It’s week eight of The Apprentice, and what have we learnt so far? That nobody knows what kosher means (but a ‘holy man’ might be involved), that the people of Guildford pay too much for their soup, that attempting to bribe a Moroccan tennis-racket stringer never pays, and nobody, but nobody understands how percentages work.

Admittedly, it’s irony only by the Alanis Morissette school: a black fly in your chardonnay, rain on your wedding day, a Slater sister becomes a superhero. But there it is: Michelle Ryan, formerly of Eastenders, has hit the big time in America playing the title role in the new series of Bionic Woman. The show has received record-breaking ratings in the States, and the first season is out to own on DVD in the UK this week – if you don’t win one on the Arena website…

There was a time in the dim and distant past where real men didn’t wear pink shirts. Now, they’re so ubiquitous we’re avoiding them in order to stand out a little. Real men, of course, don’t refer to anything as the ‘new’ anything. So we’ll just point to the sudden acceptability of floral prints, and leave you to draw your own conclusions. Many thanks to George Barnett, drummer of our band-of-the-moment These New Puritans, for showing how it’s done.

If you’re going to make a carbon footprint, it might as well be in Prada lace-ups. That’s the thinking behind Arena and premium moisturiser Nivea DNAge’s search for the most luxurious city on Earth. Each week for the next eight weeks, we’ll be revealing our shortlist for the international destinations we consider to be in the premium league. Vote for your favourite and you could win a weekend in our first highlighted city, Dubai.

Finally, with Iron Man, there is a superhero for the truly geeky to get excited by. Not a man born with super human abilities, or the victim of a power inducing spider bite / radioactive experiment gone awry, but a self-made superhero. And chicks dig it, apparently.

There are two main reasons why I like Fraser Nelson. Firstly, the man can really rock a polo shirt. Secondly, he’s a very good writer. This month it’s the latter that interests me. His piece in the June Arena about the exercise epidemic down Westminster really got me thinking. Not about the likes of Jack Straw getting hot and sweaty in some airless sardine can below the House of Commons, because that’s almost too disgusting for words. But about the similar occurrence within my own social strastosphere. Which actually, isn’t much more pleasant.