Monday I'm in my study, playing with an executive toy that I designed all by myself. It's a yoyo that you can send e-mail on, which has a 3.5in disk drive and also makes toast. The buying public never really went for it. What do I care? I'm Alan Sugar. I know what sells, far better than them.

“Remind me,” says that woman who works for me, who looks like she works in a prison. “What actually happens to all of your apprentices? They win the competition, they get given a job, and then . . . what?” There's a banging sound from my drinks cupboard.

“Questions,” I say. “Questions, questions. You think I got where I am today by asking questions? Don't make me laugh. Listen, sunshine. You can't play me. I'm harder to play than a Stradivarius.” That's my new insult. I'm going to use it on the show.

My other flunkey, the one who looks like an undertaker, puts up his hand. “Um, Sir Alan?” he says. “A Stradivarius isn't actually harder to play than any other violin. It's just more expensive.” “He's right,” says the prison warden. “But seriously. All those old apprentices. They've still got jobs, right? It's just, we never hear from them.” There's a groan from behind the sofa.

“What was that?” says the undertaker.

“Nothing,” I say.

Tuesday Fact is, I don't actually much like firing people. Big secret. Otherwise, I'd never put up with all this telly nonsense. Got bored of it years ago. I've got widgets to sell.

“How does a successful businessman survive a recession?” ponders the prison warden.

“How do you give it 100 per cent,” muses the undertaker, “in a period of negative growth?” “I'll give you negative growth,” I say, which is a witticism I'm rather proud of. “But listen. I've got an idea. Stradivariuses, right? But cheaper. And with 3.5in disk drives. And maybe other stuff. It's obviously what the public wants. I've got a prototype in the boot.” Behind us, there is a thud and a crunching sound.

“Actually,” I say, “don't look in the boot.”

Wednesday I've hired Simon Cowell's insult coach, in order to work on my insults. The prison warden said that they were my weak point.

“I'll give you a weak point,” I said.

“See?” she said.

Fair enough. Simon Cowell is a man who gives it 110 per cent. He even pulls up his trousers 110 per cent. I approve of that.

The insult coach agrees that my Stradivarius insult doesn't work, but I'm fond of it, so I reckon I'll say it on telly, anyway. He also says that it's not enough to just repeat what people have just said, but stick “I'll give you” on the front. It gets tedious.

“I'll give you tedious,” I tell him, triumphantly. He sighs.

Thursday That Stradivarius. He might be a big cheese with your hoity-toity violin types, but he didn't half make it tricky to put the batteries in.

Anyway, another day with the insult coach. I reckon we might be starting to bond. A nice idea, he says, might be not to slow down and obviously think about it whenever I've got a good line to trot out.

“Like this?” I say, and I do my Stradivarius line. The insult coach says that's better, only it still doesn't make any sense.

“By the way,” he adds, “why is there white noise coming from this pen?” “It's an Amstrad pen,” I tell him. “It has a built-in radio.” “Ah,” says the insult coach. “And also, why can I hear the sound of muffled screaming coming from the photocopier?” “Something similar,” I say, vaguely.

Friday “It's amazing,” says the undertaker. “All those old apprentices! They just seem to have fallen off the face of the earth.

“Anyone would think you were still keeping them all prisoner! Bundled in cupboards and in the boot of your car! Or something.”

The prison warden laughs. So does the drinks cabinet. And the photocopier. And there's a noise that might be laughing from behind the sofa.

“Sir Alan?” says the undertaker. “What was that?”

I look up. “Didn't hear a thing,” I lie, and I wave my Amstrad Stradivarius prototype. “Sorry. I was playing Tetris.”

Editor's choice

• The 100 Best Films of the Decade
• 70 facts you didn't know about Marvel
• The 50 Biggest Movies Of 2010