How much fudge could a fudge packer pack, if the person packing fudge was after a £250,000 investment for his sausage factory? Monsieur, with these ridiculous tasks you are really spoiling us.
"If you're building a business," notes project manager Jessica, "you need team players." A fair point, but one which neglects two things: on The Apprentice they aren't building a business; they're dancing like monkeys while a rich man watches, and the "team players" are participating in a process in which their colleagues' failure is their gain. Wait, I think I've cracked it.
Creeping out of the darkness like The Great British Bake Off's evil twisted twin, The Apprentice returns for its twelfth series. Somewhere in an alternate universe, Lord Sugar is now Prime Minister and Claude is Chief Hangman at the newly reinstated London Dungeon. I want to go to there.
On TV this week: one journalist wrestles with his conscience and tries to understand where he went wrong, while another discusses with undisguised glee how he exploited a young woman's murder for personal gain.
A man yesterday informed his 97 Twitter followers that he was uninterested in the day's trending story about the Great British Bake-Off because he had never seen it.
Posted by Ali Gray
at 23:30 on 17 Aug 2016
It's quite rare for me to embark on a televisual adventure without at least several months of prep: five-star reviews, extensive marketing campaigns, assurances that the hours of my life I'll inevitably lose to this programme will totally be worth it. But sometimes I like to be surprised. So, with no other recommendation than the accolade "the best show with the worst title" (copyright some rando on Twitter), I started watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend on Netflix last week. 18 glorious episodes later, I am here to give you your five-star review, your marketing campaign and your assurance that the hours of your life you'll lose to this programme will totally be worth it. Fittingly for a show about obsessive behaviour in relationships, I am late-night-phone-calls, million-text-Monday, snot-streaming-down-face-outside-bedroom-window OBSESSED with this show.
Jeremy Corbyn's claim not to know who Ant and Dec are has been exposed as bollocks.
There's a dog in this one. The dog is called Maxine. Who is this dog? Where is she going? Has she ever learned to love?
It's been about nine months since I last saw an episode of Mr Robot, and now I remember I rarely have a bloody clue what's going on. Is he his own dad? Is his dog real? Why would there be a fully-functioning popcorn machine still in an abandoned amusement arcade? Oh God there are 12 of these things.
We've had people claiming to have been kidnapped. We've had double-reverse catfishes. We've had lesbian smackdowns. We've even had ghosts. Where oh where can Catfish go from here?