The Apprentice And The Flavoured Beer Task (or How Not To Organise A Piss-up In A Brewery)

Man cannot live on beer alone. Or rhubarb.

After the midnight start of the container of tat challenge, the 15 remaining candidates had a veritable lie-in for their second task - a 6am wake-up call, answered by an over-excited Luisa, summons them to the Old Bank in Fleet Street.  She squeakily and shriekily wakes them all up and we're treated to a few soundbites as they get ready (cue gratuitous abs shots) and travel to what turns out to be a pub, not a bank at all (the boys are apparently "teamwork all the way now" and Jason thinks that they should go for a tried-and-tested formula; him as PM and they'll win again.  Er, doubtful, Jase, very doubtful).

So, they're at the pub.  Beer is Britain's favourite alcoholic drink, says Lord Sugar, with sales totalling £18 billion a year.

With a twist on the boys versus girls teams, bouncy bloke Tim is tasked with heading up the girls in Evolve.  His business idea is to come up with a new drink; this task should be right up his street then.  Candidates with experience in the field ALWAYS perform well, right?  Bwahaha!

And Scouser Kurt, who barely featured in the first episode, is project manager for the rest of the boys in Endeavour.  He's also in the drinks industry.  Can I get me another bwahaha?  Cheers!

And...they're off.

The task?  The first day, they need to create an interestingly flavoured beer.  The second day, they need to sell it...for a profit.  I wonder if they'll bother with that bit though - they don't always.

Kurt, the health drink entrepreneur (spinach and ginseng smoothies maybe?), initially favours chilli and caramel beer.  But Lord of Darkness, Alex, is worried that chillis are a little bit too adventurous (are vampires scared of chillis as well as garlic?).  Neil suggests chocolate orange, though he missed a trick there - surely Drac-a-like Alex would've preferred blood orange?

Jordan forages the hedgerow of his brain and comes up with "nettles" as a beer flavour - will people think it's going to sting their mouth?  Only total idiots, Jordan.

Over to Tim, heading up Evolve.  The girls are captured giving him some of their best suspicious looks - a boy in their midst?  Can he win them over?  He's keen to target the female market with something healthy.  He does know what beer is, right?  But he's ever so enthusiastic - I think he may be caffeine powered.  He's not a lone ranger, though, he's definitely a team player.  His early attempt at trying to get the girls to "go round in a circle" to stop them all talking over one another fails miserably and the poor lad is left looking on helplessly as they discuss the mass market appeal of pomegranate and akai berries.  Karren's quick to pick up on his lack of control of the laydeez; she says that although he started well, it's "all gone to pot".  She frowns and writes in her notebook (presumably "Task Two, for Tim, it's all gone to pot"); her homework for Shugs.

Tim overrules his OWN decision, swayed by the stronger women in the group (which doesn't go unnoticed by Karren and her notebook), and they decide to target men, not women, with their flavoured beer.

Over at Endeavour, they decide to split into a marketing team, doing branding and design, and a manufacturing team, er, manufacturing.  Zee and Jason are put into the manufacturing team, with the rationale from Kurt that Zee doesn't drink, so won't be able to do market research as he doesn't understand the likely audience for their beer, despite having a marketing background.  Surely he won't be able to drink the bloody product, either, so it could end up tasting like donkey wee.  Mind you, probably better than spinach and ginseng smoothies...  And Jason, it transpires, doesn't drink beer either.  Alex is also tasked with manufacture.  No garlic-flavoured beer then.  And Jordan is leader of the sub-team (this is Jordan who wanted nettle beer, folks).

The manufacturing team head out of London to the Midlands, to make the beer that two of them won't be able to taste.  Clever Kurt.

Back with Evolve, Francesca suggests they try selling their beer at the Real Food Festival, but this is scoffed at by Rebecca, who wants them to go to a beer festival.  They decide on the Kent Beer Festival.  Which is, obviously, in Putney.

The manufacturing sub-teams for both Evolve and Endeavour pitch up at Banks's Beer and begin to try the product.  Well, those of them who drink it, that is.  Zee and Jason watch Alex and Jordan make English Wine Sparkling type comments about beer.

But the other half of the boys' team have already decided on the flavour, and are waist deep in branding it.  Let's hope they've communicated it or they'll have a devil of a job explaining why chocolate orange packaging contains nettle and the blood of a willing virgin flavoured beer.

Myles suggests an orange peel effect for the bottle.  Cellulite?  Tasty...

Ah, there it is - Endeavour ring their manufacturing sub-team to tell them what flavour beer to make.  There's nothing like giving your colleagues a bit of decision-making power - and this is NOTHING LIKE giving your colleagues a bit of decision-making power.  It's a good job Jason's wearing hygiene goggles in the brewery as his eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head.  Not in the beer, Jase.

Kurt ploughs on regardless - the amber bitter base with the chocolate orange.  But his sub-team preferred the stout base - and half of them have tasted it, so surely their opinion should count for something.  Ah, no, no, it doesn't.  Myles dismisses Alex's protests - the amber bitter base it is.  Nick Hewer's incredulous (he does do that well, doesn't he, boys and girls?).

The ladies (and Tim) are trying all sorts of flavours - from blueberry to bacon.  Rhubarb is pronounced bitter, so they add caramel.  And that's their flavour - even Karren looks like she might enjoy it.

Uzma's the leader of the marketing and branding sub-team (ably assisted by Luisa, Leah and Sophie.  Well...assisted).  Luisa and Uzma have an argument over 10% and 5% blacks on the label, across the designer chap, which Uzma finds disrespectful.  As do we all, Uzma, as do we all.  Their label, Rhubarb & Riches, is dismissed as "like a fashion boutique" by Luisa, who snaps at Uzma to BE the leader.  She really is a charmer.

For Endeavour, Neil is, once again, bigging up his own contribution.  "Behind every project manager, there's a Neil Clough", he brags.  I bloody hope not.  He's come up with the flavour, the name - he's basically running the show.  Apparently.  Again.

The boys start trying to do maths to scale up their formula into barrel-sized portions.  What could possibly go wrong?  Apprentice candidates are always bang on with their mathematics, right?  But maybe, just maybe, they'll get it right this time #evertheoptimist      Zee's confident that their sub-team has delivered their end of the bargain and it looks like he might just be right - their flavouring goes without a hitch.

Francesca is also trying to haul basic maths out of her brain, which is confused with metres and grams, as Evolve attempt to work out their millilitre ratio.  But they balls it up totally, twice, making two casks of beer that's not safe to drink - a triumph!  The other half of Evolve are horrified that they haven't produced any frigging beer yet (frigging beer - I don't think that's a winning flavour, do you?).  They've wasted 150 pints of beer trying to get the mix right, but finally they get some kegs with drinkable liquid in them out of the door.

The next day, they all try their beer and see their branding.  Happy days.

Tim sends half of Evolve off to sell to the trade (eventually, after a kerfuffle about who'll do what that sees him changing his mind a lot and doubtless making Karren use her frowning pen to write in her special notebook and do wiggly caterpillar eyebrows), but forgets to appoint a sub-team leader.  So he rings and tells Rebecca it's her.

The boys of Endeavour are at the St Albans Beer Festival, with prices set at £4 for a pint or a bottle and £2.60 for a half.  Nick Hewer reckons it's a big risk to sell so far above the competition, who are on sale for £3.20 a pint.  And it's St Albans, guys - how much will people pay for a pint outside central London (where prices start from £476 for a half, traditionally)?

