The first sighting of James Cameron’s Avatar (not mine)

The popularity of the big movie panels in the convention centre’s largest hall means that if you’re not there queuing up five hours before (if you’re, say, doing something else) you’re not getting in.

So I can’t tell you how amazed and awestruck I was to see James Cameron’s new movie juice sploodged all over the big screen in glorious 3D technicolour. But I can tell you how impressed other people seem to have been, like the person from E-Online and this person from Screenrant. They both liked it. And luckily, you don’t have to wait too long to find out, because Cameron’s going to be staging 15-minute Imax Trailers on 21 August. For free. Which is an unprecedented move. And should make for some interesting dates.

“What shall we do tonight?”

“I thought we’d go to the cinema for quarter of an hour, then I’ll drop you home and I’ll go back to my house and think about a 3D Zoe Saldana painted blue for the rest of the evening.”

“Oh. Um. OK.”

Depp drops in. Mumbles. Leaves.

In five words. Exactly. Well, that’s all he had for the audience excitedly watching a preview of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland.

You can see how he might have felt miffed, of course. The audience, though thrilled at his appearance, was overwhelmingly made up of people who’d been queuing all night for the Twilight panel, which came later than the Disney morning panel. I don’t care how laidback and tousled you are, when you’re being stared at by 6,500 bleary-eyed teens who are clearly all thinking “Well he’s all right, but he’s no Robert Pattinson …” that’s got to be a kick in the tousled nuts.

You are what you wear. If you wear it for four days straight

For the true fan, wearing a T-shirt to express your allegiance to a franchise (be it comic, character, film, television programme, game or, you know, other) is not enough. Don’t get me wrong: it’s a good start, but the more powerful allegiance still is dressing up in full costume.

So far I’ve seen (among others) three Catwomen, two lycra-clad Stormtroopers, eight Jedis, and for some reason, around a dozen Pikachus. There will, in the middle of Friday, be a “Slave Leia Photo Op” for all the women who’ve come dressed in a metal bikini. Well, there was one last year. There are many other clothing choices: some more familiar than others a selection is here.

Endyman

For those who count themselves among the faithful Middleman comic-to-TV-series adaptation fans - the cult, quickly cancelled TV show made a comeback. Or sort of; the cast got together for a table reading of the 13th (never produced) episode. Highlights are here.

He Wood if he could, and he did

There’ll hopefully be some more on this in the Torchwood panel on Sunday, but Russell T has been warming up his outspeaking muscles in preparation, telling fans that if they don’t like the twist in Children of Earth, that’s too bad, and maybe they should go and watch something jolly like US series Supernatural instead. Huzzah. See, this is a big story because no one popular gets killed off in US TV (unless they ask for too much money to renew their contract) for fear of breaking a winning formula. Good old RTD: All about the story.

That Twilight panel

Was enjoyed greatly.

The three leads (the vampire, the girl, and a hot dog - sorry, sexy werewolf), flirted with each other, complimented the fans and talked about how working on Twilight: New Moon, was one of the greatest experiences of their lives. And a great film that everyone should go and see (obviously).

The noise “SQUEEEEEE!” was made early, loudly, and often, by all.

Meanwhile, on the other side of a heavily guarded conference door, 100,000 grumpy genre fans grumbled about the fact that, frankly, if vampires are sparkle, they’re not real vampires.

[Original can be found here]

1 | 2 | 4 | 5 | 7 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

For the sake of it, the final of The Apprentice 2009 is reproduced below.

5pm: They’ve bought, sold, haggled, designed and delegated. They’ve sobbed, shouted, snarked, shouted, bullied, cajoled and shouted. He’s thrown to the wolves the ones we scorned (all of them) and the ones we loved (well, James).

Tonight, either Yasmina or Kate will not only survive, but excel: becoming the next Apprentice to the Businessman Formerly Known As Surallun (Hereafter to be referred to as Lawdallun of Yerfiyud).

But who should his majestic high worshipfulness choose?

