'Buy the Guardian - I'm in it'
She was the irrepressible star of The Apprentice, capable of selling anything from jam to party tickets with the help of her trusty megaphone. But when the crunch came, Alan Sugar plumped for her more emollient fellow finalist, Tim. So we decided to hire Saira and set her one last task: to increase sales of the Guardian. Sam Wollaston watched her in action
Monday, 8.55am
Saira from The Apprentice is late. She was due at the Guardian offices a while ago, but there's no sign of her. Can that be right, from the woman who was runner-up - and many thought deserved to be the winner - of a TV competition to find the most employable person in Britain?
Finally, she arrives, 25 minutes after she was supposed to, smaller than on the telly, less harsh looking, prettier. "You're fired," says the features editor, "for being late."
"No, you're fired," she corrects him. Her voice is bigger than she is, and she jabs her finger when she talks. "It was you who sent the car to pick me up, so it's not my fault. And if you checked your phone messages you'd know that I called to explain what was happening." The features editor apologises for firing her, and unfires her quickly before getting into any more trouble. It's immediately clear that you don't mess with Saira Khan.
The Apprentice has been the television highlight of the year so far. Yes it was reality television, but unlike most of it, there was actually an element of reality. Here were 14 hungry young people, all desperate for the opportunity to work for Sir Alan Sugar for a year on a six-figure salary. They fought hard for themselves and against each other in order to get further in the competition. Imaginative tasks were set, tasks that really did test the imagination, the selling expertise and the chutzpah of the contestants. If they did a task badly, they got fired. And the BBC ploughed money into it, so it looked fabulous too. London became a beautiful humming commercial hub. The Apprentice did that difficult thing: it made business sexy.
Nice Tim won, but the real star of the show - as she's not shy of pointing out - was Saira. Saira couples the energy of a neutron bomb with an incredible ability to sell. She could, she frequently boasts, sell snow to an Eskimo. And she's as tough as anything. Saira's like bindweed - you can pull it up, thinking you've killed it, but it immediately pops up somewhere else, stronger than ever. Some found her inspirational; others an absolute bloody nuisance. "I think Sir Alan thought I was a threat. He was scared to hire me," she says, and I expect she's right.
So we've decided to do what Sir Alan was too chicken to do - for a day anyway. She's going to do one last task, for the Guardian. And that task is to increase the circulation of the paper for the following day.
9.15am We're with the marketing director, the circulation manager and the chief executive of Guardian Newspapers in the boardroom. This seems like the best place to bring her - the highest drama on The Apprentice happened in the boardroom. (Actually it wasn't really Sir A's boardroom, but a TV studio).
Saira has no experience in newspapers; her background is in biscuits. But if you can sell a Wagon Wheel, you can sell a newspaper. She quizzes them about what she has at her disposal, what tools she can use. Can she do special offers? What about advertising? That strip, along the top of page one, yes the masthead, who does she need to speak to about getting her hands on that? She's told she can do anything she likes except drop the price - the Guardian doesn't do that.
It doesn't take her long to come up with a plan. Saira Khan decides the best tool she's got at her disposal is Saira Khan. "My argument is: what is bigger than me at the moment? I want to know what in the media is bigger news than Saira Khan."
The plan is finessed. The way she's going to sell more papers is to offer readers the chance to meet her - she'll come to the winner's business, their school if they're a child, even their home; she'll give them a motivational talking to, she'll sort their life out. All they have to do is email in, saying why they deserve to get a visit, and the best entry will win. The plan is fine-tuned further. The reader offer will appear in G2 in Tuesday's paper. Radio advertising slots will be booked on Local London radio for Wednesday morning. The radio ad will be written and recorded by Saira this afternoon, telling people to buy the paper for the amazing opportunity to meet Saira from The Apprentice.
But Saira wants to get out there, to sell the papers herself. The most memorable moments of the Apprentice involved Saira, on the streets, megaphone in hand, selling flowers, party tickets and jam to the public. She wants to go out on to the streets of London tomorrow morning with bundles of the Guardian. Well, she can do that too if she wants to.
10.30am Morning conference, in the editor's office, is the first meeting of the day in which the following day's paper is discussed. Saira comes to see if anything comes up that will help her increase its circulation. She's introduced as one of the contestants on The Apprentice. "Can I just correct you there," she says. "I was actually the runner-up, and the star of the show."
There's a discussion about the cabinet reshuffle, and a debate about pension reforms. Saira's not really finding anything to help her achieve her target. "You've got a difficult job," she tells the editor. "There are some really important things that are actually quite dull. And there are other things that are really interesting. Like me." Why is she interesting? Well, for one her parents were both Kashmiri (her father died in 1998), Nice Tim's parents were Jamaican, and Paul's Italian. So in fact all the last three in The Apprentice were kids of immigrants. That's interesting.
Saira makes a pitch for the masthead. The editor says he's open to persuasion. "I think the Guardian could sell copies on the back of me," she says. After all, what right now, is bigger than Saira Khan? A couple of minutes later, she's secured the masthead - all of it - for a picture of herself and a plug for her reader offer inside.
