Uncle Dray's Slimeball of the Year Award

32 years ago one of my old lovers, Mad Ange, had a brilliant idea which she should have acted on, but didn't.

(I think I wrote about her and her loopy antics when I started this epic of inconsequence - only my suede coats stoipped her killing me).

She and her partner in business, Sharon, were running one of the first telemarketing businesses. One day as a joke she suggested starting a service called Dial-a-Wank. But she did nothing about it, silly girl.

Look at how much money is made now from getting people to piss away money voting on premium lines. When I think of the millions she missed, it's such a shame. Despite her violent ways she was extremely funny and deserving.

I am wondering if we should enter the reality show arena. Give an Award or two. Induce mass hysteria with fainting fans. Can you see me as a sort of geriatric Simon Cowell, flexing my floppy pecs?

What d'you think, readers?

We could start with the vulture Crow who was so pleased that his not entirely successful strike cost London an alleged £100 million (where do they get these figures from?) that he proudly announced that he's going to do it all over again.

There's the Toadacrat, who said he would mend his ways last week - then instantly carried on lying as usual. He can't help it. Or Alastair Darling who despite being one of the biggest crooks in parliament still runs all our finances.

It would be a close race.