Should it be Yasmina, the restaurant-running half-Iranian entrepreneur of a rock-hard gaze and don’t mess with me attitude. Managing to be both mousey and steely at the same time, like a tiny house-pest wearing armour, or perhaps injected with industrial strength adamantine, Yasmina: Mouserine. Though there was a slight problem with scented oil pricing at the beginning, and the sums in her accounts in the interviews, she managed to keep her head down and her shit together for the middle part of the process, and through hard work and not being insanely annoying, managed to make it to the last hurdle.

Or should it be Kate? So winsome and beautiful, her radiance almost eclipsing her business acumen … though only in the sense that no one can go five minutes without mentioning how great beauty such as hers shouldn’t be allowed to eclipse her equally great business acumen. And not thinking that perhaps, if they (and she) stopped banging on about it, people would have a chance to actually pay attention to what she was doing.

And when we have got to see past her effervescent gorgeousness, she’s seemed like a capable, competent calm and collected project leader. PLUS: she’s apparently really hot. And I know that, because she told us so (but noted that I shouldn’t let it cloud my opinion of her business skills).

It is, I believe, quite the most boring pair to get to the finals in a long hile, but hell: they’ve both proved they have what it takes: whatever that is.

But who will succeed? Who should Suraullun - crap, no, sorry, Lawd Sugar (which, let’s face it, is a great pimp name) - choose to be the Apprentice?

We’ll see when we come back … AT 9pm

In the meantime - who have been your favourites this season, which have been the standout moments, quotes and cliches.

Pile in, every one - drop your criticisms, witticisms, observations, clarifications and fripperies in the box below (you can even pop it out to the side for easier refreshability) and don’t be shy if you haven’t commented before. We officially have the nicest comment box in the world on this blog. Fact.

Back at 9

9.00pm: It’s Sunday, it’s 9pm, do you know where your young business minds of tomorrow are? Yes. They’re right here.

In the comment box.
Also, the Apprentice is on telly.

“First prize, you get to work for me. Second prize don’t exist” says Lawd Sugarpants, for possibly the last time, if it’s true that working for the government will stop him working here, on television, for us.

9.04pm: Previously on the Apprentice … the whole series of the Apprentice took place. If this was airing in America - and they are showing one from 2005 on BBC America, slightly arbitrarily, the whole channel would have been dedicated to showing a marathon of all the episodes, all day. While this would have been nice, it would have given everyone very sore fingers after a while.

Oh good, it’s actually starting.

Lawd-’amercy, Guvnor, the artist previously known as Surallun, meets them in a warehouse somewhere near the river. In a giant empty room, they must pick teams, and then … in this same room, in three days time, they must … fight. To the death. Using chocolate.

They have to create, design and launch a new range of chocolates.
Not quite the same as having to design an entire riverbank office building and apartment complex … but it’ll do.

Yasmina has Howard, Lorraine, James and Philip, fter kate spurned him …
Kate has Debra, That Ruff-Tuff Creme Puff, the one that didn’t go to Sandhurst. And Rocky, who gets picked last and looks bloody miserable about it all.

9.11pm: Yasmina’s team decide that they want to aim their product slightly differently, in an interesting, quirky way. I say that when Philip says ‘We want to do something quirky and novelty’, you run as far as you can in the opposite direction.

They decide to make chocolates that women will buy for a man.

In another room, not too far away, the other team decide that what would be really innovative and different would be chocolate, you see, made for women AND men, that women could buy for sharing … with a man.

Brilliant.

And then, after Yasmina goes to the City of London and gets told it is a terrible, terrible idea, they hold on to it still, in the cab.

“It’s still a brilliant idea - people didn’t think that Pants Man was a good idea.” says Philip “But they will…”

No, they won’t.

“That’s a shit example, Phil” says Yasmina. I say she should win.

9.16pm: Yasmina’s team, after talking to some chocolatiers as well, decide that maybe, just maybe, they shouldn’t be marketing to men after all. Maybe they should be marketing to, you know, everyone. Men and women. Together. Sharing.

Innovative! New!? Groundbreaking?! It’s a tin of fucking Quality Street!

9.19pm: Kate has a cracking idea - a three tier box: one for him, one for her, and one to fight over.

