Lucy Vickery

In Competition No. 3274, you were invited to supply toe-curling analogies. Bad writing has attracted some high-brow fans. J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis revelled in the overwrought prose of the ‘uniquely dreadful’ Amanda Kittrick Ros, and used to take it in turns to read aloud from her work to see which of them could last longer without laughing. Some competitors accompanied their entries with apologetic notes, commiserating with me for having to judge this challenge, but it was a hoot. The winners earn a fiver per analogy. His hand slid up her thigh like a string of partly defrosted sausages that had been imbued with lascivious intent, inexpertly animated, but then denied any sense of decorum.

In Competition No. 3273, you were invited to supply a poem addressing a well-known poem of your choice. In a keenly contested week, honourable mentions go to Robin Hill’s response to John McCrae’s 1915 rondeau ‘In Flanders Fields’ (which was rejected for publication by this magazine), Chris Ramsey and Alex Steelsmith. The winners take £20.

In Competition No. 3272, you were invited to imagine a well-known diarist, real or fictitious, commenting on contemporary events. This month marks the 40th anniversary of the debut of adolescent diarist Adrian Mole, and several competitors imagined what he would have made of these turbulent times. Here’s Janine Beacham: ‘I have tested positive for Covid, worse luck! All that hand-washing, social distancing and mask-wearing was for nothing. This is what comes of living in a cul-de-sac.’ Hats off to Sylvia Fairley’s Bridget Jones for her ability to find a silver lining: ‘Perpetua at her most obnoxious. Excellent news, mortgage on her millionaire home cancelled, thanks to fiscal catastrophe. Bought more chocolate. Feel fat and repulsive, but reprieve in sight.

In Competition No. 3271, you were invited to submit a poem about the Oxford comma. Thérèse Coffey’s much-maligned edict about this divisive piece of punctuation seems a long time ago now, but your entries – tremendous; well done – brought it all back. Though my head was turned by Frank McDonald’s villanelle, John O’Byrne’s haiku and Janine Beacham’s double dactyl, it’s the winners below who scoop £30. A memo arrived in the Coffey break for departmental circulation: ‘Whatever else may be at stake, the priority’s good punctuation.   ‘The NHS will have to wait, I fear this task has proved more pressing, I’ll set aside affairs of state, the Oxford comma needs addressing.

In Competition No. 3270, you were invited to submit a short story entitled ‘The Queue’. As well as inspiring this challenge, the queue to file past the coffin of Queen Elizabeth II during her lying-in-state in Westminster Hall spawned countless jokes and memes, obsessed crowd psychologists and became the top trending topic on Twitter. It now has its own Wikipedia entry. Commendations go to Paul D. Amer and Paul Freeman; the winners earn £25 each. Alone, Dmitri hobbled to join the queue, his arthritic bones aching and his aged eyes tearful. He could see only the shuffling throng ahead of him. The Mausoleum was still out of sight. Two, three, four hours, who knew?

In Competition No. 3269, you were invited to write a poem about Her late Majesty’s favourite things. Alongside the more familiar royal predilections – corgis, horses, Dubonnet and gin, Corrie, the colour blue – was the revelation that the Queen was partial to a spot of heavy metal, and in particular Ozzy Osborne, though perhaps that was just a flight of fancy. Most competitors went the Rodgers & Hammerstein route, but despite some inevitable repetition, it was an instructive and entertaining postbag. An honourable mention goes to Roger Dickinson, Brian Murdoch and Janine Beacham; the winners, printed below, receive £30 each.

In Competition No. 3268, you were invited to recast an extract from children’s literature in the horror genre. In the forthcoming indie slasher film Winnie-the-Pooh: Bloody and Honey, the seed for this challenge, an unhinged Pooh and Piglet run amok in Hundred Acre Wood, indulging in some eye-gouging and decapitation before gorging themselves on honey. Shudder. I was pleased to see the Cat in the Hat –who has always sent shivers down my spine – pop up several times in the entry. Seuss channellers Chris O’Carroll and Brian Murdoch were unlucky losers, pipped to the post by those below who snaffle £25 each.

