There are no sandwiches in this entry (I'm not even eating a home made sarnie as I type... Sorry)

The Apprentice Christmas Special – Could Sir Allen learn from the mistakes of others?

We all know and love The Apprentice for its sharp-tongued perception of the wheeler-dealer world of cut-throat business. The show underlines the importance of stabbing the hill farmers of Nepal in the back if it means a better profit margin for your business.

But if the whole concept of this popular television show is for the contestants to prove their business savvy, surely Sir Allen is missing a trick. Is remaining loyal to a publicly funded television channel proving his worth? Why hasn’t The Apprentice moved to Sky or ITV for bigger bucks?

So lets have a ‘The Apprentice – Christmas Special’ this festive season. But instead of idiotic or presumptuous wannabees vying for Sir Allen’s favour lets get the channels in to fight it out for the rights for the next series.

It surely would be compulsive viewing to watch the T.V Channels build their business cases. Lets watch each production company break down the show and exploit every aspect of Sir Allen’s programme. Lets witness the tug-o-war tactics and arm wrestling in the boardroom as each channel attempts to lure the show to a new home.

I am sure Sky One would be up for it, as would ITV. Channel Four must fancy their chances too. The BBC would be obliged to turn up and let us throw in some outsiders like Bravo and Five for good measure.

The Christmas Special would follow each Channel as they weaved their ideas into something presentable. We can witness the channels snarling at each other, stabbing each other in the backs to steal good ideas. Add a little edited tension and a little Prokofiev and we have a winning formula, ladies and gentlemen. Of course audiences would expect, indeed demand, the show to be topped off with Sir Allen barking his displeasure in the boardroom. “What do you mean strippers? Bravo… YOU’RE FIRED!”

The BBC would obviously suggest a continuation of the brand based on loyalty and the fact they have never failed Sir Allen before. Quality would be their main selling point with promises to never cheapen the product. Graham Norton could click away at the BBC slideshow and glare coldly at Sir Allen if asked an awkward question.

Ant and Dec could be the face of the ITV pitch. Revenue from advertisement sales would surely get the taste buds-a-tingling. Britain’s Got Talent and I’m A Celebrity could be used as examples of ITV’s pedigree in reality television (?!?). A pre-signed contract would confirm that The Association of Nepalese Hill Farmers will sponsor the show so proving ITV are a channel of the people. ITV could also offer a second production (called The Apprentice: Fire and Forget) to be aired on ITV2 just before Katie and Peter: The Next Chapter.

Sky One would just offer a ludicrous amount of money for Sir Allen to up and move across to the champions of digi-tele. Andy Grey could make an entire presentation based on his wage salary and insist he can wangle a guest appearance on Soccer A.M for Sir Allen with the promise nobody would mention Tottenham Hotspur... Advertising figures would be marginally higher than ITV because Sky One would plan for five minute ad breaks for every ten minutes of television.

Bravo and Five could make a joint bid where they pitch an idea for a format change. Each week (under the proposed new format) the contestants would have to find the weirdest, most dysfunctional family in Great Britain and exploit them in the cheapest way possible. Either that or document the deviant lives of the British gentry. There would be a guaranteed breast count per episode and Sir Allen would get new fire-monkeys appropriately named Trixy Le Blow and Fifi Wanny-Wanny.

Channel Four would insist integrity would be a priority in their new version of the show. Peter Snow could host, with a live Big Brother-esque eviction every Friday night. The ‘new’ Apprentice would be a gritty fly on the wall documentary, a subtle blend of Big Brother, Despatches and Shameless. Each episode would guarantee a high use of profanities and at least two shots of men kissing.

Sir Allen could sneer contemptuously as each channel presents its case, firing each one as he sees fit. It would be a guaranteed audience puller and perhaps one final swansong for the BBC. 

We would all watch like an audience in ancient Rome baying for blood at the coliseum. And when we have been all whipped into a frenzy of blood lust and hysteria Sky could win.

Which would be ironic because then, despite the big money offer, audience numbers would plummet and the show would be cancelled, only to be re-launched in about five years time by Bravo… or Five.

They Say Bad Luck Comes in Threes

It is a definite exaggeration when I say that this week has been a little bit of a nightmare… Oh… My… GOD!!!

My original plan was to review a sandwich from one of those lovely supermarkets. Don’t worry, I am not going to insist we all stop using these industries of totalitarianism. I admit it would be brilliant if everyone stopped using the big supermarket companies and we all started buying our meat from a family run butcher and grew all our own tomatoes, cucumbers and basil. It’s a nice idea but lets be honest the only people who can really consider this a possibility are those who traded their common sense in for loads of spare time, land and money.

