Nick Hewer: Me on Countdown? It doesn't add up Hewer was baffled, however, when approached by Channel 4 with a new television role. "They said they had this Countdown thing on," he recalls. I didn't entirely understand what they were talking about. I'm sorry? He had never heard of Countdown, a show which counts Gordon Brown, Sir Alex Ferguson, George Clooney and millions of students, retirees and workshy sicky-pullers among its fans? "I knew of it, obviously," he says, hastily. But I've never really seen it; I was sort of working when it came on air 30 years ago. And since then, I've never been at home at three in the afternoon. Hewer spoke to his friends and was told that "it was a great, iconic show - like the British Constitution or something." He then watched it for himself and thought, "Woah, this looks interesting." Despite thinking he'd done a dreadful screen test, he was offered the job, beating off rivals who supposedly included Sir Terry Wogan, Rory Bremner and Sue Barker. He now follows in the daunting footsteps of Richard Whiteley, who presented it for 23 years until his death in 2005, Des Lynam, Des O'Connor and Jeff Stelling. "I'm not a presenter at all," he says, modestly. This is all foreign territory, and not easy to do, to be honest with you. I think it will take a bit of time to find my voice, if I've got one. In the first few shows I was maybe overly enthusiastic. You have to settle down into who you are. The biggest mistake one could make is to try to be like the others. You could never be as silky smooth as Jeff Stelling. I'm not a comedian or a singer like Des O'Connor. I'm not a sort of amateur roué like Des Lynam appeared to be, or whatever it was that Richard Whiteley was so good at. He appears to be enjoying the process, though, ad libbing more confidently and slowly getting used to the producer's voice in his ear and the "tyranny of that bloody great clock hammering us on the head." The fans have been "terribly nice," he's full of admiration for the "lightning fast" contestants and he's getting quicker at the letters (although he's "leaving the numbers for another day"). In an early bit of filming he was so excited to have spotted a good word that he shouted out "conifers." Will Lord Sugar also be shouting at the screen, I wonder? "He promised to tune in," says Hewer. "Although I said, 'For God's sake, please don't," because I don't want him saying I've made a mess of it. He'd be pretty quick on the numbers, that's for sure. Hewer recently held a party where he introduced Lord Sugar to Rachel Riley, his toothsome co-host on Countdown. "They started discussing quadratic equations," he says. Lord Sugar is supportive of Hewer's new role, just as long as it doesn't clash with his Apprentice duties. Not that one can imagine Hewer doing anything to compromise a show he still loves, even after seven series of tramping round fish markets at dawn and putting up with the candidates" misplaced self-belief. "They'll suck up to us," he says. The old soft-shoe shuffler easing his way across the floor, oozing charm from every pore. They'll say, 'Oh Nick, that's a nice tie. They're rebuffed. Someone once complemented Margaret [Mountford, Karren Brady's predecessor] on her fragrance. Little did he know that he came very close to a left hook. Beneath the dry banter, one catches glimpses of a more sensitive soul. Hewer talks warmly of those he's kept up with, the professionalism of the cameramen and the stress the apprentices are put under. "We wouldn't behave terribly well either if we were under that sort of pressure," he says. He gives short shrift, however, to any notion that The Apprentice risks dumbing down the world of business. "I'll meet anyone in any dark alley and have a fight over whether it's worthwhile or not," he says. It's brilliant. If you really wanted a dead straight business programme, it would be watched by six people and go out on BBC17 at four in the morning. And the person who commissioned it would be led by the elbow to a solid wall and be shot. It's about engaging everyone - including the bloke on a squashy sofa in Sunderland who hasn't got a job, who can shout at the television and say, 'I can do better than them."" Hewer himself has probably the best job of any late-sexagenarian in Britain. A divorced father of two grown-up children, he divides his time between south-west France, where he lives happily alone, and Nottinghamshire, where he lives with Catherine, his partner since 1997. He recently appeared on Have I Got News For You ("Fun but very daunting") and Room 101, and he's currently in talks with the BBC about making a documentary on the necessity of working until 75. Is there a risk, though, of him getting carried away with all the late-blooming attention? "My feet are actually firmly on the ground," he says. In rural France, no one knows me from a hole in the road, and that's just fine. I've been very lucky and very blessed. There's something in human nature that likes to be acknowledged - by your family, your friends, your children, whoever it is. So when complete strangers acknowledge you, imagine how nice that is. But just don't go looking for it. And with that we part, perhaps for Hewer to go looking for a calculator - or at least for Riley or Lord Sugar - any of which will tell him that 52 x 5 is 260.