Lucy Vickery

In Competition No. 2703 you were invited to submit a hymn entitled ‘All Things Dull and Ugly’. Long lines mean space is tight so I’ll keep it short. George Simmers nabs the bonus fiver; £25 each to his fellow winners. All things dull and ugly, all creatures gross and     squat, All things vile or tedious, the Lord God made the     lot. He made the sly hyena, the hookworm and the slug, Your moaning Auntie Margaret and pervy Uncle     Doug. He made that dreary Welshman who so often reads     the news, And he made us, the ragtag lot who worship at     St Hugh’s.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's Competition In Competition No. 2702 you were to invited to submit an imaginary example of an embarrassingly overblown author’s dedication or an extract from an equally nauseating acknowledgments page. It seems that these days writing is a far from lonely pursuit and gratitude is routinely heaped by authors on battalions of helpers. But inspiration for the comp came from an era when emotional restraint was the norm in the shape of J.S. Mill’s fulsome dedication to his wife, which opens On Liberty: ...

In Competition No. 2701 you were invited to take the opening line of ‘Adlestrop’, substitute a location of your choice, and continue for up to a further 15 lines. The result of a brief, unscheduled stop at a Cotswold station just before the first world war, ‘Adlestrop’ has spawned many imitators. Jimmie Pearse’s fine parody, ‘Willesden Gree’, prompted me to set the comp — ‘We sat in silence, face to face/ (For that is what the British do),/ While over all the air, apace,/ Stole twilight scents of North-West Two.’) — and for especially devoted fans there is an entire anthology, Adlestrop Revisited edited by Anne Harvey, ‘inspired by Edward Thomas’s poem’.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's Competition In Competition No. 2700 you were invited to submit an example of pretentious wine-writing. Peter Mayle’s account in the Observer of his first formal wine tasting, in London’s St James’s, gives a flavour of what I was looking for: ‘The first wine, so he [the wine merchant] informed us, was vigorous and well-constructed, even a little bosomy. The second was an iron fist in a velvet glove. The third was earthy, but generous. The fourth was a little young to be up so late.’ As the evening wears on, the comparisons become increasingly ludicrous: ‘oak, truffles, hyacinths, hay, wet leather, wet dogs, weasels, a hare’s belly, faded tulips, old carpet, vintage socks...

Lucy Vickery presents this week's Competition In Competition No. 2699 you were invited to submit an ‘Ode to an Expiring Frog’ or to any other creature that is not long for this world. Inspiration here comes of course from the magnificent Mrs Leo Hunter, embodiment of provincial literary pretension and authoress of this poignant piece: Can I view thee panting, lying On thy stomach, without sighing; Can I unmoved see thee dying On a log Expiring frog! Adrian Fry’s McGonagall pastiche entertained, as did Ray Kelley, J. Garth Taylor, Shirley Curran and Martin Parker. All in all, it was  an impressive entry. ‘Finely expressed,’ as Mr Pickwick might say. The winners, printed below, get £25 each, except Bill Greenwell, who nabs £30.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's Competition In Competition No. 2698 you were invited to submit a short story that begins, ‘Of course he knew — no man better — that he hadn’t a ghost of a chance, he hadn’t an earthly.’ and ends ‘And Reginald came slowly across the lawn.’ The given words are the first and last sentences of ‘Mr and Mrs Dove’ by Katherine Mansfield, superlative writer of short fiction and object of Virginia Woolf’s envy: ‘I was jealous of her writing — the only writing I have ever been jealous of.’ Chris O’Carroll revisits Mansfield’s story and conjures up a parallel universe in which a semi-emancipated Reggie dreams of putting the symbolic doves to death.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's Competition In Competition No. 2696 you were invited to submit a dialogue in verse between two body parts, composed on the occasion of a hangover. Kingsley Amis described the opening of Kafka’s Metamorphosis as the best literary representation of a hangover, though many might argue that the crown belongs to Amis himself for his hilarious account of Jim Dixon’s self-inflicted wretchedness. My favourite is Ogden Nash’s opening to ‘They Won’t Believe, on New Year’s Eve, That New Year’s Day Will Come What May’: ‘How do I feel today? I feel as unfit as an unfiddle,/ And it is the result of a certain turbulence in the mind and an uncertain burbulence in the middle.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's Competition In Competition No. 2694 you were invited to provide the female equivalent to Shakespeare’s Seven Ages of Man. Thanks to Phyllis Reinhard who submitted a pithy, witty entry that triumphed, she confesses, in a similar competition run by Another Magazine a decade or so ago. This disqualifies it from a place in this week’s winning line-up but not from being reprinted below for our pleasure: Pampers, pull-ups, PMS, Playtex pads, the Pill, Provera as your HRT, Then Pampers ...life’s a thrill. The overall standard was high, and other competitors who impressed and amused were Noel Petty, David Duncan Jones, Jayne Osborn, Virginia Price Evans and Janet Kenny. The winners, printed below, get £25 each.

