Property Ladder and The Apprentice - 18th April 2007

Property Ladder, a show guaranteed to get the blood pressure rising in sheer annoyance saw Simon and Dave convert an old medical centre in Bristol and Mark and Kate convert an old massage parlour in Northampton.

Mark and Kate were two self satisfied smugly annoying bozos, over quaffed and toe-curlingly accented (“oh yah, the propeeerrrtyyyy will be a challenge”). Naturally I despised them due to envy, who on earth has £192,000 as a budget? How do I find one of these multi-millionaire backers with a distinct lack of interest and wholehearted trust? Moronic Mark, a small minded man with an inferiority complex refused to listen to the near billionaire property developer Sarah Beeney when she advised against knocking down the existing build just to throw up some other God awful construction. Even gimlet-eyed Kate began to despair.
Mark, who displayed the personality of a dead gnat, twittered about the “difficulties” of property development (Hey, go work in Tesco, idiot!) yet steadfastly refused to follow any advice from the Beeney and her property minions. No, Mark, why would you need a qualified project manager to run your crappy little empire for you? Not when you can wander around in a hard hat looking like a bulldog licking a thistle. Chinless gimp.

Simon and Dave, who decided that even the council planning department would not get in their way, began work in earnest. Despite the planners insisting on some changes, Simon and Dave’s apartments were stunning, beautifully finished and sold with ease. I was almost glad for them except I was consumed by jealousy.

Karma sought out Mark and Kate and they failed. I was even more glad at this.

The Apprentice stumbled to the screen with an underwhelming whimper. The heavily scripted, over dramatised, media graduate produced show saw Ghazal and Adam head up their teams with the brief to design, make and sell sweets at London Zoo. Jadine, the fire breathing, nostril flared loudmouth found herself on the same team as Tre, the lizard like arsehole with a superiority complex. I waited for the predictable fireworks. Thankfully, they did not come.

Adam, a little ray of sunshine if ever there was one, was overwhelmed by posh Katie and simple Simon who dominated the plans. Ghazal, a doe-eyed fawn like woman with an incredibly fast voice, fared not much better, pulling worried faces and uttering the tedious “I’m not here to make friends” catchphrase pontificated at least every three minutes on this show.

Adam wanted organic sweets until he heard the price, and quickly opted for the most unnatural ‘natural’ orange lollies known to man – essentially a solid sugar blob on a stick that sells for £2. The bespectacled manipulator extraordinaire Natalie, ignored Adam’s orders to name the lolly “Tiger” and she instead opted for “Natural” which only caused Trading Standards and a million yummy mummies to have a nervous breakdown when they contemplated the E numbers within.

Ghazal and Jadine attempted to make chocolate with pathetic consequences after sending Tre and Christina out to look for lolly sticks in London that came in batches of less than 1000. Things were tense but Ghazal stuck her head in the ground. “There are no problems. Everything is fine” with a surly curl of the lip and throbbing veins in her neck began to protrude. Their lollies sold for a sickening £2.50 each and sold quickly, especially when Tre targeted fat people and Christina force fed the kiddies.

After informing all parents that the lollies were basically toxic, Adam’s team sank further when, dressed as a lion, he scared several small children to death and Sophie the physicist became consumed with bizarre morality and simply couldn’t sell the crap on a stick to worn out, financially strapped parents. People are not Sophie’s forte; she’d rather consider dark matter and the concepts of time travel.

Adam’s team eventually lost by a measly £10 and the increasingly loathsome Ghazal gloated away. I was convinced that Adam was a goner, his bickering with Natalie and his inability to answer a question was beginning to look like curtains. Sophie however got the boot. Sir Alan, it seems, despises morality and scruples – whether you miss your family or hate to harass parents for the umpteenth time, it's not good enough "in the business world". Tre and Christina, on that basis, will go far.

Would you ignore Sarah Beeney? Are you here to make money, not friends? Chillywinter@hotmail.co.uk

Coronation Street - 2nd April 2007

The day of Tracy’s trial verdict (and the shock had all but diminished thanks to Les Battersby’s alleged drunken outpourings to the press last week). The biggest shock I got was how Claire and Ashley Peacock’s stairs managed to move from the middle of the living room to the front door. Now, Jason Grimshaw might have been able to handle Charlie’s client list single handed as well as his baby daughter, but even he couldn’t move a flight of stairs in half an episode with no mention or mess.

While we anxiously (frustratingly) waited for la Barlow’s demise, we were treated to more of Liam and Leanne’s flirting which really consists of Leanne gurning and contorting her voice into the sort of high pitched squeal only dogs can hear, and Liam’s incoherent slack jawed rambling through his hair. I still can’t decide if Liam Connor is really, really annoying or quite attractive and really, really annoying.

Tracy, glossy haired and revenge oriented, fluttered into court after barely acknowledging her young daughter, grimacing and scowling – determined to punish her long suffering parents. “Miss Barlow is an accomplished liar,” the prosecution counsel declared in her summing up. She’s not that accomplished! Every time she tells a lie she smiles and giggles with a theatrical glance to the side – it’s a wonder the jury was ever needed – she might as well have walked into court in a T-Shirt featuring Charlie Stubbs’s smashed-in skull and the words “It Was Me” emblazoned across her chest.

The aforementioned jury was a veritable public sector wet dream…men, women, young, old, Sikh, Muslim, Chinese, White – I couldn’t see a one-armed pension aged bespectacled lady or a mixed race blind man with a white stick but that’s nearly every other box ticked.

Les was right (allegedly) and a very predictable guilty verdict was reached (there has to be a moral majority somewhere – this isn’t EastEnders you know!) and Tracy got life with fifteen years minimum. Heck, she’ll be 45 when she gets out, maybe even older. Jim McDonald went to nick for mere, justifiable manslaughter and has never been seen since. So much for Kate Ford’s ‘open door’ contract. I doubt we’ll see her anytime soon, not with her current head, at least.

Think Tracy should have got off? Amazed by Deirdre’s tearless crying? Chillywinter@hotmail.co.uk