Competition

In Competition No. 2992 you were invited to submit a Dear John letter, in prose or verse, in the style of a well-known author.   My, you were good this week — good enough to make being jilted seem quite the thing. Even that most maddening of break-up clichés ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ has a certain charm when filtered (courtesy of Chris O’Carroll) through the whimsical lens of Ogden Nash.   Douglas G. Brown, Paul Freeman, Martin Parker, R.M Goddard and Bill Greenwell are highly commended. The winners earn £25 each. D.A. Prince takes £30.

In Competition No. 2991 you were invited to submit ‘The Rime of the Wedding Guest’.   There were, naturally, lots of clever nods in the entry to Coleridge’s ballad of sin and atonement, but some were more charitable than others to the gimlet-eyed seadog with verbal diarrhoea. In a hotly contested week, Brian Allgar, Chris O’Carroll, Graham King, Max Gutmann and Mike Morrison came close to glory but were pipped by the winners below, who take £25 each. Basil Ransome--Davies nabs £30.   My mates and me were larging it, As pissed as several newts. Three wedding guests, we was all dressed In Jasper Conran suits.

In Competition No. 2991 you were invited to submit an April Fool disguised as a serious news feature that contains a startling revelation about a well-known literary figure.   The top-ranked April Fool of all time, according to the Museum of Hoaxes, was Panorama’s 1957 report on how Swiss farmers on the shores of Lake Lugano were enjoying a bumper spaghetti crop thanks to the elimination of the dastardly spaghetti weevil and one of the mildest winter in living memory. Gullible viewers, convinced by a charming video showing peasants harvesting strands of pasta, flooded the Beeb with queries as to how they might grow their own spaghetti tree.   It was a smallish entry, carbohydrate-free but with an unusual degree of overlap. (Barbara Cartland made several appearances.

In Competition No. 2990 you were invited to submit a poem of 16 lines in which the lines begin with the letters of the alphabet from A to P.   This one proved to be a real crowd-pleaser, attracting not only the regulars but many welcome new faces too. You were at your witty and inventive best, and I offer commiserations to a long list of unlucky losers: Sylvia Fairley, Paul Evans, A.K. Colam, Martin Eayrs, Nigel Stuart, Ralph Rochester and Brian Allgar. Class swot Bill Greenwell, who gave himself an additional challenge by ending each line of his poem with the letters K to Z, earns a gold star.   The prizewinners, printed below, are rewarded with £25 each. Basil Ransome-Davies scoops the extra fiver.   All poets lie, Pascal implied; But that’s their very game.

In Competition No. 2989 you were invited to submit a version of the Gettysburg Address as it might have been given by a prominent figure on the world stage. As space is tight, I pause only to commend Frank Upton and Paul Carpenter before handing you over to Messrs Blair, Trump and Wilson, with Charles I bringing up the rear. The winners take £30 each.   Many years ago my forefathers made it possible for me to address you here on this memorable site and I am honoured to speak for them and for all future generations. Wars come and go but people like me, dedicated to running a nation, don’t. We’re here to remember those who died, of course, but the living are just as important, and me more so.

In Competition No. 2988 you were invited to compose a poem making the case for a national commemoration day for a person or thing of your choice.   While Alanna Blake championed the dandelion, there were also impassioned calls for days that high-five Thomas Crapper, Doris Day and the tent. I, for one, would happily celebrate a Tom Waits day with Adrian Fry. The winners below take £25 each. Bill Greenwell pockets £30.

In Competition No. 2987 you were invited to supply a lesson in the art of seduction in the style of an author of your choice.   In a large and stellar field, Ralph Rochester, Noah Heyl, Jennifer Moore, J. Seery, Barry Baldwin, Alan Millard, Sylvia Fairley and John Maddicott shone, but they were pipped to the post by the winners, printed below, who earn £25 each. The bonus fiver belongs to Brian Allgar.   ‘Had we but world enough, and time…’ It never fails, my am’rous rhyme. I lead them to a private place, And strip them of their flimsy lace. ’Tis true that in my younger days, My poems caused their eyes to glaze; They fell asleep, a sorry fact, Virginity still quite intact, And vainly, I would try to shake My vegetable love awake.

