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A real sucker for reality shows
I'm a sucker for reality TV. I know it's brain-rotting tosh of the very first order, but I just can't resist the siren lure of Saturday night's I'd Do Anything or, even better, Wednesday evening's The Apprentice.
Actually, the search for Nancy and the two-month audition to find Suralan's' newest playmate have a lot in common.
Both feature a gaggle of women whose burning desperation to succeed practically blows the fuse of our flatscreen TV.
This year's female apprentices must be the scariest bunch ever. If you thought last year's harpy-in-waiting Katie was a Hammer horror version of Margaret Thatcher, Suralan's charm school of 2008 will surely set you wondering whatever happened to that adorable, kittenish bundle of fluff.
From roots of their hard, shiny hair to the tips of their hard, shiny nails, these women, in their hard, shiny suits, are practically armour-plated.
Forget the traditional feminine virtues of team work and empathy, with one notable exception, this year's selection would happily sell their own granny's kidneys on eBay if they thought it would win them an advantage.
Despite the fact that based on the showing so far they seem to have the combined business flair and intellect of the average sea squirt, the arrogance of these, ahem, ladies' knows no bounds - and as we all know, there's nothing more frightening than absolute confidence which is allied to an absolute lack of ability.
The most riveting thing for the viewer is the fact that their naked ambition shines so clearly.
Once they are lined up together in the boardroom for the final verdict at the end of each show, any sense of bonding or teamwork evaporates faster than a quick dry-nail polish as they vie to stick a highly polished stiletto boot heel into their colleagues' efforts.
It's like watching a Lady Macbeth formation team in action.
If you are following this year's series, you'll probably agree with me that ditzy empathetic Lucinda is the only woman in the group who doesn't make you ashamed to have an extra X chromosome.
The male apprentices, on the other hand, seem generally to be a fairly pleasant bunch. I've even warmed to posh boy Raif with his improbably luxuriant quiff (it's like a shagpile carpet on his head).
I have to admit that I'm still reeling at the fact that my favourite apprentice, former squaddie Simon, was fired.
Despite the fact that this practical, likeable chap showed outstanding people skills and was always at the front whenever it came to hard work, he was utterly kippered by fellow apprentice Claire - a woman who probably bore more than a passing resemblance to one of the armoured reconnaissance vehicles he used to drive.
But then that's the way this year's Apprentice seems to be shaping.
While the take-no-prisoner females seem intent on shafting their fellow competitors at every turn, the men seem to be much happier, listening to each other and working as part of a team. Something of a role reversal, I feel?
I wonder if this is what the 1990s era of the New Man has finally achieved.
Meanwhile, over at the search for Nancy, aka I'd Do Anything, an equally ambitious bunch of determined young women are gurning at the camera and singing their heads off in an attempt to convince Lord Andrew Lloyd-Webber (obviously TV talent judges have to have a title these days) that they would make a perfect big-hearted strumpet for his forthcoming West End Oliver!
Recently Old Vic director Kevin Spacey had a pop at TV talent shows like this, holding that the unfair publicity was detrimental to the West End.
I think that's a bit rich coming from someone whose gold-plated Hollywood address book means that he can pretty much summon up anyone from the upper recesses of La La Land to appear on stage near Waterloo station.
More power to the would-be Nancys, I say.
In these days when it seems that pretty much all you need to guarantee you a chunk of celebrity is a famous parent, I'm right behind anyone who relies on their own raw talent as a route to success.
For example, apart from her regular appearances at parties and PR launches, it's actually quite difficult to pinpoint what exactly Kelly Osborne does for a living.
Yet that didn't stop her winning a leading role in Chicago.
You might recall seeing her amusingly airbrushed image plastered all over the Underground last year?
Sadly I have to report that on the Saturday evening when my brother and his girlfriend went to see the show, Kel was replaced by her understudy, so I am unable to report on the quality of her performance.
Mind you, given the mass of Geldofs, Winstons, Foxes and Allens currently thronging the paparazzi- lined streets of London it's almost unfair to single Miss Osborne out.
You might think that you are detecting the bitter tang of sour grapes here and you're not wrong. Many, many moons ago when I toyed with the idea of doing something more theatrical than reporting on dog shows in Cassiobury Park, I got as far as a second audition at Rada.
During the interview that followed I actually lost count of the number of times I was asked if I was related to anyone "in the business".
I left the room with the distinct impression that the quality of my acting mattered a good deal less than the quality of my connections.
Perhaps, they reasoned, it was in the blood - a divine, hereditary gift I must have?
Well, funnily enough, my dad spent most of his working life in a bank and a couple of my uncles were London cabbies.
Quite apart from the fact that my achievement of an O-level in maths was actually described by my teacher as "a bloody miracle", I think the fact that I have never driven a car again after passing my test on the fourth attempt tells you everything you need to know about genetics.
Unlike the female apprentices, I have to say that all the Nancys have genuine ability and if I were Lord Lloyd Webber I'd find it very difficult to make a choice.
Unlike Suralan, who should gather those hideous, cheaply-dressed female wannabes into his office immediately and utter the immortal words "you're all fired".
Although the incendiary effect on all that man-made fibre might be a health hazard.
9:00am Friday 9th May 2008
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