Bill Greenwell When mithimade is allbijove Beneath a grayling moon Then hoey is the borigove And wethers are in spoon
When dunkum smit is gallowade Between the moggs and rees Ah join the giselous parade That bothams up the crease
How priti are the villiers Out whitting in the dales! How teehee utlier the furze And dahlia the mails!
Now tebbitly the daltreys sound To icke a trimble margin Now pole the deling kippers round That all may be faragin
Frank McDonald ’Twas brexit and the merkyl foes Did corbinate ’gainst lyb and labe. All quipsy were the borisgoves And the eukalips outgrabe. He took his spressie sword in hand; Longtime with brussel brouts he fought; On refugees by the kalaytrees He snirked in puffish plot. And hast though slain the Kamberon? O brexit joy, O gabrous gains! For now we’ll close the chunni gate And screep the euric chains. ’Twas brexit and the merkyl moaned In tadish tant and uffish shout, And while the Osbo grieved his loss The flabrous brits danced out.
W.J. Webster Jiggery pokery, Inners and outers; Mirrors and smokery, Shouters and doubters.
Numbery dumbery, Pick-your-own figures; Zeroey summery, Fudgers and riggers.
Puffery addery, Texters and posters; Battlebus gaddery, Shysters and showsters.
Batey debatery, Dingers and dongers; Oh so light-weightery Pingers and pongers.
D.A. Prince The Eeyore reefer-rending woes are multiplicious: neither toes nor fingers will suffice to clot this tarradiddliwobbly plot. What rancid govishness, what bosh of boorish doodle-dribbled tosh can madify this horrifee beyond the shores of Parody? But Eeyorins are muffly too, not compomens (like me, like you) and not the sortlish commeel types we’d want as chattipalli types. We haver, luffish, feary-brink, a blobblish floteabit or sink; no votely folk would think to bless the Prome who uprearraised this mess.
Brian Allgar Said the Loris to the Bhorris: ‘Shall we dance a manic Morris As we vote ‘Remain’ in Britain’s Referendum?’ ‘No!’ the Bhorris told the Loris. ‘Shakespeare said — or was it Horace? — Seas of troubles come from Europe, so let’s end ’em.’
Then the Farridge drove his carriage through the bureaucratic marriage Crying ‘Europe’s laws are broke, no way to mend ’em! I disparage such imparage,’ yelped the rabid, ranting Farridge. ‘Crooked treaties! Let us rip ’em up and rend ’em!’
But the Oyster grimly voiced a catastrophic fear: ‘You’d foist a Dreadful fate upon the British, for you’d send ’em As you roister,’ said the Oyster, ‘to a pauper’s cell or cloister, With your witless chant: EUROPA EST DELENDUM!’
Well, the Hatter found this chatter such a deep, perplexing matter That he wrote some letters, but forgot he’d penned ’em, And the clatter of the platter of the tea-preparing Hatter Woke the sleepy Dormouse: ‘What’s a Referendum?’
G.M. Southgate The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might. ‘Whatever we decide,’ Fred said, ‘WE may not get things right. We’re standing on the Dover cliff, Debating what to do, One half says ‘Leave’ and one ‘Remain’ One’s me, and one is you!’ Then four young voters hurried up, All keen to make their case, Two screamed, ‘let’s stay!’ two shrieked, ‘lets go!’ Fred cried ‘Oh, give me space!’ Then Mabel said, ‘I’ve come to earth, In fact I felt the bump — We’ve got to take some sort of stand: Let’s all hold hands, and jump!’
Your next challenge is to supply a report on a Uefa Euro 2016 match written in the florid style beloved of some sportswriters (150 words maximum). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 29 June.
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