So, as I was saying, I was going to review a sandwich purchased from a supermarket and then I was told I may be made redundant. So, in trying to keep within the context of mirroring my life through sarnies, I thought maybe I could review the cheapest sandwich I could find in a supermarket and joke about the fact that this is probably the only bought sandwich I will soon be able to afford.

That seemed like a plan but then thought I could review a drive through restaurant (MacDonalds, Burger King and KFC all support this form of sandwich purchasing in the Swindon area). I did get a little excited about this because I do love a burger…

Then some twat stole the car…

That’s Ok, I hear you all shout, use your bike… Well I would but on the same day the car was stolen I was knocked from my motorbike on Swindon’s infamous Magic Round-a-bout.

And now… well not even a foot long BMT on Italian herb bread with olives, lettuce and mayonnaise would get me out of this all-I-want-to-do-is-feel-sorry-for-myself rut. My bike is totalled, my pride has been knocked and I have finally come to the conclusion that all my ranting about the fact there is no god has p!$$ed him off so much he is now getting his own back.

For those of you who do not know the Magic Round-a-bout please take a quick look on Google (here). The road system I describe is one large round-a-bout in the middle of five mini round-a-bouts. A series of lanes and confusion greets even the most confident road user the first time they stumble onto this icon of local traffic management.

My body aches from being launched into the air and landing on my back in the middle of the road. My lucky stars have well and truly been counted, recounted and then counted again just to make sure. I still do not know how I walked away from the incident.

The car has gone, my bike is going, my job is in risk of going the same way. You couldn’t make this stuff up and if you did nobody would believe you. I feel like I’ve dropped a Marks and Spencer Crayfish and Rocket and picked up a Tesco Value Egg Mayonnaise.

Café Nero - Meatball and Mozzarella Panini

The world has gone mad and I found out whilst eating a meatball and mozzarella panini.

I was in my favourite coffe shop, Café Nero, and ordered a double espresso and panini. I like Café Nero, the staff are always friendly, the service is more than acceptable and the café is situated on the main artery of Chavs-ville*. I can mull over a café latte and watch all the idiot hoodies walk by with their cheap tattoos and tagging bracelets, pushing prams full of the next generation of dole-sponging, drunken, menace-to-society brats called Britney. I can sip my coffee and watch them shout at their children and drag them by the arm into another pub. I can nibble on a raspberry and white chocolate muffin and ponder over whether we should abolish the dole system all together and settle back into a clear three tier class system, open up the sweat-houses and convert Penhill into a ghetto (lets be honest it would not take much – if anything). We could even sterilise them to stop them breading.

So, what was I saying… oh yeah, I like Café Nero but on the day in question I chose not to chav-watch. No, I chose to read The Independent instead.

And while I waited for my panini to be toasted I read an article on the current state of honey bees in the U.K. The report highlighted that there has been a rise in the theft of honey bees and their hives.

I know it’s stupid but bear with me, please.

So who is stealing all of the bees? Well the report insisted that to steal bees you need to understand them. Who on earth would try and steal a hive of excitable bees? It just would not be worth the money. Well, apparently, the only people who could steal the hives are the very people who keep bees.

And that is where my problem is… Bee keepers are fundamentally a British icon. The thought that the retired general who has bought a plot of woodland, studied the art of keeping bees at night school, who has battled the viruses killing off hives and who has farmed his own honey is the same person who is stealing the bees… Well I just can’t handle that. How does somebody who predominately wears a straw boater put on a balaclava and go out in the middle of the night to poach hives?

There must be another answer, there must be.

So I think we should blame the chavs.

Chavs are the equivilant to punks, teddy-boys or mods. Chavs are a movement, an identity. They have their own rules and lifestyle and music and as much as I don’t like them I will admit I don’t understand them either. My main gripe is that they don’t really stand for anything apart from laziness and sponging from the state. At least punks had a code, a way of life. Chavs just want to breed, fight and be too thick to know any better.

So how can such an established paper as The Independent blame bee-keepers when we have a swarm of anti-social-idiots who would happily attempt to throw a hessian sack over a hive in the middle of the night and run off with it? Chavs would do anything for another pint of Stella and twenty Marlboro Lights and they are thick enough not to realise the bees are stinging them – lets be honest by three in the morning most chavs are too drunk to feel anything (perfect for stealing the national honey factories) either that or they’re scuttling another Britney, Tracey or Shaznay around the back of Debenhams…

I say lets head down to The Savoy and arrest any chav with a face full of bee-stings. If there are none there we can also check Ladbrookes, Tesco or Subway.

