Sketch: Maiden Sugar prefers punch to Judy
Any sceptics that Alan Sugar was something of an interloper in the world of Westminster will have had their doubts blown away by his pugnacious maiden speech in the Lords.
Every politician knows the folly of proclaiming their purity in the stark terms employed by Baron Sugar of Clapton today.
“It is [my] quality of honesty and straightforwardness which has served me well,” he declared.
“I’m a realist. I’m straight. I’m blunt. And I won’t always be popular [laughter from the opposition benches]. But I’ll always be honest.”
In fact, despite the thoroughly political environment of the Lords chamber, this was a speech which could easily have been broadcast as part of his popular television programme The Apprentice.
It’s a show which leaves his wannabe underlings quivering with fear, an emotion many new peers feel before addressing the Lords.
Did Sugar experience any such anxiety? It was hard to say as he fidgeted to and fro beforehand. He pulled funny facial expressions. He read through his speech. He scratched behind his ears. He was passed a note, which he opened, looking puzzled, before smiling. Was it a well-wisher wishing him luck? Or a notification that his varied archnemeses in the press were gazing on hungrily from the reporter’s gallery?
This restlessness was not the result of nerves, it soon became clear. Perhaps he was merely frustrated that he had not cornered several markets this afternoon.
On standing up, we learned the secret to the Sugar rhetoric: the significant pause.
“I often joked with my mother that perhaps I was a mistake.”
Nothing followed for what seemed like seconds. Peers laughed nervously in the silence.
Finally he added: “She preferred to call it a pleasant surprise.” Peers laughed with relief.
On the subject of surprises, he continued, not all would have expected his elevation to the peerage.
“It’s sometimes possible for people to form an impression from what they read in the media – [another never-ending pause] – and what they see on TV.”
As the man standing in the chamber appeared to be behaving in exactly the way he did on tele, these impressions seemed perfectly reasonable.
“Never, ever understimate me,” he hissed, before relaxing into a more jovial tone. “Forgive my little boast” was the opening gambit to a charming story about his failure at an aptitude test for a business which, having once scorned him, he worked tirelessly to overcome.
This was the first part of a grand autobiography, a rapid run through his career in which he made clear he was certainly not from the City. “The only hedge fund I ever had was to buy my garden a new Black and Decker!” he barked. The City minister Lord Myners, sitting just in front, didn’t look too amused.
Next to him Peter Mandelson listened silently as Sugar continued to pummel his way through the paragraphs. “It’s important government continually reassesses their objectives,” he said, making clear he was not one of ‘them’.
He was merely an adviser, he told the Lords, on small and medium enterprises. These formed 99 per cent of all businesses. Did this make him 99 per cent the business secretary?
Lord Mandelson, sitting in front, must have been relieved when Sugar concluded: “It is my straightforward approach which I hope will allow me to advise the government.”
“Heeear, hear,” he said dolefully, with the air of an unimpressed teacher at show and tell.
Sitting down, and looking relieved, Sugar leaned forward to offer Mandelson some advice. This was along the lines of: ‘I think the country will benefit if you pass me a glass of water.’ The first secretary of state instantly obeyed.