In Competition No. 3267, you were invited to supply a song from the songbook of one of today’s corporate giants. Songs of The IBM, published in the 1930s, inspired this challenge, and you can listen to original renditions of zingers such as the hymn-like anthem ‘Hail to The IBM’ and the more jaunty, show tune-y ‘March on With IBM’ on the IBM website and on YouTube. Singing was encouraged by the company’s founder Thomas J. Watson Sr as a motivational tool and to inspire loyalty. Here’s a snippet from the rousing IBM Rally Song ‘Ever Onward’: The name of T.J. Watson means a courage none can stem And we feel honored to be here to toast the IBM.

In Competition No. 3266, you were invited to reimagine one of Philip Larkin’s poems in the style of a poet of your choice. This challenge was a nod to the centenary last month of the poet’s birth, the response to which – though the Philip Larkin Society was upbeat: ‘so much is happening!’ – seemed somewhat muted. So the enthusiastic response to this invitation was heartening. Congratulations and commiserations to unlucky losers Terry Parsons, Kit Wittering, Paul Freeman, Ann Drysdale, Atar Hadari and Joshua Kulseth. The winning entries earn their authors £30. Leading the way is Bill Greenwell’s John Betjeman, who described his friend Larkin as ‘tenderly observant’. I am a busy ambulance.

In Competition No. 3265, you were invited to submit a letter to a friend asking for a loan as it might have been written by a well-known character from the field of fact or fiction. John O’Byrne earns an honourable mention for his letter from Hamlet to Laertes. Equally impressive were Susan Firth, Mike Morrison, Ralph Bateman, J.C.H. Mounsey and John Megoran. But the cash prizes go to the winners, printed below, who pocket £25 each. When, in the course of domestic events, it becomes necessary for a man so to impose on the goodwill of his fellow creature, as to request of him pecuniary succour, assistance, and augmentation, it behoves him set out sufficient reasons for such trespass.

In Competition No. 3264, you were invited to submit a poem in response to the following journal entry by Wallace Stevens on 3 August 1906: ‘Engaged at the office all day on a sonnet – surreptitiously.’ For much of his life, the Pulitzer prize-winning Stevens was a vice-president at one of America’s leading insurance companies. He jotted down ideas for poems as he walked the two miles between his home and office in downtown Hartford – and evidently continued to work on them once he got there. But his efforts at surreptitiousness paid off. David Shields drew my attention to a remark by a colleague who expressed astonishment at learning of Stevens’s extracurricular activities: ‘Write poetry! Who, Wally?

In Competition No. 3263, you were invited to submit a short story, written in the style of a cosy mystery novel, with a topical twist. Subcategories in the wildly popular ‘cosy mystery’ genre include animals, crafts and hobbies, and culinary (Toast Mortem/Butter Off Dead) – all of which elements featured in a top-notch entry. Honourable mentions go to Sylvia Fairley’s Knit-and-Natterers and to Bill Greenwell’s twist on the Wagatha Christie case. The winners, printed below, are rewarded with £25 each. The tranquil Sunday afternoon in Cumberby was disturbed only by cricketing sounds. A huge six narrowly missed Miss Patchworth, cycling to the pillar-box with a poison-pen letter before going to evensong.

In Competition No. 3262, you were invited to submit a poem on behalf of Rishi Sunak or Liz Truss in which they set out their stall, the first letters of each line inadvertently spelling out an inappropriate word or phrase. As the Tory leadership contest limps towards its conclusion, you crafted some muscular last-minute pitches on behalf of the two hopefuls. The winners below snaffle £25 each. Look! I’m the face the country needs! You’ve seen the photos – loads! – they’re great! In every one I’m She-Who-Leads Negotiating for the State!  Grand deals! Delivered round the world! My Cheddar cheese! What triumph! God! You wait! Just watch my plans unfurled! Whack Civil Service pay! How odd –  And in the North! Did I say that?