Tim's half of Evolve are in Putney for what appears to be the deserted Kent Beer Festival, which is actually held in a pub.  Perhaps everyone went to Kent for it by mistake?  The trade half are trying to sell to a pub that does specialist ales.  Their beer is pronounced quite dry, but...the landlord likes it.  They'll go for four casks!  Rebecca suggests £80, but they want to pay £75 a keg.  Uzma instantly tries to leap in, but Rebecca cuts her down with a waggy finger and gets the sale for £78 a cask.  Watch out, though - there's resentment brewing (HA! See what I did there?).

The boys then try to pitch their beer, which they've called A Bitter This (A Bit Of...oh, never mind).  But...the total planks - they've only brought an empty bottle with them.  Alex, somewhat bizarrely, suggests they sniff the bottle, but the buyers aren't keen to sell a product they haven't actually tasted, which is pretty reasonable, I'm sure you'll agree, as their customers will be expecting to drink it with their mouths, not snort it with their noses (that's a different sort of high, kids).  When phoned, Kurt says he wasn't asked by his sub-team to send them with any product, which is why he didn't, apparently.  But he attempts to rectify this colossal error by sending six bottles over to his trade sub-team.

Back at Putney, things have livened up for Evolve, and Rhubarb & Riches is selling very well indeed to the relatively small number of people there.

Endeavour are still in St Albans, trying to sell expensive beer to punters who are unwilling to part with their hard-earned, even for the pleasure of a cellulite-feel limited edition bottle.  The weirdos.  Kurt wants to go to the Southbank, but shouldn't they stay put, drop their prices a bit and try to sell, rather than haul their wares to the other side of London, where people may still be reticent about the chocolate orange beer?

At last, the boys on the trade sub-team have product for their potential buyers to taste.  But their argument in the car about whether Jason should do any of the selling (Zee and Alex keen he doesn't speak, with Alex respectfully calling him a stupid shit) hasn't worked - and Jason goes totally off-piste with a way under budget offer of £75 and £80 for two casks.  The others round on him, in front of the buyers - fisticuffs?  Well, no, not in front of the customers - they agree on £75 for one barrel.  But, outside, Alex and Zee lay into Jason (who, away from them, calls them the most intolerable and moronic people he's met in a long time), saying he made them look stupid.  To be fair, Alex, with those eyebrows, you manage that yourself.

Evolve decide to move to another venue, and have a catch-up with the other half of the team en route, who aren't impressed that the Kentish Putney team have only sold a cask and a half compared to their four.

Zee, Alex and Jason are in another pub, trying to sell beer.  This time, they have product that the buyer can try with his mouth, but they don't have pump clips, which will brand the brew for the customers' eyes.  They're basically missing senses out (sight, taste, common).  Zee's just about to shake on a £70 for one keg and no pump clip deal, when Jason leaps in with a three kegs and pump clips offer, which almost earns him a black eye.  Will he never learn that his role is logistics, not sales, on this task?

Kurt decides to move from St Albans to the Southbank.  It'll take two hours to get there and they'll need to sell two or three pints a minute once they're there.  Simples.

Meanwhile, Evolve have moved from St Albans to Richmond.  To a wine bar.  Clue's in the name, dear hearts - surprisingly, they're all drinking wine.  Nobody bought their beer.  Shocker.

Endeavour are flogging their beer on the Southbank now.  They've dropped the price to £2.50 a pint - which if they'd done it in St Albans, maybe they wouldn't have needed the two-hour journey.  Then they drop to £2 a pint and finally a quid a pint for the last five minutes of the task.

Evolve's Leah sells their final two casks for £90.  Each.  Bingo.  But, as usual, there's no way of telling who's done the best till the boardroom.  Because that's how telly works.

And...here it is!  Suited and booted, the 15 candidates range their perfectly coiffed and heavily made up selves (and that's just the boys) in the waiting area outside the boardroom, before they're summoned in.

And here's Shugs, or "oh, man" as I prefer to think of him now (thanks, Jaz).

But, what's this?  Alex is slouching!  Lord Sugar asks him to sit up straight.  Perhaps he's slept funny (you know, upside-down from the rafters, or crooked in a satin-lined casket, something like that) - anyway, he sits up, sharpish.

Lord Weak Pun mocks the name of Endeavour's beer - A Bitter This - asking whether if you drink enough of it, it becomes funny.  Pots, kettles?  Neil takes all the credit for thinking up everything to do with the brand, the beer, the theme tune, etc.

Was the team split properly?  Kurt's criticised for sending people who didn't like or weren't allowed to drink beer for religious reasons to make the product.

A brief argument ensues over whose fault it was that they rocked up at the first trade appointment with just a bottle to sniff - Alex saying it was either Kurt or Myles to blame and Kurt calling him a liar.  Careful, he'll get his fangs out.

Jason then turns into Mary Whitehouse (neat trick if you can do it) and says that Alex disgraced Lord Sugar by swearing at him the whole day, and using deception to sell a good quality product.  Shugs questions whether he's from the Office of Fair Trading - clearly unimpressed with Jason's holier-than-thou approach to the nefarious business of flogging stuff.

Over to Evolve.  And Karren says that Francesca nearly melted down over doing her sums and Shugs isn't impressed that they wasted 90 litres of beer trying not to poison people (though the option of keeping and flogging the poisonous beer is a step too far, even for Lord Sugar).  The girls thought Tim was a good project manager, overall.  Will they keep saying that if the finance doesn't add up and they find themselves in the greasy spoon again?  Let's find out.  It's...numbers time!

Team Evolve
Spent: £648.67
Sales to the trade: £492.
Sales to the public: £555.69.

Profit: £399.02.

Team Endeavour
Spent: 601.40

Sales to the trade: £284.98
Sales to the public: £1,147.98.

Profit: £831.56.


So, Endeavour have it again.  Shugs sends them over to Belgium as their prize.  Presumably because they make beer there.  Although maybe he's just a Poirot fan.  Ah, no, it's beer.  Cheers, boys.  Again!

Evolve are back to the greasy spoon, arguing over who suggested the Kent Beer Festival.  Rebecca and Tim both pushed that location, but the rest of the girls aren't keen for the buck to stop with Tim (presumably because Tim's deciding who else goes into the boardroom with him - so transparent, ladies).

Back in the boardroom, nobody's keen to speak up initially, but Shugs says he doesn't want to give £250,000 to a dummy, someone who looks at him with a dumbfounded expression, so they start to pull each other apart with posturing and pointing and allegations of being undermined (OK, fair enough, that's mainly Rebecca).  But whose idea was the location?  Everyone blame...Rebecca, who fights back, accusing them all of being in cahoots (paranoia always goes down a treat with Lord Sugar, good tactic).

Shugs puts the tin lid on the omnishambles that is Evolve's endeavour (see what I did there?), saying that they couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery.  Ba-doom-tss.

They're all a bloody waste of space at the moment, he continues, failing on elementary things such as mathematics and location for sales.

Francesca and Rebecca are chosen byTim to face the pointy finger of firedom in the boardroom.

Can Rebecca redeem herself with being the one who sold most to the trade?  Will Francesca's GCSE Maths qualification save her?  Can Tim show that location location location wasn't their downfall?

