In Comp. 3360 you were invited to submit a passage or poem in which a fictional villain offers their side of the story. There were multiple Satans, Jaws and Hannibal Lecters (chapeau to George Head’s version, just trying to solve the protein supply chain problem). There were also more Moriartys than you can shake a stick at – impossible to choose between them. Congratulations (and £25) to the following.
Serpent, since when has it been serpent, only it sounds worse than snake, which is what I am, and, by the way, we can’t talk, can we, so how am I supposed to have told that woman to eat that apple? If it was an apple – the official Genesis Report didn’t say. Snakes don’t eat apples anyway, we eat small furry rodents, so maybe I asked her to try a juicy fieldmouse? And
as for this crap about being used by the devil like a ventriloquist’s dummy, where does he come in? I can’t see any mention of him in Genesis either. It’s all a cover-up for an almighty celestial omniscience failure! The woman ignored the crackpot rules, fancied an apple, and Bob’s your uncle. She conned the bloke and put the blame on me. Condemned to crawl on my belly? I’m a bloody snake, how else do we get about?Brian Murdoch
Imagine that you’re stuck inside a lift
With Hamlet – or his father, all in armour:
My nephew and my brother (whom I stiffed)
Lived life as if it were a psychodrama
In which they starred, left Denmark on the brink –
Its claims to thrive were hopelessly forgotten.
Its world was like old cheese, began to stink;
As Hamlet said himself, its state was rotten.Besides, they were such bores. ‘To be, or not…?’
They chewed their cud like half-demented engines.
As Gertrude said, ‘They think it’s Camelot.’
She said, ‘My dear, to hell with petty vengeance.’
So there it was: mad Hamlet, skull-obsessed,
His girlfriend bullied, sent around the bend,
I had to act. Said Gertrude, ‘Do your best!’
I did – what is there left to reprehend?Bill Greenwell
When you see a junior colleague struggling with a moribund career, falling under the conspiracist spell, it is your duty, as both Inner Party man and friend, to intervene. I volunteered my time and considerable ministerial resource personally to shepherd Winston Smith through a programme of Conformity Training. Winston enjoyed my tutorials on the malleability of positive integers almost as much as I did and the technology-based pain management systems at my disposal added zip and zing to our conversations. I kept Winston, bruised from a break-up with his loose and unsuitable girlfriend Julia, in touch with his caring side, introducing him to my pet rodents, an encounter recall of which moves him deeply, even now. Thanks to me, Winston is a new man; I glimpse him sometimes on his way to the Newspeak committee sinecure for which I recommended him, or enjoying a drink at the Chestnut Tree Café.
Adrian Fry
My bloody deeds you may abhor,
but Scotland’s cold winds snap and bite,
and needlework’s a bloody bore,
my wicked plotting set me right.
The witches helped; all hail the king!
We knocked off Duncan, saving him
from golf and porridge, everything
that makes this land so deadly grim.
While queen I ruled as party host
’til Macbeth spoiled that fun of mine
by banging on about a ghost;
I blame it on the corky wine.
Then haggis poisoning did me in,
you call me fiendlike, you condemn,
but it was Scotland, not my sin
that put an end to Lady M.Janine Beacham
I met a knight, out in the meads,
Alone and whingeing, palely.
‘Good knight,’ said I, ‘Why whinge’st thou so?
Oh what on earth can ail thee?’‘Fair maid,’ moaned he, all woebegone,
‘What’s good about it, prithee?
But since thou seem’st a bonny lass,
I’ll gladly sojourn with’ee.’
I found him honey, relish sweet,
Along the riverbanks;
I lodged him in my elfin grot –
Heard ne’er a word of thanks!La Belle Dame Sans Merci – that’s me:
For none to me was shown.
So yes, the needy knight awoke
To find this bird had flown.David Silverman
I have my eccentricities, it is true. Plagued by insomnia, I keep odd hours and have adopted somewhat unconventional sleeping arrangements. My stewardship of the local blood bank has come in for criticism from key stakeholders and I admit that my method of sourcing the life-giving ichor is a little old-fashioned, but it is the established custom in this area and has been for centuries. I should know. But in my favour, I am a most hospitable host, often inviting guests round for a bite or two, and I am devoted to my sisters, leaping to their defence when they were accused of trying to seduce some puny, bloodless fellow who would have been of no interest to them whatsoever. As for my alleged nefarious activities in England, I have never even been there. What would I do in a dead and alive hole like that? One can only imagine.
Sue Pickard
Ernst Stavro Blofeld is my showbiz name,
But looking after moggies is my game.
I’ve tried with zest to get this message through,
But MI6 refuse to see what’s true.
They will insist on sending Mr Bond
To massacre myagentskeepers, who are fond
Of gathering in giantweapons zonesmeeting halls
And marching round in orange overalls;
They do it, though, to keep my cats amused.
Of lurid SPECTRE nonsense I’m accused!
SPEcial Cats Tame Rough England. Where’s the harm?
We live in Wiltshire, on a kitten farm!
It’s not as if we want to rule the world:
We’d like to see the flag of peace unfurled,
And live our life alone, in feline heaven,
But raise a claw at ghastly 007!Nicholas Lee
No. 3363: August society
You are invited to submit a poem about holidaymakers from a local’s point of view (16 lines max). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by 14 August. Last week’s closing date should have said 7 August – apologies.
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