Competition

In Competition No. 2893 you were invited to suggest suitable Desert Island Discs for a historical figure, living or dead. Your choice of castaways was somewhat narrow — Richard III, Henry VIII, Tony Blair and Jeremy Clarkson popped up again and again. This meant a fair amount of repetition: King Richard was the most popular and his selections more often than not included ‘Dem bones’ and ‘Two Princes’ by the Spin Doctors. Several entrants thought that ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina’ might make Jeremy Clarkson’s playlist.

In Competition No. 2892 you were invited to submit an irregular quatrain in which you bring together two people from the world of the arts and then add a couplet describing the consequences. Two competitors paired Tolkien and Graham Greene, with not dissimilar results. Here’s D.A. Prince: If J.R.R. Tolkien Met Graham Greene Would a hobbit’s story Become The Power and The Glory? And take two from Virginia Price-Evans: Had J.R.R. Tolkien Met Graham Greene, The Hobbit’s lair Might have been the end of the affair. Other popular couplings included Wendy Cope and Alexander Pope; Salvador Dalì and Bob Marley; Horace and William Morris; and Mel Gibson and Henrik Ibsen. This one drew the crowds and the volume of witty entries made judging extremely difficult.

In Competition No. 2891 you were invited to think of the most boring lecture topic possible and submit an extract from that lecture. Christopher Gilbert gamely -submitted an extract from a real lecture he is due to deliver on the impenetrable-sounding topic of heteroscedasticity. But Brian -Murdoch, observing that it was all ‘a bit near the knuckle’, decided against putting his own genuine ‘Comments on the Prologues to the Old Frisian Laws’ into the ring. His fictitious offering not only made it into the winning line-up but also won him the bonus fiver. The rest take £25 each.

In Competition No. 2890 you were invited to imagine that one of the major newspapers has ceased publication and provide a verse lament for it. In his 2004 book The Vanishing Newspaper Philip Meyer predicted that the final hard-copy newspaper will plop through someone’s letterbox in 2043. So who’ll be the first to go? Over to you. D.A. Prince pockets £30; her fellow prize-winners earn £25. No more the morning doorstep thumps that bring news and opinions from the public sphere. The Guardian’s laid to rest where angels sing and deadlines are no more, is grieved for where the muesli-ed tables sit, forlorn and sad. No more the Toynbee fire to heat the grate, no Monbiot to shame us from our bad earth-wrecking habits.

In Competition No. 2889 you were invited to submit an extract from an imaginary novel written from the perspective of a female chauvinist author. There are man-haters everywhere, it seems, from children’s telly to high culture. Charges of sexism have been levelled against the creators of the Daddy Pig character in Peppa Pig. Daddy is portrayed as a hopeless bumbling idiot while Mummy Pig is the embodiment of good sense. And Harold Bloom argues that there is ‘a strong element’ of misandry in Shakespeare (whereas misogyny, he says, is hard to find). Commendations to Sergio Michael Petro and Sandra McGregor. The winners take £30 each; Adrian Fry gets £35.

In Competition No. 2888 you were invited to submit a poem in the style of a well-known poet, the first letters of each line spelling out the poet’s name. I liked Jerome Betts’s follow-up to Oliver Goldsmith’s ‘The Deserted Village’ and Bill Greenwell’s Spenserian stanza in the manner of Wendy Cope — a parody within a parody. Barbara Smoker, Brian Murdoch and S.E.G. Hopkin also stood out in an impressive entry. The winners take £20. Basil Ransome-Davies earns £25.   Reading poetry’s a marvel when you’re back be’ind the line Under shelter, feeling ’uman, where the whizzbangs never whine.

In Competition No. 2887 you were invited to describe your idea of heaven or hell in verse. Nietzsche famously said that in Heaven ‘all the interesting people are missing’ and most of you seemed to agree that paradise might not be all it’s cracked up to be. There’s just space to commiserate with Peter Goulding and John-Paul Marney, who narrowly missed out. The winners take £25; Philip Roe nabs £30.   When the heavenly choir eternal sings a glorious Amen It’s a certain indication they’re about to start again; For the singing never ceases in celestial realms above; And the theme is the imperative for unremitting love. The classical cantatas are performed by seraphim, But every hour we blessèd souls all stand up for a hymn.