Shugs wonders whether Rebecca's tough enough to hack the process.  She assures him that she is, by saying she's tough enough to hack this process.  Well, that's that sorted then.  I'm convinced.

Has Tim made any decisions?  Or is he hiding behind being a team player who was trying to appease the ladies?  He thinks Rebecca should be fired.  But has he reckoned without her superb selling abilities?  And Rebecca thinks Tim should be fired.  Shugs wants to know what Francesca did right.  Apparently she priced the pints.  But is being able to use a pricing gun enough to save her?  And is Rebecca a sensitive troublemaker who Lord Amstrad won't be able to work with?

Well, Tim's a young guy, with a drinks industry business idea.  But he's made too many mistakes on this task for Shugs and he'll go no further in this process - Tim's nice, but dim and he's fired.

Will the girls shape up?  Will Rebecca have an actual fight with Uzma next week?  Will Francesca work out the difference between metres and litres as they tackle the next task, which is to make a piece of flat-pack furniture?  Let's hope so, or they may end up with a water bed by mistake...

The Apprentice Returns (or "Container" Yourselves, It's The All New Muppet Parade)

Let's all wave like Lucky. Or...not.

The new series begins with a selection of quotes from an array of what must surely be the most irksome and arrogant hopefuls The Apprentice has seen yet.  But maybe I'm being selective in my memory, or perhaps we just haven't got to know the kind, sweet-natured bunch this series.  Er, ok.  Here you go, anyway - you decide:

Zee: I'm a great of my generation. I'm an innovator and leader in business. I take inspiration from Napoleon.  I am here to conquer.

Jaz: I'm half machine.  I can process things at a speed that is out of this world.

Jason: Some people come to this process with a game plan.  I just feel my effortless superiority will take me all the way.

Alex: I'm an old head on young shoulders.  I believe that I'm the new breed of businessman that this process requires.

Myles: I have run successful businesses.  I can generate profit.  I'm business perfection personified.

Luisa: I have energy like a Duracell bunny, sex appeal like Jessica Rabbit and a brain like Einstein.

Francesca: I'm prepared to fight to the death to become Lord Sugar's business partner.

Neil: I will do anything to win. Cheating, manipulating, I will do it.

But, unfortunately, after all that swagger and posing, Lord Sugar says actions speak louder than words...so can they do it?  Can they do what other Apprentice candidates generally fail to do - come up with good ideas to make money without making the other thing that Apprentice candidates usually do - twats of themselves?

With this shower, it looks like the "open a container with a random assortment of tat inside, choose randomly and flog it for as much as you can" challenge might be just that - challenging.

It's midnight.  It's the boardroom.  Lord Sugar gives them a peppy pep talk - you're the collateral, you are the asset.  But he doesn't like their CV "bullshit".  He wants to hear a bit about their business ideas (a new twist on the format this year - we'll hear more about what they plan to do with Lord Sugar's cash should they be fortunate enough to be victorious).

They all look on, each convinced that they have the most amazing business idea.

Neil's is a unique online estate agency business.  Really?  How unique can it be when there are other estate agencies online?  Surely, by its very definition, it's not unique already.  Tsk.

Lord Sugar helpfully points out that Myles says on his CV that he thinks estate agents are tossers.  Neil hastily notes that he isn't an estate agent.  He doesn't let on whether he's a tosser or not though.  Time will tell.

Jaz's idea is enthusiastically described (by her) as an online learning platform to eradicate low levels of literacy.

Leah's...a doctor.  But we don't hear about her business idea.

Jason's never had a fulltime job - he's a student, studying Greek modern history.  But will he get the golden fleece?  Haha, Lord Sugar, very good (someone writes these for you, right?  Ooh, job opportunity!).

The task: the container of tat, grab it all, flog it off quick for big cash sums.

Jaz wants to be team leader for the girls.  Her hand went up so fast, she almost gave herself wrist whiplash.

Jason is team leader for the boys (volunteering himself at a slightly more sedate pace).

***********

In the back of the car, the boys are trying to find out about their team leader.  Jason's intelligence is like a machete, apparently.  But does he have a job?  No, he does "a bit of this, a bit of that".

Jaz isn't bossy, but she will tell people what to do.  Hokay...

Alex looks like Freddie Mercury, he says.  Or Dracula, the others think (and they're right, he's the spit of the virgin-bothering garlic dodger).  And he's from Cardiff.

TEAM NAME KLAXON!

The girls come up with Evolve, relatively quickly.

The boys are Endeavour, also relatively quickly.

DEFLATED BLOGGER KLAXON...

Hey ho, onward and upward.  It's CONTAINER TIME!

The teams choose:

Water, toilet rolls, cat litter, bubble wrap, leather jackets, mugs with Union Jacks on and china cats.  AKA tat.

Jaz asks what the girls expect from her: delegation, clear direction, to listen to her team.

Let's see, shall we?

And Sophie already feels patronised.  Good start, Jaz, good start.

Jason's having a problem herding the cats on his team.  Luckily, they've got cat litter to sell, so...

But he has appointed a sub-team leader, Neil, which Neil feels is clear proof that he's really in charge.  The boys get on their way, and start making calls offering very interesting products.  Let's hope they've got something more than cat litter then...

Back with the girls and Rebecca apparently always comes out on top - she's won loads of sales awards and always sells the most.  Pride comes before a fall?

But look, she's made £15, selling two cases of water!  WOW!  #underwhelmed

Alex, the vampire, flogs all their water (presumably not holy) for 12p a bottle to a coach company.  Neato.

Jason's trying to sell the lucky cats now - to a casino.  Apparently they retail for £12 (oh, come now), so they wanted to sell them for £6.  PAH!  The casino owner is having none of it and suggests three quid each (still pretty fucking steep for the plastic tat-cats).  Myles offers batteries with them, for £3.50 (bizarrely, since they have no batteries to sell) and they shake on £3.25, but the others doubt his motives - did he just want a sale at any cost to cover his back in the boardroom?

So now they've got to get batteries.  From somewhere.

Back to Evolve and the girls are looking for somewhere to sell lucky cats.  They're Chinese lucky cats...but they're not in China, so...  OOH!  Chinatown, thinks Jaz!  Unfortunately, it's closed, because it's still, like, well early.

Back with the water-selling girls - Luisa wants to sell the water, so makes a snide remark to Rebecca about selling more than two cases this time, then has an argument with Dr Leah before she tries her hand at selling, about whether she's likely to be able to memorise some figures before she tries the pitch.  Less Jessica Rabbit, more bunny-boiling loon.

The rest of the girls are back in Oxford Street, trying to sell lucky cats.  Ironically, they're having no luck.  Which sort of begs the question about just how lucky the little feline fuckers are, doesn't it?

They're also trying to sell Union Jack mugs for a penny more than they're on sale for in the shop already.  Basic mathematics, ladies, c'mon!  But, wait, they've got "just ten" leather jackets left!  Ooh!  The shopkeeper buys them all, unable to resist such an offer.  Or...does he?  Nope.  He's got to speak to his boss.  Talk to the decision maker, girls, fgs!

Nick "Countdown" Hewer is NOT impressed.  Jaz is "a nice woman", but this is business.  Oh, dear...

The rest of Team Evolve ring to say they've sold the water.  Jaz and the three other girls in the back of the car do "the lucky cat wave" to celebrate.  Excuse me whilst I add that to the list of things I didn't think I'd see on The Apprentice.  It's almost up there with the red shorts from the last series (#brainbleach).