In order to do that, Rocky and Debra have been sent to see genius chocolate guy Paul A Young (who’ll be doing some stuff over on Word of Mouth this week, but more of that later) and he helps them pick out lots of crazy flavours. Lavender, pink pepper, salt, cracked dried spices and berries and things that will retail at a recession-loving £13-£16 a box. Will they also include powdered diamonds.

Hey! You know what market isn’t being tapped particularly well? The desperate diet market. Chocolate covered laxatives. That’s what they should have gone for.

Speaking of which, meanwhile, Yasmina’s team seem to be talking pop rocks and chili peppers. In chocolate.

9.24pm: Second day already - Ruff TUff Cremepuff is directing a photo shoot for Kate where the models will, by the end, start rubbing the chocolates all over their slightly-low-budget naked bodies.

1.29pm: In another room, on the other side of town, Yasmina is sharing their new product with

“Oooh, you can taste the Basil immediately in these strawberry and basil ones” says Howard, not passing judgment on how good an idea that might be.

The Blessed Margaret takes a chili ball. And stands, chewing, unimpressed.
“Do you want to try another one?”
“One is quite enough, I think” says The Blessed M.

For the models, one is too much, even.
“Can I spit it out?” says one.
“No.” replies Yasmina.

9.34pm: The two remaining candidates are seen leaning over their presentation styles, lighting low, scribbling away at their presentations. They know what they want. They want to work for Lawd Luvaduck of E-m@iler. And, as they may have heard, there is no second prize.

And while they’re talking about wanting it, about not failing at this point, about this being more exciting than getting married.

And all the while I’m just sitting here finally having it soak in that barely a few minutes ago we were shown Philip being put in charge of choreographing the dancers for the presentation. And that’s GOT to be a bad sign.

9.36pm: Kate’s presentation goes well, as it always does - she presents well (as well as apparently being SMOKING hot, a great disadvantage to a business woman, or any woman at all, of course) and while her advertising, her name, Choc D’Amour are all quite mainstream, the price - £13 - is just very high.

9.40: Yasmina’s nervous, and starts her presentation like she’s trying to tell someone off. But after a while, her very straightforward presentation style: punchy sentences, direct and to the point, may not sound conversational or chatty, but they start to win you over. This woman would have made a great Soviet dictator, you realise.

“New, modern flavours for a mass market” goes down well - as it should. She’s saying they can do all these crazy flavours, associated with high-end chocolates - for £6.

The taste of Choc D’amour might be winning people over, but the branding and pricing on Electric Choc or whatever they’re calling this seems to have swung it slightly Yasmina’s way.

9.46pm: In the boardroom, Kate’s team talk glowingly about how great she was as a project leader. Debra, particularly, is very nice “Kate has a skill of bringing out the best in everyone, and I hope to emulate that some day” she says, though you have to worry that Debra’s take on the same skill might involve knuckledusters.

But the price point is a problem. “There are chocolates on the shelves up to £16!” says Kate. Neglecting the fact that those are from the biggest, most established and famous chocolatiers in the world.

9.50pm: Yasmina’s team don’t get a chance to say nice things about Mouserine before Surallun lays into her about the fact that while her branding and marketing were on the way there, the chocolates tasted like a rabbit ate its way through a tuckshop and a spice rack and then shat out the results.

The teams are thanked, and the two women go and wait outside, while Lawd Sugarpants, Saint Nick and The Blessed Margaret talk for the last time for at least one of them, about what decision should be made.

Then the phone rings on Fake-Frances’ desk, and Kate and Yasmina called back in.

9.55pm: Kate says she deserves this as she’s great at talking to people, dealing with people, she’s never fought against people in her team, and she’s got great hair. Lawd Lummee-Guvnor-Did-You-Watch-The-Game-Last-Night acknowledges that, and says while those are good things, he’s not sure of sales and marketing are the only things he wants.

Yasmina makes a great case for herself. Yes, she’s made a business already, and employs people and why should she drop that and become an Apprentice? But she’s passionate that she has still got things to learn, and she wants to learn them here, and from him.

