Sir Alan Sugar and Me

SIR Alan Sugar’s down to earth attitude of mind would mean we would get on just fine. I am sure of that.
Nevertheless, in the unlikely event of me ever getting onto BBC’s hit show The Apprentice I would be sacked in the first week.
That’s because I failed to get a degree in back stabbing, a Masters in bitchiness or even an A* GCSE in selfish survival at all costs.
“You’re out of your depth, love,” Alan would say with a sorry glint in his eye. “You show compassion for goodness sake. You need to be a right cow to survive with this lot.”
Apologies for a rare TV addiction but right now The Apprentice is the only programme I make time to watch – along with more than seven million others.
And, though I know I shouldn’t as the language can get pretty ripe, I let my sons watch it, too. It’s an education.
“Watch and learn lads,” I say. “This is how horrible people can be at work sometimes.”
But the most revealing lesson in life that The Apprentice proves with a vengeance is my mediocre theory.
Many moons ago a fellow news reporter and colleague on the smallest daily paper in the country landed himself as a job on The Guardian in London, the sort of rag that would eat itself if it was chocolate.
“Aren’t you intimidated?” I ventured as he prepared for the big move.
“Jill,” he said in his lovely Geordie twang. “If there is one thing I have learned in life, especially at university, is that everyone is mediocre.”
How right he was. It’s just that the mediocre people who shout the loudest often get on. If there is one thing The Apprentice triple underlines it is that even arrogant know-it-alls are pretty useless, it’s just that they never admit it. Either that are they are hopelessly deluded.
We see this with amazing clarity thanks to fly-on-the-wall TV. The cream of Britain’s entrepreneurs and go-getters come together to do a task and a battle of egos emerges.
The project managers are undermined by members of their so-called team, everyone thinks they could do things better and they always make giant errors. Like trying to sell ice cream to shops that make their own, or offering a washing service and getting everyone’s clothes hopelessly mixed.
And when it comes to facing the steely gaze of Sir Alan in the boardroom afterwards, the blame shifting and blatant lying is incredible to behold.
Women, of course, are the worst. Men can stick the knife in but never with the intensity that some members of the fairer sex display. They plunge the knife through the shoulder blades at a rate of knots and give it a few sharp twists for good measure.
Their attacks get personal and their character assassinations ferocious.
They make each other cry for goodness sake, eyes ablaze with bitterness, mouths belting out bitter vitriol.
They stitch each other up, let each other down and are hopelessly indiscreet.
“Listen and learn lads,” I say to my sons. “Whatever you choose to do in life, make sure you’re never stuck in a job where you’re just working with women.”
Us girls can’t help stirring it, can we? Men, bless ‘em, just stand on the sidelines, mouths agape, looking confused.
They might give each other a thump of they have a fall out but then it’s all forgotten and they start talking about football. But the conversation will never last too long. Men also know when to button it.
Women, on the other hand, sometimes don’t.
A chum was trying to get away from work on time earlier this week but her female boss demanded a word just as one of her friends passed in the corridor.
Instead of a swift “cheerio, see you tomorrow” a conversation was struck up while my pal stood on the sidelines, blood pressure building as she needed to pick up her son.
Though the first thing the women said to each other was “I only have a minute” more than 20 minutes of tittle tattle followed. They discussed, among other things, the unexpected death of a pet rabbit and its effect on the entire family; what colour pegs they used to hang out the washing (they should be the same, apparently); hair appointments; what they were having for tea and the fact that Delores (name changed, of course) had had a two-and-half hour lunch break with Jack.
My chum, being a little like me, was too polite to interject. Our parents brought us up to have manners, something now sadly lacking in society according to a recent survey.
Manners, kindness and compassion do not seem to get you very far these days.
Nevertheless, I’ll still teach all three traits to my sons – with a little help from Sir Alan.
Hard man he may be, but I detect a touch of compassion – and he still got to the top.