No. 2549: New word order
The journalist Peter Lubin coined the word ‘sesquilingualist’ to describe people who have a smattering of a foreign language. You are invited to find a gap in the language and plug it, explaining the etymology of your coinage (150 words maximum). Entries to ‘Competition 2549’ by 12 June or email lucy@spectator.co.uk.
In Competition No. 2546 you were invited to submit a dialogue between unlikely pairs from real life or fiction who happen to share the same surname. I would pay good money to eavesdrop on an exchange between the truculent Fall frontman Mark E. Smith and the father of economics, Adam Smith; or guardian of moral rectitude Mary Whitehouse and the boundary-pushing comedian Paul Whitehouse. But there was more than enough in the way of fruitful pairings to keep me happy in the entry this week. G.M. Davis subjects Gary Cooper, whose monosyllabic replies speak volumes, to a barrage of verbal diarrhoea courtesy of Henry Cooper. And in a similar vein, J. Seery pits Jesse James, man of few words, against Henry James, man of many.
Commendations go to John Plowman, John O’Byrne and Mike Morrison, while the winners, printed below, get £25 each and Adrian Fry pockets £30.
Gordon Brown: Now William, perhaps we could profitably utilise the time studying the rudiments of economics, commencing with prudence.
William Brown: I don’t know this Prudence, but if she’s anything like that Bott girl what hangs around my Outlaws, I’m not interested.
GB: Prudence isn’t a girl, William; it’s a form of self-discipline.
WB: Why should I want to discipline me? It’s never me what thinks I’ve done anything wrong.
GB: Let’s explore another avenue. Imagine you’ve a bag of bullseyes in your pocket. You wouldn’t consume them simultaneously, would you?
WB: I couldn’t, could I? Not if they’re ’maginary like you said. Besides, there’s a dead vole in my pocket. I wouldn’t keep bullseyes in there, even Prudence’s rotten old ’maginary ones.
GB: I’m outlining the underpinnings of fiscal rectitude. If you don’t desist from interrupting, I’ll bloody…
WB: Didn’t you say prudence was all about self-discipline?
Adrian Fry
‘Oh, you’re Barbara Windsor! And what do you do?
‘Oooh, your majesty, I perform in front of the public.’
‘So do I! We may have more than a name in common.’
‘Not sure about that, ma’am. I started in carry-on farces where all the men around me were either randy old devils or a bit you-know-what. I was famous for my boobs.’
‘But that sounds just like one’s own family. Only it’s my husband who is famous for making boobs.’
‘Nowadays I play a landlady in a long-running soap opera, and the pub’s called the Queen Vic.’
‘Oh, great-great grandmama! We’ve got a statue of her just outside our house too, and my family is a bit of a soap opera. So let’s see: gawped at by the public, farces, screwed-up men, boobs, long-running rubbish and dear Queen Victoria! We must be related.’
Brian Murdoch
Marlow was as salty as Captain Ahab. I bought him a rum and we both lit our pipes. ‘So,’ I said. ‘This guy Kurtz. There was a dark side to him, right?’
‘Darker than you know, Marlowe. There was something inexpressibly tenebrous about him.’
‘Care to be specific?’
He didn’t. He gave me some bull about the truth being a husk, not a kernel.
‘Look, ’ I said. ‘If you want to pickle your brain in sugar juice that’s fine by me. We’ve all got our weaknesses. But I need answers.’
He peered in his empty glass.
‘What is civilisation, Marlowe? Just a fragile integument? Are we all atavists at heart?’
I’d asked for answers and only got questions. Looney tunes. It was one of those days, but what the hell. I signalled to the waiter. The old sea-dog had a story to tell, even if he wasn’t reliable.
Basil Ransome-Davies
Clive James: I’m honoured, sir, that you’ve seen my stuff.
Henry James: Diamoci del tu, my dear Clive. Life, even eternal life, is too short to be spent navigating the shallows of a self-conscious politesse. You must call me, as my once compatriots did, Harry.
CJ: Harry James! That’s like asking an acolyte to call Ignatius Loyola ‘Nat’.
HJ: Ah! You are wonderful in the earthy exuberance of your similes! But beware of letting such constructions stem the fluidity of discourse.
CJ: Touché. I sometimes think they’re like elaborate devices designed only to turn themselves on. I’m like —
HJ: Confining ourselves to the suppler medium of metaphor, let us say we share an adoptive country — a step-motherland, dictu, but of a benignity.
CJ: Benign! You polished your talent until it had the gleam of genius, yet they only delivered your O.M. just before the last post!
HJ: Too, I think, kind.
W.J. Webster
Boris Johnson: Dashed good to meet you, Doctor. I’d welcome advice, as a new Mayor of London.
Samuel Johnson: London, as I have said, contains all that life can afford.
BJ: In some cases today, for ‘life’ read ‘knife’.
SJ: Sir, it was ever so. ‘Slow rises worth, by poverty depressed.’ I too have walked the streets in poverty with Dick Savage, and experienced the ruffianly impudence of footpads. A big stick is a sovereign remedy.
BJ: It is hard to think of you as an Oxford man like myself.
SJ: No harm in Oxford, though it extruded me for my poverty. You have every advantage, sir. Enlist your Old Etonian acquaintance, but remember: while London is merely indifferent to the poor, it is positively destructive of the rich. Above all, remember the big stick.
Paul Griffin
‘Yes, sir, George Darling — familiarly known as “dog-kennel Darling”. It’s disgraceful to be in the dog house but I lost the children and vowed to stay here until they return.’
‘Alistair Darling at your service. My ambition was to be the people’s Darling but then I lost the child benefit data, got hit by Northern Rock, bungled the budget — you could say I am in a metaphorical dog house.’
‘I blame myself for having Nana, the Newfoundland, as nursemaid. I was a proud city gent who got his facts wrong. How about you?’
‘Not guilty — I blame the nanny state — policies I had to endorse. They call me Gordon’s poodle, yet I carry the can for getting the maths wrong.’
‘Look, man. Take it from me; a bit of “mea culpa” never did any harm. The kennel is quite comfortable. I’ll make room, Darling. Squeeze in!’
Shirley Curran
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