In Competition No. 2886 you were invited to submit a Pepys’-eye view of modern life. Pepys’s candid and minutely observed diary entries hum with a seemingly inexhaustible lust for life and your attempts to capture this spirit were impressive. His perpetual randiness, in particular, loomed large in the entry (as one of Pepys’s biographers Richard Ollard notes, ‘an irresistible air of bedroom farce clings to him’). Commendations go to Barry Baldwin, Roger Rengold and Peter Sain ley Berry. The winners take £25; D.A. Prince nabs £30. To coffee-house for conversation, minded to discuss strange appearance of amphibious shipping on the Thames, such as can deliver foreigners straight from the water deep into our city streets. All strangely silent.

In Competition No. 2885 you were invited to write a sonnet beginning ‘Shall I compare thee to a [trisyllable of your choice]’. A competitor emailed to ask if I’d meant a single trisyllabic word or a three-syllable phrase. I meant the former but perhaps that wasn’t clear so I allowed both. Objects of comparison ranged from ocelot to shaggy dog, from Shakespeare play to Theresa May. This was a phenomenally popular comp and produced a dazzling performance all round. I’ve squeezed in seven winners, who take £20 each, but there could have been many more — Ray Kelley, Philip Roe, Douglas G. Brown, Rob Stuart, Frank McDonald and Noel Petty, to mention just a few. Hugh King’s cockapoo scoops £25.   Shall I compare thee to a cockapoo?

In Competition No. 2884 you were invited to submit a poem in praise or dispraise of beards. The beard has been rehabilitated since the dark days of Mr Twit, Jimmy Hill and The Joy of Sex. It will, as Ekow Eshun points out in his insightful essay ‘Welcome to Beardland-ia’, one day stand as ‘the definitive visual shorthand for the early 21st century, as the moustache is for the Seventies and a pair of mutton chops for Regency England’. A large entry was evenly split between pogonophiles and pogonophobes. Susan de Sola, Debora Garber and Jonathan Taylor stood out. The winners, printed below, net £25. Basil Ransome-Davies takes £30.

In Competition No. 2883 you were invited to cast a well-known writer, living or dead, in the role of agony aunt or uncle and provide a problem of your invention and their solution. Mark Shelton’s Ted Hughes begins his reply to the question ‘how can I be more confident with girls?’ thus: ‘Stoat does not ask. Forefoot poised, he holds the crosshairs on his victim. The wicked waiting eyes glitter like wet berries. He is a cocked crossbow.’ I also liked Nicholas Holbrook’s Machiavelli putting Nick Clegg right on the hazards of power-sharing, and Jane Moth was good too. D.A. Prince takes £30, the rest get £25. Q. Recently my wife has become lazy, lounging in bed all day; I suspect she may be having an affair. What can I do to rebuild our marriage?

In Competition No. 2882 you were invited to submit a blues song written by a well-known politician contemplating the impending general election. The ghosts of Robert Johnson, B.B. King and Big Bill Broonzy stalked the entry, which was smallish but accomplished. Basil Ransome-Davies’s submission was a clever twist on Kris Kristofferson’s ‘Sunday -Mornin’ Comin’ Down’ but as it’s country rather than blues it didn’t make it into the winning line-up. John Whitworth and Richard Mollet earn honourable mentions, Brian Murdoch pockets the bonus fiver and the rest take £35.   Got up this morning, bought me a bacon roll. You know I got up this morning, bought me a bacon roll. But it left me way down in the opinion poll.

In Competition No. 2881 you were invited to do as Carol Ann Duffy has done and provide an amusing poem about a piece of government legislation. The first line of her poem ‘22 Reasons for the Bedroom Tax’, ‘Because the badgers are moving the goalposts’, is, of course, a reference to environment secretary Owen Paterson’s unfortunate attempt to explain the government’s failure to reach cull targets. Adrian Fry was entertaining on the Chancel Repair Bill. Commendations, too, to Mike Morrison, Virginia Price Evans, Max Ross and John Whitworth. Alan Millard takes the bonus fiver. The rest get £25 each.

In Competition No. 2880 you were invited to provide a publicity blurb for the Bible to sell it to a modern audience. Kieran Corcoran presents Jesus as a social media sensation — ‘He used to have 12 followers but now he has TWO -BILLION!’ — and Derek Morgan pitches the Good Book as the go-to self-help manual: ‘Going to a garden party and nothing to wear? Trouble finding accommodation at peak season in a small town in the sticks? A house on a flood plain and weather forecast looks bad?’ Other strong performers in an uneven field were John O’Byrne, Sylvia Fairley and Josh Ekroy. The prizewinners, printed below, earn £30. The bonus fiver belongs to Pamela Dow. ‘His name’s Christ. Jesus Christ.

