Young Apprentice(s)

I never thought the words would be coming out of my keyboard, but I feel that the time has come to admit that I really, really like Young Apprentice. (I didn’t feel like writing ‘the’ was appropriate, seeing as there are several of them). For some reason that I will doubtless never fully comprehend, I have chosen the time in my life where I have the least free time, to become addicted to a programme the subject of which I care very little about. (I have very little regard for the business world, although I do like the suits). I had all the time in the world to watch Apprentices both miniature and adult when I was a student, but apparently my brain has come to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that squeezing it in around working full time as an intern at a busy marketing agency, finding paid employment, making friends, getting to know London and generally trying to juggle everything I can lay my hands on is by far the most sensible way forward. And who am I to judge?

So anyway, back to the programme itself. I think I watch it because it both disturbs and depresses me- two emotions I evidently wish to put myself through of a Monday evening. For me, watching the young business minds of the future in action is akin to watching one of those ‘freak of the week’ let’s all show how terribly understanding we are by feeling a bit sad when actually we’re just happy we’re not them documentaries on Channel 4- only without the guilt. The range of emotions inflicted upon me by the Young Apprentice (as in the programme, not necessarily the eventual winner), I think occur because on the one hand I manage to be totally appalled at the arrogance and conviction of some of them that they are the world’s next business tycoon, despite the fact that they wouldn’t actually legally be able to celebrate their victory with a glass of champagne. Yet on the other I can’t help but be unbelievably jealous of the sheer balls and drive they clearly have in bucket loads.

I’m muddling along at nearly 22 with only the vaguest idea of what on earth I’m doing from day to day (I often count it a small miracle if I get out of the house on time wearing matching shoes), and there they are at not a day older than seventeen sat in a boardroom with Sir Alan Sugar. The closest I’m ever going to get to Sir Alan Sugar, or equivalent for chosen career, is sugar.

I can only assume that this creates a sort of emotional see-saw effect, whereby I one minute despise the contestants for their unwavering confidence in their own abilities, and in the next second want to emulate and learn from them for exactly the same reason. Finding myself wanting to learn from sixteen year olds is an odd enough experience as it is, especially sixteen year olds who understand the phrase 'getting on brand' more than I do, have smarter clothes and wider ranges of ability.

 I’m not, however, going to let  this emotional turmoil get in the way of finding out who wins- I am after all only writing this whilst I wait for it to appear on iplayer.