Whilst reading the epic “Guardian” local newspaper, I spied a topic that was unusual and somewhat baffling. It seems that the Harlow music venue “The Square” has adopted an age restriction policy to bands who are booked to perform there. Now this venue has seen the likes of Blur and Oasis as well as many other famous (and not so famous) groups playing there, but the age restriction is literally going to kill off any kind of music scene. You see, those who make the rules have decided that the maximum age of band members booked at “The Square” is to be 19 years old. Yes, that’s right…nineteen, n-n-n-n-nineteen (oblique Paul Hardcastle reference permitting).
Now I’m scanning my brain for famous bands that had made it by the age of 19 and I came up with a couple – I think Ash and Supergrass were both quite young when they broke, but this rule is just stupid. We are supposedly to be living in an age of political correctness and tolerance to all races, sexes, creeds and religions but this is just pure age discrimination. I know it is just a music venue, but I wonder what the bosses there are actually trying to achieve with this new age policy. Of course, they could give preference to younger bands and still have slots open to those groups who have entered their twenties, but this is so stupid it’s gone off the Foolish-o-meter. Oh well, I am glad I’m an old fart and not some twenty-year-old whose hopes have been dashed trying to get a gig at “The Square”.
Mind you, there’s a lot of ageism when it comes to rock. A lot of venues refuse to allow entry to music fans who are under 16 – even if they are accompanied by an adult and I think that kind of thing sucks. The venues say it is because they are a licensed premises and they sell booze, but you don’t see children being refused entries to theatres that also sell alcohol, do you? It’s a real shame this age policy because when you are that age, music is the fuel that feeds the heart in some youngsters. Stupid rules…
Also in the local “Guardian”, I read that Tre from “The Apprentice” is in fact a local Loughton boy. Awwww crap….
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And so the new series of the Apprentice began last night and it was somewhat comforting to see Sir Alan Sugar hurrumphing onto our screens in his guise as a Nookie Bear tribute act. Whaever happened to Roger de Courcy? So anyway, the usual collection of business knobheads and hoity-toity pretty bitches were paraded out in front of us and it was so bleeding obvious who was going first. It had to be Nice Guy Andy – the friendly northern car salesman whose eyes conveyed the same look of uneasy fear a gazelle on the Serengheti gets just before the lioness strikes and breaks its back. From the outset, it was clear he was a goner – as there are rules to The Apprentice that must be obeyed, like there are rules in slasher movies (the pretty virgin lives while all the sluts die horribly). In this case, here are some handy Apprentice rules to look out for:
1) Never say “I am willing to step up to the plate” – that’s almost the same as saying “Sir Alan, call me a cab”.
2) Never say “I do this for a living, so I would make an excellent project manager for this task”. All so-called experts end up F-I-R-E-D.
3) Don’t be nice – nice equals “fuckover” in business speak
4) Don’t be bitchy – bitchy equals bitchy in business speak. There’s plenty of space in The Apprentice for characters to bitch to the camera about others as this makes fun TV, but when it comes down to the crunch, bitches never win
5) Don’t be a posh twat – posh twats never prosper – partly because they are posh (remember who Sir Alan is) and partly because they are the type of posh twat that is so divorced from the real world that they look down their nose at any minority, such as blacks or northerners.
6) Be bland – because at the of the day, Sir Alan wants to employ people who aren’t going to take stupid risks, aren’t going to backchat him and aren’t going to lose his companies loads of cash
Follow those rules and you’ll be OK.
But I digress, last night’s show was a little predictable and I felt sorry for Andy because we all know it should have been the posh stupid spoonfaced bint who wanted to order 1000 litres of milk. Then there was the plump lady who resembled a cross between a badly stuffed DFS sofa and the cat from Roobarb and Custard – if you have a mobile shop and you aren’t selling MOVE IT. Another life rule is to keep on moving – if you stand still you wither and die, no?
So Andy got it in the neck, failed to fight his corner and proved once again that nice guys come last.
As a seasoned The Apprentice fan who has watched all the US series, thanks to my uncle Don Load, I do find the overblown production of the UK version quite amusing. The US series has the vistas of New York (and Los Angeles for the later series) – our version has downtown Brentwood, but somehow all notions of geography are thrown out of the window when it comes to exterior shots because in SugarWorld Brentwood lies really close to Blackfriars Bridge (or any of the bridges of the Thames) as whenever someone gets fired the last tracking shot shows the taxi traversing one of London’s bridges, instead of showing it stuck in traffic in Brentwood High Street.