The boys have flogged the cats (RSPCA?) for £160.  AKA fuck all.  And wasted time finding batteries.  And what's time?  MONEY, of course!  Worst of all, Jason misses the opportunity for a weak pun and calls it the "cat catastrophe".  Fool.  Lord Sugar will never hire you for weak pun writing duty with that sort of lack of attention to wordplay detail.

Alex is now trying to sell the bog roll, clarifying that it's "clean".  Well, that should help matters.  Even Stuart Baggs himself couldn't sell used lav paper, could he?  Actually, he probably could.  To a whole field of ponies.

Jason suggests a strategy for approaching clothes shops.  "Do we want to carry the ukulele and the mug and seem like purveyors of...tat?" - well, Jase, if the crap fits... (SEE, JASON, THAT'S HOW YOU DO A WEAK PUN!  Come on, Shugs, gissa job #Yosser).

They smash a mug to celebrate (whoops).  And then go off to try to flog the leather coats (with real polyester lining, folks).

Evolve are trying to sell the cat litter.  The Mutts Nuts aren't interested, though.  Perhaps because "mutt" means "dog".  And it's "cat" litter.  However, I'm now wondering what "dog" litter would - no, no, stoppit #brainbleach

Neil "despises cats", but, when trying to flog the cat litter at Battersea Dogs & Cats Home, he pronounces the kittens "beautiful".  Disingenuous much?  Remember he said he'd do anything to win - "cheating, manipulating" - and, it seems, lying about how much he likes pussy.  Interesting.

Over to Zee to try to clinch the sale for the kitty litter.  Well, sort of over.  Neil can't help himself, banging on, leaping in with suggestions and wincing whenever Zee opens his mouth.  Karren wasn't impressed.

Eventually, they sell the lot for £213, £5.20 a bag.

Neil and Zee have a brief row in the back of the car, over Neil hanging up the phone and where to sell high-vis jackets.  That'll be one to look back on fondly, boys.

AND Evolve are back in Chinatown (which is open now), still trying to sell lucky cats.

Sophie tries to sell them for £5 each.  Then Natalie leaps in with a £3 offer.  But for only ten of their fifty units, so they're back on the trog round Chinatown, trying to hawk the other forty.

Endeavour are selling the high-vis jackets.  The unaptly named Tim "Still"well leaps about all over the place after selling all 100 of them for £1.20 each.  Bless his eager and excited cotton socks.  And that's it, they've sold their half of the tat.  It's over to project manager Jason's half of the team, who are still trying to sell ukuleles and six of their leather jackets.  Neil's half of Endeavour are deeply unimpressed with him as project manager.

The girls are in a tat shop, where they manage to sell ten rolls of bubble wrap and a load of bog roll - for the princely sum of over £400.  #weakpunalert  That's shitloads of bog roll, right?  

Uzma says it doesn't faze her not to be in the limelight all the time, but really needs to work on her poker face, as she looks more miffed than Mrs Miffed after she's been particularly miffed by Miffy doing something super-miffing.

Endeavour are "running like hell to sell those ukuleles".  Jordan spins a massive whopper with "we've saved these specially for you" to the lucky shopkeeper they chance upon with their twangy stringed instruments.  George Formby's spinning in his grave.  And the shopkeeper seems more interested in plucking than purchasing, so to speak.  But, with 30 seconds to go, they clinch the deal - five ukes for £30.

Sophie squeaks about nobody listening to her.  But nobody listens.

Jaz's half of Team Evolve have sold items to the value of £270, which horrifies the other half.  Luisa says that if Jaz even suggests that any of the horrified half of the team are to go back into the boardroom, she'll be "on her like a fly on shit".  What a lovely image.  And now I'm thinking about fly litter.  Oh, STOP IT with the various animal excrement imagery.

Anyway, I predict a boardroom slaughter, because neither team leader has been anything like impressive.

Mwahahahaha!  C'mon, it's what we all tune in for, eh?

Jaz asks for feedback on her team leader abilities.  THE DIMWIT.  It's met with resounding silence (though that may just be because nobody said anything interesting enough for the final edit.  That's how telly works, kids).

Neil thinks Jason has committed "business suicide" by appointing him second in command.  But will Lord Sugar agree?  Traditionally unimpressed by arrogance without substance, Neil's talking over Zee's pitch may be his undoing.  But we have to see how the teams did first.  And they're back in the boardroom for the breakdown.  The financial one - though there may be sobbing, I guess, once the backstabbing starts.

BOARDROOM KLAXON

Did Jaz regret putting herself forward as project manager so quickly?  No...  Might she by the end of this boardroom?  Almost certainly!  It starts off friendly enough, with nice words, but lots of eye-rolling.  And...there it is.  They feel like Leah was the project manager, not Jaz, and Leah made the decisions.  Cor, that didn't take long!

So, did they sell anything?  Half the team very nearly sold out.  Jaz's team, as she details, had remaining all the mugs, seven leather jackets and 40 lucky cats.  Jaz then DEMONSTRATES the lucky cat wave to Lord Sugar.  A moment, whilst we pause to cringe our faces inside out at that.

A brief criticism from Shugs of their naivety over talking to the monkey, not the organ grinder, when it came to selling the leather jackets in Oxford Street.  Surely that's Business 101 - don't try to sell to someone who can't do the buying?

Over to Endeavour - a team name that is more "to hope to succeed" than to actually do it - though they did sell everything, so maybe they'll have squeaked it.

Jason thinks they did well as a team.  But Lord Amstrad has picked up on Neil's leadership challenge (even if Jason didn't).  Why did he do that?  Not enough leadership.  Alex "stakes" his loyalty (oh, do keep up, weak pun fans) and puts the boot in too, saying clear, concise instructions were left out from the beginning.  Karren chips in to point out that it was difficult when they were all talking over each other.

The boys' bunfight continues, with Neil saying he should've been team leader from the beginning. Jordan says it's embarrassing that Neil believes in himself more than anyone else does - then makes the rather bizarre statement that "it's not a competition, we're a team". Has he ever seen this before?

Karren says, through gritted teeth, "I've had a whole day of this" and she's "very tired of it".

Alex tries to stand up for Neil, but fucks up totally when he says he's "worked with Liam all day".  Another Business 101 lesson (or, perhaps, "Being Human 101" - something that may be harder for Mr Undead than at first glance) - "learn the names of the people you've spent all day with, especially when you say them in front of Lord Sugar".

Myles calls Jason's sales approach "more Vicar of Dibley than market trader" - something that's probably fair, but I can't forget the batteries for cats fiasco.  And nor, it seems, can Lord Sugar - his next question is whose idea was the batteries for the lucky cats.  Loadsa time wasted powering up the little pussies.

Tim bobs about some more, and says he felt the way to prove himself on this task was through sales.  Hey, guys, we've got a genius here!  He regales us with the story of how he sold the high-vis jackets.  And Lord Sugar tries a weak pun of his own - "they must have seen you coming".  I'm so very proud #fondpunster

And it's time for the numbers - from Nick "busman's holiday" Hewer.

Team Evolve:

Jaz's subteam sold £270.

Leah's subteam sold £839.30.

Total: £1139.30.

Team Endeavour:

Jason's subteam sold £324.50.

Neil's subteam sold £843.40.

Total: £1167.90.