In Competition No. 2986 you were invited to submit a poem about a deadly foodstuff.   My inspiration for this assignment was the appalling news that toast can kill you, which is yet another depressing indication that everything good is bad for you. Or perhaps, as Max Gutmann suggests in the closing couplet of his winning entry, it’s safer simply to regard all food as a potential enemy.   Honourable mentions to Mae Scanlan and Jennifer Moore, and £25 each to the winners. D.A. Prince scoops the bonus fiver.   Amanita phalloides! Yes, my darling, just for you — hunter-gathered when your need is homely soup to add them to.   Fresh and creamy-clean, so wholesome; don’t they tempt your appetite!

In Competition No. 2985 you were invited to provide a poetic preview of the day Article 50 is triggered.   There were passionate voices from both sides of the Brexit divide, with many of you recruiting distinguished poets to your cause. D.A. Prince cleverly appropriated ‘Vitaï Lampada’, Sir Henry Newbolt’s tribute to English patriotism: ‘There’s a dread-filled rush in the House tonight/ With Article 50 poised to go,/ After lies black as pitch and the blind claiming sight/ And nothing to halt, now, the whole sorry show’; Jennifer Moore’s entry channelled the spirit of Dr Seuss: ‘The sun did not shine./ We were too sad to work,/So we cut out Farage/ And threw darts at his smirk.

In Competition No. 2984 you were invited to follow in the footsteps of Green Day and Moby and provide Donald Trump’s detractors with a protest song.   Where’s Woody Guthrie when you need him, you might ask. Well, as it turns out, the Dust Bowl Troubadour was well acquainted with the Trump family. Literary scholar Will Kaufman has discovered lyrics written by Guthrie excoriating his then landlord (‘Old Man Trump’) Fred Trump’s racist bigotry.   Billy Bragg has set the bar pretty high with his excellent reworking of that other folk icon Bob Dylan’s ‘The Times They Are a-Changin’ ’ but Alan Millard’s Dylan-esque entry was well done too and earns him the bonus fiver. The rest take £30.

In Competition No. 2983, an assignment inspired by W.W. Jacobs’s macabre mini masterpiece ‘The Monkey’s Paw’, you were invited to supply a chilling short story featuring an animal’s body part. Brian Allgar’s tale about Donald Trump, a stallion and a DIY organ transplant operation was an unlucky loser. The winners, printed below, £25 each. The extra fiver goes to Frank Upton.   ‘Sea View’. Yes, you could glimpse Morecambe Bay from the gate of the high, gruff, stone farmhouse. She would auction it, of course, with the owners disappeared. The key turned and, with a verdigris smudge on the shoulder of her coat, Alex was inside and engulfed by an insidious miasma of fungal spores. Her torch bleached a gigantic nodding polyp of dry rot.

In Competition No. 2982 you were invited to recast John Masefield’s ‘Sea Fever’ in light of the news that the poet suffered from acute seasickness.   In his book Sea Fever, Sam Jefferson relates how as an apprentice seaman aboard the Gilcruix, the unfortunate Masefield was struck down by a brutal bout of mal de mer. A diary entry recorded the full horror: ‘I was faint, clammy, helpless, weakly wishing for death or dry land.’   Long lines, as per the original poem, mean that there is limited space for winners, which is a shame. This was a hugely popular comp and there were lots of skilful, witty and well-made entries (though with a fair, if not unsurprising, degree of repetition).

In Competition No. 2981 you were invited to submit a poem about a politician and an item of clothing.   Michael Foot’s donkey jacket; Harold Wilson’s Gannex mac; William Hague’s baseball cap; Hillary’s pantsuit: all featured in what was a cracking entry. I especially enjoyed Fiona Pitt-Kethley opening line on Theresa May’s leathers: ‘Her look’s more S&M than M&S…’ There were strong performances, too, from Jennifer Moore, Anne Woolfe, Albert Black, Tony Reardon, Dorothy Pope and Derek Greenwood.   The winners, printed below, are rewarded with £25 each. The bonus fiver is Chris O’Carroll’s.   She’s a woman for all weather, Legs resplendent in fine leather.