By the time the Panini was served to me I was fed up. How bad is a world where people steal bees? The mozzarella had melted, fusing both slices of hot toasted bread together. It took three bites before I tasted meatballs which were peppery and a ‘little-cheap-tasting’. And as I realised that the tomato sauce had been spread on the bread hours ago I wondered whether there was anything a chav wouldn’t do to annoy me.





*Chavs-ville – The triangular area between Sir Daniels, Lava Lounge and Halifax where chavs migrate after all day drinking in The Savoy. Area tends to be full of Staffordshire Bull Terriers, men smoking outside the pubs and women in shorts skirts pushing prams with a fag in their mouth and a mobile phone up to their ear. Welcome to Swindon – Please drive on.

The G.W - Beef and Horseradish Sauce Ciabatta

G.W.

Beef and Horseradish Ciabatta

Date of visit: 16 May 2009.

 

So I am sitting here. The keyboard awaits my command. My fingers are poised to write this first piece in this new, exciting, state-of-the-art blog.

My brain wracks itself, considering every possible colourful adjective, every fork-tongued comment, every humorous articulation. Can I deliver the killer review… ?

Actually no I can’t because all I think about is how to include the MP’s expense scandal into this?

I can’t find one angle I could use to legitimately incorporate such a news event into my blog.

BALLS!!!

If I chose my first sandwich more carefully I could have said something about MPs learning from Subway. You order a foot long sub from there you get all the transparency you need in life. Everything is right there in front of you, nothing hidden away, no Telegraph reporters looking through your bins...

But I didn’t (maybe I should have saved that thought instead of wasting it here and now).

I didn’t go to Subway (I will just not yet), I went to the G.W which is one of my favourite pubs in Swindon. I like the place. I like the staff (who are always friendly). I like the service (always as quick as possible even when the place is busy). The pub is clean and the menu is large, there are a lot of sandwiches to choose from.

My beef sarnie was on the specials board and only cost four quid but the large plate that came out was full of chips and salad. The value for money stakes (get it stakes… steaks… beef-steaks… do you see what I did there?)... As I was saying the bar has been set because I challenge anyone to find a restaurant or pub that serves more food for less money.

The only problem I had was the amount of horseradish sauce on the bun. I am not sure if you have ever eaten too much horseradish sauce in one go. It’s not very nice. It’s like twenty-five fire eaters trying to impress Simon Cowell while failing to not look down Amanda Holden’s cleavage just in case they burn down the theatre – needless to say the blaze is imminent, its just up your nose and Ant and Dec are not about.

I could have scraped off some of the horseradish but that would have meant I would have had to stop eating… so I put up with the burning sensation like your average syphilis patient.

The meat was very tasty and cooked well (not chewy at all, very succulent). The ciabatta bun (triangular in shape) was soft and fresh. If you are ever wondering where to go for lunch, well you could do worse than going to the G.W (check out their website for details / www.thegw.co.uk).

Right then, I’m off, still find a way to incorporate the expense scandal into my piece so I just going to leave it well alone and say goodbye.

Lets Eat Sandwiches

So here it is – SWINDONSARNIE. Personally, I can’t believe nobody has done this before.

So what is SWINDONSARNIE? Well to be honest if you are asking that question you are a few lettuce leaves short of a BLT… Sorry, I will stop using sandwich gags, I just couldn’t help myself.

SWINDONSARNIE is where all the sandwich news from the local area will reside. Where is the best place to go for a sandwich? Where is the worst place to go for a sandwich? We will answer all of these vitally important questions as well as be the hub of all sandwich based conversation in the Swindon area.

Each week I will review a sandwich. It could be a restaurant or pub sarnie, it could be a Tesco sarnie. My plan is to eventually have a complete database on the current state of sandwiches in the Swindon area – hence the name and hence why I insulted anyone who really needed to have the bloody obvious explained to them.

And don’t go worrying about the burgers. My interpretation of a sandwich is anything that is served between bread. This includes wraps, burgers and hotdogs.

I will look into cost, service, side dishes, pickles or sauces available. I will be looking into how long you wait for the sandwich, how friendly the service was, how clean the pub is or how many drunk chavs were in the queue at Tesco.

This is it people and I for one am very excited. I love a good bloody sarnie and now we will all find out where is the best place to find it. YES!