And now, the end is near and so we face the final curtain.
Regrets, we’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention.
Life as an Apprentice candidate is little to do with regret and all to do with opportunity.
I thought Paul Whitehouse’s review of Sunday night’s insight into the finalists’ psyche was remarkably close to my own opinion of the veritable tosspottery that this year’s candidates is. And yet, it is the most compelling television that this nation produces.
In effect tonight was the season closer.
It is all too clear that Clur has won. Next week is simply the crowning of the mockit monarch. Surrounded by her working class guard of honour.
The dismissal of Lucinda tonight merely proved the fact that Sir Alan is a class warrior and can’t abide posh. I have been accused through my commentary on this series of being anti-posh but this simply isn’t true. I’ve supported Lucinda throughout – she has a brain after all – but titty-boy Raef and his clueless lover Michael Sophocles gave poshness a bad name.
For posh, read dim – in their cases.
Anyway, the final four at least represents the best of a bad lot.
As discussed, Clur will win handsomely (that was irony). She proclaimed last night that she didn’t want to be a “big fat lemon” which begged the obvious question; “Well, why are you wearing a yellow top then?”
Lee can’t win because he was duped into being
a) a Pterodactyl and
b) a liar (about his education)
in last night’s interviews and is lucky still to be in it.
Helene has dragged herself out of the mire but can’t win because Sr Alan absolutely hates her.
Alex can’t win because he is a wee wankypoo.
“I’m only 24” he keeps proclaiming. 24 what? I wonder. 24 times the national average irritation factor.
So, it’s Clur all the way for me.
Gobby, lemony, irritating bitch that she is.
We luv u Clur.
(Oh fuck. Big Brother starts tomorrow night.)