Stonily quiet at the back of a big, blank office on a weird, wind-whipped Essex trading estate, Sir Alan Sugar — ’skewze me, Lord Sugar — looks small, angry and alone. The businessman’s face, normally the rough beige of a Farley’s rusk, is oddly white and red, even though, as it hungrily patrols the two televisions, the computer and the iPhone near his desk, it seems to be just another grim day at the coalface for the professionally irate star of The Apprentice.