Your Ps and Qs

In Competition No. 2472 you were given ten words or phrases and invited to incorporate them, in any order, in a plausible piece of prose. Why, when I asked for a piece of prose, did four of you submit verse? Why did Mary Holtby, usually a skilled competitor, substitute ‘plague’ for ‘plaque’? Did D. Gibson think I would accept disposing of Plaque, Pique and Quid Pro Quo by making them three racehorses? And when I lay down ‘quip’ I am not prepared to accept ‘quipped’ or ‘equipment’. Still brooding over those who sadly disqualified themselves, I award Godfrey Bullard the top prize of £30 and the other prizewinners printed below £25 each. All credit to them; it wasn’t an easy challenge.

‘I never mind dogs,’ I protested, signifying a strong reluctance to look after my neighbour’s Pekingese during her absence. Misinterpreting this remark as canophilia, she proceed cheerfully: ‘See you brush his teeth regularly, to reduce plaque.’
‘If removing plaque’s a prerequisite of supervisory duties, I refuse — implacably!’ I replied, a quip which produced dangerous tension. ‘Sorry if I seem a pipsqueak, but as a dog-handler I’d outclass the most ill-placed square peg. Besides, I value my parquet flooring.’
‘How selfish can one get!’ she retorted.
By now our dialogue, if hardly Pinteresque, had attained quite dramatic proportions. ‘Your pique is clearly increasing,’ I remarked stiffly. She shot a bewildered glance at the tiny quadruped, which hadn’t altered….
Actually, I relented, tending Snuffles faithfully for a fortnight. But when I’m away, she’ll have to host my baby octopus collection as a quid pro quo — or should this be a squid?
Godfrey Bullard