In Competition No. 3261, you were invited to submit a poem about the James Webb Space Telescope. The first dazzling images captured by its infrared eyes were a welcome antidote to our terrestrial woes. They brought to mind the moment in the film Contact when Jodie Foster’s character comes face to face with a celestial object for the first time and says: ‘They should have sent a poet.’ So, it’s over to you. An honourable mention to Bruce Bennett; the winners below snaffle £25 each. Much have I travelled in the realms of space Past supergiants and dying galaxies, With floating rubble tossed on cosmic seas A million miles from Earth’s familiar face.

In Competition No. 3260, a challenge suggested by a reader, you were invited to reveal the existence of a hitherto unsuspected government department by means of a speech by its minister explaining its important policies. Among those entries with a distinct whiff of plausibility was Alan Millard’s Department for Silly Talks, which aims ‘to encourage the proliferation of senseless gobbledegook amongst politicians, professional groups and the general population so that anything anyone says becomes too unintelligible to understand’ and to thereby ‘disseminate utter confusion amongst the populace forcing them to accept parliament’s decisions by being too bewildered to challenge them’.

In Competition No. 3259, you were invited to submit a poem entitled ‘A(n) [insert county of your choice] Lad’. There has been quite a fanfare this year to mark the centenary of T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, but rather less attention has been paid to Housman’s Last Poems, also published 100 years ago. Hence this Housman-themed challenge, which attracted a smart and thoughtful entry with some nice Housmanian echoes. George Simmers’s offering also owes a debt to Monty Python’s Four Yorkshiremen. He and his fellow winners, printed below, take £25 apiece. You reckon you knew misery In Wenlock and on Bredon, You say the world weren’t good to thee? Well, it gave thee food to feed on.

In Competition No. 3258, you were invited to submit a postcard sent while on holiday in a well-known fictional destination of your choice. The enforced concision of postcard--writing sometimes produces little master-pieces. Alongside the clichés and forced jollity, you find lyricism and poignant detail. It’s a shame that people rarely send them these days. So hooray for your dispatchesfrom locations that ranged from H.P. Lovecraft’s Mountains of Madness to KirrinIsland. An honourable mention goes to Susan Firth for her reflections on Ambridge (‘I’m surprised to find how many people have been involved in crimes!

In Competition No. 3257, you were invited to summarise a film in limerick form. A nod to Ezra Haber Glenn, American academic, film reviewer and inventor of the filmerick. Here’s his take on Chloé Zhao’s 2020 Nomadland. They may think that you don’t have a plan, When they see that you poop in a can,       But it’s them that did go mad,       You hard-working nomad: You’ve a home on the road in your van. In a large entry, it was pleasing to see so many unfamiliar names rubbing shoulders with the vets. Honourable mentions go to Hugh Keyte, Janine Beacham, Mike Greenhough, Philip Machin, Dorothy Pope and Philip Wilson. The winners pocket £9 each.

In Competition No. 3256, you were invited to take a well-known poem and recast it as a short story. Ben Hale’s ‘The Cockney Amorist’ sent me back to the delights of John Betjeman’s debut album Banana Blush (dismissed by the poet himself as ‘a vulgar pop song record’ but a favourite of John Peel). An honourable mention also goes to Nick MacKinnon, whose ‘The Rabbit Catcher’ reunited Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. The winners earn £25 each. Dear Mother, just letting you know I got engaged to a subaltern after a tennis match. You know, that dreadful sport you consider so unladylike. You’ll never catch a man, Joan, you said, by racing boyishly around a court.

In Competition No. 3255, you were invited to submit a poem about imperial measures. Brian Bilston’s terrific poem ‘The Empire’s Old Clothes’ gave me the idea for this topical challenge, which proved hugely popular, drawing a gratifyingly large, varied and witty entry. Bob Johnston’s twist on ‘Ozymandias’ – ‘Look on my ounces, tons, slugs, and despair!’ – and Brian Murdoch’s bittersweet Villon-inflected submission – ‘And where are the measures of yesteryear?’– were in contention for the prizes, but they were nudged out by the winners below who are rewarded with £25 each. Full fathom five, the dead cat lies in peace, The fallen feline worth her weight in gold.