Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk around...

They're all beginning to unravel, which is when the series gets really fun. Unflappable Ben, the champion of explosions and gunfire at Sandhurst ('he didn't actually go there, remember,' said Margaret) got whipped into a panicked froth by the end. 'You were totally spineless and you shat your pants' said James, who I've warmed to over the series. Philip projected his own faults relentlessly onto Lorraine (or, as Margaret rightly called her, Cassandra). She's 'erratic and volatile'; 'everything that comes out of her mouth is bollocks.'

It was all about selling a load of random objects round London against the clocks. The objects themselves caused some consternation. 'Is it in foreign?' asked Nooral, of the David Bailey book. 'You know what book people are like. They want to waste your time,' said Deborah. I can certainly confirm that.

Margaret was unimpressed by her charges. 'They were very lucky,' she said, of the random flogging of a skeleton in a pub. 'This must be one of the most stupid activities they have yet engaged in,' she said as Philip's team tried to flog the rug in an East End street market. 'I'm speechless!' she said at one point, eyes closed and boiling in frustration as only The Mountford can. And the whole audience was left speechless by the random nutter who suddenly bought their rug at the last moment.

And as with all but the most spectacularly disastrous tasks, it was the team who were edited to look the best who ended up in the boardroom. 'I don't know who's going to be fired, but it won't be me,' snapped Deborah, before she started savaging everyone, including Nick. Sadly the mardy cow was right and ghostly Nooral faded away, bones and all.