I came prepared for last night's Apprentice: a full
day of smoothing and soothing my throat with honey and Strepsils in
anticipation of a gleeful stress-busting hour of screaming
expletives, like the demented banshee of East London, at Stuart
Baggs The Brand. Yet, in a double-edged sword of an editorial
corner-turn, it was not the boastful big-headed Baggs who had me
yelling, but Laura. Laura the Moaner.