In Competition No. 2879 you were invited to follow in the footsteps of Hilary Mantel and provide a scene that shows a well-known villain from history or literature in an uncharacteristically kindly light. Mantel has said that she was driven by a ‘powerful curiosity’ rather than by any desire to rehabilitate Cromwell. ‘I do not run a Priory clinic for the dead,’ she wrote, which is a nice way of putting it. You plundered Dickens for baddies in need of a makeover — Fagin made repeated appearances alongside Daniel Quilp and Josiah Bounderby. Judas Iscariot and Dr Crippen were also popular choices. The standard was on the patchy side, but honourable mentions go to Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead, G.M. Davis, Barry Baldwin and Imke Thormählen. D.A.

In Competition No. 2878 you were invited to submit a poem composed of three haikus that looks forward to the year ahead. The traditional Japanese haiku contains 17 syllables in three unrhymed lines of five, seven and five syllables (though these rules are not always observed by western poets). It is neatly summed up here by Stanley J. Sharpless:   This is a haiku. Five syllables, then seven. Then five more. Got it?   The winners take £17 each. Hats off to Max Ross for injecting a sliver of optimism into the almost all-encompassing gloom of the winning line-up. Happy New Year.   Ukip wins more seats. Nation takes to drinking beer And falling asleep.   Britain becomes known As Europe’s sleeping partner. New PM fights back.

In Competition No. 2877 you were invited to submit a Christmas round robin as it might have been written by a well-known fictional character. Most of the entries were bursting with forced jocularity, but Basil Ransome-Davies, with an unusually frank Jeeves, neatly subverts the round-robin tradition of presenting a relentlessly positive face to the world. Meanwhile, John Samson’s Phileas Fogg takes holiday bragging to a whole new level, thereby earning the festive fiver. His fellow winners take £25. Happy Christmas, one and all!   Where have all the days gone? I know where 80 went! But lost count of number of ships, trains and wind-powered sledges(!) I’ve taken this year. Fabulous world tour. All in less than three months. A record? You bet!

In Competition No. 2876 you were invited to submit an example of an ill-advised foray by a poet laureate, past or present, into rap. Andrew Motion’s ‘rap’, written to mark Prince William’s 21st birthday, featured in a Telegraph piece by Charlotte Runcie on the worst poems by great writers and elicited such withering comments on the BBC website as, ‘Is that rap with a silent “c”, then?’ and ‘It’s my Dad saying “hey, cool man!” over and over again.’ Bill Greenwell’s rapping John Betjeman takes the extra fiver this week. Betjeman has form. On his delightful 1974 album Banana Blush he read his poetry against a backdrop of music by Jim Parker.

In Competition No. 2875 you were invited to submit a poem about an unlikely aphrodisiac. Thanks are due to that legend of the comping world Stanley J. Sharpless, whose ‘In Praise of Cocoa — Cupid’s Nightcap’ gave me the idea for this challenge. How confessional your entries were, who can say, but I liked Adrienne Parker’s account of an erotic encounter with a washing machine. The winners take £25 each. The bonus fiver belongs to John Whitworth, who points out that, unlikely as it might seem, we have it on Shakespeare’s authority that the potato is an aphrodisiac.   Casanova loves potato. Chips are what he gives his chick. Though she be as chaste as Plato Sizzling chips will do the trick.

In Competition No. 2874 you were invited to submit a scene written by a well-known children’s author of the past in which a character grapples with a 21st-century problem. Pamela Dow reimagines Louisa May Alcott’s girls posting selfies and practising mindfulness, while Harriet Elvin’s Eeyore longs for someone to invent antisocial media and Adrian Fry provides a thoroughly 21st-century exchange between William and Violet-Elizabeth Bott: ‘“William thexted me. And I thexted him. We’re going to thext and thext until we’re…” “Thick.” William concluded, self-pityingly.’ Commendations to Paul Wheeler for his portrait of Paddington Bear falling foul of immigration and to Josh Ekroy. The bonus fiver goes to G.M.