He goes through these arguments once more and then …

9.59pm:

YASMINA - YOU’RE HIRED

After a shock and a slight guppy moment, she smiles, and humbly says how pleased and grateful she is.

Kate looks stunned to have lost. Her hair was so beautifully shiny today! And by hair I mean her marketing skills, sorry. Also her sales pitches were very perky indeed. but she’s fired.

Yasmina has won. Hurrah.
I endorse this decision.
Yeah, yeah, Lawd Gawdawlmighty will be ever so pleased to hear that.

10.02pm: Now, YER HIYUD - not on BBC2, it’s on BBC1 tonight.

The panel chat away to Kate. With Michelle Mone and Ruby Wax being the first to comment on how very, Very pretty she is. And no, for once, that’s not sarcastic, that’s actually what they say. “I think you’re stunning” says Michelle. “I’ve never loved a blonde, I’m in love with you though, and you also have nice teeth”, says Ruby.

Third panelist Jonathan Ross, meanwhile, comments on her business acumen and professional relationship with the other candidates. Which is SHOCKING and he should clearly be BANNED. Come ON, BEEB I am both SHOCKED and APPALLED! Why is this man still allowed to blacken our…

etc.

10.14pm: Sorry to go quiet for a few minutes there, my cat just closed my liveblogging window, which leads me to wonder if she secretly has an anonymous commenting account on guardian.co.uk. I should look into that.

In the meantime, though, nothing has happened, apart from Kate being all big hair and huge smiles and nice words about everything and everyone. The best moment from the advert filming is shown, with Kate stuffing strawberries in the male model’s mouth and telling him to struggle.

“Isn’t it a little” says Saint Nick “S&M-ish?”

And if someone could turn that into a dance mix, or at the least the dub it onto that Serge Gainsbourg Je T’Aime song, that would be brilliant.

10.20pm: The hairy question of Kate and Philip is tackled in some depth, and though no announcement of impending nuptials is mentioned (Surallun would have to buy a big flowery hat, Cilla-style), but Kate says she’s glad they met, even under such bizarre circumstances.

Michelle agrees that you can work closely with someone you’re romantically involved with and it’s fine. She and her husband have been doing it for years, she say: “My PA talks to his PA, we meet up in the boardroom and…”
“And they say romance is dead” says Wossy, who doesn’t need the PAs because he and his wife use Twitter to do it instead.

We then see a full montage of the fact when Kate talks on the phone, it’s with a full Elvis sneer - something Id never noticed before (can’t touch type very well) and find so funny I literally fall off my chair laughing. Not literally-literally, of course: Apprentice-literally. I about 83% fall off my chair laughing, which at least means I miss the whole five minutes dedicated ONCE MORE to Pantsman.

10.30pm: Adrian speaks to Saint Nick and the Blessed Margaret. He talks through their favourite moments and clips of their disapproving glances.

And then he breaks the news that Margaret will not be back next year. Why?

Because she’s going to finish her PHD in Papyrology.

There is a pause while we all go and look up papyrology.

Documents written on Papyrus, in ancient Greek, found in roman period Egypt.
“You may think it’s odd, but I find it FASCINATING” says The Blessed M.
And I couldn’t love her more, right now.

It’s remarkable, this programme on which we see constant arguments about women are pretty enough or too pretty to get ahead in business, whether women cry too much to make it to the top, or bitch too much, or can take it less seriously or can be witty, or have what it takes to make it and be respected in business…

And then you’ve just got Margaret, BEING Margaret.
And this show next year will miss her a great deal.

10.35pm: There’s a steeliness in the eye of Surallun when Adrian mentions he’s soon going to be Lawded.

“It’s not a done deal yet: they ‘ave to ‘ave a commitee”, says Surallun, grumpily.

Oh, I’ll stop curtseying and averting my eyes every time he comes on screen, then.

“I’m not worried about Kate: she’s competent, she’s a great business person, and of course she’s very good looking as well”

GAH! Once, ONCE can someone just talk about Kate without mentioning her shiny hair? No. Maybe not.

Yasmina, meanwhile, still seems as happy to be crowned Apprentice as she was when we last saw her. But we don’t get to talk to her much, because Surallun’s arrived, and he’s more interesting. If somewhat less cheerful.

