What You See is What You Get

by Sugar, Alan

  My brother Derek phoned, telling me he was so surprised – he’d known I was doing a television show, but hadn’t realised it was going to be anything like this. Ann called me to say that Daphne had phoned her while the show was on, around the time I was telling the candidates, ‘I don’t like bullshitters . . .’ and she’d said to Daphne, ‘You haven’t seen anything yet. Call back at the end – let me watch the programme.’

  They were all tremendously excited, as one would expect from the family when you’re on telly. However, in TV terms, the way they gauge success is the viewing figures. Next day, I called Peter Moore and asked him what he thought. He wasn’t exactly jumping up and down. He told me it had achieved something like 1.9 million viewers and I detected a tone of disappointment, as if that wasn’t good enough. I, of course, couldn’t put this in context – I didn’t know whether 1.9 million viewers was good or bad. Whatever, Peter didn’t seem to think it had set the world alight. The second week’s viewing figures went down to something like 1.8 million, but then word must have started getting around, as numbers started to grow and reached around 3.5 million, which I was told was brilliant for BBC2.

  As the popularity of the programme grew, it was quite interesting to watch the reaction of people when they saw me in the streets. Up till then, I’d been recognised a fair bit because of my involvement in football, with such welcoming greetings as, ‘All right, Alan, how’s that bleedin’ team of yours?’ stretching to, ‘Oi, Sugar, get your fucking chequebook out, you prick!’ All that type of stuff, if you know what I mean. Now people would come up to me, tell me how good the show was, shake my hand and be very polite. Of course you did get the odd person who’d make an idiot of themselves by saying, ‘You’re fired!’ and then laughing hysterically while everyone else looked at him as if he was a prat.

  I was particularly encouraged to see that many teenagers were inspired by the show. It seemed that everywhere I went I was asked by this young audience to have photos taken with them or sign autographs. I also started to get lots of letters from young people telling me about their business ideas. It was comforting that one of my objectives was bearing fruit.

  One of the funny things was the number of women in their forties and fifties who would come over to me and compliment me on the show. It was particularly amusing when they were accompanied by their husbands, who would kind of loiter with false smiles, holding in some kind of inner rage as their wives poured compliments on me. It was embarrassing though, and it got to the stage where I would spot these women out of the corner of my eye and, knowing they were about to pounce, would start a conversation with someone next to me in the hope that they would go away. I couldn’t stand that look of resentment from the hubbies. Let me make it clear, these ladies were only expressing their admiration of my business acumen and the way I performed on the show – nothing else. Let’s face it – George Clooney I’m not.

  The other ‘commentators’ were men aged between thirty-five and fifty: ‘This Apprentice is all a load of rubbish. That’s not business. That Sugar’s talking a load of bollocks.’ That was the testosterone speaking and, funnily enough, I would get more of this kind of thing if the chaps’ female companions had complimented me.

  Sir Stuart Rose, chairman of Marks & Spencer, when asked by the Sunday Times what he thought of my role in The Apprentice, said words to the effect of, ‘Don’t compare me to him – if I carried on like that with my staff, I would have had my P45 a long time ago.’

  I thought this was a rather scathing remark and he’d have done better not to comment when asked, particularly as he had never really met me. I emailed him and asked why a so-called experienced businessman would be goaded by a journalist into making such remarks. I pointed out that the founder of Marks & Spencer, Michael Marks, had started as I had, on a market stall, albeit in Leeds. My grandfather, Simon Sugar, in his later years, used to liken me to him. Stuart replied with a load of waffle, asking to meet me to discuss it further. I told him not to bother.

  Being on TV affects different people in different ways. Margaret, for example, claims she hates the fame The Apprentice has brought her. I do find it hard to believe, but she insists she does. She doesn’t like people recognising her when she’s on the tube or the bus, or impertinently coming up to her on the street saying, ‘You’re that lady from the TV programme.’ Nick, on the other hand, accepts recognition with ease. I sometimes joke that he would turn up to the opening of an envelope. ‘Only if there’s a cheque inside,’ he says.

  To be honest, I thought it was great being part of such a popular television programme. The Apprentice brought me fame and I won’t deny that I enjoyed it. However, I feel I managed it quite well and didn’t go overboard. I was getting offers for newspaper interviews, invitations to cocktail parties and all that stuff, but I turned most of them down. I did appear on Jonathan Ross’s show because I understood it was a BBC request to help promote the series. For the same reason, I did a few press interviews for some of the national newspapers, but that was it. I also turned down all sorts of reality television programmes, panel games and, would you believe, Strictly Come Dancing!

  Unbelievable – the idiots, thinking I would get involved in that.

  19

  Luvvies and Darlings

  And the End of an Era at Amstrad

  2005–7

  They’re a funny bunch of people in television. They’re good at what they do – making programmes – but when they try to be shrewd in business, this mob in the TV industry are useless. For instance, after the success of the first series of The Apprentice, everybody knew there would be a second series, yet the BBC’s Jane Lush was keeping up the charade that it hadn’t been decided yet. She was playing it cool, thinking that if she looked too eager, it would cost them too much money. Quite frankly, as an attempt at bluffing it was a bit pathetic. She reminded me a bit of the David Hyams/Bob Watkins/Ian Saward types – trying to be what they’re not.