Team Endeavour, as the winners, head to their luxury house in Holborn, with Fortnum & Mason's chef to cook for them that evening.  Bizarrely, Tim decides to then explain himself and say he's taken on board what Lord Sugar has said, yada, yada, yada...  He's cut off, by Lord Sugar pointing out that he's won.  Thud.

So, it's Jaz's Team Evolve who are back in the boardroom.

But first, a glimpse of their new home - which is rather nice, as you might expect.  And it's all smiles and "cheers" over posh grub.

Team Evolve are in the traditional losers' greasy spoon - Luisa points out that they sold more than triple the amount of stuff in their sub-team.  Uzma says they had all the figures, the appointments, the strategy.  The next day, after a good night's sleep, they're back to the boardroom.

Jaz really doesn't think she did anything wrong - she led the team.  Er, the losing team, remember?

And so to the boardroom...

Lord Sugar suggests Jaz began like the start of a netball match, all positivity and motivational blathering.  But that's jack shit, Sugar wants facts.  Leah made the strategy, she didn't implement Jaz's strategy.  Uzma didn't sell anything, but Leah had allocated her a non-selling role; operations and logistics.  Good call, except they didn't get as far as Battersea Dogs & Cats Home, who would've cheerfully munched through all their cat litter supply (as they did for the boys).  Logistics your way out of that, Uzma.

Luisa tries a bit of a backstab with Rebecca, but wisely sidesteps her way out of going in for the kill when it's pointed out to her that Rebecca was actually the biggest seller in their group.

Sophie sold nothing in Jaz's sub-team, but knew that lucky cats weren't going to be easy to sell in Chinatown.  However, nobody seemed to have heard her say it.  #weakpunalert  Maybe the cat had her tongue?

So, who's Jaz going to bring back?

Sophie's her first choice, which Sophie doesn't think is fair (well, of course she wouldn't, but who's gonna listen to her - not Jaz (again)).  And then there's some sarcastic arm-waving, which ALWAYS goes down well with Lord Sugar (have these people watched the series before?  Jeez!), before she decides on Uzma.

The girls in the firing line step outside, whilst Lord Sugar, Nick and Karren have a chat.  They decide it's tough to be a project manager, especially with a team like that.  Sophie was "a big disappointment" to Nick.  And the jury's out re Uzma.

And...they're back in the room.

Will Jaz stand her ground?  Will Sophie be heard?  Can Uzma operate and logistic her way out of a paper bag?

Sophie asks a rather dangerous question of Uzma - did she not think, as it was a selling task, she should've tried to sell?  Dangerous indeed - Sophie didn't sell anything herself, nor was she on the half of the team that sold over £800-worth of tat.

Jaz describes Sophie as a "passenger" on the task.  But Jaz didn't sell anything herself.  And it was Jaz's idea - and one she kept on about and followed through with, even though it was ridiculous - to "take coals to Newcastle" and try selling the lucky cats in Chinatown.  And then comes what could well be the clincher.  She sighs and says, "Oh, man..." - no, not "man" - he's "Lord Sugar", as he quickly points out.  Thud.  Again.

Shugs gives Jaz credit for jumping in and being project manager.  But...it wasn't clever to do it so quickly.

Lord Sugar is confused about why Jaz has brought Uzma into the boardroom - logistics is an important part of sales.

Sophie didn't sell anything - did she pull her weight on the task?  That has to be given deep consideration.

But...there was "terrible mayhem" and "fatal mistakes" were made.  Her biggest mistake was jumping in too quickly to be project manager.  The pointy finger of Lord Sugar fires...Jaz.

Jaz is "gutted" to be fired before she's had the chance to show how amazing she is.  What a loss to the world.

It's all hugs and smiles when the other two are back in the house.  How long they last remains to be seen.

So, it's the final 15 (good grief).  And they're making money from flavoured beer next time (and we only have to wait till 8th May - twice in two days!  With a double helping this week of the Muppet Parade, zey're really spoiling uz!).

What does "banker" rhyme with? Or why internet banking makes me homicidal

Random number allocation fail

The other day, I switched bank accounts. Does a story that begins this way ever have a happy ending? Or is it a tortuous and painful journey through paperwork blizzards, endless not-so-random PIN allocations and general frustration, accompanied by a lurking feeling that everyone else manages this just fine and you must be all toddler in the head if you can't do it without veins standing out on your neck?

Because that's it, isn't it? Something that's explained to you in the bank as being THE most simple thing that ever happened - "tell your employer these 14 different digits so they can pay you into the right place, then the companies who already take copious sums of money from you will automatically ask for that money from the same 14 digits. We'll make it all seamless for you, just go and have an ice cream or something" - actually turns out to be one of the most aggravating things you'll ever do (and I speak as somebody who has been to Legoland).

So what does happen?

First, you fall for the "we'll make it really simple, all your Direct Debits will be transferred automatically" patter.

Then you sign your life away, they hand you a sheaf of leaflets (or "sheaflet", if you like. You don't like? What's wrong with you?), and you go on your merry way, waiting for everything to happen as-if-by-magic.

What actually happens next is you get 48 million texts from debt management shysters, because the bank has seemingly sold your mobile number on (special circle of hell for them, along with the accident claims ambulance chasers), the disingenuous cocksplats.

And then you get an avalanche of paperwork through the door, including:

• the credit card you didn't really want, but said yes to because they wouldn't shut up otherwise
• the PIN for said credit card (not PIN number, because that makes it Personal Identification Number number, and only a dickhead says that)
• telephone banking PIN and instructions (so you can ring an automated robot voice to check your balance, which will be dick-all, because they've fucked up your account)
• debit card
• card reader for your debit card (because Just A Password isn't secure enough in these days of fraudulent tomfoolery and other such japes)

But no PIN for your debit card, so you can't actually log in to your internet banking.  And they don't transfer the Direct Debits within ten days either.  But you can't log in to check what they have or haven't done.  Because you don't have a PIN.  Still, at least fraudsters can't get into your account.  BUT NOR CAN YOU.

Oh, and the PIN they sent for the credit card?  Photograph above.  Yes, genuinely.  And of course I've changed it, but FGS, in these days of needing a card reader, a PIN, to run widdershins round the country from Land's End to John O'Groats then play and win three games of hopscotch with Satan to log in to your own account, surely they can at least randomise a PIN they're sending through the post?

I do feel somewhat guilty, Martin Lewis, of course I do - I should be better at this shit.  But no bloody wonder people don't bother transferring their bank accounts more often. It's not inertia, it's fear of the jail terms for murder.

Well, Butter My Bum, it's The Great Comic Relief Bake Off!

Put four comedians in the Great British Bake Off tent, overseen by the usual dough-some twosome, Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood, and what do we get?

We get the Great British Bake Off Comic Relief Special!  Or The Great Comic Relief Bake Off.  We've only got Mel Giedroyc though, Sue Perkins was too scared she might be out-comedied.

"Branded" butter on the Beeb...

Obviously, Jo Brand is featured.  And her preferred method of making sure the butter for her shortbread is room temperature is to sit on it.  Yes, really.  She's making rhubarb and custard shortbread.

Stephen K Amos has missed out his nuts.  Shame.

Ingrid Oliver (one half of comedy duo Watson & Oliver) is using Lady Grey tea in her shortbread, but Hollywood would seemingly have preferred she used poppy seeds.  Shame on HER.