10.40pm: She’ll be working in his digital signage department, he says.

Which is great, because as long as she’s kept as far away from food as possible, that’s probably a very, very good thing.

The canapes, terrible. The chocolates, awful. We see a reel of her running around shouting “I want the cheapest tuna! The cheapest chicken! They’ll be too drunk by that point, who cares!” and all make conscious decisions to find out where this family restaurant is, and avoid it like the plague.

10.44pm: Surallun makes a passionate case for these bunch being some of the most brilliant, fiery business minds in the history of business.

He is, he says, going to get his wife to cancel ALL the morning papers, because he’s sick and tired of opening them up and reading all these hacks running them down when they’re some of the best and brightest people on the planet.

Which is fair enough. They may SEEM a shower of incompetent fools, sometimes … but at least they’re not, like, politicians or something, eh, Surallun?
Oh no, wait.

10.48pm: I’m now sitting here trying desperately to please Surallun. They talk for a while about Debra and how, in Surallun’s words, she’s ‘A Nice Guhwl’ (she’s 23, so that ‘girl’ thing? Fine, obviously) … and get another montage of Kate and Philip and how deeply in love they might possibly be but probably aren’t. Kate, however, is Very HOT. They do mention that. Again.

10.54pm: For next year, what’s Surallun looking for?

Well, he’s looking for another creamy crop like the 2009 lot, he says. But with one eye on the recession, he would like to hear from people who have been made redundant or laid off or lost their business…

And then he’d like to invite them on television, encourage them to make fools of themselves, and then, when they do, lay them off again, but publicly, with the words “YER FIYUD!”
Awesome!

And then there’s a montage of their favourite mentions from television, radio, articles and ‘internet blogs’ (as opposed to those papyrus blogs that The Blessed M likes), and of course we’re not in it, AGAIN (rise up, my peoples, rise up against this blatent disrespect from the BBC and get Jonathan Ross fired. Not for any reason, just because it’s what we do, right? On internet blogs? Try and get Wossy fired?)

10.58pm: And that’s it.

Surallun thanks everyone for being so nice, the Blessed M for being herself, and the people of Britain for taking the show to their hearts. But not the press, obv. They can farrrrk owwff.

Similarly, Heidi, Carrie and I would like to thank all the regular commenters to this blog who make it so enjoyable to do, as well as all the irregular commenters who pop their heads above the parapet every now and again, and all the people who read and might never comment at all. Thank you all.
Thanks for another fun series.

And until then? … We hope to be back doing the same next year. And other things too, if you want them - if you do, just say - and we’ll try and accommodate as best we can in these economically squeezy times, because it is fun.

In the meantime, if you were intrigued by Yasmina and Kate’s chocolates but convinced you could do better, there’ll be opportunity to debate that fact this week on Word of Mouth, our brilliant food blog.

And that’s it, I believe.

What we’ve learnt
1) Pants Man: not a good idea no matter it’s brought up. But that doesn’t stop it getting brought up early and often, whatever the context.
2) Kate is a very attractive woman, but it hasn’t stopped her getting ahead in business. In fact, it’s barely ever mentioned at all.
3) Quiche Lorraine is Irish when she feels like it.
4) Surallun may soon be Lawd Luvaduck, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. Or about the TV show. Or about much, frankly.
5) If you’re on the Apprentice next year, bear only this in mind: it doesn’t matter how terrible, horrible, ridiculous or thoroughly inedible your products may be … as long as you prove you can turn a ridiculous profit, who gives a stuff about quality. Right?
6)Every other British business should take note of the fact that this isn’t a rule they should follow, and we’ll be angry if they do.
7) In fact, next bad canape I get, I’m writing to the BBC and getting Jonathan Ross fired.
8) There is such a thing as Papyrology. This is actually a lesson we have learnt today. A real one.
9) We previously thought The Blessed Margaret was alright: we now can’t fault her at all.
10) Admitting to losing bodily fluids into your underwear: not a block on getting to the semi final of The Apprentice. With this revelation the final hurdle is cleared: After Apprentice Junior next year - Apprentice Toddler, then?
It is the only sensible thing left to do.

