The candidate was up for a top job, and I, as a sort of poor man’s Alan Sugar, was the interviewer. Unlike Sir Alan, with his forthright questions and even more forthright firing style, I was operating under severe inhibitions. I was not allowed to ask about the applicant’s age, married status or domestic circumstances. Indeed, until he/she walked through the door I could only guess at his/her sex, since the name on the CV in front of me was concealed by an initial – I think it was J.