Lorna Watson is doing everything slowly, including making very sticky shortbread dough.  Dough?  Batter?  There's a reason I'm not on this programme.  I'd end up making pancakes by mistake.  FLIP!

Jo Brand's shortbread has suffered from "shrink-back".  It sounds like an Asda initiative, but apparently it means it's just shrunk a bit.  Or something.  Brand wishes it would happen to her.

Stephen K Amos (what does the K stand for?) has baked something with non-existent lavender in it.  And something citrussy that is described as "terrible" by Hollywood.  Plaudits abound!

Oliver is using a Mary Berry recipe, the crawly-crawly bumlick.  But she's worked the dough a bit too much.  Horrors!  The lavender overpowers the tea.  Mel Giedroyc has eaten them all by the time anyone has a chance to go back for seconds.

Watson has baked squillions of biscuits.  To be precise, she's over-baked squillions and put enormous walnuts on them.  But they were quite nice biscuits.  So that's good.

Brand was just delighted Hollywood swallowed, instead of spitting.  This is PRE watershed, right?  Hmm, maybe it's just my brain that isn't.  Yes, that'll be it.

The Technical Challenge recipe is a surprise, so they can't fake it.  They just have to bake it.  Ha!

Aaaaaand...it's a custard slice.  Paul Hollywood's recipe.  Mary Berry calls Hollywood on how tricky the recipe is - he knows it's tough.  But he doesn't care, because that's how the Hollywood rolls.

The pastry proves interesting, as does the custard vanilla-ing from Brand - she pulls it all out of the pod with her thumbnail and then scrapes it into the custard.  Let's hope she didn't scrape the butter out of her bum with the same nail earlier.  She puts what looks like quite nice pastry in the oven.

Watson puts another sticky mess in the oven.  And then it catches fire.  Amazingly, her pastry has risen beautifully, but unfortunately, it tastes of meaty barbecue.  Just what you want in a custard slice.  Hey ho, maybe Berry/Hollywood won't notice.

Oliver splats chocolate on the top of hers, only marginally better than Watson.  Brand is actually surprisingly competent at this and makes a well decent job of her feathered chocolate.  Unfortunately, she then ballses up cutting them and makes them look shit.  

The squashed, sticky offerings are laid on the sacrificial gingham altar.  Hollywood pisses himself laughing when he sees them - always a good start.  Still, it's Comic Relief.  And fucking hell, these custard slices are jokes.  They're just missing the red noses.

But noooo, we have a soggy bottom!  Stephen K Amos maybe sat on Brand's butter too...

Oliver's is "not bad".

Brand can't count (not the right number of slices) - and she has another soggy bottom (still sitting on the butter?  I am so not over that image - can you tell? #brainbleach).

And Watson's isn't just soggy, it's raw.  It makes Paul Hollywood have to think nice thoughts to avoid coughing up a furball.

Watson's in fourth place.

Brand's in third place.

K Amos is second.

And Oliver wins and is "genuinely gobsmacked".  Nobody's ever said that when they've won something on reality television.  She'll be on about her journey next.

Watson, bless her, still thinks she can be Star Baker.  Oh, dear.  She seems a nice girl, but baking ain't her forte.

Being a Comic Relief programme, there's now a short film about the brilliant stuff that Comic Relief does in Africa.  And there's a bakery they support - how awesome is that?!  Women baking, their children being looked after and educated at the same time - it's called the Virtuous Women's Bakery!  To send a lovely chunk of cash to this fine cause, simply text BAKE to 70005.  Do it.  Do it now.

Have you done it?  GO ON!

Right, on with the show.  WHO is going to be Star Baker?  The third and final test is the Showstopper Challenge.  They have to bake a novelty chocolate portrait cake, featuring a picture of someone they all know and recognise.

Personally, I'd do Mr Uppity.  He's just the right colour for a chocolate cake.  What about you?

Brand's gone for the Archbishop Desmond Tutu, which is probably a better, more inspiring choice.  One of the reasons is she doesn't think she has ever seen him on a cake before.  She should get out more - he's a common enough feature on tea tables round my way.

Oliver's doing Paul Hollywood.  Not ACTUALLY.  Well, she may be, but not on camera.  There's comedy and there's Just Too Far.  But she's putting Paul Hollywood's face on the cake.  It's a SECRET though; she doesn't tell him.

Stephen K Amos is putting a glitter picture of himself on the top.  The giant narcissist.

Watson - well, it's going to be sticky, isn't it?  She's using white chocolate and fresh raspberries.  And Sue Perkins will feature - ahhh.  Hollywood points out her cake has split, so she uses a beater instead of her hand to mix the next version.

Into the oven now, with Brand imploring her cake to "be good".  She's gone for a cup of tea in the sunshine, relaxed as fuck.

Stephen K Amos is cooking his chocolate to death.  It's gone as grainy as a filthy pap long-distance telephoto picture of Kate Middleton topless.

Oliver's having a mare.  She forgot to put raising agent in the orange sponge.  She has to start again, with one hour to go.  Whoops.  It takes 45 minutes to bake...  It'll be tight!

Sue looking ironic, eyebrow-wise

Watson is doing an ironic eyebrow in icing.  I love that sentence.  I think I will always ice ironic eyebrows on EVERY cake I ever make from now on.  It may end up being my epitaph.  "Here lies the tetchiest pedant we ever knew. She iced a mean ironic eyebrow."  What better way to be remembered?

Ten minutes left.  Watson seems to be pulling it out of the bag, with her raspberry buttercream looking only slightly like the product of liposuction.

Stephen K Amos has de-grained his chocolate somehow.  Brand holds the stencil of his face over the cake and Stephen K Amos shakes glittery brown dust through it.  The resulting picture looks...well, it looks shit.

Amazingly, they've all finished in time.

Brand's isn't overdone.  And her freestyle Tutu has gone down well.  Berry says she's made a very good cake.

Amos's is bitter.  And dense.  I wouldn't want a picture of myself on a bitter, dense cake, would you?

Paul Hollywood then cuts into his own face as they try Oliver's cake.  He declares it "lovely".  And the orange sponge that went so horribly wrong first time round was light and nice.  Hurrah!

Watson's Sue cake with the ironic eyebrow is soon sliced up.  The buttercream (lipo residue) has curdled.  And Sue tastes scrummy, but the cake is a bit wonky.  Paul Hollywood declares it " tastes perfect".

Brand's biscuits were the best.  And her cake was the best.  Will she win?

Amos's cake was burnt and bitter.  He thinks it went well, having made Berry pull a face with so much "expression" which is a devastatingly self-confident delusion.

Oliver - lovely cake, a good all-rounder.

Watson's cake was "perfect" - but was it enough to win her the competition, given her sticky messes earlier?

This person's journey (always with the sodding journey!) started with humble shortbread dreams, via custard slices, ending up in the foothills of - oh, I lost the will to live, sorry, Giedroyc!

Anyway, Ingrid Oliver won and receives the Apron of Glory.  And some flowers.  She was the all-round best.  I think it was just because she put La Hollywood on the top of her cake, don't you?  And didn't set fire to her pastry, make a dense, bitter cake or sit on her butter.  There you go - top tips for winning Bake Off.

So, let's have a bake sale for Comic Relief.  GO ON!  And ice ironic eyebrows on every last damn cake.  GO ON!

