This week, those chumps remaining in “the process” had to prove to Lordsugarsiralan that they could plan parties for the children of wealthy parents. And so the only people in the world able to rise at 6am and leave the house 20 minutes later looking immaculate were summoned to the Museum of Childhood. Yes, it’s a real place. Now if it were my Museum of Childhood it would comprise sadistic nuns, Refreshers, Spangles and a school report which said I would do a lot better in life if I stopped considering my teachers to be my academic inferiors. Whevs, Mrs Murray (Head of Sixth Form).
Anyhoo, said wealthy parents wanted to hold parties for their little darlings, budget of £2,000. That’s right. Two thousand pounds for a child’s party. TWO THOUSAND POUNDS.
There was much eye rolling as Selina “I don’t like children” was made PM whilst Gary helmed the opposition. Selina bombarded her client (a cool American girl called Nicole) with crap suggestions but failed to get the mother’s telephone number. Meanwhile Gary’s client, Jamal’s mother, had a nut allergy, which she felt was important. No shit. Try sitting in the boardroom explaining to Sirsugaralanlord that the reason you failed to win the task was because you’ve accidentally killed your client.
Gary’s team decided Jamal and his mates would like an outdoors party, which they decided to host themselves, instead of bothering with piffling details such as staff who know what they’re doing. David foolishly admitted he had experience of working in children’s camps and set to work to demonstrate his entertainment talents. “YOU PUT YOUR LEFT HAND IN!” he squawked into the ensuing silence. “COME ON!” The dead-eyed children looked unimpressed. But David had other songs with which to get the tots on-side. “YOU PUT YOUR LEFT HAND IN…. YOU CUP IT AROUND… PUT IT BEHIND… Like that one?” “No.” Tough crowd. Making them all wear glow sticks that don’t work in daylight didn’t help.
Selina also chose a sporting theme. What happened to just running round the house, screaming your heads off whilst high on sugar, like normal children? Parents these days are idiots. Back to Gary. The parent with the nut allergy were told that perhaps the birthday cake contains nuts. Well done, Gaz. Back to Selina. “We have party bags.” She proceeded to talk Nicole’s mother through their contents, which consisted of naff plastic mirrors and sweets. “Had you suggested these last night, my instinct would be to say no,” said Nicole’s mama. Selina pressed on, regardless. “Can we discuss costs? These are £10 each.”
I am, on the whole, in favour of party bags, as they are a clear signal that it’s time for the children to leave. I give those parents of young children that tip, gratis.
Gary’s team messed up on Jamal’s t-shirts and all the money they spent on them went for nothing. His party bags were transparent sandwich bags with sweets in them, which ordinarily would be perfectly acceptable but Jamal’s parents had spunked two grand on this shindig and thus had clearly expected Nigella Lawson to turn up and make some praline truffles and perhaps throw in a hand-job for Dad for good measure.
Cake disasters, blah blah, icing, marshmallows, blah blah. The ghastly Selina won the task and assumed the expression of a cat who had just knocked back three pints of cream with a dead mouse chaser. Gary, who runs his own events business, looked like the dead mouse. Selina’s team went off to snowboard.
In the Cafe of Doom, Gary told David he would bring him back into the boardroom because he burnt Jamal’s t-shirts. “He left a sour taste in the client’s eye.” I’m just going to leave that quote there, without comment.
In the boardroom, Gary, having said David was in the firing line, then asked Charleine and Joseph to decide which of them wished to throw themselves under the bus. They protested they had done everything 50:50 and he would have to make the decision for himself. Gazza refused. Sugarsirlordalan looked even more like a furious Shar Pei than usual, and told the four of them they were all up for firing.
Charleine, desperate to save herself, started arguing in so shrill a voice that only dogs could hear her. Joseph hid behind his Gomez Addams moustache, and Gary smirked (I don’t like Gary). David got the boot. “Thank you for the opportunity.” My GOD, someone think of something else to say, why don’t you?
“Joseph has been a brilliant candidate,” declared Gaz. Good. That 14 quid office sweepstake is looking promising.