In Competition 3378, you were invited to give the full 18th-century, mock-heroic, rhyming-couplets treatment to any trivial recent event. Whether this was applied to news stories or more personal minor tragedies, the standard was remarkably high, with near misses for Alan Millard, Max Ross, Elizabeth Kay, Jasmine Jones and others. It was also striking just how many Spectator readers are impressively knowledgeable fans of I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here! The following win £25.
As burnish’d russet fruit of spreading trees
Burst from their spiny nests across the leas,
Heroes were pitched in combat, ever bent
On triumph in a momentous world event.
For hark! The clash of conkers filled the air;
Who dealt the mightiest blows, attacked with flair?
One man yet rose triumphant from the fray,
‘The Conker King’ had conquered, won the day.
Victory, alas, can be a fickle friend
When there’s a hard-won title to defend,
Suspicion fell upon his winning bid:
A metal orb within his garments hid.
Said he, ’Tis there for laughs, I tell no lies.’
The judges deem’d it true, he kept the prize,
His name upon the trophy was engraved,
A hero crowned, his reputation saved.
Sylvia Fairley
Of caffeine and its mighty healing powers –
Which soothe away a thousand Whisky Sours,
Transform the darkest morning into light,
And bid the fiercest crapula take flight –
I sing. Come Muse! Inspire this dreadful tale
That all may learn their lesson, none may fail.
When Sol with startling brightness shone the ray
Which pierced the curtains, heralding new day,
I rose, and stumbling from the bed
Perceived a battle raging in my head
Between some Scottish malt and Spanish cava.
I knew at once the only cure was Java.
The kitchen soon I gained on falt’ring feet,
Gazed on the jars of storage – shining, neat –
And saw forthwith my life was quite undone.
Was there Nespresso? Reader, there was none.
Tom Adam
On Beans the cat, who went missing from his home near Glasgow and was found in Coventry three weeks later
Oh gentle muse, inspire us by any means
To honour the tale of wand’ring pussy, Beans.
Was he by the sylvan voice of Scylla called
To quit the sylvan groves of Cumbernauld,
Or persuaded to this audacious enterprise
By the seductive gleam of glitt’ring cats eyes
Or the fatal glamour of the M74/M6
Fast -flowing and treacherous as the Arcadian Styx?
A hundred leagues he roamed, so rare a feat that forthwith
Beans was defamed as a mythical Celtic cat-sith
Who, as shape-shifter, trickster, sly embezzler,
Assumed human form and hired a Tesla.
But we must stout Beans’s reputation defend
And in unlovely Coventry he would have met his end,
From Caledonian hearth and home untimely ripped,
But fortunate feline! He was microchipped.
Sue Pickard
Within the Tesco temple, sacred shrine,
Press’d olive oil in vessels plastic shine,
Its costliness the price of frankincense,
Or months of streaming services’ expense.
Belinda reached, as sylphs did twitch her ear,
Thrice warning when her tempted hand drew near.
As Eve plucked down the apple, Eden’s fall,
Did yearning maiden yield to siren call,
And so, as Grecian cunning toppled Troy,
Did Fate, and lust for liquid gold destroy.
She in her trolley placed the oil divine,
And purchased it for nine pounds ninety-nine!
The gods wept greatly from the glittering heights,
To see this holy grail fall; not to knights,
But to Belinda, bankrupt, tear-streaked, pallid,
For squandering upon on a garden salad.
Janine Beacham
On the recent theft of hams in Spain
Weep deep for Domingo Eiriz, new-bereft
Of Bacons stol’n by dint of diresome theft:
Four hundred acorn-fed Iberian Hams;
Boldest, most heinous of Hispanic scams.
To rub sal in the wound of their removal,
Each bore the Designation of Approval,
Mark of distinction, coveted cachet –
Tho’ Señor E could offer no ¡Ole!
Suspicion rife: mayhap a vill’nous ploy
Concocted by some disaffected boy?
Or Catalan curs and caitiffs, ’gaged to gauge
How hocking Hams might Beef up poor men’s wage;
Men who demanded, ‘Wife, what lies in larder?’
To receive the short retort, ‘¡Querido, nada!’
Notwithstanding Porker’s parts were cur’d,
One asks in very sooth, were they insur’d?
Mike Morrison
Great are the shocks when continents collide,
But greater those when women in their pride
Face off in battle. I sing fierce Colleen,
Of all brave Wags the true acknowledged queen,
When she discerned that tales quite out of line
Were spread about her, did Colleen repine?
She did not, but became a cunning sleuth,
Unflagging, strong, and valiant for the truth.
She found Rebecca Vardy was to blame;
Does that Rebecca hide her head in shame?
By no means! In the court her innocence
She pleads, but there are gaps in her defence.
Colleen triumphs! Aggrieved at having lost,
Now Vardy valiantly appeals the cost,
So back they go to court; their lawyers cheer
And contemplate a prosperous new year.
George Simmers
No. 3381: Quite a turn
You’re invited to write a proposal for the re-branding of a well-known product or entity which aims to orient it towards an entirely different market or audience. 150 words maximum. Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by midday on 2 January.
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