  Finally, the BBC did commission the second series and Nick, Margaret and I signed up again. I was expecting to work with the same team, but a few months later, editorial director Daisy Goodwin left Talkback to set up her own company, Silver River Productions. What’s more, Peter Moore and Tanya Shaw decided they didn’t want to do The Apprentice again and also left.

  There is a weird artistic snobbery which exists in this industry. You can understand why an actor (for example Ross Kemp who played the character Grant Mitchell in the popular BBC soap EastEnders) might feel he’s been typecast and want to further his career by taking on other roles, but these production people take it a stage further – they don’t want to be typecast as producers. They like to find new challenges to widen their portfolios. In Peter’s case, he had been around for a long time and had made lots of films, so I can quite understand that he was working more for enjoyment than financial reward. He wanted to do things he was interested in and, as far as The Apprentice was concerned, he’d set the mould, done it, bought the T-shirt and it was over – time to move on. And for some reason, Tanya Shaw wanted to do the same.

  Dan Adamson, one of the senior assistant producers of the first series, took over the second series and seconded help from the BBC. The second series, which was aired on BBC2 in February 2006, went well as far as viewing figures were concerned, and there were some great characters. However, I personally felt that this series wasn’t as professional and that we were getting too close to a Big Brother-type show which concentrates on people arguing. My involvement in The Apprentice was only on the basis of there being an underlying business message in every episode.

  Meanwhile, the first series had been nominated for a BAFTA, the most prestigious of television awards. The ceremony was held on 7 May and I turned up that night at the Great Room at the Grosvenor House Hotel to find it jam-packed full of TV celebrities and stars. It was a massive event. I went with Ann and, not knowing anyone and feeling a bit shy, we tried to hang back in the reception area for a while until they called people to the table
s. Eventually, Daisy Goodwin got hold of us, walked us through the main dining area and started introducing me to people. Gordon Ramsay came up and shook my hand, telling me how wonderful the show was. I met Bruce Forsyth, Jack Dee and loads of others. I didn’t understand, in TV terms, what a breakthrough The Apprentice had been. Only now did I realise, walking through this grand hall and seeing people looking at me or coming to talk to me, that it was a massively popular show.

  We won the BAFTA award for ‘Best Feature’ that night. Peter Moore dragged me up on to the stage in front of all these people and for once I was dumbstruck. I just hung behind him and let him do the talking. There was a press call for me to have my picture taken with the award and there, queuing up in the press room, was David Jason, the great actor from Only Fools and Horses. He shook my hand, telling me what a great programme it was and how he’d enjoyed watching it. I told him, never mind all that, it was an honour for me to meet him and said how he had entertained me over the years as Del Boy and Inspector Frost. Meeting him was a highlight of the evening.

  Ricky Gervais was sitting on another table and waved at me. He was hot at the time with his show The Office. I went over to shake his hand and he said, ‘I don’t know why I waved at you because I don’t know you. I guess it was just to say well done.’

  You can imagine how a moment like this could really go to your head, how it could make you want more and more fame. But in a way, this was no different to having a smash-hit Amstrad product – it was great to be congratulated for my success but, like a hit product, I knew it wouldn’t go on for ever. My feet were firmly on the ground and I had no delusions that I was some great TV celebrity.

  There is no question that if I had my time over again and was asked to do The Apprentice, the answer would be absolutely yes. It’s tremendously enjoyable and it signs on to my philosophy of assisting small businesses and young people in promoting enterprise. I have to be thankful to Peter Moore for choosing me as his preferred host.

  Lots of people have asked whether The Apprentice has assisted me in business. The simple answer is no – not one bit. Why should it? I’m in electronics and real estate. Of course, people want to meet me and want me to come to their offices, sign photographs and things like that, but when we get down to serious business, there is either a good deal to be done or there isn’t, irrespective of whether or not I’m on TV.

  The demand for me to do more Q&As at schools, universities and charities obviously shot up as a result of the show. Whenever I could, I tried to accommodate them, but it’s impossible for me to accept every single invitation – there aren’t enough hours in the day or days in the week. However, I did do a Q&A session at Brunel University shortly after they awarded me my second honorary doctorate (again a Doctorate of Science) on 12 July 2005. By this time, I was an old hand at ceremonies, so there was no nervousness at all. I gave a small speech which was based on enterprise.

  I was now a double doctor and a knight! Bloody hell!

  After the second series, Dan Adamson joined Daisy Goodwin’s newly formed company, which meant more change. I was surprised Dan had decided to leave, since the second series was very successful in his eyes, which was proved by the viewing figures. I still couldn’t quite get my head around these people wanting to flip so quickly, but it was something I’d have to get used to. Lorraine Heggessey, a short and fiery character, had taken the role of CEO of Talkback Thames in May 2005. Lorraine had been a controller at the BBC and now she recruited the services of Michele Kurland, whom she’d worked with before, and Kelly Webb-Lamb, both from the BBC.

