Donald Trump is creating a distraction.
He’s facing calls to abandon his bid to become US president from his own party after suggesting Muslims should be banned from entering the US. He recently alienated a huge proportion of voters by claiming Mexico is “sending rapists” to America.
And, of course, there’s the hair.
Of course, it’s ridiculous. But then it would have to be in order to make people forget that luring a group of business people into a room using the smell of power alone, humiliating them via a baffling set of challenges and then crowning one Salacious Crumb to his Jabba the Hutt was his thing, long before Alan Sugar got involved.
Trump describing Katie Hopkins as a “respected journalist” this morning might have you questioning his grasp on reality but it’s a gesture of desperation after last night’s episode. He knows that any link to this mob of suited self-awareness vacuums could damage his punt at the Republican candidacy far more than any uninformed, wilfully inflammatory ethnic slur ever could.
Careful you don’t slam your hair in the door on the way out, Don.
So, in case it’s not clear, BBC, none of them.
Alan Sugar’s dry wit and willingness to call out unconscionable twattery as it unfurls itself all over the boardroom table was once a cheery postscript to the task based action, but for many of us it’s the first opportunity we have to raise our faces from the cushion into which they’ve been pressed and look at the screen without fear of being struck by that involuntary writhing that occurs every time a candidate opens their mouth in public.
It might just be the editing, but how have these people survived so long in the world without knowing that if you pour three times the amount of olive oil than the recipe recommends into a product, the term ‘vegetable crisp’ is no longer viable? That self-preservate isn’t a term?
Or saying “I eat snack bars,” qualifies one for anything, let alone PM on a health task?
I was cross about this before, but Michael Hogan’s ’10 All-Time Greatest Arguments On The Apprentice‘ sent me on a reality telly based nostalgia spiral I’ve yet to return from. That bit on the boat when Michelle Dewberry described rival Paul Tulip as a “big, fat idiot”.
Rory Laing’s revelatory repetition of the term: “I am your boss.”
Debra Barr generally.
And that’s before we can even think of removing our clothing and rolling about in the green green grass that is Saira Khan, Ruth Badger, Raefster and the post-script to Katie Hopkins’ Apprentice appearance.
Even a man of Lord Sugar’s nous couldn’t have been expected to drag this to a patch of respectability and resuscitate it. He had too much bloody olive oil on his hands, for a start.
And while I appreciated his efforts to pry us back from the ledge, by that point we were so terrified that Brett was going to attempt to say something, we had our fingers in our ears and couldn’t hear his moped gags and West Ham related digs at Karren Brady anyway.
So instead of asking us inane questions, why not spend your time looking for real business people with something to offer for the next series, rather than encouraging a bunch of half baked witless wannabees to tie themselves in knots over the nutritional benefits of “Babu, buba”.
It’s almost as difficult to watch as Trump’s political aspirations, to be quite honest with you.