Dan Morris: The reality of reality

​This series – like many of the previous 18 – is showcasing a cabal of candidates whose collective cunning is so tepid that if their brains were gunpowder, I’m certain they wouldn’t have enough to part their hair.

Basic maths and general communication skills seem to elude many of them, and one recently fired contestant’s confusion between ‘rapport building’ and his own twisted brew of sycophancy and condescension was laughable.

That being said, it’s great telly…

Cutting down to the quick, we all know that reality shows of this ilk are edited to portray their participants in a certain light, and I am sure that this – coupled with the general pressure of TV cameras watching you work – is the reason that most of Alan Sugar’s ‘finest’ tend to resemble ‘goldfish on graduation day’.

The truth is, The Apprentice is meant to be funny, and it would be a poor show if it were not cut and pasted to ensure that the candidates’ most embarrassing gaffes were centre stage.

What it certainly proves is one thing: going on the telly box can be a dangerous game.

In fear of the wrath of uppity and cantankerous journalists, I’ve never made a punt for the ‘TV contestant’ gig.

Yet, from The Weakest Link to Pointless, Eggheads, The Chase and other quizzical highlights, I’ve known pals who’ve gone the whole hog and put their grey matter to the test in front of the unforgiving masses. I’ve even known a couple of friends who have applied for The Apprentice itself and, also, Love Island.

One lad in fact put himself forward for both – a bastion of bravery or a true glutton for punishment, depending on your persuasion.

My argument for not giving reality telly or game shows a whirl is simply this: It’s better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.

This old saying – often attributed to Abraham Lincoln – has a way of ringing through my head every time one of the apparently hapless Apprentice candidates drops a clanger for all to hear. 

Gloves off, we’re all capable of saying something a bit thick or ill-thought on a daily basis. I’ve been known to do it hourly.

But why on Earth would you want to risk such a faux pas being immortalised via the TV and then regurgitated on the web whenever an adversary or opportunist mickey-taker pleased?

It’d be like writing a curmudgeonly newspaper column that you know you may one day regret and having it come back to bite you, wouldn’t it?

Much as I love a good pub quiz, I’d likely never be brave enough to attempt to flex my cerebral pecs in front of a camera, nor would you find me in the rush to become a reality star.

Of the latter though, I will say fair play to those who use reality TV very intelligently as a springboard to further gigs. 

Look at Rylan Clark. The lovable BBC DJ and This Morning alumnus first came to national attention as a contestant on The X-Factor.

The following year he won Celebrity Big Brother, and not long after that he was presenting its sister show. The rest is history, and Clark is now on his way to becoming a national treasure.

For a lot of people, a stint on reality TV usually only leads to an eternal source of ridicule to be mined down the pub at the leisure of all who do and do not know you. Sadly, I think that’s what the majority of this year’s Apprentice stars can look forward to.

If you just want to get your mug on the telly, folks, then fine. But if you do (as many of Lord Sugar’s candidates profess) want to be taken seriously in the business world, for God’s sake don’t risk making yourself look like a complete clown in front of absolutely all of it.

A job interview that immortalises you as a court jester isn’t likely to get you another one – unless the King is looking for a little comedy, of course.