There's nothing worse than bad sex. But to an editor, there's nothing worse than bad sex writing. A decade ago the editors at Literary Review, a London journal, decided they had had enough of phrases such as "his quivering love stick" and comparisons such as "Shall I compare thee to a Sony Walkman," and invented the Bad Sex in Fiction Award.

Most likely the world's least desired literary prize, the Bad Sex Award is given to "the year's literary novel with the worst, most redundant or embarrassing description of the sexual act." Subscribers to the journal write in nominations, making sure that no one is safe. Bigwig writers such as Salmon Rushdie, John Updike and Joyce Carol Oates have all been nominated; which must be some consolation to the "winners" —at least they are in pretty impressive company. The other consolation is that the award is for literary novels, not ones meant to be listed under erotica.

This year's winner is British author Wendy Perriam, for her comic novel Tread Softly. The winning excerpt is a scene in which a patient fantasizes about her foot surgeon while making love to her partner.

Weirdly, he was clad in pin-stripes at the same time as being naked. Pin-stripes were erotic, the uniform of fathers, two-dimensional fathers.

The jargon he'd used at the consultation had become bewitching love-talk:… dislocation of the second MTPJ… titanium hemi-implant…

"Yes!' she whispered back. Dorsal subluxation… flexion deformity of the first metatarsal…

"Oh yes!' she shouted, screwing up her face in concentration, tossing back her hair. "Yes, oh Malcolm, yes!"

The 62-year-old Perriam was surprised by the award, telling Reuters that her book "is about bunions, panic attacks and abuses in old people's homes. Probably three of the most unsexy subjects you can imagine." Personally, I can think of quite a few ways to make at the least the first two sexy, but I would probably be singing a similar tune if I had won that award myself. But Perriam has another reason to perhaps be mortified by the award —she is the only author to be nominated three years in a row.

"The only thing I've ever won before was a copy of the Bible for an essay on religious doctrine, which is rather different from tonight's award," she said. Perriam was educated in a convent and attributes her love of explicit scenes to her strict religious upbringing. Maybe in some unconscious way she's actually trying to appease her guilt over sex writing by doing it really horribly?

A panel of judges announces five nominees, and the winner is named at a ceremony sponsored by the Literary Review. Other nominees for this year's award were Ethan Hawke, who should probably stick to acting, Conde Nast managing director Nicholas Coleridge and author Will Self. Past winners include A.A. Gill, Sean Thomas, best-selling novelist Sebastian Faulks, Nicholas Royle, David Huggins, Philip Kerr, and Philip Hook.

The upshot of winning is that the Bad Sex Awards Ceremony is widely acknowledged as London's best literary party. Which makes sense —celebrating other's good fortune, or misfortune as this case may be, is often fun for everyone else. Perriam accepted her award from celebrity interior designer Nicky Haslam at London's In and Out Club. I don't know what's worse: winning the award or having it presented by an interior decorator. Wasn't there at least a game show host available?