In Competition No. 2980 you were invited to submit an extract from a politician’s speech ghostwritten by a well-known comedian.   At the 1990 Tory party conference in Bournemouth, Margaret Thatcher famously appropriated Monty Python’s Dead Parrot sketch to mock the Liberal Democrats’ new flying bird logo. But although Mrs T. gamely went along with her speechwriters’ suggestion to include the gag, it has since been revealed that a) she hadn’t actually heard of Monty Python and b) she didn’t entirely get the joke. ‘This Monty Python,’ she asked. ‘Are you sure he’s one of us?’   The most popular ghostwriter--comedian by a long way was Frankie Howerd (the lone Python voice in the entry was Graham Chapman’s).

In Competition No. 2979 you were invited to supply your contribution to a series of parodies of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five stories that have just been published which re--imagine the five as adults — or to give another children’s classic the same treatment. Everyone loves a spoof, it seems, to judge by the phenomenal success of the chart--topping Ladybird Books for Grown Ups. And never one to ignore the siren call of the literary bandwagon, I thought I’d invite you to have a go. On the whole, the standard was high. A.R. Duncan-Jones, Bill Greenwell, Toni Hinckley and Anne du Croz shone and deserve honourable mentions. The winners, printed below, are rewarded with £30 each, except Chris O’Carroll who pockets £35.

In Competition No. 2977 you were invited to submit a selection of meaningless, pseudo-profound statements. Bullshit was defined in a 2005 essay by the philosopher Harry G. Frankfurt as being characterised by a lack of concern for the truth, as distinct from a deliberate intent to deceive (i.e. lying). Which makes this the ideal comp for the post-truth era. Or is it? Brian Murdoch wasn’t so sure: ‘Given the great pseudo-profundities of the past (“Credo quia impossibile” [Aquinas, T.], “Dasein hat sein zu sein” [Heidegger, M.], “Brexit means Brexit”,’ he writes, ‘what else is there to say?’ Quite a bit more, it seems. The invitation drew a large and accomplished entry.

In Competition No. 2977 you were invited to submit a Christmas carol with a topical twist. ‘In the bleak midwinter’ just about captures the general tenor of the entry, although George Simmers injected a lighter note with his invitation to ‘Deck Ed Balls with boughs of holly…’ and W.J. Webster, too, was looking on the relatively bright side: ‘God rest ye merry, gentlemen,/ Let nothing you dismay;/ The world is not on course to end/ That January day…’ Commendations go to Albert Black, Gordan Macintyre, Paul Carpenter, Tracy Davidson and Ian White.The winners, printed below, take £25 each. And the festive fiver is Martin Parker’s.

In Competition No. 2976 you were invited to submit an extract of a speech in which a well-known figure from history comments on a pressing item on today’s news agenda.   Rob Stuart gave Pythagorus’ view on the new Toblerone (not a fan); Frank Upton offered Thomas Crapper’s perspective on transgender public conveniences; and Michael McManus delivered St Paul’s Letter to the Climatians (‘let no rubbish escape recycling and resurrection). The winners take £25. The bonus fiver is Brian Allgar’s.   We, Henry, hereby do encourage thee To act against the dread LGBT. Unnatural! We’ve had a wife or two Who craved the nameless things that women do, Ofttimes requiring strange vibrating toys.

In Competition No. 2975 you were invited to supply your own nine-line twist on Robert Herrick’s ‘Upon Julia’s clothes’:   Whenas in silks my Julia goes Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes.   Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!   In a large and somewhat raucous entry, Herrick’s 17th-century restraint was cast aside in favour of full-on 21st-century vulgarity. Honourable mentions go to Basil Ransome-Davies, John Whitworth and Josh Ekroy. The winners, printed below, take £15 each. Whenas in shorts my Julia plays A set or two on summer days I think of Herrick’s, who wore stays.

In Competition No. 2974 you were invited to submit a resignation letter from God.   Despite mankind’s attempts to kill Him off, God has continued to bounce back. ‘The Almighty,’ as Terry Eagleton puts it in his book Culture and the Death of God, ‘has proved remarkably difficult to dispose of.’ But what if He decided one day that He’d had just about enough of us all (Gexit, as Ken Stevens termed it)?   Now seems as likely a time as any, so it’s over to you. The winners take £25 each. Over the years, the human race has been taking part in a momentous democratic process. It is right that we trust the people with these big decisions.