A helicopter flies low over the City of London. Half of it is looted, crippled, boarded up, abandoned. The other half of it is on fire. But somewhere on one of its otherwise deserted back streets, struggling to be heard above the wailing sirens and chugging chopper blades, a lone voice struggles to be heard. It offers hope. Salvation. A new way of living. A future. It cries out:

"Don't you come in 'ere and piss my bladdy money up the wall."

For that voice belongs to Sir Alan Sugar – self-made man; entrepreneur; Brillo pad with buttons for eyes. And behind him is a rainbow, resplendent in shimmering shades of grey, beckoning 15 individuals in hurriedly-Febrezed Moss Bros towards the pot of gold promised at the other end. Or, if not quite a pot of gold, perhaps a 6-month contract reorganising stationery cupboards in suburban Essex.

- Meet the 15 candidates here

Yep, despite the recession; the fact that many companies are haemorrhaging cash and shedding staff; and four previous series with stupid and unfair endings, The Apprentice has returned and Alan Sugar is kicking off another of his peculiar recruitment drives. Tonight, we get to meet the be-suited numpties who wish to claw, backstab and pester their way onto his payroll.

"For me, making money is better than sex", brays one. "If I turn up, I win it," honks another. "I'm a rough tough cream puff," giggles a third, who didn't realise that the Masterchef auditions were down the corridor on the right. They're the best of what British industry has to offer. No wonder the economy's f***ed.

However, that's not all the bad news – and once they've all been prodded into the boardroom, it becomes very clear that something else is amiss. "Those astute ones among you," booms Brentwood's answer to Monty Burns, "Will notice that the chaps are one man short. Someone's already bottled it." Well, sorry Al, I had a better offer – I had the chance to apply for my bog-cleaning-with-my-bare-fingernails star at the local McBurger drive-thru and decided that the experience would be far less gut-churningly humiliating than 12 long weeks of trying to flog overpriced artisan biltong to suspicious Halal butchers.

"You might be here because you're good with words", Big Grey Al continues, as knees begin to knock. "Well I know the words to Candle In The Wind, and it don't make me Elton John." This is something that fills me with relief. After all, the day of Princess Di's funeral was already sad enough. It wouldn't have needed to be marred further by the likes of Sugar effing and jeffing away at the ivories.

Anyway, capitalism's 15 great hopes for revenge are divided into a group of men and a group of women and then sent away to prepare for their first task.

So, what are the apprentices going to do in their first bid to display their brimming business acumen? They're going to go and wash some cars. You know, like children do. For pocket money. And as ever, Nick Hewer and Margaret Mountford – who were clearly the only two statues on Easter Island tempted by Specsavers' recent 2-for-1 designer frames offer – are on hand to seethe with contempt at the preposterous attempts at profit-making that play out before them.

Firstly, the teams are required to give themselves names. The women decide on Ignite, which sounds like a brand of cologne for teenagers who enjoy having rashes. The men, meanwhile, settle on Empire. Because that's how the Romans got started, isn't it? You know, by leaping out at a crossroads, wiping down a wagon and charging a fiver for their trouble. Brilliant.

Secondly, one member of each team must volunteer to be project manager. Fresh-faced pub manager Howard is keen to be in charge. However, potential leaders for Ignite seem reluctant to apply until Mona and Debra start sizing each other up. Heather Mills, who has apparently become an executive and changed her name to Kate by deed poll, suggests that Debra might be the more confident of the pair. "Ooh, I dunno about that," Debra winks, while nudging Mona in the ribs. Debra is rewarded with an icy glare, indicating that she'll be the first to get maced with the Windolene once they receive the keys to the supply cupboard. Mona it is, then.

The women get started, with Mona asking pouting lawyer Anita to stand around with a calculator and tot up how much of their £200 allowance they've spent on cleaning products. However, some confusion over what a feather duster does means that they spend way too long getting ready.

"If you start late then you have less time to do the work," sneers Nick Hewer. "You make less money, and then you get a spanking in the boardroom", he continues, hopefully not harking back to a distasteful incident that may have begun with him and Margaret having a glass of sancerre too many at an Amstrad office party.

After splashing out a whopping £196 on mop handles and Cillit Bang, the girls divide into two teams. Mona, along with Kimberley, Yasmina and Paula, head to a limo firm – where they express wide-eyed surprise that limousines are not the same size as Smart cars. Because of the vehicles' bulk, Yasmina offers to clean all three of the monstrous-looking snootwagons for £300. However, this turns out to be five times the usual fee.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you can be getting them that clean for £60", Mona harrumphs. Well, Mona, you're wrong. Anybody who splashes cash on a limo is not going to be chuffed if they end up with a motor full of half-empty WKD bottles and used condoms. At least, not until they're halfway round their first hen night lap of Romford town centre.

Eventually the limo guys give them the work for £40 a car. However, Debra's attempts to make some cash aren't going so well. Although her part of the team manages to make £80 for cleaning four classic cars outside a showroom, they can't work out how to plug the pressure washer in and end up leaving the various Porches and Aston Martins looking like they've been given a quick wipe down with a dirty nappy. The showroom owner, peg on nose, thanks them for their trouble - but declines to let them loose on the other penis extensions in his collection.

With the limos buffed and shone to the extent that future customers can heat up vol-au-vents on the bonnets, Mona's team make extra cash by setting up a kerbside car wash. And when Kate phones to report on the classic car disaster, Mona advises the four of them to go to a supermarket. Clearly, the underlying message was that they should wash some cars in the car park, but I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd sent them there so they could take a long hard look at their future careers.

