same day, Satan will finally get around to opening that ice rink. Let's not hold our breath.
Bye bye Michael. I'm glad to see the back of the snivelling wretch, but I'm also a bit sorry that I'm not going to get to watch him being torn apart in the interviews next week. What did you make of tonight's show? Let me know in the comments boxes below...
Written by joebrettuk Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | digg this
This entry has 37 comments: (Add your own)
-
Hello! I'm fresh off the plane this afternoon and have barely had time to unpack my straw donkey, as I'll shortly be plonking myself down to blog about this week's Apprentice (the interviews round never fails to be the most boring one - here's hoping I end up eating my words though). Hark at my dedication / tragic obsession.
But before I start, I'd just like to say thanks for all the entertaining comments, and also for all the kind words, which I never fail to be surprised/baffled by. Cheers!
Just to clear up one or two things -
Interviews - sadly because of other commitments, which are far too tedious and long-winded to explain here, I won't be able to bring you the interviews anymore. I know a colleague was expecting to interview Michael last week but he cried off. I'll try and find out what's happening with the remaining candidates, and whether interviews with them will appear on AOL.
Other blogs - I am delighted to confirm that I will be blogging about an imminent reality show that revolves around a whole season of lower life forms fighting, mating, living in their own filth and being picked apart by an old crow every Friday night. No, not Springwatch.
Come back later tonight for this week's blog! -
Anyway, overall I still (seriously) believe that ANY ‘Business Guru’ (and particularly one with a British Knighthood for his contribution to industry) has a REAL responsibility to set a much better example to us all on people management/skills etc than this….
or (and to use HIS vernacular) perhaps AL really does not ‘give a sh*t’ !!
Unfortunately (and as Alan himself has stated/implied/demonstrated)… ‘never underestimate the stupidity of the candidates/audience/customer’…That’s right - US !!
Now, if he actually, and seriously, invested in some of his protégé’s (Business) ideas I might be impressed….. Oh ,sorry, that is too close to ‘Dragon’s Den’ … yet another farce *pretending* to be about Business !!!
……………………………………………………………………………
Sorry, Joe : Probably far too much “REAL” !
However (when you are back from your holiday ) I do have a question for Michael…
“Will becoming the new ‘Nancy’ change his life ?” -
Well, ‘porsch1909’
(and which probably tells us just “What YOU are talking about….” !)…
- I am not sure if your remark [#33] is aimed at me (specifically) and/or others … but here goes anyway (!):-
In fact ‘The Apprentice’ WAS originally about ‘Business’; And it was profiled as such; See all the old promo stuff, and see Alan’s (2005/6) book for details…. Etc Etc
- and if all this stuff together does not (at least) imply ‘Real’ World then I don’t know what does…. But, of course, it has since changed (and effectively for the worse)…
Clearly NOW it is (increasingly) about ‘entertainment’- SHOWBusiness - As I think we ALL realise…. And has also started to become nearer to ‘The Office’ sitcom…
But tell me; What does Alan need ANY publicity for - if his Companies are privately-owned ? Similarly, Alan’s portfolio, once based on innovation, is now mainly based on property… and just how difficult/inspiring is THAT ? (And see comments #10, #20…etc).
And as for ‘Good Worker’ ?? Well, he has now effectively ‘Interviewed’ 50+ of these ‘Top-Notch’ candidates…all ‘hand-picked’ out of >50K applicants…
So, just how many of these ‘cream-of-the-crop’ has he employed so far ??!!
Obviously in the REAL world Alan would probably be facing ‘Constructive Dismisal’/ ‘Gender Discrimination’ Cases etc etc from his treatment of the (sacked) candidates; Presumably these are TV-contractually ‘waived’ by them … blah blah blah… See ? The problem is that this ‘REALity’ is more boring !!
Finally,.as you may be aware, our show is based on the original US show with Donald Trump…. And each week there WAS a real-world business message… And I do not recall a single expletive, either… And I wonder what our ‘American cousins’ would think of our version - probably that they were watching ‘Faulty Towers’ for REAL !? (And I wonder waht the 'export potential' of our 'The Apprentice' is, too ??) -
I find it pretty damn funny that you think that the apprentice is actually trying to imply that it is real world. Anyone who thinks that what goes on is real world or they are trying to make it real world is pretty stupid in all honesty.
SAS gets a helluva lot of publicity for this. He might get a good worker too. I think after working for as long as he has and made as much money as he has he know a lot more about 'real business' than everyone here put together.
12/06/08 10:21