Spectator competition winners: Shall I compare thee to a Stilton? 

In Competition No. 3291, you were invited to provide a profile of a well-known person in which their qualities are compared to items of food or drink.

A commendation to Chris O’Carroll for his gastronomical portrait of Jeremy Clarkson – ‘…the scorching sarcasm he deploys in lieu of wit manages to combine the sadistic fire of Ghost Peppers, Carolina Reapers and the like with the sorry shapelessness of a bland swede mash or a gummy tangle of damp pasta…’ – and £25 to the winners.

Mr Lee Anderson is a giant cock-on-a-stick, Goose Fair’s abiding sweet treat, a sticky Nottinghamshire delicacy with a bit of bite – not something to chew over, more something ready to snap. In mellower moods, he is one of Nature’s Stilton cheeses – smooth and creamy, streaked with blue after he’s been needled, just a little bit nutty, outwardly rather crusty, a lovely old-fashioned taste, a traditional big cheese not suitable for vegetarians. Some have suggested he is like a lovely Midland pork pie, specifically a Gooseberry Pork Pie, with that sharp tang in the delightful way of the general impression of pig, with stout pastry and unquivering jelly. Eat him with a blunt knife. Bring him to your lips as often as you like, but you won’t find him in a food bank. And hang recipes! If you had a few more coppers, you could make him from scratch.

Bill Greenwell

Nicola Sturgeon’s sanctity was cold porridge to Boris Johnson’s coco-pops and Baileys; her virtue square as Lorne sausage after Alex Salmond’s battered chipolata. Her independence manifesto was delicious as a Burns Night haggis if you could stomach the unmentionables. She aerated the Scottish economy into public sector cranachan: homeopathic quantities of Moray oats and Tayside raspberries whipped up with gallons of Barnett-formula cream milked from the English taxpayer, served with the peaty smirk of a 50-year-old Laphroaig.