The inspirational teacher

Some people are lucky enough to have had an inspirational teacher at school. Mine was Carol Kay. She was my English teacher for my O levels, and introduced me to the works of Oscar Wilde, the First World War poets, Jane Austen and Shakespeare. At Addington High, a very rough comprehensive (second worst in Croydon, I think it's being closed now for failing) there weren't many kids who were interested in learning, but I was the swot of all swots, encouraged by the miraculous English department to care about books and words rather than football and knives. We remained really good friends after I left: I exceeded expectations by not getting anyone pregnant by the age of 14 or ending up driving a white van and she went on to run a few big schools and set up a massive education business alliance scheme in Southwark. When she died last year Gordon Brown wrote a tribute to her work which was read out at her funeral. Carol Kay was pretty damned extraordinary.

Mary Portas reminds me of Carol Kay. She sounds a lot like her, she shares the same dry wit and blunt ability to say anything to anyone without fear. When I hear Mary Portas wander into some terrible boutique in Doncaster and berate the manager with a gesticulatory 'And I looked in the window and I thought, this is bloody rubbish' I can hear Carol talking about teachers who get up there and 'do a Shirley Bassey: they do the teaching but no-one cares if anyone's doing any learning'. Mary Portas is inspirational. Unlike those empty experts like billionairess Kirsty Allsopp or disgustingly cynical George Clarke who waft in and out with no hard nosed sense of the realities of life, Mary Portas gets people to make difficult decisions, doesn't soft soap them and isn't all about the cheesy 'Kevin McCloud moment' (you know, that excruciating bit at the end where he comes out of a house he's slagged off from beginning to end and starts eulogising like he's turned into Dylan Thomas).

This series has taken her out of her comfort zone of hard-nosed business and had dumped her into the woolly world of the charity shop: Save the Children in Orpington to be precise. The big problem Mary Portas seems to be having with charity shops is that people apparently don't go into them because they're untrendy. I don't understand this. I love charity shops, half of the stuff in my flat is second hand, but then I'm a mid-century modernist and if it's got sputnik legs or leather elbow patches then I want it and I WILL HAVE IT. And I'm constantly lugging carrier bags of books down to my local Red Cross shop. What kind of nutter doesn't love a good rummage in a charity shop?

There's some cracking moments. On a training day, Lila, the shop's resident joker takes to the stage to sell the features and benefits of, well, no-one was quite sure what it was. 'What is it? It looks like a dildo. You know, I've always wanted one of these. I've wanted one for twelve long years...' A room full of elderly ladies are crying with laughter into their winter knitwear.

Mild mannered Graham, who hasn't worked since being made redundant as a football coach two years before has applied for the shop manager position, but he takes 'hands off' to a whole new level. Mary goes at him as if he's a top flight manager over a rather poor Christmas window display, and before she knows it the area manager has come down on her like a ton of bricks. She's pitched it all wrong, he's upset, she's upset, the whole thing's a fuck-up. But she doesn't give up, though god knows she must be tempted.

The design consultant from Conran in her cape showing the extremely old ladies of Orpington Save the Children refit mood boards of 'drama and colours' was one of the funniest things I've seen on TV for ages. But then it all falls apart again. Old ladies understandably start resigning over the cost of the refit, and when it's done they find the shop cold, dark and drab. Brenda hates the orange shelves. Mary is depressed that she hasn't brought the staff with her. And head office expect big numbers back. Then they make a grand in two hours. Maybe this superbusinessbrain is on to something...

In a nearby shop she chats to another manager who, after saying she never has anything designer to sell came across a £1000 Jimmy Choo bag in her stockroom, and sold it for £200 to a woman who 'just had to have it' (oh god, it's me a with a £10 melamine coffee table), which leads Mary to declare, 'I hate saying I'm right, but I so often am.' And you know what, she is. This is the best business programme on telly since John Harvey Jones created the genre. Looking at the state of the cabinet and the inability of anyone to make decisions it's inspiring to see Mary passionately arguing about a nearly bankrupt country and business in crisis. At least she seems to care. It's a shame she's taken on charity shops where her energy and passion a little misplaced. She should be in Westminster. Fuck Gordon Brown, it should have been Carol Kay for PM, but I'd settle for Mary Portas.