Week 10 and The Apprentice is reving up for the final result with its penultimate episode next week. Who'll win? A stubbly, handsome chap or a hormonal, overwrought chappette? That's our choice. Can the best of British business acumen really be found among slop that would grace any Weatherspoon's bar across Britain on a Friday night? It seems so.
Lee "Aaaat's wot aaaaahmm tawkeen 'bowt" McQueen and his team were worthy winners tonight. Well, discounting the Woodpecker. For all Lee has done bad for the English language with his stretching of vowels like they're on a rack, his inane catchphrases and his guttural grammar, he's done good with his "Lucinda 's like a woodpecker" similie. Spot on. (No reference to the man's skin meant there, honest).
But while team Renaiassance quaffed the grape in triumphal glee, I soberly bemoaned the fizzless finale that looms upon us. The best candidates for the job of Apprentice have already gone. Or should I say the candidates that kept us best amused and bemused at Alan Sugar's expense.
Army man Simon was sent marching - just imagine watching at that man's fragile nerves being twanged for the whole series. Sharp-dresser Raef's made his even sharper exit. And Alan Sugar finally did what he should have done weeks ago and fired Michael. It was like watching Darth Vader cut the hand off his own son in Empire Strikes Back all over.
If there was one contestant that the Force was not with, it was Michael Sophocles. What planet was the kid on? A high-performance luxury sports cars, a sandwich board and a fruit n veg market. You gotta be havin' a laff, ain't ya? This was car-crash salesmanship and a forehead-slapping pantomine swansong for The Soph.
Worse was to come. In a moment that will shame his (allegedly) Jewish momma for years, her favourite Bar Mitzvah boy went ankle hugging for a £67 sale in Portobello Market. Oy veh!
Miraculously Michael nearly survived again. Mind you, that was more testament to the grouchy and highly unlikeable totem pole that is Helene. You want to reach out and hug that woman like you do cacti. Alan Sugar was being benign when he quipped she had the posture of the Mona Lisa. The moaning loser more like. She'll be boardroom mince this time next week for sure.
My two for the top are Lee and Lucinda. Sounding like a Sixties pop duo I admit but there you have it. I'll take either one of them over Claire, Helene or Alex. But, as I've already said, the best in terms of pure entertainment value have gone already.
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