11.15am It's the features department's daily ideas meeting and Saira has several ideas, all of which involve prominent articles being written about Saira. She's also concerned by the ethnic make-up of the staff of the paper, and that there are too many people coming from the same place. "Hands up who went to Oxford or Cambridge here" she asks. Quite a few hands go up, slightly reluctantly. "Thought so," she says.
Time to get on with the task though. The reader offer has to be written. And a draft of what she's going to say for the radio advert. What about where she's going to sell the paper? Trafalgar Square perhaps? And if so, does she need permission from the mayor?
Ken Livingstone is notoriously difficult to get hold of. But Saira's heard he was a fan of the show - there was even story in one paper that said he would like to employ Saira himself. The mayor's office is contacted, would Ken speak to Saira? A few minutes later Ken calls back on the speaker phone.
"Hello Mr Livingstone, do you know who I am?"
"Just a bit," Ken chuckles. "Apparently, we've offered you a job!"
"I'm very happy to come and talk to you about things Mr Livingstone," says Saira. "But can I just pick your brains about something?" She explains what she's doing and that she needs a place in London to sell copies of the Guardian tomorrow morning. Ken says Trafalgar square may not be ideal as it's mainly populated by tourists who might not necessarily want to buy the Guardian or know who she is. Good point. Saira asks if she can have permission to sell the Guardian in Waterloo Station. Hmm, that's not really up to him, says Ken. It's a matter for Network Rail and the station manager. And also there's WH Smith there already which ...
Saira interrupts. "You're not going to give me a lot of red tape are you Mr Livingstone?" A crowd is beginning to form to listen to Saira and Ken on the speaker phone. Ken mumbles that he knows the chief executive of Network Rail and he can be heard fumbling around, looking for the number.
"Do you think, Mr Livingstone," says Saira, "that it's best if you phone him first and tell him to expect a call from this young lady: Saira Khan, from The Apprentice?"
Ken agrees, almost apologetically, promising to call back in five minutes. It is an extraordinary performance by Saira. She has not only got the mayor on the line, but also persuaded him to give up running London for a while in order to hunt around for a phone number for her, then to make a call to help her out. This is not Saira Khan's only extraordinary performance during her day at the Guardian.
Ken does call back of course, the CEO of Railtrack is in meetings until four, but Saira should be able to get him then. In the end Saira abandons Waterloo station - too much of the dreaded red tape, not enough action. She'll sell the paper on the steps outside.
2.15pm We are late for lunch and ring the restaurant to make sure they'll keep our table. They stop serving at 2.30 so we'd have to be there by then, they say. Saira takes the phone. "We're running a bit late, because I've been talking to the mayor of London," she says." I'm the TV star of the hit reality show The Apprentice ... Oh, OK."
It doesn't make any difference who we are, we still have to be there by 2.30. Saira's mood takes a dip for, well, a good one and a half seconds, before she bounces back again. There's that bindweed. We just make it in time.
Over lunch Saira talks about her family. She's funny about her Kashmiri parents, and puts on a comedy Pakistani accent and waggles her head, mimicking them. Is her mother proud of her? Would her father, who died in 1998, be proud of her? Yes, very. For them, though, she made it as soon as she got her first company car, though they insisted on calling it a government car, because it sounded more important and it didn't matter that she didn't actually work for the government, but for a biscuit company. "Government car," she says, waggling her head and talking in her Pakistani accent.
Saira's husband of six months, Steven, calls during lunch? "Yeah, it's absolutely brilliant!" she shouts. "You can't believe I got to speak to Ken Livingstone? No! He got to speak to Saira Khan."
What does Steve think of Saira's new celebrity? "I think he'd quite like me back again," she says.
4pm The studios of Capital in Leicester square are full of fashionable looking radio types. Saira records her ad, which is scheduled to go out tomorrow morning. It goes like this: "Hello, Saira here. The star of The Apprentice has one final task. The people at the Guardian want me to help them sell more copies of the paper today. This is where you come in. Help me to complete my final task and get your personally signed copy from me. I'll be outside the front steps of Waterloo station from 8 to 10. So come and see me today. If you can't be there, buy a copy of the paper anyway. Or better still, buy two."
It doesn't take many goes to record the ad. Christianne who's producing it is impressed with Saira's radio voice. "I don't think it needs lifting," she says. "It's certainly very, what's the word, direct."
Richard Bacon, who does drivetime on Capital, wants Saira to come in for a chat on his show, so after doing the ad she drops in. They chat about The Apprentice, and about Chiswick where they both live, and Saira gets in lots of plugs for the Guardian, reminding people to come and buy the paper from her tomorrow morning.
Outside, on the other side of the street, there's a man with a long lens which is pointing in Saira's direction. First she looks behind her, to see who the famous person is; then there's a moment of realisation. She does a little skip and claps her hands. "Oh my God, I just got papped. For the first time!"
10pm The subject of night sales came up earlier. First editions of the Guardian can come off the presses as early as 10pm, so in theory it would be possible to start selling them then. It's common for Sunday papers to do that, at railway stations mostly, but not dailies. Why not, asked Saira?
