The last week, watching the candidates for the position of Prime Minister being steadily whittled down to two, has been remarkably disappointing viewing. Where is Alan Sugar when we need him?
How much more fun (not to mention enlightening) it would have been to put all the candidates through The Apprentice - billed by SurAlan as the “toughest recruitment process ever.”
Having floated this idea to my Facebook friends to general agreement, I decided to try it out on members at last week’s meeting of Sporting Memories. It went down extremely well with suggestions flying in from all present.
Rather less successful was the news imparted by our leaders that they had been asked to introduce more active sport into our weekly meetings. Mostly, regular readers may remember, we choose to exercise
our tongues in constant, lively chatter - plus we do saunter to the bar area halfway through our session to collect coffee / tea / hot chocolate / herbal tea according to preference. Rhona pretended not to hear the protests as she unrolled a kind of mini putting
green, positioning three golf balls at one end and holding out a putter by way of invitation. It seemed rude not to accept the challenge - especially as nobody else seemed inclined to do so.
However I digress (a common feature of the Daily Blog) - I was talking about The Apprentice and the race to Prime Minister. Wouldn’t it be excellent, I suggested, if all the candidates had to be put up for the duration
in a country house - Chequers might do nicely - and be woken at Silly o’clock each morning by SurAlan’s secretary advising them that the cars would be outside in twenty minutes to take them to some unknown destination. Which candidate would they
leave to sleep on in innocence while the remainder applied make-up, blow-dried their curly locks and (if female) donned killer heels?
The Sporting Memories crowd
was definitely up for the challenge. Everyone had a suggestion to make, the more outlandish the better. There would have to be a cooking round, where candidates had to invent, cook and serve up a dish - humble pie would seem appropriate. Plus a round to test
their ability at selling goods which nobody wanted while dressed up as a lobster or something similarly fishy. One of the Gang suggested that when it came to sending them all abroad, Rwanda would be the Destination of Choice, where each of them would have
to purchase items on a prescribed shopping list for the least amount. Sitting round a table at La Cabana, the least successful in each round would lick their wounds and blame each other for their own deficiencies.
Best of all would be the round where the final four or five have to present their Business Plans and be quizzed mercilessly by SurAlan’s trusted confidantes, who would doubtless uncover every
flaw in their CV, probe every extravagant claim, and insist on a stringent financial examination of their costings.
The final two would then go head to head
organising a party (beer, curry, champagne, sandwiches, birthday cake etc) which should be the very essence of fun while being both work-related and in line with all Covid rules as per 2020/ 2021.
Apart from anything else, wouldn’t it be so much better not to have to listen to Graham Brady telling us when each candidate has been “eliminated” - he can’t help it, bless him, but he is a bit, well,
boring in a 1922 Committee kind of way. Instead we would have SurAlan pointing an accusing finger at first one, then another, and proclaiming “You’re fired!” Or, if he were minded to be a little kinder on occasion: “It is with regret
- you’re fired!”
It’s not going to happen, of course, so I’d better dream on. Which reminds me - I actually potted two out of three of
Rhona’s golf balls, finding the centre of three holes. If I hadn’t been so overcome by my own success after the first two found the hole then I might have made it three.
There’s a lesson there for all of us…