In Competition No. 2693 you were invited to supply a hitherto unpublished extract by Lewis Carroll relating the further adventures of Alice. The location was left up to you. Parliament was the most popular choice of venue, which was no surprise. Westminster feels like a natural successor to Wonderland, with its circular arguments, twisted logic and cast of bickering contrarians. Unlucky losers this week were Frank McDonald, John O’Byrne and Max Ross. In the money, to the tune of £30 apiece, are the winners, printed below. Brian Murdoch bags the bonus fiver. Alice’s chair expanded, then she was in a room full of people, all screaming. Alice shouted, ‘Order! order!’ imperiously, and they went quiet. She pointed at the front row and said, ‘First Boy!

Lucy Vickery presents this week's competition In Competition No. 2692 you were invited to supply a poem suitable for inclusion in Now We Are Eighty-Six. A strong entry fell into two camps: those infused with the gung-ho spirit of Jenny Joseph’s ageing purple-clad heroine (‘When I am an old woman I shall wear purple/ With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me...) And those that have more in common with the drool, incontinence and baffled absence of Philip Larkin’s ‘The Old Fools’. There are no prizes for looking on the bright side, I’m afraid: it’s the gloom-mongers who dominate the winning line-up below and nab £25 apiece. Noel Petty gets £30.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's competition In Competition No. 2691 you were invited to submit toe-curlingly bad analogies. Gratitude and respect to my opposite number over at the Washington Post’s Style Invitational contest from whom I plundered this idea. So impressed was I by the sublimely funny winning entries this challenge generates across the pond that I felt compelled to throw down the gauntlet to Spectator competitors. You did me proud: I squirmed and chuckled my way through an entry of inspired awfulness. The first five winners, printed below, pocket £18 each; the rest get £10.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's competition In Competition No. 2690 you were invited to invent names to fit jobs. This assignment was suggested to me by a regular and long-standing competitor-who-wishes-to-remain-nameless, and was also a favourite of the brilliant Mary Ann Madden, who for many years presided over New York magazine’s literary competition. Several of you fondly remembered Kenneth Tynan’s superlative ‘Charles Louis D’Ince’, bandleader, while Nigel Harding drew my attention to a Radio 4 report some years ago about an American financial planner called Rosie Scenario. Cyberspace is groaning with websites giving lists of comedy names of this ilk so I was looking for unprecedented levels of wit and ingenuity.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's Competition In Competition No. 2690 you were invited to invited to submit quatrains reflecting on current events in the Middle East in the style of Edward FitzGerald/Omar Khayyam. FitzGerald is, of course, master of the beautifully turned aphoristic phrase. And, as Cedric Watts points out in his introduction to the Wordsworth Classics edition of the Rubaiyat, though he makes it looks effortless the rhyme scheme he uses in his translation — mostly AABA, though occasionally AAAA— is difficult to maintain; especially, as he does so fluently, for stanza after stanza. So the bar was set high. Frank McDonald triumphs this week and bags the bonus fiver. His fellow winners get £25 each. Awake!

Lucy Vickery presents this week's competition In Competition No. 2688 you were invited to submit a short story incorporating six book titles. A deceptively straightforward assignment, this one. It is trickier than you might think to weave titles into prose in a way that is both unstilted and inventive — without compromising the quality of the tale. There was no upper limit on the number of book titles used and many of you seemed hellbent on packing in as many as possible, which didn’t gain any extra points, I’m afraid. Commendations to J. Seery, Pete Ritchie and Geoff Muss. The winners, printed below, get £25 each. Frank McDonald scoops £30.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's competition In Competition No. 2687 you were invited to take a well-known poem, change one letter in the first line and continue the poem for up to a further 15 lines. Oh, for more space to do justice to a truly stellar postbag! It was agony whittling the entry down to just six. Deserving of a standing ovation at the very least are Robert Schechter, Gillian Ewing, John Whitworth, Iain Crawford, Chris O’Carroll, George Simmers, David Silverman and Martin Parker. The winners get £25 each, except Basil Ransome-Davies, who gets £30. She lied in the upstairs bedroom till she thought her tongue would bleed; he was halfway wise, but he bought her lies with the currency of need.

Lucy Vickery presents this week's competition In Competition No. 2686 you were invited to submit a love letter from one fictional character to another. An entertaining postbag included this endearingly cack-handed overture from Bridget Jones to Rochester: ‘the word is you are sex on legs, and I’ve been rather short in that department lately. Well, for a bloody long time. Ever get depressed and want to do tons of smoking, drinking and comfort eating?’ (Basil Ransome-Davies). And this touching attempt by Long John Silver to woo Miss Havisham: ‘Though ’tis true there be as many women as fish in the sea, there’s none matchin’ you, nor another as stirs up such great expectations in me.’ (Alan Millard).

Lucy Vickery presents this week's competition In Competition No. 2685 you were invited to submit a marital dialogue in verse. The scene set was one of interspousal disharmony: a domestic hell peopled by a familiar cast of nagging frigid wives and long-suffering, emotionally disengaged husbands. Not much ammo there for the pro-marriage lobby, then. Tim Raikes, Bill Greenwell and Josephine Boyle were only narrowly eclipsed by the winners, printed below, who are rewarded with £25 each. Max Ross nabs the extra fiver. Shall I compare thee to a summer day? No, no — I need to sleep. No time for play. Then, dear, make me immortal with a kiss. I told you I’m too tired. Don’t take the piss. You walk in beauty like the night, I think. Please go to sleep.