My sister muttered the phrase “PMS,” as we walked in Beverly Hills when an over-pumped, cherry-red Ferrari Testosterone-sa scream-jumped the curb to the door of a chic hotel. The owner hopped out, tossed keys over his shoulder, to the valet and strode into the restaurant as a very tall, very blond, very silicon-implanted girlfriend scooted after him. He was 5’ 2” in height including the big hair comb-over. “PMS,” she explained, “stood for – Petite Male Syndrome” a classic ladies-term I’d never before heard since I stand 6 feet+, to “explain his over-compensation for life’s vertical challenges.”

Tonight alpha PMS business magnate, Sir Alan Sugar continues his 4th televised search for a UK Apprentice in the hit television show of the same name where we all get to be voyeurs watching the live, on tape, meltdown of 15 other executive wannabees.

With less than two weeks before Sir Alan says – “You’re Hired!” tonight we witness a round of job interviews that would find any one of his companies standing before an EU tribunal for the tasteless, classless and, borderline illegal televised grilling of candidates. We all get to watch them eviscerated for free.

In a show built wholly in an editing suite, there are five left and after tonight only two will remain standing for the final week of the competition. It’s the best of reality telly because those in contention actually have to work and demonstrate real business skills.

The 16-finalists to make it through the annual 12-week series bested 10,000 other applicants and did so by not so modestly claiming to be business equivalents of the second coming of the carpenter of Galilee.

Without a shred of decency or humility, they have climbed over, dissected and fricasseed each other during “business tasks” and then the real Cassandra vs. King Kong death battles in the boardroom take on an ultimate ‘steel cage match’ fight to the death as they care not a whit who gets trampled or why.

They are characteristically un-British in boasting about their qualifications which in this phase will be their downfall. Tonight the interviewers will, as they have done in the past, rip their resumes, facades and personas to shreds and five to ten million of us will willingly watch, tape or download the podcast.

The question is why would anyone want this job? Sir Alan clearly has developed a loyal group of employees and one can hope they have become financially enriched for their fealty. Margaret and Nick, his television co-henchpeople on the show manage to do all of the dirty work each week and all he has to do is introduce the task and sit for 30 minutes in the boardroom before saying the magical words – “You’re Fired” – usually peppered with the catchphrase of the week (“you lost me money, you’re a disaster, you lost control, you’re weak” and… for the ones he seems to like but have indeed royally screwed up – “with regret”) each week.

If successful they will make a £100,000 salary but the problem is they still have to work for a brutish, foul-mouthed, badly suited, loutish troll of a man who struts around like King Tut doing a poor imitation of Donald Trump (without the hair weave) and leaves a weekly carbon footprint the size of King Kong in his chauffer driven Rolls (vanity plate AMS 1, for Alan M Sugar) and jet helicopters.

The winning team enjoys an indulgent narcissistic “fun” event beyond their imagination and the losers sit in a tattered industrial estate coffee shop and try to figure out what went wrong before heading to the Boardroom where they are grilled. Sir Alan, Nick and Margaret talk about them behind their backs and then 3 return where one (or sometimes two) of them is fired.

Then, after the firing, they get their 15-minutes of fame on a spin-off 30-minute show on BBC Two where they can relive their bad moments in front of a 200 person studio audience who in Christians v. Romans style give a thumbs up or down (via red and green cards saying fired, hired) as the football show host asks if Sir Alan did the right thing? Followed by the morning talk telly show and radio runs where they let their hair down and are mostly relieved it is over and they made it as far as they did.

Why would anyone want this job? They say they want to learn the secrets to his success and yet there seems a bit of disingenuousness as all realise making it to the final five or two is much more lucrative on the personal appearance, book advance and public speaking side of things.

Besides, if you win, you don’t just get paid like other shows, you have to work for the £100K! Sir Alan is busily selling off assets and seems to be, after 40 years, getting ready to retire/hand over control of his businesses. He seems to enjoy the show less each year and yet it just gets bigger.

I guess following in his television footsteps is the real job no one wants.