For Competition 3474, in the week of Winnie the Pooh’s centenary, you were invited to submit a passage in which the inhabitants of the Hundred Acre Wood navigate modern life. It has to be said the general vibe was downcast. Sue Pickard’s solution was medical:
‘Cheer up,’ said Eeyore, his Gloom lifted by special pills, and Tigger, who was taking medicine too and had lost his bounce, said, ‘Calm it.’
Also deserving a mention were Mike Scriven, Richard Warren, Adrian Fry, Brian Murdoch, among others. The prizes go to those below.
‘What exactly did they say?’ asked Owl.
‘They said my call was important to them…’ said Pooh.
‘When did they say that?’
‘Tuesday,’ said Pooh. ‘I know it was Tuesday because I tried to write a Telephoning Natural England song on Thursday but…’
His words, and the hold music, were drowned by a mighty crash as a heffalump collided with the trunk far below. An agonised face appeared at the window:
‘We must organise a …’ Rabbit’s words turned into a horrible scream. They rushed to the window only to see Rabbit born away by a tide of woozles.
‘Heffalumps and Woozles are Hendagered Speecies,’ said Owl, ‘we must consult the Authorities!’
Pooh was a Bear of Very Little Brain. But all the same – wasn’t rewilding supposed to be a Good Thing? And he wished he was a Hendangered Speecies. It seemed far safer than being himself. Whatever that was.
Nick Syrett
‘It’s a very flashing sort of light,’ said Winnie the Pooh, staring gloomily at the smart meter. It had just turned a menacing red. ‘And it says my morning smackerel cost four pounds fifty.’
‘That’s inflation, Pooh,’ piped Piglet, trembling. He was still recovering from a harrowing automated checkout ordeal at the Tesco down the lane. ‘Everything is dreadfully dearer.’
Suddenly, the peaceful canopy shattered with a violent hum. Tigger raced past on a modified, illegal e-scooter, one paw steering dangerously while the other held his phone aloft.
‘What’s up, bounce-fam!’ Tigger yelled into the camera, spraying leaves over Piglet. ‘Smash that subscribe button! Today we’re doing the 100-Acre Speed Challenge, no helmet!’
Owl peered down from his solar-panelled oak tree. ‘Pure hooliganism,’ he muttered, adjusting his Ring doorbell app.
Deep in a ditch, Eeyore sighed. ‘No tax, no insurance. The Council will hear about this. Not that they’ll do anything.’
Sophia Jackson
In the Hundred Acre Wood, Winnie-the-Pooh discovered a shining silver box.
‘A honey pot?’ asked Pooh hopefully.
‘Artificial Intelligence,’ said Owl importantly.
Christopher Robin switched it on: ‘I am WOOZLE-3000. Ask me anything.’
Tigger bounced round it. ‘Can it bounce?’
‘Certainly,’ said the box, producing 17 diagrams of bouncing.
Rabbit was delighted. WOOZLE-3000 organised gardens, washing-up rota, and Roo’s acorn collection. Kanga said, ‘Helpful!’
Piglet worried. ‘What if it knows everything?’
Eeyore sighed. ‘It’ll know things aren’t going very well.’
Pooh asked where honey came from and received a 12,000-word report. It never mentioned bees. Metal Heffalumps and Woozles rearranged the forest so logically that nobody could find anybody else.
‘It isn’t very sensible,’ said Christopher Robin.
‘No,’ said Pooh. ‘It’s cleverer than sensible.’
The machine switched off. Heffalumps wandered away. Pooh brightened.
‘Does anyone know where the honey is?’
Nobody did, which was probably why the Wood felt normal again.
Revd Dr Peter Mullen
Rabbit had set up a WhatsApp group called Hundred Acre Wood Residents (Official), and nobody was allowed to leave it.
‘It says here,’ said Pooh, squinting at his phone, ‘that Owl has shared a link.’
‘Owl always shares a link,’ said Piglet nervously. ‘Last time it was about Heffalumps and 5G.’
Eeyore had been muted since March, which he said was the first time anyone had really listened to him. Tigger had become a fitness influencer, bouncing for forty seconds on camera and calling it a HIIT routine. He had twelve thousand followers, most of them Woozles. Christopher Robin was working from home and could only be reached between meetings.
‘Is there anything about honey?’ asked Pooh.
‘There’s an app,’ said Rabbit, ‘that delivers it in twenty minutes.’
Pooh thought about this for a long time. ‘Then what,’ he said at last, ‘is the point of a Something?’
Greg White
As Winnie-the-Pooh awaited his organic (certified) order from Hunny.com, he thought about Streaming. ‘I wonder what Streaming is,’ he said to Piglet.
‘It must be something to do with Poohsticks,’ said Piglet.
‘Rabbit said it was like a Podcast,’ said Pooh. ‘Eeyore has a Podcast on Anti-Depressants. Tigger runs a Bouncing one. And Kanga has her own called Modern Motherhood and Wanting to Count Things.’
‘I listened to one about Heffalumps,’ said Piglet. ‘With my earpods.’
‘I know I am a Bear of Very Little Brain,’ said Pooh, ‘but what are earpods?’
‘They sit in your ears,’ said Piglet. ‘Like a small piece of fluff.’
‘Does Christopher Robin have earpods?’ asked Pooh.
‘Oh yes,’ said Piglet eagerly. ‘That’s why we don’t see him very much.’
‘I’m sure he will message us,’ said Pooh. For whatever happens to them offline, a little boy and his App will always be interacting.
Janine Beacham
No. 3477: Disappearing act
It’s also 100 years since Agatha Christie went missing for 11 days. You are invited to write The Case of the Missing Crime Novelist (150 words max). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by 18 November.
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