It's been two or three weeks since The Apprentice finished and I'm not afraid to admit, I'm becoming a little twitchy. People who know me know I don't watch a lot of television, but my one little ray of addictive hope comes in the form of a suit-wearing circus orchestrated by a bearded old geezer. And now? Now it's over. And yes, it most certainly will return next year, but, if you're like me, you'll be suffering from withdrawal. But fear not, in the meantime here is a quick guide to how you can appease your unhealthy need for a bunch of sharply-dressed clowns performing a merry dance for a non-too impressed ringmaster.
Great fun for all the family. It doesn't have to end there. Just the other day whilst driving with my girlfriend we were sat at a junction unable to agree on which direction to take. I said left, she said right. I offered an argument behind my opinion whilst she countered with hers. In the end, she pushed a little more and, even though I was convinced she was wrong and we'd end up in totally the wrong place miles from home, I agreed to go with her decision. "I just want to clarify that you are accepting complete responsibility for this decision and any implications it may have," I said clearly. She responded defiantly. After an hour or two of driving, we were in the wrong place miles from home. But, at least there was no confusion as to who was to blame. A little trick I picked up from those monkeys on The Apprentice. Had there been a boardroom, she would've been torn to shreds. If only there had been a bearded old East-Ender to impress.
Could I really be on The Apprentice? Yes and no really. There's no doubt any normal person who can put on their own socks in the morning should be able to breeze the main process. My biggest challenge is the whole 'greeting Alan Sugar like a headmaster' scenario. "G-o-o-d m-o-r-n-i-n-g L-o-r-d S-u-g-a-r". If Sugar didn't mind my whole 'fuck you I'm not a child and I couldn't give a pigs arse about that title you share with someone called Darth' persona, I'd make my way into the final where I would definitely be found out. The main problem being that those demonic final interviewers would have a field day with my CV.
"It says here you've always worked in hospitality. Restaurants, pubs. Even Internet Cafes".
"That's correct," I say.
"And you've worked 17 jobs in three years?"
"Like to bounce around do you?" He would sneer at me.
"Hey fuck you man! I'm an artist!!"
With that I would rise to my feet, throw the papers in his face and flip him the middle finger. He would be left aghast (and slightly in awe) as I marched defiantly out of the office. Some would see my approach as unprofessional. Others would find it slightly misplaced. I'd like to think of it as refreshing. But ultimately, that would end my claim to winning the show. Which would be fine. I don't want to be a businessman anyway. I don't want to wear a suit and have short hair. And besides, I'm not entirely convinced they'd go with my business plan of selling good quality crack on street corners. I'm saving that one for Dragon's Den .
Follow Alfie Evers on Twitter: www.twitter.com/alfieevers