THE APPRENTICE: THE FINAL
For those of you coming out of a coma, The Apprentice is the UK version of Donald Trump's riveting business/reality programme. The UK's answer to Donald is former Spurs chairman, 80s computing entrepeneur and all-round curmudgeon, SIR Alan Sugar. Nobody, but nobody calls him Alan. Not even Lady Alan, I'll bet.

So, fourteen thrusting young business folk - an assortment of estate agents, pretty MBAs, salespeople and a LT manager - are put through a number of weekly tasks that require them to either sell a product or make money in some other way. Like the US version, you hate nearly every single one of the contestants. My favourite hate-object varied between Tory Boy Matthew, who seemed to be unable to hold a conversation with anybody without shouting at them and Paul the "property developer" who managed to conform to two stereotypes (Yorkshiremen are bigoted bastards/Italians are mad and gobby with it) at once. Once Tory Boy got the boot, my ire concentrated mainly on Paul, but I managed to despise pretty much everybody else except Lovely Tim the LT manager.

Alan's idiotometer was running on 11 throughout the series. He soon dispatched the real mutants: melty-faced Adele's botoxed visage nearly cracked under the strain when she made her resignation speech seconds before Sir Alan told her she was fired. Last of the people you wouldn't let clean your windows, let alone run one of your companies to go was Raj, the 'internet entrepeneur' who didn't do sales, didn't do marketing, didn't do cooking...didn't do much actually. Apart from suck up to Saira the gobby salesperson and eventual finalist.

Saira was an enigma, wrapped inside a conundrum, wrapped inside the most irritating manner you have ever witnessed outside a Labour conference. She. Spoke. Very. Slowly. And. Very. Deliberately. To. Everybody. Like. They. Were. Morons. That's when she wasn't shouting, or browbeating some poor passer-by with her foghorn sales technique. She has a long and prosperous career ahead of her as a Professional Business Gob. She'll appear on Blue Peter, and probably do a show with Alvin Hall, and her diet book will be featured in Heat magazine. Maybe she'll even have her boobs done like Jade Goody.

Lovely Tim, on the other hand, looked pretty, smiled at everybody, spread the love, and even when he fucked up, fucked up nicely. No wonder he won. He also made the very smart move of walking around shirtless at every opportunity, especially in the final week. His projects made less money, but he was steady, charming and slightly dull. Even the fact that he was a Gooner didn't sway Sir Alan - but then considering the way he ran Spurs, Sir Alan probably wasn't even aware of their deadly rivals. Given that his final opponent was madder than a crate of snakes, it was no wonder that Tim won.

By the end Paul and James had settled into their respective boxes: Paul was the mad maverick who managed to make us feel sorry for Saira; James was the bloody nice posh bloke with a big false laugh. Even in the post-show discussion, everybody's favourite spud-in-a-wig Adrian Chiles couldn't get past the "ooooh...I'm mad and sexist me!"/"Well I'm jolly posh!" personae, and the other rejected contestants were too busy sulking to contribute anything constructive. Apart from Miriam. Lovely Miriam and her Magic Breasts offered love and support for everyone. Tim sobbed that he just wanted to make his mum proud, and Sir Alan sat in the middle of it all like a faintly disgusted old tabby cat. He's still a git.