Jeremy Kyle

Anyone whose main catchphrase is "put something on the end of it!" has got to be a bell-end. The Jeremy Kyle show, which airs every weekday morning, brings out the worst of what the UK has to offer in terms of people. Almost every guest is a work-shy, cannabis smoking cave-dweller who can barely string more than two words together and spends most of the time bonking like safari park gibbons. It is car crash television at its bloodiest. A High Court judge actually once described it as "human bear-baiting". As for Kyle himself, this slightly camp, slightly built bell-end with a limited vocabulary struts around the stage like the div kid in school when he's paid one of the big boys to protect him for the day. Indeed, he has two burly minders just off camera to ensure that when he launches into one of his vitriolic tirades against an old man with a walking stick, he doesn't get his head kicked in. Watching the Jeremy Kyle show is like driving along the motorway and coming across a nasty pile-up in the opposite carriageway. You do everything you can to keep your eyes on the road ahead and not look at that carnage, but you just can't help yourself. You try everything: Turn on the radio, open a window, glue your eyelids closed and nail your hands over your ears. But that dark shadow that occupies the furthest regions of your heart; the same one that makes you laugh when your kid falls head-first into their toy-box, that makes you wonder if Kate Middleton has had sex with anyone other than William, forces you to pay attention to a modern-day Duncan Norvelle dishing out lie detector and DNA results to the kind of people who enjoy American wrestling because it's real and not in the least bit choreographed. So, people, I give you my first nomination for today's bell-end of the day - Mr Jeremy Kyle.