Apprentice vs Love

Overnight bag! This week King Alan teased his candidates with a vague insinuation of tropicality. Of course they bit: "I'm packing a deckchair and lots of sunglasses!" said one. Phillip dribbled at the prospect of seeing some ladies in the all-together. I'm not sure Kate would approve of that. More on that later. Off they trotted, lilos and wacky shorts tucked under their arms, with dreams of sandy sun lounging filling up their imagine box. Did they end up at the airport? Or maybe down the seafront for some ferrying? Nope! The candidates were dumped in a bleak motorway service void. It was raining too. Not that that bothered King Alan. No sir. Whilst the other schmoes huddled under umbrellas for a hint of dry spell comfort, his majesty simply stood there on a dictate. Being wet is for sissies!

The candidates were being shifted up North, woe is them! Their task was to sell tat to department stores and such in Liverpool and Manchester. Being from the former, I did a wince. It was only a matter of time before someone said something untoward. You just expect it. We're all thieving cannibals up here you know. Incomprehensibly backward, and dirt poor. We're a continued affront to Londondery. I don't know how they put up with us.

The candidates were wheeled of to a function building side-room for a spot of bargain basement Dragon's Den. I bet the contestants felt like King Dick and his enormous dick that day. Finally able to command a modicum of seniority over floundering pitch merchants. It was their typical day in reverse. King Alan had also lined up some meet and greets for the next day, an inside box thinker might cotton on that snapping up product vaguely relevant to these free-rides was good thinks. Thankfully the candidates think so far outside the box that typical notions of supply and demand mean nothing to them. NOTHING! "Lets buy some tat that appeals to our bored whimsy instead!" they bleated. So, rather than buy a swish little drill-bit cleaner-upper to pitch to hardware store Rapid, our heroes ended up with flash cardboard boxes for macho cat-fans, and a two handed dog lead. You know, for lovers. Or mentals.

Off they went, head wringing shite in tow, to completely balls up their pitches. On Team Lorraine, Glasses and sales lieutenant Yasmina argued like buggery all day, whilst Ben, Kate and Phillip circled nowhere in a taxi. Phillip spent the day pushing cat boxes in Kate's unamused face, whilst Ben harrumphed and tried not to stare. That's flirting! On Team Mona, James stood back grinning whilst Mona stitched up various outlets with breezy charm offences. Elsewhere, Debra simply refused to let Howard do anything. He looked like a sulky little child.

Boardroom! King Alan berates both teams for completely ignoring the sales meets he had lined up. Gang of planks. After a couple of minutes of eye rolling, and head shaking, Team Mona was announced as wins. Off they went to chug bubbly and vomit in a Helicopter. Weeeee! Lorraine dragged back Kate and Phillip. Ben narrowly escaped by keeping very still indeed. He was like the Vietcong. Phillip immediately rounded on Glasses. He's the best seller ever! Chimps and trouser can sell better than Lorraine! A risky gambit since Beanpole and Appleton Blonde failed to sell ANYTHING AT ALL. Louder and louder Phillip grew, spilling increasingly embittered slander all over Lorraine. She's worse than Stalin don't you know? When not pillorying Lorraine, Phil was doing a weird Kate defend: "We're great!" "Me and Kate can do anything!" By way of contrast, when it came Kate's turn to excuse her own gross inactivity, there was no Phil mention anywhere. Gulp! Look after Number One! Phillip shouted himself right into a taxi in the end. Lorraine thinks she's a contender now.

A quick shout out to dastardly Nick Hewer. His brief, stately, defend of Lewis' made me a bit misty eyed. Thank you Mr Hewer. Now, if only they'd have shown Sir Jacob Epstein's big naked Liverpool Resurgent. I bet he was a bugger to shoot around.