Oh man. “My business acumen would be like a bouncing puppy.” “Behind my boyish good looks…’ “All I’ve ever wanted is money, and power.” “Arm here twin.” Look, there’s 18 of them. I can’t write down every brainless quote. Stick with me though, because I have a feeling this series is going to be television GOLD.
“So. You lark to be called The Big Kay arr hear?” Siralanlordsugar interrogated Karthik Nagesan. “The Big K for friends and fans,” smirked K. “But you can call me K.” Sugarlordalansir gazed at him in wonder. It’s been years since a candidate has revealed their idiocy so early in the process. He then delivered his annual boardroom sermon of doom. “You can compare this to being on a life support machine and one of your colleagues here pulling the plug out just to charge their mobile phone up,” he warned. “That’s how competitive it will get.’’
So, the task. But first, team names. The boys chose Team Titans. Hey, have I heard that name before?
The girls chose Team Nebula, because who doesn’t want to be thought of as a cloud of gas and dust in outer space?
Someone called Paul was project manager for the boys, Michelle for the girls. They had to go through piles of antiques, find valuable stuff among the rubbish and sell it. One numpty reckoned he’d got it covered because he had seen an episode of Bargain Hunt. Off they trotted to a car boot sale, the boys proudly setting out their crap trestle table with broken china and an old statuette. The girls hadn’t even unpacked when some old lags who knew what they were looking at took them for a ride. The girls, of course, celebrated. “We’re gonna make some MONEY!” they yelped.
Then they dragged their stuff off to experts to find out how much their rubbish was worth, buy new stuff blah blah (I missed a bit due to the cat having a fit that I’d put out dry food instead of wet, so I put out wet and he promptly started eating the dry. Frickin’ cats). Anyhoo, Paul was quite taken with a perfectly hideous Alan Partridge-type chair and got a £300 valuation from his expert. “Hipsters will like it,” declared Paul. Yeah, they probably would. Add a couple of antique trombone parts and an ironic lampshade and you’ve got a deal. The girls sold the same chair for about fourpence. Go, girls!
Michelle spent what felt like the entire day quizzing her expert, only to ignore him entirely and go to Camden instead of heading for Portobello market. The Titans, however, DID go to Portobello on the basis that it’s the ideal place to flog junk to unsuspecting poshos with money but no sense. Blah blah how much shall we drop the price blah blah where’s the antiques dealer blah blah run run run run RUN! “Guys, comman see our stall we sell THINGS!” Meanwhile, the camera cut repeatedly to shots of Mukai walking around the market wearing an insane orange crocheted bowtie with matching pocket kerchief. Then there was the usual running around shops with five minutes to go thrusting hideous tables and plastic candelabras at bemused dealers. “£60 for the lot.” “£50.” “£55?” “£52.” “Done.” They had obviously all read that bible of business acumen, Donald Trump’s “The Art of the Deal.”
The boardroom. Nebula were immediately roasted for selling stuff too cheaply and spending hours with an expert they then ignored. Michelle, project manager remember, praised everyone. Everyone repaid the favour by telling her she was rubbish.
SugarSirAlanLord moved onto the boys. “Arve had the feedback from Karren fat sum of yoo were like lost lams.” Everyone gave each other serious side eye as they tried to explain their brilliance and blame each other for their failure simultaneously. They didn’t need to.
The boys won. Their prize was a lesson learning how to lindy hop (that’s a kind of jive, young ‘uns). They looked underwhelmed at this, but not as underwhelmed as the Nebula gals who gathered in the Cafe of Despair. “Lemme finish torkin!” “IN MY OPINION!” “Arl fight my corner!” etc etc.
Back into the boardroom they trooped and promptly started looking for a bus under which they could throw their team mates. “There was a lack of leadership.” One candidate boasted of selling some vases for £15. “Do you know how much they were worth?” enquired SirSugarLordAlan. “Er, no…” she replied, sensing that he was about to tell her, and she wasn’t going to like the answer. “Three hundred pahnd.” “Oh. Sorry.” Hopefully the vases’ new owners were watching the programme, shouting “Joleen! Them fackin’ vases are worth a fortune! Gettem on Ebay, now!”
Michelle brought back Alana and Rebecca (nope, no idea. Soz.) Rebecca gave a pretty good account of herself, despite selling nothing. She turned on Michelle’s lack of leadership and zero business acumen. “Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. That’s not a pricing strategy.” Alana declared herself to be the second best seller. Way to go, Alana. Who wants to come first? Second is where it’s at. There was a lot of tedious bickering, and Michelle got the boot.
‘THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE OPPORTUNITY!” she yelled in response. Seriously, think of something else to say, you losers. “I DIDN’T F%*KING WANT TO BE YOUR KNOBBING BUSINESS PARTNER ANYWAY!” for example.
The lesson, dear readers, is never, ever, volunteer to be project manager in the first week. But you knew that, didn’t you?