But how have the boys been getting on?

"Never in the history of car washing have so few cars been washed by so many people in such a long time", Margaret Mountford sniffs.

Oh.

So not so well, then. Although estate agent Philip managed to win a contract scrubbing Subarus at one of London's biggest cab firms, he and his team take an hour and a half to get their first car finished. And, due to them leaving the doors open while the hose was running, the client refuses to accept their work as anything other than a potential starter home for koi carp.

Meanwhile, Howard, Majid and Noorul are hard at work on a little shoe-shining stall in St. Pancras station. Surprisingly, their childishly-scrawled advertisement – which they place right next to their stand, perhaps so people coming up from behind them don't get the wrong idea about two young lads kneeling down and making rubbing motions in front of older businessmen – doesn't put anybody off having their Saxones smartened up. Indeed, they manage to bring in around £60 in their first hour of trading.

Howard then decides to give James a call. What's going on, James? "We're just finishing our first car", he blusters. "But now we've got our first one done, and we know what the chap's looking for..." James, the guy is looking for a clean car! He's not asking you to recreate the works of Matisse in various shades of Turtle Wax on the bonnet! But, as James can't seem to comprehend this, Howard packs up his polish and hurries on over to join them. Well done, Howard. Never mind the fact that five hours' trading at £60 every 60 minutes could have seen you pocketing three hundred quid. Much better to spend the rest of your afternoon pursing your lips at the likes of Ben and Rocky while telling them that they've missed a spot. I bet that will make you popular when you all go down the rugby club this evening.

As dusk begins to fall, and with more cars cleaned to a high standard than I can count on the fingers of one hand, the teams return to the boardroom lounge where receptionist Frances peers up from her game of Patience and gives them the stink eye.

"What do you think?" asks Big Grey Al, once fifteen personalities with various dark flaws have been crammed behind his boardroom table. Lorraine – the one who looks like Nicky Hambleton-Jones after an hour at the hands of a merciless dentist – is the first to break the silence. "I think Mona did a good job", she smiles. However, the men are reluctant to offer praise for an eye-rolling Howard. "I think he was half and half", Rocky less than kindly suggests.

But what money will Sir Alan have to spend down the Brentwood Wetherspoons tonight? Well, Ignite took £357. However, as they squandered £196 on Dettol and fir-tree air fresheners, they only made a profit of £160. Empire, meanwhile, made their first victory by buffing their way to a profit of £239.

The boys are promptly packed off to their quarters for the next 12 weeks. It's a luxury penthouse aching with fine things, and is crying out to be done over by canny scallies hoping to flog a few Amstrad emailer-phones down Croydon market. And, while the boys are forced to watch people juggling bottles of Malibu by means of a reward, the girls go to a local caff for mugs of' tea and an hour of accidentally-on-purpose brushing each other's arms with their lit fag ends.

The next day, at 6am sharp, the members of Ignite are sitting at the boardroom table, smiling politely, and patiently waiting for the opportunity to scratch each other's eyes out.

"I didn't think we had a business plan", Debra begins. "There was no delegation." She's right, you know, apart from Anita being in charge of how much they spent, and Debra being responsible for overseeing that four cars were cleaned to a certain standard, and not left looking like they'd just been driven round a rally track by Princess Anne.

An ear-splitting argument, in which Mona accuses Debra of referring to her team members as puppets, results in Debra earning a seat in the final boardroom meeting of the week. And, after Sugar points out that they shouldn't have spent so much on their equipment, Mona also invites back Anita, who reacts to the news by pulling a face like a surprised Persian cat after accidentally wandering into a wind tunnel.

After several hours of Debra and Mona playing ping-pong with various lowbrow slurs about each other's characters, it's time for Big Grey Al to make his decision. Surely, he has to get rid of one of these two? Of course not! We all know by now that the people who shout the loudest on the Apprentice never, ever leave first. So it's no surprise when Sugar spins to face Anita and starts jabbing in her direction with his stout little finger.

"Anita, you put yourself forward as one of Britain's best business prospects; you showed no initiative, as far as I'm concerned, that we were heading for a disaster. And on that basis you're fired." Well, I suppose she was way too meek to make it all the way. But wait – Sir Alan hasn't finished!

"Also, you don't make as good telly as Debra, who is clearly this year's Jenny Celery and will leave in week eight after half the viewers have kicked their plasma screens in and then written to the BBC to demand their licence fee back." Oh, OK, I added that bit myself.

Debra and Mona return to the house. And to be honest, I'd rather have had a sneak peek into their cab than boring old Anita's. "Without appearing to have a chip on my shoulder, I don't think that Sir Alan particularly likes lawyers", she muses. "Maybe in 10 years time he'll look back and think he made the wrong decision". Well, maybe he will. Because if lawyers are good for one thing, it's charging eye-watering amounts of money for issuing pieces of paper. Perhaps he should have put her in charge of the stationery cupboard after all.

What did you think of the first show in the series? Do you think Anita should have gone, or do you think that one of the loudmouth ladies should have been sitting in the back of that cab? And does anybody other than Ben think that making money is better than sex? Let me know by commenting below.

- See the show in pictures

UPDATE: Remember the Lego Apprentice, as created by the frighteningly clever Boleg Bros? They're back! Yippee!