The Apprentice

  • 18 Jul

    Personal trainers, idiots and cyclists

    There have been a lot of photos of Rupert Murdoch out in the park with his personal trainer. Makes sense. If most of society is on your case you need to be ready to run at any time.

    Then again, is now really the best time to go for a jog? His empire his crumbling, Rome burns and there he is, sauntering around Kensington in an ill-fitting cap and crumpled shellsuit.

    But, in times of crisis, these billionaire businessmen need their personal trainers more than ever. In this case Murdoch’s trainer is hired just to work on a very specific set of muscles: the ones on his face. That’s why he keeps being photographed grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

    Think about it. Shut down a successful newspaper after a hundred and sixty eight years? Keep smiling. Shares plummet while share holders threaten to sue? Keep smiling. Hemorrhaging billions of pounds? Keep smiling. Those muscles need to stay in shape.


    There was someone outside my office this week speaking into their mobile phone like they do on The Apprentice. You know, holding it out in front of their mouths instead of pressed against the side of their head. But not this moron. Oh no.

    He’s assessed the situation, then decided to turn the whole phone conversation thing into a laborious two stage procedure. He holds it out in front of him to speak then moves it to his ear to listen.

    Essentially he’s doubling the workload. Ironic given his brain is obviously functioning so poorly that he needs all the help he can get. Why make things twice as hard for yourself if you’re an idiot?

    It would almost be a shame to point out to him that for decades phones have been designed specifically so you don’t need to do that. Then again he probably wouldn’t listen anyway. After all, this guy’s obviously a trailblazer, a maverick, a lone wolf. That’s just how he rolls.


    While on the subject of idiots, this is a special message for all you cyclists. And I know it may come as a surprise since all the evidence suggests you are unaware of what I am about to reveal. Here it comes. Ready? A red light means stop.

    You cyclists may need to sit down at this point to process this information. To help you, here it comes again. A red light. Means stop. Hate to break it to you but everyone else knows. People in cars see the red light, they stop. Pedestrians see the little red man, they stop. Yet you cyclists do not.

    Are you all colour blind? Do you think that just because you combine your daily commute with regular exercise and environmentally friendly travel you are above the law? No, it makes you a git. Oh and another thing. No one looks good in lycra. Just putting it out there.

    But hey, you don’t have to listen to me. Carry on ignoring that red light, ringing that little bell as you slice through people like a particularly smug scythe through downtrodden wheat. But know this. Keep carrying on like that and you cyclists just inspire the rest of us to invest in a Hummer and run you down.