Thank you, and good night

[Original can be found here]

While I have been writing like a demon (as in “furiously, constantly and with great fervour” rather than “with fire shooting out of my ears while feasting on kittens”) for the last 18 months, I have not, sadly, been keeping this site updated at quite the same rate.

Some may argue this is why I have not been keeping it updated at quite the same rate, in fact.
Nevertheless, it is an unfortunate truth.
However, I have been writing, often and much, on The Guardian (for greater variation, move further back through the pages) - and on my personal blog of eight years, littleredboat.co.uk.

Thank you for reading this much guff about why you shouldn’t, really, be reading all this guff.
Anna

Update: Right, certainly getting there on the updating front. You can’t see it, though, because it’s mainly the older stuff. Still, if you want to dig around, you are most welcome to do so.
A

Is cheese the only food where an overwhelmingly onerous odour is considered a virtue? And were the judges right, or is there another, smellier cheese?

According to breaking news this week, Stinking Bishop has been voted the most pungent cheese in the country by a panel of expert judges.

Which is great, but surely more remarkable is this is one of the only foodstuffs where ‘rank and offputting’ can can equal ‘top flight culinary delight’. Or is it?

According to the Press Association, “the Stinking Bishop made by Charles Martell of Martell and Son in Gloucestershire blew the judges away and was described as smelling like a rugby club changing room.”

Blowing away which judges? Well, apparently a set of professional judges, including a perfumier, who you would expect to know his odours, and a journalist, who presumably had a nose for a good story.

They were joined, it says, by a set of junior judges from Wells Cathedral School. Only the most sensitive noses were picked, it claims (or perhaps it was because they are eager choristers that put up their hands to volunteer first for everything, and didn’t realise that this time it would involve subjecting themselves to an awful, dreadful stench. That’ll teach ‘em).

They all came together, smelled the cheese, and decided that though they “were all fantastically smelly”, the Stinking Bishop was stinkiest. Proving, say the people who ran the competition that ‘Britain equals anyone - and especially France - in the making of speciality cheeses’.

Does it really? Or does it simply mean that we can produce something that smells worse than a rugby club changing room and be PROUD about it?

I’m not denying that Stinking Bishop tastes good - it does: but how does it come to pass that cheese is one of the only food groups that gets to abide by its own ‘that smells so bad I want to eat it all!’ rule.

Is there any other type of food where you’d make that judgment?

“You know what? These oranges smell like a cat litter tray! I’ll take five kilos!”

“I say! This Merlot is evocative of nothing less than the putrid sputum of Satan himself, where DID you get it?”

In almost everything else, the smell that hits you first should put you right off. We have clever noses, noses that sense the acrid overtones or whiff of mould. And of course it does, for many people. Stinky cheese is something you grow into. You might have to train yourself to get past the onerous odour to reach the sometimes subtle surprise of the taste, but once you have, your brain accepts forever that the smell of rugby player’s sweaty understrappings is a perfectly acceptable - if not simply exquisite - thing to be presented with on a cheese board.

And the interesting thing is that it doesn’t ever become an attractive or alluring smell in its own right. We don’t start chewing socks or sucking on jockstraps at the end of dinner parties because our brains have linked these things and say it’s fine. It’s ONLY when it’s applied to cheese.

Or is it? Is there any other food that is excused its terrible smell in favour of its much more palatable taste? Maybe. But is there any other food that’s so exalted because of it?

And enough of all that - were the expert judges with their expert noses correct? Is Stinking Bishop the smelliest cheese on the block? Have you had one smellier? And as the judges suggested, does stinky really equal special? And, dare I ask: is it always the smellier the better?

[The original - with comments - can be found here]

The Labour deputy leader, (the correct and appropriate position for this task) Harriet Harman, who wasn’t really having a good week already - was, it was announced at the last minute, facing recognised middle-weight debating champion, the shadow foreign secretary, William “Bruiser” Hague.

