Boss Swap star is real life David Brent

So here, then, is the real David Brent. On last night's Boss Swap, estate agent Bruce Burkitt proved himself every bit as arrogant, patronising, and fond of clichés and half-remembered motivational sayings as Ricky Gervais's comic creation.

"It's hard to soar with the eagles when you are flying with turkeys," was one of his finer musings on the Channel 4 show.

In fact, with reality TV yet again stranger than fiction, Burkitt proved worse than Brent.

A self-made millionaire, he has a Ferrari but precious little time to drive it. When he's not at work he's at the gym.

Even his marriage is conducted largely in the office, his wife and colleague Debbie apparently sharing his belief in hard graft, punishing hours, lots of money and no fun.

Bruce Burkitt clearly lives to work, rather than the other way round. David Brent just wanted to be liked.

One thing the two men do share, though, is the entirely mistaken belief that they will come off well in a documentary.

Asked to run a relaxed but successful northern car dealership for two weeks, Burkitt succeeded only in raising the hackles of 75 per cent of the staff with his hectoring ways and Brent-ish body language. Among the Boss Swap audience, the hackle-raising was probably closer to 100 per cent.

Burkitt talked over people. He was sarcastic and overbearing. He sneaked glances at himself in the mirror while working out.

He even created his own version of The Office's hapless Gareth by promoting an eager valet called Craig to the rank of salesman.

Worst of all, though, was the language. Not the swearing, just the dim, macho, Eighties management-speak.

He told his staff to "keep the faith" and "think outside the box", and invited them to join him in the gym at 6.30am.

He constantly stressed the need to be sharp, alert and watchful. This was not an SAS man talking, remember, but a bloke whose job was flogging flats in Tooting and, briefly, cars in Leeds.

Very briefly, as it turned out. Burkitt's swapee Mike Porritt - tired of dealing with robotic estate agents down south - called an early end to proceedings. The two bosses met on camera to compare notes and tried not to hit each other.

To be fair, some of Burkitt's managerial ideas seemed reasonable and sensible, if a little humourless. The bluff Porritt was marginally more agreeable, but no more successful.

Still, Burkitt's metropolitan cockiness almost made me ashamed to be a Londoner. His "sermon", designed to unite and inspire the staff, may become a classic piece of cringe TV. After 45 stumbling minutes, he gave anyone who didn't share his "dream" 30 seconds to clear out.

We may not have found the real-life version of Ricky Gervais's creation in Bruce Burkitt. We may, however, have found reality TV's latest monster.