Which brings us to the whining workforce at MG Rover's Longbridge factory.

All week long we've had to put up with that appalling Birmingham accent polluting our television news bulletins as worker after worker drones on and on about how the British public has let them down by buying Volkswagens and Audis.

Listen, chaps, you made crap cars that very few people wanted to buy. They were expensive, unreliable and years out of date. The only pipple to been seen dead driving a Rover were scout masters doing 65mph in the outside lane en route to the sex offenders' register and BNP election candidates with Brylcreemed comb-overs and impotence issues.

My Dad once did his bit by buying British and you sent him a car WITH A SQUARE STEERING WHEEL. Where's the sense in that, you workshy, potato-faced deadbeats? Get real. And get round to the nearest call centre, sharpish.

SCROTE OF THE YEAR: This week's contestants are the Martin family of Hemel Hempstead. Round of applause please, folks.

Mrs and Mrs Martin, who "met" in an internet chat room, have eight children between them. Six of the children belong to Mrs Martin from "previous relationships". I am unsure of the provenance of the other two.

They all live in a three-bedroomed council house and pull in a relatively modest £23,000 a year in benefits. It will come as no surprise to you to learn that Mrs Martin, a heavy smoker, claims that something called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome stops her from getting a job. Mr Martin, formerly a postman, has not worked for two years so he can "help with the kids".

What elevates the Martins into our Top Ten Scrotes of 2005 is their ambitions for the house next door. They want it, free of charge, to knock through to create a seven-bedroomed superhouse to accommodate the ten of them. At our expense, of course. Predictably, they are supported in this cause by their local councillor, a NuLabour apparatchik called Elio Gomez.

"It's not as if we're living the high life," says Mr Martin. "We just want what we feel is right for our family."

Well, yes. But most of us only produce as many offspring as we think we can afford. We don't necessarily turn ourselves into a state-funded baby factory.

As is customary in these stories, I should now point out that the Martins possess a dishwasher, a DVD player, three computers and the ever-present widescreen TV. How many of their kids are "special" is unknown.

Now every time I write about families like the Martins, I get outraged letters from assorted do-gooders, bunny-huggers and paid-up members of Princess Toni's Turkey Army, the very people whose existence depends upon the presence of wasters and shysters like the Martins. They, understandably, are keen for such welfare abuse to continue, as it keeps them in the non-job that was created for them on the understanding that they'll do the decent thing on May 5.

Well I tell you what, here's a deal. A swift back-of-the-fag-packet calculation shows that I paid enough income tax last year to keep two families like the Martins in Lambert and Butlers, oven chips and microwave pizzas. So the least they could do is come round and do the garden once a week. And a bit of ironing.

Is that fair? Most pipple would think so.

I take my leave by pointing out the fact that Prince Charles most certainly isn't the only bridegroom to be surrounded by women dressed as nuns on the day before his wedding.