"The Queen? She'll have to take me as she finds me"

None of this sort of going-on for Marjorie

Royal watchers were outraged today as Marjorie Lighthouse, chosen by village ballot to receive Her Majesty the Queen during her 2013 Jubilee reprise tour of Little Wallop, said, "I shan't be making any special preparations.  The Queen will have to take me as she finds me. I can't be doing with fuss and faddle."

This dramatic protocol swerve came hot on the heels of two other breaks with royal tradition:

• the news that Prince Andrew was going to take a job in McDonald's, having always hankered for a role where he can earn Actual Stars (he hasn't yet, but we've everything crossed that he gets his "top patty-flipper" award later this month)
• Kate Middleton saying to a Daily Mail reporter, "It's fine, you can criticise my nude-shoe-wearing preference, I know you're only doing it to make up for having a really small penis".

Royal staff were said to be concerned that Her Maj will find the smell of the commoner's house offensive, since she is used to the scent of freshly-slapped-on Farrow & Ball (Dulux at a push), but they've developed an emergency "paint-scent sprayer" which a specially-trained Corgi will activate at set intervals with his tongue.
When interviewed, Miss Lighthouse, 82, said, "I didn't realise I'd entered the ballot.  I thought I was sending back a coupon to get 5p off mutton.  I was surprised to win and there's been some jealousy in the village, especially as I haven't gone all out to crochet doilies in the shape of Prince Charles's ears to welcome the Queen into my home, like Elsie Mucklethwaite has.  But, really, the Queen's an old lady, I'm an old lady.  I'm sure we'll have a lot in common.  I've asked Elsie if she'll lend me the ears in return for a prime spot on my fence to watch the Queen's visit, but she hasn't replied to my text yet."

We'll bring you more as we get it.  Whether you like it or not.

Rolling News. Or The Obviouses. Or Just Shut Up Already.

Be a discerning news consumer, fgs

Back in the olden days...

..when we had three channels, no recording devices and no remote controls, television watching was a serious business.  You had to plan what you were going to watch, then make sure you paid attention to it, because there was no going back and seeing it again.  There was a specific slot for children's television, another for family viewing and yet another for being informed about the important happenings of the day (known as "The News").  And television had a closedown - it wasn't on all night (astonishing though that may seem now!).

Whilst the children's television has been shifted onto whole dedicated channels since the explosion of multichannel telly and the rest of it is now an all-night festival of televisual feasting, the one thing that hasn't changed is "The News" - well, it's still called that, anyway.

But has it changed?

Well, yes, I think so.  And is that change better?  Well, no, I don't think so.  Why?  I'll explain.

When you had your news diet in the limited sort of six o'clock, nine o'clock and ten o'clock varieties, as well as newspapers (for which you parted with actual hard-earned cash) and the radio (which was the newsiest thing out), you took consuming it seriously and expected the providers to treat it in a similarly solemn fashion.  News understood that the word "new" needed to be the basis of all they conveyed.

And then - and I honestly believe you can pinpoint the downfall of news as a serious thing to this one event - Angela Rippon proved that newsreaders had legs on Morecambe & Wise.




After that, they were all at it.  Children in Need became an excuse for newsreaders to prove that they were fun too.  Honest.

But then news started to creep into every moment of every day (and this is by no means a history lesson, so don't come crying to me if I get stuff in the wrong order!) and soon it was inescapable.  From free papers on the Tube to talk radio stations endlessly churning out comment on the day's stories (often fronted by ex-tabloid journos, who are well known for thoughtful and evidence based journalism with nary a shock tactic in sight) - and one of the most pointless and soul-destroying things, rolling news on dedicated news channels.

Never has this been so patently obvious as with the recent helicopter crash in London.  Before I go on, I think we can all agree that this was a terrible thing to happen - so please don't think I am being in any way flippant or disrespectful to the two who died (I'm not) - but it highlighted very neatly the way rolling news is so useless (and, in fact, trivialises the very thing upon which it reports), thus:

- "Can you describe what you saw?"
- "Yes, a helicopter crashed."
- "What did it look like?"
- "A...helicopter crashing?"

Why, thank you, "The News" for this insight.

Continuing, we had pearls such as (and I may paraphrase here, but only slightly):

- "What did it sound like?"
- "A loud bang."

Really?  A helicopter crashing makes a loud bang?  You think?!  Not like an angel playing a harp or fairies sprinkling glitter?  FFS, stop trivialising, just stop talking!  Stop the endless churning banging on, the incessant need to fill 24 hours' worth of airwaves every fucking day with total bullshit news coverage, repeated ad nauseum, so that people can feel "fully informed" when, actually, they're just being told things they already know over and over and over again by people with serious voices.  It's not news.  It's "obviouses".

And then there is the wheeling out of experts who say, when asked what they think happened, "Well, we just don't know.  Anything could have happened.  There'll be an investigation and the results of that will be made public and then we'll be able to comment more fully."  But still they probe.  "But in your experience, what do you think happened?" - and just once, wouldn't it be nice if one of them said, "I haven't got a fucking clue and this is such a waste of time. Now piss off!"? But they don't, because they want to be on telly.  The wankers.

And, of course, we take a trip, as we always do, to Spurious Analogy Land, which is populated by journalists from rolling news.  They say things like, "It was like a war zone".  No, it was like a helicopter had crashed.  That's it.  We can imagine that well enough, thanks to the footage of the aftermath, the fire, the crane it hit, the fire engines and other emergency services on the ground - but it doesn't look like a war zone.  Just ask people who live in one.  There aren't any tanks, for instance.  Or napalm.  And there are considerably more branches of Tesco Metro.

But, mostly, just shut up.  Stop skewing the events of the day by being there, with your microphone and your lunatic wide-eyed questioning of members of the public.  Just let things happen, then report on them in strictly-timed limited slots - perhaps six, nine and ten o'clock and I'll let you do a breakfast round-up of things that happened overnight.  OK?

New Series Of MasterChef, The Professionals (or We're All Eating Ready Meals And Watching Food Porn)

M. For MasterChef. No P for Professionals. Who took the P?

"On the hunt for the next culinary superstar - a professional with the talent to cut it in the world's top kitchens."  So says the opening voiceover for this new series of MasterChef The Professionals.  I still hanker for India "I am about to orgasm" Fisher doing the voiceover, but it's not her, it's Sean Pertwee (son of Jon "Worzel Gummidge" Pertwee - I wonder if Sean can swap his heads over?) trying to be her.  Which is peculiar and disconcerting.  We've got our old favourite angry boiled potato Gregg "Greggggg" Wallace though.  But, as usual on Professionals, no John Torode - so no foghorn competitions in the "COOKING DOESN'T GET TOUGHER THAN THIS" stakes.  Which I'll miss, if I'm honest.

First, the soundbite smuggery round-up where they all do the "I will win" shouting much-beloved by programmes such as The Apprentice and X Factor.  It's basically the part where the programme can edit in any bit of a particularly boastful candidate which will embarrass them later on in the show when they cook an upside-down cake the right way up or something (horrors!).  For this first episode, where we don't know the contestants, they just go for out-and-out epic statement braying, such as, "Cooking is my life." No, son, eating is your life. If you just cook and don't eat, you won't get very far. Think on.

As ever, Professional MasterChef is about finding some "serious, serious talent". They want to discover the next "cookery genius".  It's cooking, folks, not brain surgery.  But, anyway, let's suspend our disbelief that anyone gets this earnest about putting ingredients together and applying heat to some of them in different ways and watch them sweat and pant and stress and chop things and drop things and swear under their breaths and generally splice beetroot with fudge sauce and bodge blackcurrants into mackerel.

