Dear Lord Sugar, Alan if I may, I know how important beetroot
has been to you, how you started out humbly boiling beetroot
as a whippersnapper, lifting these really humungous beetroots
into old tin bath tubs, then cooking them up for the beetroot
man at market. You cut your teeth, so to speak, on beetroot.
I’ve repeatedly seen the way you go bright purple as a beetroot
when you have to fire people who wouldn’t know a beetroot
from a turnip, like the backstabbing women in glossy beetroot
lipstick and men in naff off-the-peg clobber like spotty beetroot
sock or ties; cocky young apprentices not worthy of beetroot.
We all still miss Margaret. I wonder if she’ll find any beetroot
referred to in the papyrus manuscripts she’s studying. Beetroot
probably wasn’t eaten in ancient Egypt. Pharaohs and beetroot,
I don’t know, though wouldn’t rule out the notion of beetroot
having a hieroglyph, which they likely painted using beetroot!
You ever suggested to the producers to incorporate beetroot
into one of the tasks? Like having to market a new beetroot-
scented perfume, or scour wholesalers for some rare beetroot
extract, or travel to a muddy organic farm and dig up beetroot
to flog to hob-nob gaffs for extortionate borscht from beetroot?
I bet there’s still quite some mileage to be had from beetroot.
Actually, I have drawn up this small business plan re: beetroot.
My idea, and it will make you millions, is to be true to beetroot
by pioneering a car that runs on beetroot juice, bringing beetroot
mobility to new audiences who only know beetroot as beetroot.