No. 2524: Condensing Jane
You are invited to condense a Jane Austen novel into a limerick (maximum three entries each). Entries to ‘Competition 2524’ by 6 December or email lucy@spectator.co.uk.
In Competition 2521 you were invited to submit an anecdote by a dinner-party bore that culminates in the dubious claim, ‘And that is how I came to eat a cucumber sandwich with the King of Norway.’
When Jaspistos was in hospital earlier this year one of his fellow inmates liked to ensnare nurses in a vice-like grip and subject them to dull and lengthy anecdotes, one of which culminated in this triumphant final flourish.
The nurses no doubt had better things to do, but in my experience the truly dedicated raconteur is not in the least deterred by audience indifference, which simply reinforces a steely determination to plough on to the bitter end. There were some fine examples of death by anecdote. Commendations to Paul Griffin and J. Seery, whose opening was a cracker: ‘Some people say I suggested James Bond to Ian Fleming. Never met the fellow…’. Top marks, though, and the bonus fiver to Simon Machin’s bewildering yet oddly exhilarating attack of verbal diarrhoea. The other winners, printed below get £25 apiece.
…now this’ll amuse you what with poor Vera’s thyroid problem the Useless Quack recommends fjords and fresh air so I phone dear Roald Sophie lovely girl to tell him it should be a peach not a gooseberry and he puts in a word at the Oslo Hilton so its silver service and the Amundsen Suite our families go back well beyond the South Pole five famous Norwegians I can name 50 on the fingers of one hand not just whatshisname ‘Four Airedales’ anyway not trusting these continental buffets Vera brings down her Tupperware same design as the Queen’s talking of whom we spot young Harald over by the rollmops Vera waves it under his nose saying More Tea Vicar English isn’t too good poor chap he says ‘Takk’ face like a Munch painting and that is how I came to eat a cucumber sandwich with the King of Norway.
Simon Machin
We’d had it up to here with Grieg and Ibsen (bane of the Oslo posting) when the Ambassador suggested a return match, show ’em what the Brits can do. I thought he meant tennis, a chance to wipe the fjord with them, but no: he meant cultural stuff. I drew the line at poetry so he switched to drama, trumping Nordic gloom with our ace. Dear Oscar. Wouldn’t it be fun, said a newly appointed half-brain (Old Etonian, naturally) if we got some Norwegians alongside in the cast. Obvious answer was no — but his pa’s very high up, so it was yes — and not the minor roles either. I thought they’d field a few of the more sensitive under-secretaries, but we knew they were serious when they played a royal card. He turned down Lady Bracknell, preferring Jack. And that’s how I came to eat a cucumber sandwich with the King of Norway.
D.A. Prince
I’ve been in gnomes man and boy. Hooked up with Terry Major-Ball over the Garibaldisham contract, liked the cut of his jib. UK markets being pretty saturated we went international with the help of that politico brother of his. It turns out several European countries want gnome armies; ideal for state occasions, low maintenance. Terry naturally did them proud; Ruritanian uniforms, the works. Cut up rough when I told him they’d carry explosives. Stormed right out of the Oslo Arms Fair in a tremendous huff, even taking the tea and biscuits from our stand and leaving me with nothing to hand round but his somewhat stale sandwiches. I continued alone, chatting to a jolly well spoken, mild-mannered chap who only wanted to spend his peace dividend on something to ornament his ruddy garden. And that is how I came to eat a cucumber sandwich with the King of Norway.
Adrian Fry
There are not many Elvis impersonators in Scandinavia, so you tend to remember the good ones. Snaard Christiansen is the best, and he was appearing at the Holiday Inn, Oslo. I couldn’t get a ticket, and couldn’t have afforded the bar prices anyway. So I decided to break in. I climbed up the outside of the building, but I was nearly at the 18th floor before I found a window slightly open. I got in, and discovered it was Snaard’s suite. He stared at me and said, ‘Are you all right, boy?’ ‘No, I’m all shook up.’ He smiled. ‘There’s a whole lotta shaking going on.’ He was stunned that a fan had climbed all that way to see him, and asked me to share his room service buffet. And that’s how I came to eat a cucumber sandwich with ‘The King’ of Norway.
William Danes-Volkov
It was when I was working for MI8 — pianissimo, under-the-radar stuff. At the time our Norgie friends were heavily involved in shuttle mediation between two pretty dodgy parties, and HMG wanted a sniff around. So the Council set up a cover tour — ‘Scenes from Classic Plays’, Shakes, GBS, Oscar, etc., featuring a would-be theatrical knight needing brownie points, some West End flotsam, et petit moi — it seems someone in the mahogany office had seen my Hamlet at Oxford, and happily I had native-speaker Norwegian. Anyway, grand afternoon reception at the Oslo embassy, graced by King H. himself. Pleasant chap — we chatted about Ibsen, then he started on Wilde. Apparently he’d always wanted to play Jack in The Importance. Well, I had Algernon by heart from Harrow so I said, ‘Let’s do Scene One right here!’ We cleared a space, got him a text, and grabbed a passing food flunkey. And that is how I came to eat a cucumber sandwich with the King of Norway.
W.J. Webster
It happened on a Thursday last July. I know it was Thursday because that’s my wife’s Pilates day. Oh, no! I tell a lie! It’s usually Thursday but they’d changed it that week, so it was Wednesday …or possibly Tuesday …no, it can’t have been Tuesday because that’s quilting. Anyway, as I dropped her off, Maggie (she’s the woman who runs it) told me that John (we all used to work together) had been carted off by the men in white coats! So, the next day (or it may have been the day after) I went to see him. I was greeted by the usual celebrities you get in these places — Caesar, Napoleon, Stalin, Jesus — but John, typically, was the King of Norway — self-important but unimportant. He insisted I take tea with him, and that is how I came to eat a cucumber sandwich with the King of Norway.
Virginia Price Evans
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