  I’d agreed to do a third series but I was a little disappointed that, effectively, we had to reinvent the wheel. It’s important in any working relationship that people get to know each other’s ways and having worked with Dan for two years, each of us understood the other’s thinking about the different aspects of the show. Now I was faced with a new team of bosses and I’m always concerned that new people will want to make their mark by changing things. It’s no different in the business world. When a new person arrives to take over a senior position – perhaps because a company’s in trouble or needs new direction – there’s always a mass culling of ideas, people and systems to reshape things to the new person’s liking.

  Ego plays a big part in these things. What’s the point of taking over an organisation if outwardly one can’t see a distinctive change? But, most of the time, changes aren’t necessary and can be counter-productive. When Lord Kalms (Stanley) decided it was time for him to retire and recruit a new chairman, I wrote an article for the Evening Standard along the lines of, ‘When the new bloke comes in, he shouldn’t change things for the sake of change. In other words – if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ Stanley sent me a nice note thanking me for this.

  Even in Dan Adamson’s days on the second series, suggestions were coming from the production people about changing the way we did things. I argued strongly against this on the same ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ basis. The public aren’t stupid. Unless the change is really going to improve things, don’t do it – because if it’s gimmicky, the public will tune out. Fortunately, after much debate, Dan agreed with me. But here I was again, faced with these two new ladies. It’s human nature that they would want to put their stamp on the programme and I would have to go through the whole thing again.

  To be perfectly honest, I don’t like changes of personnel; I like to deal with people I’ve built a rapport with. It takes me back to my days in business when the buyer of a company was suddenly changed and you’d have to build a whole new relationship again. Even when Amstrad employees left, it was hard for me to warm to the new people until I’d seen them in action for at least six to nine months. So Lorraine was somewhat nervous introducing Michele and Kelly to me – and I think they were nervous about meeting me. Michele was introduced as the senior producer; Kelly effectively being her number two.

  As you might imagine, my opening speech to them was along the lines of, ‘When you have something successful in business, you don’t change it.’ I also told them I’d been keeping my eye on the American market and the Trump programme was going down the pan rapidly, not least because they were overexposing it, running series back to back. In the course of eighteen months, they had run two series and the public were getting sick of it. Not only was it on too much, but they started tinkering with the format, doing stupid things like making the candidates live in the garden if they lost or allowing the winning team leader to be immune from being fired on the next task. It was over-complicated and becoming very tacky. I made it clear I didn’t want to be associated with any of this stuff.

  The thing about television people is, they’re all very polite. Everything is wonderful, everything is marvellous, nothing is ever wrong, it’s all fantastic, darling. These two ladies had spent many years in the industry, so they kind of agreed with every single thing I said and I knew it was too good to be true. When that happens, I think, ‘At least disagree with me about something!’

  I reckon, as this was their first meeting with me, somebody must have warned them just to go along with whatever I was saying. People already had a skewed idea of what I was like based on my portrayal in the sports media when I was chairman of Tottenham. This was compounded ten times over by the fact that, on TV, I was shown as a real tough nut in the boardroom, banging my fist on the table and dishing out a load of stick. If this is the only vision you have of Alan Sugar, then you can quite understand how people believe that’s exactly what I’m like.

  I don’t want to give away too many secrets here, but the truth of the matter is that the boardroom scenes are edited to create tension. The actual boardroom sessions can take a couple of hours and there’s a lot of banter and jokes, as well as me getting a bit angry, of course. However, a lot of the light-hearted stuff gets cut and you end up seeing fifteen minutes of me banging the table. With that in mind, you can understand the ladies’ nervousness about meeting me for the first time.


  I spent at least ten minutes of that first meeting with Michele and Kelly trying to convince them, firstly, that I wasn’t the person they’d seen on TV and, secondly, that I liked to get involved in all the details and even put my own suggestions forward. I said that I hoped we could end up with a similar relationship to the one I’d had with Dan Adamson. Once again, in TV luvvy terms, they agreed, telling me they knew exactly how TV works and how I’d obviously been portrayed in a certain way to create tension in the programme.

  After watching the second series, my family was starting to get a bit concerned that I was coming across as a table-banging monster. They were even suggesting that I shouldn’t do it any more, partly because they felt, as I did, that some of the candidates in the second series were getting close to those you’d expect to see on Big Brother, and also because they found themselves having to explain to their friends that I’m not really the brute they see on TV.

  The thing is, I do fly off the handle in real life – in boardroom situations, or when I get angry with inefficiency, or when things go wrong. And I haven’t got the greatest patience in the world. It’s a bad trait, I know – it’s just that sometimes I see things more clearly than others (though I thought I was getting better and more tolerant as I got older). When I look back on my business life and the nucleus of people that have worked for me, it must be some sort of testimony to say that a great many of them have stayed with me for most of their working lives. The average length of service is around twenty years, indeed some of them have been with me for well over thirty years. If I’m such a horrible person, why are they all still there? The truth is, I’m very fair and straightforward. My famous expression is, ‘What’s on my lung is on my tongue.’ Generally I think people like it that way – straight-talking.