Late some night you’ll awaken, perspiring and shaken, as the voice (in your head) of a burst dog commands you to kill and kill again. It’ll probably sound something like this - “Rrrill and rrrrill arrrraiin”. Your mutant hands will be compelled to obey.

Ken,

Glad to hear the ‘taches enjoyed plenty of upper lip action. You are now certified “100% manky”.

Embarr,

Yourself and Fergal were/are the only ever honorary manky toy winners. Simon’s piece of poor-man’s Waterford crystal is as nothing to your prize.

Event my pint glass got to sport one until some swine took it away!

Certificate now hangs on the wall though :D

However, the painful burning on my hands from squeezy dog’s inner juices has abated and my surgeon tells me the skin will grow back in time, but my days of playing atonal banjo symphonies with the Royal Philharmonic are over.

Which saves them the cost of renewing the restraining order I suppose.

The guilt and nightmares will be with me for some time to come. At least until I kill again.

I remember only too well the embarrassment of squinting at other peoples’ name badges, only to realise you’re staring at someone’s cleavage. I suggest flicking the eyes down quickly a few times but don’t stare. See you next year.

I’ll capture the elements you mention (mix them with the secret anxieties of a business blogger, the self-loathing of a journalist etc) and turn it into a heady brew.

If I don’t win something next year then I’ll unscrew the jar and release the horror into the Alexander function room. The ensuing mass psychosis should make for some tasty photos.

Latch, Thanks for the gift. Squint harder next time.

Jess had put you on my list too and I spent a lot of the evening squinting in vain at name badges. There’s always next year (where we unknowingly sit next to each other!).

I do remember saying something to the Tuppenceworth lads about a moustachioed raffle winner getting into a huff and complaining that there was nothing inherently funny about moustaches so it may have been me. Even if it wasn’t, can I claim it?

I missed the Manky Toy raffle and I am GUTTED. Had my heart set on winning one, so I did.

That’s the evil power of Maureen seducing you, Sinéad (see above).

As for my supposed youthful appearance - you should see the state of the portrait I keep in the attic.

caitriona,

There will be blood - I mean, Manky Toys - again next year. Unless I’m dead. Or in a coma. There’ll always be a place for Nancy Drew-ing too. Your next case: The Mystery of How to Get Served Quickly at the Bar. It’s one I just can’t seem to crack.

And yes, it seems I’m in the “Shafted Ultra Plus” category. No award except (perhaps) an anthrax-filled envelope (I’d take anything at this stage).

“flickr.comps” is a further example of a wildly irritating, links-related bug in the comments section - just in case you’re worried and think you wrote it unbeknownst to yourself.

What would an awards ceremony be without a bit of controversy? Maureen has always had a special manky place in my heart and she was the object I was most loath to part with.

Given that reluctance, and the fact that there were almost fists flying when she was raffled, I’m beginning to think she exerts a kind of malign influence…like “The One Ring”. Count yourself lucky that you were able to pass the curse onto Elly.

aoife,

You’re very, very welcome. I’ll get the cert out to you asap.

I like the idea of winning everything. Not just the awards themselves, but the hotel’s carpets, curtains, soft furnishings, urinals etc. Rounding off this imagined (perfect) evening would be the capture of 399 bloggers’ souls in jam jars (like a demonic BFG).

Sabrina,

CTRL + ALT + U.

Those are instructions for the accented “U” by the way…not some baffling new form of txt spk.

30 million would (I suppose) come in handy - it being 30 million more quid than I have at present - but I’m the world’s most rubbish gambler. When I bet on horses in the Grand National they tend to break their necks and get shot…before the actual race.

Incidentally, I wish I had the surname Dent. It’s Batman-bad guy-tastic.