So now we're at Westferry press, at the Isle of Dogs in East London. Saira squeals with delight as she sees herself on the masthead of the papers coming off the presses. She signs a few copies for the print workers.
In the last episode of The Apprentice, Saira walked around Covent Garden with a megaphone, trying to sell tickets for a party she had organised. So we return to the same place with 50 copies of the first edition of tomorrow's paper. Yes of course we've got her a megaphone.
11pm A dreary monday night can't be the best time to sell in Covent Garden. It's not exactly buzzing. But Saira is recognised the moment she steps out of the car. "Oh, it's you," says a man named Alan in that familiar way people greet faces they recognise from the telly.
"Yes, hello darling. I'm selling copies of tomorrow's Guardian, hot off the press, signed by me. For only 60p. How many would you like?"
Alan, again almost apologetically, says he'll just take one. Ben and Arthur, on the way home from the pub, want one too.
"One?" says Saira. "You can't share, you'll have to have one each." Ben and Arthur end up with one each. As you knew they would the moment Saira saw they'd recognised her and slowed down.
There are very few people in the street, so Saira gets out her megaphone. "Hello everybody, this is Saira from The Apprentice. I'm doing one last task. I'm selling the Guardian, signed by me, for only 60p. Hot off the press. Come and get them? Did you watch The Apprentice?"
One man shouts, "Oh no, it's you," and makes a run for it, but most people want to come and have a chat and ask her if she's going to end up working for Sir Alan (not sure) and what Paul is really like (a tosser). They all buy a paper.
Richard, a local resident, turns up to complain about the megaphone as he's trying to get to sleep. Saira's very sorry. By the way, did Richard watch The Apprentice? Yes, he admits, he did, and he too ends up with a copy of the Guardian signed by the woman he was complaining about.
It takes 42 minutes to sell the 50 copies of the paper.
Tuesday, 8am Last night was just the dress rehearsal, a little experiment in selling night editions. This is the main event, where Saira tries to achieve the agreed target - 200 copies of the paper in two hours. Have those radio appearances had any effect at all?
Yes. The moment she arrives, several people who've been hanging around, come forward for their signed copies. And throughout the morning people mention hearing her on the radio. But mostly it's just unsuspecting commuters on their way to work, suddenly confronted by the little one with the big voice from the telly.
It's a wonderful thing to watch, Saira doing her thing, in the morning sunshine, and she puts on a spectacular virtuoso performance. It's clear she really does get off on selling for the sake of selling. When she lifts the megaphone up, she's so excited she does a little bunny hop dance. "Ladies and Gentlemen, put those free Metros down and come and buy the Guardian from me. Alan Sugar didn't give me a job, so I'm selling the Guardian, the best paper in the country. Don't look at me as if I'm a mad woman, I'm a saleswoman. You're smiling, that means you know me. I'm Saira from The Apprentice. The gentleman in the pinstripe suite is going to buy a copy, you're very dapper, sir. I'm doing my job with passion and commitment, I'm the best salesperson in the country. Would you like two copies sir? That will be £1.20. Don't look at me like that, I'm a national institution. And I'm selling the best newspaper in the country. It's a good read, I'm in it today. Next time? There's not going to be a next time, this is not my career you know. I wonder if the two Chinese people would like one ..."
The two (possibly) Chinese people wouldn't like one, but Edson from Brazil buys one even though he speaks no English and clearly has no idea who Saira is. And Paul the policeman isn't coming to move her on as we thought, he's coming for a signed Guardian and a picture with the camera phone. And even Tizzy wants one, even though she isn't a fan of Saira's. "I like honesty," says Saira.
When Saira knows a sale has been made - usually just because someone has caught her eye - she skips over to close the deal, genuinely happy. If it doesn't work she frowns for a second, and then forgets about it. There's that bindweed again.
And then Helen Pie walks past. "Oh my God! Helen Pie!" screams Saira. They were at secondary school together and haven't seen each other since. What was Saira like at school? Loud, says Helen. Of course Helen Pie has to buy a paper too.
It takes an hour and 50 minutes to sell 200 papers, a truly stunning display. It would have been quicker if she hadn't spent so long chatting to everyone. And that's it, no more left, job done. So Saira goes off to a photo shoot for Grazia magazine.
2pm So did it work? Did Saira increase the circulation of the paper for a day? Is she hired, or fired?
Well, we know she sold 250 copies on the street but it's too early to get the official figures for the day's sales. But it is possible to get an early snapshot. The word from the circulation department is that early indications from some key retailers suggest a good sale today. If the circulation manager was forced into an estimate, he'd say that the figure will end up exceeding expectations by around 2%. What does Saira think of that? "Well, my objective was to increase sales of the paper for a day, and I did," she says. "So that's fantastic." All you need to make your business go better it seems is a little lady with a megaphone.
Saira is coming to you ...
Yesterday, we offered Guardian readers the chance to win a visit from Saira to sort their life out. The winner was sales consultant Ameera Mohammed from London, who wrote: "Our director is forever moaning at us to get on with our sales calls, but we just need some inspiration. We could do with a good kick up the backside."
medaiguardin