Unlike A-levels, every year, this competition apparently gets harder, says Monica Galetti (who I like to think of as "not-Michel").

So, what are the would-be chefs doing?  Their invention challenge sees them use ingredients such as gurnard, apples and vanilla to make - well, apple and vanilla gurnard, I guess (there's a reason I'm blogging this, not competing).  Other ingredients include squid, basil, chillies and raisins.  They definitely all go together - I do hope they each use everything #rubshands

The first contestant, James, is a personal chef.  He hunts it, shoots it, fishes it and cooks it. Let's hope he doesn't fuck it (up) too.  He can pluck a pigeon, he can butcher an animal, he wants to take it all the way.  I hope he's not talking about the pigeon still #shudder

The next contestant is Danish-born Fife-dweller Morten. Calm down, ladies, he's not Mr Harket.  And, yes, he probably has had that comparison in the past.  He says, "If you just play safe, you won't go anywhere."  Can you tell what it is yet?  #wobbleboard  Hmm, it's creamed vanilla apples with fish.  Er, yum?

He's making a bowl of green stuff (I suspect basil plays a part in this - I am good at this ingredient Sherlocking - oh, and they said "basil" too and I listened. It's chilli and basil salsa).  And potato gnocchi.  But no raisins.  Why no raisins, Morten?  What did raisins do to you?  Why you eschew the raisins?!

Waitress turned chef and insurance accounts girl Anna is desperate to spend more time in the kitchen. I don't think this is sexist though.  She's making custard (because she's heard it's Greggggg's favourite - the giant jam roly-poly that he is), stacking up raising and apples in a big ol' pudding and will spin some sugar, if there's time, a la James Martin.

The next chap, Matt, looks like a Pillsbury Doughboy.  He's from a really small village in Wales too.  He's the only Doughboy in the village, I believe.  He's making a chilli basil rosti, which we see sizzling oilily (that should be a word) in a big greasy pan several times.  And searing the fish.  Gregg asks him "how on the edge is your food?" to which the obvious reply is, "It's in the middle, Gregg, it falls off the plates otherwise, you fool!".  But Matt says he's done lettuce milkshake before, which sounds revolting, frankly - so maybe that was more the answer Gregggg was looking for (another reason I'm not in this competition - too flippant.  And flippant's only good for pancakes.  Ba-doom-tss).

Rob's dad's a chef, so cooking's in his blood (let's hope it isn't the greasy rosti sort of Doughboy Matt, or he's headed for a coronary before the end of the episode).  He wants to be the best at cooking. Good job he's in a cooking competition, really.  He's a sous chef and runs the kitchen (is that how it works, hierarchy-wise? I'm not convinced...).

Long-necked 20yo Andy is creative with flavours as evinced by his basil beurre blanc with vanilla and fish with apple puree and Gregggg and not-Michel aren't sure it'll work.

Karl is a traditional chef.  He knows what works.  He wants to win (strange, don't think any of the others does).  He's head chef in a pub - he does burgers, fish and chips and sausage and mash - proper haute cuisine then.  He's making chilli squid with apples and sultanas (they're raisins, Karl, you plum!).  Squid crumble?  Again, er, yum?

Craig has done a couple of local competitions and come runner-up twice.  He doesn't say whether they were cookery competitions or not #mindboggles  He's had classic cookery chef training.  He, rather ambitiously, wants to get past the first round.  But you can tell he thinks he's better than that.  He's making green mash, a guaranteed winner with the judges.

Stefani makes imaginative food.  She works in a posh cafe in a cookery school as head chef (head, not sous - there's a definite difference there - anyone?).  She's thinking about making a shaved apple salad (er, hang on, I don't want to eat hairy apples - who would?!).

Mark is completely self-taught, so he's the underdog, according to him, where cookery skills are concerned - but he's head chef in his own restaurant, having been a joiner till three years ago.  He's making a caramelised onion and basil tart.  If he makes great pastry today, he may win (if only chilli vanilli had realised this was the way forward!).

How did they do?

Matt the Doughboy has made a too-salty basil leaf (like the Indian Ocean, Greggggg says) with an enormous stodgy rosti.  I don't fancy him much (or his chances in this competition, fnar).

Morten has made gnocchi and vanilla and apple and gurnard and chilli basil salsa.  Everything good except the chilli is too hot for the apple and vanilla.  His questionable palate is a quandary for Gregggg and not-Michel.

Anna's made a pudding and did find time to spin sugar.  Hurrah!  And it's a very well-done plate.  Greggggg is delighted to have a nice pud (you wouldn't know it to look at him, would you?).  She had him hooked on the custard (frankly, if you can hook someone on your custard, it's probably got too thick a skin, don't you think?).  Anna, giggling, is happy to have had smiles from the judges.

Rob's pan-fried gurnard is served with crispy squid and apple salad with basil oil.  Greggggg doesn't like the salad.  He calls it "unpleasant".  Apple juice spilling into oil and lemon juice.  Monica says it's all too sharp.  The squid and the gurnard are well cooked, but - unpleasant isn't the best way to begin a competition, is it?

Andy has also pan-fried his gurnard.  Well, of course he has.  What else do we fry things in?  Shoes?  Top hats?  For heaven's sake!  His sauce is like a pudding that doesn't go with fish.  And pudding doesn't go with fish, ever. Andy says he feels he's let himself down a bit today.  Well, yes, yes, you have.  AND US, ANDY!  Think on, again, Mr Cooking Is My Life.

James's fish and squid are cooked perfectly.  Not-Michel loves it - it's the kind of plate she has been waiting to see (round, white, flattish, you know).  Greggggg also has no criticism.  He uses the word "punter" to describe himself, just so that we know he still has the common touch and is still a greengrocer at heart (we hadn't forgotten, Gregg - the last "g" in your name reminds us every time - GregGreengrocer. See?).

Karl has made wonderful potatoes, his fish is cooked and seasoned wonderfully.  The squid salad is a letdown for Monica, she says it tastes of nothing.  Tsk.  But Gregggg really likes the salad, but not with hot fish and potatoes in the middle.  Like finding a surprise steaming turd in the middle of sorbet, from his face.

Craig has made a LOT of mash - even Gregggg doesn't like that much mash.  And it's basil-green too - er, nice?  The fish is cooked well (he fried it in a cat litter tray. Just kidding, he used a pan - the traditionalist), but the vanilla beurre blanc ruins the dish.  It's positively seething with black dots of vanilla, like bedbugs in a cheap motel.

Stefani has lyonnaise-style potatoes and a load of old other stuff including fish, with a lemon dressing.  But her fish is overcooked and she's got a clash of styles on her plate.  Fgs, will these people never learn (mind you, if they keep it simple, they get criticised for not being adventurous enough - it's a balance, guys, remember that!).

Mark has made a caramelised onion, chilli and basil tart with a chilli and basil vinaigrette.  Monica loves it.  Greggg likes tarts (so I've heard).  Yep, soft, slippery onions too - mmm, slippery onions, Greggg.  Your favourite!

And that's the end of round one.  Gregggg says there were some exciting dishes there.  No winners or losers today though - there's another instalment tomorrow.  So that's the end of the programme.  Over far too quickly - should've been an hour!

Off they jolly well go, till tomorrow...