TThe Apprentice is, I think, the only reality-adjacent TV show I’ve ever watched. I’m a big fan, largely because of the unrelenting idiocy of (some / most of) the contestants.

Their misplaced overconfidence. Their ghastly clothes. Their “myselfs” and “yourselfs.” Their malapropisms. Their sheer ignorance on many levels, from basic English to geography, history and – as soon as they start negotiating – elementary maths.

I love to hate their chirpy choruses of “Good morning Lord Sugar” after being woken up at 4am and their insincere “Thank-you-for-the-opportunity” when they’re fired… followed, inevitably, by a taxi to nowhere in which they inform Lord Sugar that he’s made a terrible mistake and he’ll be hearing a lot more of them after this.

But before that there’ll be the fantastically self-aggrandising statements they make to camera, as they tell us of their legendary talents for business, and the certainty that they will win… which comes full circle at the end when their business plans are comprehensively scrutinised, dissected, deconstructed and ridiculed by actual business people.

There’s also the bizarre costumes they all wear, like some sort of pastiche of what business people are supposed to wear: brightly coloured suits and ties for the “boys” and power suits for the “girls,” whose faces, with their painted eyebrows and trout pouts, are so full of fillers that they look as if they might all be related.

It’s a contrast to the sour vinegar face of ‘Dame’ Karen Brady, in her weird ’80s-Thatcher-fangirl frocks, and the appallingly scriped jokes and puns of ‘Lord’ Alan Sugar, usually involving references to people and events that took place long before most of the contestants were born, forcing them into rictus grins that fail to disguise the fact they haven’t got a clue what the old fella with the money’s on about.

So I can’t wait for 9 o’clock tonight. Especially as the latest line-up includes this prick, who somehow slipped through the vetting process, despite a history of calling Muslims “dirty”, women “slags” and “dogs”, and being a fan of Stephen Yaxley-Lennon.

Luckily we know who to root for because there are 19 others and, however terrible they might be – and you can be sdure they will be – they won’t be as terrible as the extraordinarily named Levi Hodgetts-Hague, who helpfully looks exactly like the mental picture I had already formed of him.

I literally can’t wait for him to hear the magic words: “You’re fired” – hopefully just before 10 o’clock tonight – though I suppose it’s too much to hope that SirAlan will add the words “… you cunt.”