In Competition 3358 you were invited to submit a passage in which Gulliver travels to a Taylor Swift concert and recounts his impressions. By and large it was felt that he would succumb to fandom, though a few were more sceptical – George Simmers found him observing: ‘Of all the Laputan scientists none received more acclaim than the philosopher who had devised a scheme for the infinite accumulation of money. I asked how this was achieved and was told, cryptically, “Merch.”’ There were a lot of very lively entries, and those printed below win £25.
Despair had almost overcome me after three days at sea, but on the fourth morning I spied a strange shore and made for it with the last of my effort. Little did I know that after painful years of travel I had found the land of angels. I would call it Heaven, but its true name is Erastour. The natives of Erastour are girls. The youngest are mere children of 11 and none are older than 26. (I know not what befalls those who exceed this age: exile to the neighbouring land of Coldplay, perhaps?) The Erastourians are happiest when worshipping their goddess, a shining creature strangely clad in men’s hose and riding boots who hovers on high and leads them in prayer while a million candles dazzle the eyes and the trumpets of Jericho assail the ears. After my cruel summer, I like it here all too well.
Joseph Houlihan
On arrival at the big top, I presented a scrap of parchment at the outer portal to the effect that I, Lemuel Gulliver, had been invited by my author’s niece, Taylor, to see her perform her Eras act, which I naturally imagined would move gradually from the ancient Mesopotamian civilisations to the present day. The doorman examined my letter of introduction, and said, rather scornfully, I thought: ‘Lemuel? Was that your Uncle Lemmy in Motörhead, then?’ Such gibberish did not, however, impede my progress towards my seat, from where I could see an audience full of outrageously … insubstantial … trapeze artist costumes, complete with floppy beaded bracelets, which people gave to complete strangers as a token of ‘friendship’. When Miss Swift herself appeared, it was to a deafening, gunpowder-accompanied fanfare, and she trilled and re-dressed continually throughout the evening. I had expected but little enjoyment; how mistaken I was!
Nicholas Lee
We were driven by a sequinned storm of Swiftians to the arena. Twelve Eras fans were overcome by immoderate screaming and excitement. I found my arms strongly fastened with friendship bands. I heard a roaring noise about me, directed at the occupant of the stage. I perceived it to be a human creature not six feet high, with a microphone in her hand and a corps of singers at her back. The lady wore several slender ligatures across her body, which I understood to be costumes, from her arm-pits to her thighs. A hundred lyrics pricked me like swords; there was guitar-strumming, piano-playing, synchronised dancing, pyrotechnics, arm–waving, rapid costume changes, then another volley of songs greater than the first. I could observe many anthems ribbing former lovers, and others of lavender hazes, champagne problems and karma. I shouted for joy, and danced; I could not shake it off.
Janine Beacham
While a Traveller’s chief Aim should be to make Men wiser and better I confess myself sorely tested by my Encounter with the Yahoos, and fearful of any mass of People for their Smells, Braying and Rudeness. I am not the Man I was. Yet a medical Friend urged a benevolent Immersion in the Culture of the Swifties and their Adoration of a Vocalising Artist. While I resisted he persisted, until Fate found me swept along in their midst into a Brobdingnagian arena. Their Smell was cleanly, like warm Hay. Their whoops and gurgles, while not musical, yet had a kindly Cadence. Their Artist, being of a pleasingly wholesome Demeanour and less immodestly attired than many of her Ilk, commended herself to me by espousing the Cause of torturing Poets. My hearing is not was it was but this was music to my ears, and to all around me.
D.A. Prince
When I awoke, I beheld an astonishing sight. I was in a huge amphitheatre, amongst a hundred thousand excited, brightly dressed folk, known as ‘Swifties’. Enquiring as to the purpose of this gathering, I was met with disbelief. ‘Don’t you know, bro? It’s Taylor!’ My strange new companions were worshippers of their beloved local goddess, Taylor. For all their exuberance, however, their country was under a curse. One leader was unable to construct a sentence. The other, Cassandra in reverse, was condemned to speak in untruths, only to be believed by his benighted followers. The people turned to Taylor for solace, having each sacrificed a year’s wages on tickets. When she appeared, they were in raptures. A goddess, dazzling to behold, with the voice of an angel and a message of profound inspiration: ‘Shake, shake, shake, shake, you gotta shake it off, yeah, hoo-hoo-hoo…’ I confess that I was moved.
David Silverman
I came at last to the land of the Swifties, a tribe reminiscent of the Weenyboppers who once dwelt in the lost kingdom of Bieber, diminutive females, evincing unearthly shrieks and wails. Clad in immodest apparel of a pinkish hue, they had gathered to salute their empress. Girt around their wrists were bracelets, glowing eerily. I could only conjecture that these performed some ritualistic function, for when the empress, by an act of artful necromancy, appeared as if from nowhere, her subjects raised their arms, bracelets aglow. Her Majesty proceeded to sing and play on the harpsichord, arousing a fervour in her audience that I had not hitherto seen. I staid in that place not above three hours but to my astonishment I began to conceive a violent affection for the empress and resolved never to quit her realm. My travels were at an end. I had become a Swiftie.
Sue Pickard
No. 3361: To the letter
You’re invited to submit a passage or poem where the meaning has been affected by a missing, substituted or surplus letter here and there, e.g. damp squid, naive oyster (150 words/16 lines max). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by 31 July.
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