Week 2: Chickenless wraps and a dead cat

After the mess that was last week's car cleaning task, I had hoped that the second week would bode well for the seemingly hapless candidates. I was wrong. They remain a bunch of cack-handed buffoons. And despite the apparent 'expertise' of a number of the apprentices for this week's catering task, it still ended in an almighty balls-up.

So the task: Provide 'meeting' food for offices by day, and cater for a pre-arranged 'high-end' networking event by night. For Empire, Rocky, the jewel-eyed, would-be footballer from the North East who runs a chain of sandwich shops stepped up to the plate (pardon the pun) while self-proclaimed rude and obnoxious 'award-winning' restauranteur, Yasmina Siadatan threatened, I mean offered, to head up the team for Ignite.

From the off, the boys were determined to do some kind of theme and the ideas were quickly pinging about until big-bearded Maj suggested the 2012 Olympics. Agreed, they proceeded to think about what scrummy fillings would best represent the five continents: cheese ploughman wraps for Europe (naturally) chicken tikka ("for yer Asians") some couscous concoction for Africa and peanut butter sandwiches to represent the great US of A. There was something else but it was so repellent I have wiped it from my memory.

Over on the girls' team, Yasmina told her team mates in no uncertain terms that Mediterranean was the way forward. It soon became clear that she had an unhealthy obsession will basil: "Drizzle some basil oil over it, pop a leaf of basil on top and slap some basil on the side." But perhaps her most heinous crime was the fact that she so willingly opted for cheap produce, preferring Asda's low-cost brands to the organic allure of fresh, natural produce (remind me never to eat in her restaurant).

But credit where credit is due, she ran the kitchen with military precision – each gal had her job to do and they pulled it off just in the nick of time. The low-cost theme continued with ingredients being used so incredibly sparingly that the chicken didn't even make it into the wraps. However, Ignite's phoning about managed to clock up three separate contracts. The girls were in business.

Sadly, the same can't be said for the boys who seemed to be a little lost despite Rocky's sandwich pedigree and worse still, they didn't manage to secure any lunchtime trade and ended up pimping their butties to the poor unwitting public.

Over at the offices, things got a bit icky. Enter the girls with what looks like a jungle of lettuce and little else. The customers are not happy. "It looks like it's been dropped," says one, "There is a hair in my salad," says another. One man looks sadly at his sandwich void of chicken: the girls look sheepish.

Now, while Suralan had arranged the evening dos, he wanted the teams to negotiate the contracts. Kate (the blond) attempted to front client negotiations for Ignite by embellishing each statement with an uncomfortable wince: "I think it will be grilled in some way?"; "I have heard of blinis." After a painful five minutes of wincing, eye-rolling from Margaret and blank stares from the clients, it was agreed to add a clause to the contract saying that they would not pay the full amount unless completely satisfied.

Meanwhile half of Empire, lacking in lunchtime trade set off to prepare for the evening do, while old 'glass half empty', Philip (an estate agent, please! What is he even doing in the Apprentice?) proceeded to discuss the price with the client. His opening gambit of £65 a head nearly saw the aged clients keel over. They eventually settled on £15 a head. Oblivious to this blow, Rocky's gang were busy choosing roman pillars and being fitted for togas in keeping with their incredibly ill-conceived 'Greek' theme for the evening event. I mean, central London, networking, accountancy, yup, it just screams togas. I think it was meant to be a subtle nod to the Olympic sandwich theme, but more tasteful (ha!).

At this point, I feel that an older, wiser, more experienced person (ahem, Howard) should have stepped in and told poor Rocky that themes might make a classy do in working men's clubs up North but in the big city, a toga is tantamount to a termination of contact. To make matters worse, the food was so bad, a party of five-year-olds would have asked for their money back. Cheese on sticks, a Dorito with a blob of ketchup and what looked like a bogey on it, or 'voll-e-vons' stuffed with grey sludge were offered to suit-wearing city workers amidst the spotty, hairy backs of the would-be apprentices. Suffice to say, the client was not best pleased.

The girls didn't fare any better. Yasmina's experience (which seemed to centre around making oversized bruchetta, a worrying grey sludge and sweet blinis stuffed with cold courgettes garnished with the obligatory basil leaf) seemed reliant on the clients being too plastered to taste anything. Like a mantra receited over and over: "After a few bottles of wine, they won't even notice." On a positive note the girls at least looked polished and kept the drink flowing.

End of task, back to the boardroom – girls are victorious thanks to the cunning economising employed by Yasmina so off they clip, clop to play polo. The boys come in at a loss (gasp!) as all those unnecessary togas bumped up their costings. Someone's head is going to roll, growls Suralan, but there is a certain air of weariness about the great man tonight. No fire in his belly, the twinkle in his eye somewhat dimmed. Can he finally, after five series, see that this is a very long winded way to find a new office junior? Or is it just that these numpties lost him money? Either way, Rocky takes James ("I feel hurt inside like my cat has died") and Howard with the disconcerting eyes into the boardroom to face the music.

There is not much pleading going on, it's all a bit dry. James has a big gob and wet his pants while Howard is a little weird-eyed weasel but didn't really do anything wrong. This leaves poor old Rocky, who actually was the most 'normal' of all the candidates. Suralan uses up one of his infamous adages about being stretchered off the pitch and compares it to leaving in a black cab, very droll. And that's the end of Rocky Andrews. Back he goes to his little sandwich shops. I feel a subdued at this. I liked Rocky. Ah well.

So now there are 13 left and a new piece of gym equipment is on the cards for next week's task. Let's hope that some of the other candidates, namely Cream Puff and the rather homely bespeckled lass who looks like one of those girls who was always picked last for the netball team, can bring something to the game but from the trailer it looks like old plasticine face is rubbing people up the wrong way (again). Oh joy.

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