Lucy Vickery

Spectator competition winners: A peer’s lament

[Tim Graham / Contributor]

In Competition No. 3283, you were invited to submit ‘A Peer’s Lament’.

There was a smattering of references to Baroness Mone, whose travails prompted this challenge. But of course members of the Upper House have plenty to worry about besides, as winningly detailed in a lively and varied entry that contained echoes ranging from Poe, Belloc, Thomas Hood and W.S. Gilbert to Boney M. The winners earn £25.

By these drivellers of babble-on who wouldn’t weep?

No wonder so many just drift off to sleep

When others talk nonsense that leaves us agog

With claptrap as clear as a thick London fog.

There are those like the ‘Churchill dog’ stuck in a car

Who nod as if listening then rush to the bar.

My mum was a housewife; my dad was out working;

I wasn’t brung up to be waffling and shirking

While claiming expenses like this pompous lot

For just turning up or, in some cases, not!

I’m a grafter, not born with a posh silver spoon

Stuck in my gob and I’m no bloody goon.

If some of these idlers was working for me

They’d be off to some down and out café for tea.

No wonder I weep, they should all have retired,

If I had my way then I’d tell ’em, ‘You’re fired!’

Alan Millard

My blood is of the bluest blue.

My pedigree records

A family commitment to

The sacred House of Lords.

By what mad stroke was it possessed

To lose its moral compass

And make itself a rancid nest

Of spivs and counter-jumpers?

We farmed the pasture seasonly

While mining coal beneath it,

To build a noble legacy

Then to our heirs bequeath it.

But now alas we face the threat

Of closure by Keir Starmer,

A sad humiliation, yet

Perhaps that is our Karma.

Basil Ransome-Davies

Boris told me: On you go,

Park your bumsters on the plush –

Natter like a seasoned pro,

Or have a snooze, enjoy the hush:

No one cares, my dear old chum,

If you are one to rage and splutter,

Or one who never joins the scrum,

As silent as a pat of butter.

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