Admittedly I was firmly in the camp of little Jimmy Osmond, if only for his similarity to Ned Flanders, and shameless ownership of a bear called Hummy, but if Jimmy couldn't win, then rather C Thatch than a woman called Smurph or man with a smile too big for his mouth. Not that I didn't like Sid and Sheree, but the former only worked as David Dickinson's straight man (the words "I need to go up, Sid" will hereafter be held with great affection in my heart), and the latter's main appeal lay in her ability to embarrass her husband.
Still it's nice to know that Harry Kewell has stretch marks, horrible feet, a hairless body, peachy bum and no toenails, and that Sheree has never had a ball in her mouth. Well not since Friday when Bobby left.
Ultimately though, there was only one winner, and it had to be Thatch. The woman sucked on marsupials' privates, did a mean version of 'See you Later Alligator', and looked surprisingly good in a wetsuit. If only the same could be said of her mother.