Remember when you were 16? It was just like Skins, right? An orgy of drugs, violence and sex. Or, like 95% of people on the Internet, it was furtive, frantic masturbation the moment you were alone and trying to get served in pubs.
You probably didn't spend those precious years running an international importing and distribution business. If you thought the dicks on The Apprentice were hateful turds, The Junior Apprentice is sure to boil your piss in new ways. It's one thing when the back-stabbing business-botherers are ten years older than you, but when they look like they've rolled on set straight from an episode of Grange Hill, it's somewhat dispiriting.
Yes, it's The Junior Apprentice, in which six teenagers prove they have the mettle to argue with Lord Alan, who sits peering and at them and scrutinising like a fussy paedophile, while Karren Brady, with her daft spelling, glares at them like Margaret Mountford, only older and weirder.
Let's get this out of the way first: Yes, they're all horrible, cocksure little shits, with more arrogance in their bell-ends than you have in your whole world. Helpfully, Rhys Rosser and Tim Ankers bring the rhyming slang nicknames to town, while Jordan De Courcy is every bit the hateful little ponce that his name implies.
They show their maturity from the off, refusing to chuckle when Alan says he started out ‘humping potatoes’, but ruining it by turning up in the boardroom dressed like it's a come-to-school-as-your-dad day. All except Zoe, a posturing, bellowing Robyn lookalike who's more in your face than a pornstar?s spunk.
Jordan De Courcy (I'm going to use his full name every time, just to irritate you the way he irritates me) is the CEO of his own company, which he's remarkably proud of. What he doesn't know is that I'm the CEO of my own company, which sells ?10 notes to shops, in exchange for cigarettes. He also talks about ‘business to business sales’ and ‘consumers’. When I was 16, it was ‘shops’ and ‘people’.
This week, they're out selling cheese. Bloody great lumps of cheese. The girls head off to Covent Garden to bother tourists, who are, of course, notorious for buying Union Flags, postcards and cheese.
The boys bung some cheese in a plastic box with crackers and grapes, calling it the ‘Credit Crunch Lunch’, a name straight from 2008. Probably before most of them were born.
Arjun, played by a proud midget in his dad?s suit, bursts into tears at the slightest provocation. Even if it's just a customer looking at him. Him and Rhys Rosser bumble around attempting to attract the attention of cheese consumers, but don't even register on their radar as anything more than Scouts collecting for a bring-and-buy sale. They?d have been better off doing the old trick involving one on the other?s shoulders, and a long coat.
The cheese-selling descends into the usual farce of running around London desperately trying to swap their unsold produce for pound coins by harassing commuters on their way home. Finally a ridiculous coffin of cheese is offloaded to a cheese seller, after trying a hairdressers, wine shop and brothel.
Back to the boardroom, and they predictably whinge and blame each other for everything. Perfect for the corporate shitheels that they?ll inevitably become. The boys lost, because they sold ?450 of cheese for ?250 out of desperation, and only made another forty quid for the whole of the rest of the day.
Jordan De Courcy brings Rhys Rosser and Tim Anker back. Rhys?s voice hasn't broken, while Tim is like a bloody Werewolf. It's an eerie combination, like father and son brought up against the evil Lord Alan to explain themselves for crimes against humanity. Jordan and Rhys both cry ? one of the joys of having basically kids on here is that they're being judged and criticised for the first time, they're no longer the elite, and it's tough for them to adjust to being just another face in the crowd.
Tim doesn't cry, which bumps him up a million places. This would probably save his life in some sort of improbable shotgun-based scenario. Jordan gets fired, because he's a shit. And a shit leader. Brilliantly, he bursts into tears yet again, but sadly doesn't storm out of the room and scream at Alan that he's not his real dad anyway. In the taxi on the way out, he predicts that in five years, he?ll be more successful than Alan. I wouldn't bet on it, De Courcy.
Nine sods remain. Next week?s task is to watch an entire episode of Loose Women without popping an erection. And even with those haggard old bints, the average 16-year-old won't last much beyond the continuity announcer?s introduction.
This was a guest post by Nik Johnson from the marvellous Shouting At Cows
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Gilbert Wham says
Nah, when I was 16, it was still easy to obtain LSD, heavy metal was cool and neither reality TV or Alan Sugar had entered the public’s conciousness.
Aaaah, simpler times…
Other says
Simply superb article
john says
Nik johnson you are a god haha…i almost coughed up a kidney when you said he was “played by a proud midget”….i must say I’m inspired