Guess who has just made the list...

ON the surface it might appear that I’m a pretty easy-going old stick.

And it’s certainly true that I don’t get involved in rows as a general rule. But that’s more down to my innate laziness rather than any altruistic sense of keeping the peace. Indeed, on the quiet, I am as vindictive as the next man. Or woman.

Take my “If I Had Rabies Who Would I Bite First” list. It’s been on the go for the past 42 years and, while some people make a short and sweet entry, perhaps hovering around number five for a week or two, a couple of names have been up there with the worst for several decades.

Take a man called Robert Roy. If only someone would. . . he was my boss when I was but a slim young newspaper reporter.

To say he made my life a living hell would be a tad on the strong side. But he certainly did me no favours and was solely responsible for me almost jacking-in the job and going to fill shelves in Tesco’s.

I haven’t seen Mr Roy for . . . well, I suppose it’s about 30 years now, but let’s just say the memory is ingrained.

I wouldn’t spray him with water (or anything else for that matter) if he were on fire.

He’s generally to be found languishing around number three.

There are few people who can rival him for sheer spite and vindictiveness (although one or two have come close) but on occasions he’s pipped to the post by some current ne’er do well.

At the moment he comes in at a paltry number six (two below a former in-law and slightly above the Kerry Katona Iceland ads) — which should tell you something about my frame of mind.

The top spot has been occupied for the past week by someone I’ve never met.

That’s not unusual to be honest, there are lots of people on the list whom I have never met. But it is unusual for them to enter — and remain — at the number one spot.

He riles me something rotten. Indeed, by the time his daily appearance in my sitting room is over I’m almost beside myself with fury.

I shout at the television screen. I even swear. I would turn him off but he holds this morbid fascination. I’m compelled to tune in if only to see if he improves any. He doesn’t . . . he gets worse.

I have no idea who it is that’s calling to keep David Van Day (yeah right, his real name is plain David Day) in “I’m A Celebrity... Get Me Out Of Here!” but if I find out it’s you, be warned . . . on the rabies list you go.