If she has come dressed for the battle we cannot quite tell. The padding underneath her beige jacket is barely discernible and, if anything, quite shapely. This womanliness is noticed by the ever-sharp Hague, who points out that the right honourable member should be congratulated on being female, especially as the first woman to stand in that position in 30 years … since his dearly beloved Iron Maid.

An affectionate-but-pointed poke is enough, apparently, to kick off the fun.

Soon the important matters of foreign affairs pertaining to be the present question at hand - you know, it’s only Zimbabwe - give way to inter-party carousing and general horseplay either side of the box.

“May I ask why you’re asking the questions when the shadow leader of the Conservative party is sitting next to you?” Harman asks, in response to the shadow foreign secretary pointing out his awareness of her femininity.

And with good point, of course. The shadow leader of the house is Theresa May, sitting down, quietly but with massive grin, behind Hague. Still, according to Debrett’s, the polite thing to do if someone points out your gender in a public arena is to thank them politely and go and find a policeman, but the level of debate, we are to understand, is beyond etiquette, and far into the realms of sexual politics.

“Is this the state of the modern Conservative party, that women should be seen and not heard?” Harman asks, pointedly. “If so, I offer some sisterly advice to the shadow leader - that she should not let him get away with it!”

If there is a sisterly tear of gratitude rolling down May’s cheek, we cannot see it from here. The camera cuts away too quickly to Hague, round head now held back and poised to bowl full speed toward Harriet’s already wobbly pins.

“Turning to domestic issues,” he rumbles, lightly, as the roll begins, “I was going to be nice to the leader of the house. But now … speaking of dressing for the occasion, if she goes to a building site she apparently wears a hat, if on police patrol, a flak jacket - presumably if the right honourable member goes to a cabinet meeting she dresses as a clown!”

He looks around as colleagues mournfully mumble their praise with the traditional creaking noises. To be fair, it wouldn’t win Hague a freestyle rap battle, but it does the job.

“If I’m looking for advice on what to wear or what not to wear, the very last man I would turn to is the man in the baseball cap,” Harman responds.

It would surely be clichéd to suggest that there is an element of flirtation simply because one of them happens to be female, but the argumentative bounce of Hague does particularly seem tinged with an edge of Spencer Tracy to Harman’s Katharine Hepburn - a similarity which is, admittedly, noticeable in part due to the uncommonly spherical heads of the two men, rather than the level of dialogue so far evidenced.

“Turning to your actual important question …” Oh why bother? Spare us the pretence, we’re here for the sparring – but for another minute they actually keep to the business at hand.

Hague, proving himself to be as internet-savvy as we always suspected he would be, quotes a blog post from two months ago in which Harriet claimed that people were not as economically worried as they are now. Well, if we’re going to be internetty about this, then surely he could have just left a comment?

“Rather than worrying about my blogs … He should be worrying about his income as an after-dinner speaker!” returns Harman, with an aimless arrow that seems mainly like the kind of rather empty insult one might perhaps scribble on the corner of one’s notes in the corridor beforehand as an emergency measure.

More politics interrupts the verbal spar. Before being returned, pointlessly, to the same old opposition question.

“And isn’t the question the whole country’s asking: when can we get rid of this discredited cabinet and have a change of government?” Hague ends.

The jeers and yeers rise in volume, and drop away again as he sits. “Yer never got there, did ya?” shouts one uncouth heckler, clearly bored with farmyard disagreement noises.

The questions continue, the banter diminishes to a barely discernable level of snark. Questions are asked, and answered in beige-jacketed deputy leader fashion.

Vince Cable, met by rounds of hilarity and applause like a favourite end-of-the-pier magician appearing for the encore that everyone was waiting for, nods and smiles and holds his fingers up, in a “No, just wait for this one” kind of way. And then asks a question about the Queen postponing her anniversary celebrations.

“Does the right honourable member share my view that her majesty is showing an unerring understanding of national mood, or does this government think that she is over-reacting?” with a nod and almost a wink.

At this, Michael Martin’s jovial smile, the one that has been clearly nodding along with the fun, is strained at the edges. He is, as he addresses Cable, a slightly more puce shade of berry than usual.