I literally squealed with delight when Sir Alan got his own helicopter to make his big dame-like entrance. Donald Trump, his US-equivalent and the godhead of The Apprentice franchise, eats helicopters for breakfast and shits private planes (so I am told). Trump is also “The Man” and makes Sir Alan Sugar look like a second-hand car saleman, which is also part of his appeal – it’s strange. The US show has a multi-millionaire and we get East London’s attempt at “Del Boy Trotter”. When the US contestants win their task, they get to meet Arnold Schwarzenegger or visit some ultra posh restaurant, when our contestants win Sir Alan gives them all a tenner and tells them to meet Su Pollard at the Brentwood Wimpy. Of course, I jest.
It’s too soon to tell who will win, but I can tell you it won’t be Tre – a man who from appearances looks like he’s been cloned from cells taken from Craig David and a parsnip. This guy is the kind of bullshitter the show needs and is cut from the same cloth as the legendary Syed. I hope he doesn’t get ejected too soon because he is going to bring the entertainment. In terms of the other guys, they were all pretty bland and too posh for me – though there was one fellow who looked as if he might make it to the final round – his name is Ifti and he looks a little shifty – I reckon he’ll provide many laughs too with his incompetence. As for the ladies, they are all a little too pretty for my liking (except for Gerri the Sofa Face) and none of them have much character.
But these are early days and like the many skins of an onion, it’ll only be around week 5 or 6 that we’ll be able to really pick favourites…
Meanwhile, the US show is just superb. The producers have mixed up the format and made it so that the losing teams have to sleep in a tent overlooking Los Angeles…it’s a real morale crusher and cranks up the tension in the teams as the winners get to stay in a lovely mansion and have excellent rewards. My only complaint this time around is that the tasks are a little dull…but I’d still like to see a UK-US special with Sir Alan and the Trumpmeister General going head to head. I’ve been spouting that for years and I’m waiting for it to happen so I can sue the TV people for nicking my idea.
On a separate note, I knocked up a quick tune to accompany the lyrics for “Here Comes the Future”. It’s nothing grand, just a three-chord trick and I kept it rough and ready, leaving the mistakes in. Enjoy!
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I had my first meeting with my new accountant this afternoon. He was a nice fellow and he spoke my language. He went through the figures and gave me sound advice. The only problem was that he hit me with so much new information that my brain hurts! Ouch!
I’m off to have a lie-down now…
Meanwhile, the Missus flew off to Frankfurt on business and took BabyLock on his second trip to Europe. The little sod does more travelling than me – the swine! 🙂
More aimless noodling from yours truly:
Video: 26-03-07 Improvisation
Today I spoke to our solicitor and he passed me the details of an accountant. So now I have an accountant. Whoo-hoo! I feel like a proper adult now. Oooh, what next? Well the pieces of the puzzle are slowly falling in place, and again it is far too soon to give any explanation of what’s happening at Chez Lock. Let’s just say that everything is happening at once. Scary, innit?
The last posting title inspired me to come up with a lyric for a song that’s not yet recorded. Typed in about four minutes, imagine it as a three-chord trash rock song, sung with a curled lip and a loose hip. Oh yeah, baby.
Here Comes the Future
Here comes the future, baby
You know its no surprise
I just hope I’m still alive
To watch the future arrive
Here comes the future, baby
A fact no one can deny
Even if I am late
I know it will turn up on time
Chorus:The future
It comes in the blink of an eye
The future
The present in another disguise
The future
Far away but close enough to see
The future
It’s so bright, bright for you and for me
Here comes the future, baby
Who knows what might be in store
Another day another minute another hour passes
I don’t think I can wait anymore
Here comes the future, baby
I want to hold in my hands
So close I can almost taste it
Without taking my eyes off my plans
Chorus:The future
It comes in the blink of an eye
The future
The present in another disguise
The future
Far away but close enough to see
The future
It’s so bright, bright for you and for me
Here comes the future, baby
It’s there for us to take
Just hold on tight to me
And we’ll leave those losers in our wake
Here comes the future, baby
You can feel it breathing down our necks
No-one knows what’s coming round the corner
I can’t wait to see what happens next
My mind is racing, so I think I might be on the upstroke at the moment. Oooooh…hold on tight…