“The honourable member must not discuss her majesty the Queen in the house. Does he want another question? Because he’s not getting a reply.”

And after wasting his enormous build-up on a clever but powerless punch, Cable, clearly deflated, backs off and asks something dull and important about money.

After the first 15 minutes the heat is already gone from the fiery first flush of the great Harman/Hague screwball question time.

The main news stations even give up, swapping PMQs for real actual breaking news about the Zimbabwean elections. When we come back on BBC Parliament, everyone is looking slightly deflated and annoyed that the fun didn’t last and they had to hand in their homework after all.

“Is the government aware that when they changed the emphasis from the retail price index to the consumer price index, that their new index would be lower than the high one, and something something something pensioners?” Asks one Conservative minister, hoping to corner Harman and win the day.

“Um. Er. I will ask…. the chancellor … to write to you. Answering that,” says Harman, before, just in time, the bell rings, and everyone tries to get to the canteen before the chips run out.

[This article first appeared as a quick reaction and sketch at guardian.co.uk/politics]

Last Wednesday, a posh lad with a floppy fringe was given his marching orders by a bearded barrow boy in an expensive suit. As the first contestant on the new series of The Apprentice slipped into history, more than six million people stopped throwing snarkish comments at their television screens and nodded sagely, content that the right man got fired.

Shouting at the TV isn’t new, but now it’s not just being done in isolation - it’s happening online. This week, I and a host of others will again watch Alan Sugar in a strange - and many would say strangely pointless - way, following the telly while typing. We’ll be dissecting the show in real time as each egotistic monster talks him or herself out of the running. We tap away in a sort of live review, a running commentary, with readers’ comments woven in.

Over the last few years, there has been a burgeoning of minute-by-minute coverage of football matches, or over-by-over coverage of Test cricket. It serves two purposes: vicarious and almost instantaneous coverage for people unable to watch television at the time and a communal ball-by-ball dissection as it happens.

It has worked so well in sport that it has come to be used in other events - the Oscars, a royal wedding, the elections … lately Crufts. Each passes by, minute by minute, in a grand discussion as people add their comments. ‘An enormous man runs around the ring with a rodent-sized pet on a string. According to Mike, whose partner has been lost to the dogs for the last several days, the winner of the gun dog group was “a travesty”. It mixes journalism with journaling - taking a review and taking a view.

The web has always been filled with people discussing events in real time - creating communal coverage by rebuilding the visual in words (and leaving out the boring bits). It’s that sense of shared experience over the silliest things that makes this commentary feel new and worthwhile.

Facebook is such hi-tech crack, for example, because it relentlessly informs you about how your ‘friends’ are, what they are doing and why (’ANNA IS … TRYING TO FIND A HILARIOUS EXAMPLE’). For some, this constant barrage of information is oppressive, for others, a lively way of engaging.

We are creating a giant living room, a vast sofa. Sharing the tiniest details of the silliest things glues people together; real-life friendships are forged in virtual spaces. There’s room on the web for all things great and small, whether it’s weighty discussions on ground-breaking matters or conversations about the gaffe that’s just been guffed on your favourite TV show.

100 per cent stupid

Marvellously, The Apprentice brings with it a welcome return of moronic businessisms, as candidates trot out trite examples of things that sound fine in brightly coloured motivational books, but idiotic when tumbling out of mouths.

A favourite is the search for the highest percentage. You may have thought that the highest percentage would be 100, but that would be naive and non-managerial.

For some time, it has not been enough to give 100 per cent effort. To impress, nothing less than 110 per cent is necessary. Or 150 per cent. Or 200 per cent. Percentage wars have broken out and 1,000 per cent is bandied about.

At this point, the notion of percentage flies out of the window and the contestants find themselves stuck in a ‘who can think of the biggest number’ competition. These are, apparently, some of the best new business minds in the country. Which terrifies me 38,476 per cent.

[The comment piece can also be found, in full, with comments from Comment is Free http://annapickard.co.uk/?p=160 Anna Pickard is thrown out of Walthamstow dog stadium for not being a Tory. And all she wanted to do was meet Boris Johnson