Literary competition

The latest competition called for limericks describing a feat worthy of inclusion in Guinness World Records. This assignment was a nod to my nine-year-old son, who is a big fan of astonishing facts. Every year, when he gets his mitts on the latest Guinness World Records, he follows me around the house bombarding me with them. To the records I’ve recently expressed amazement at — most people in a camper van; most basketball slam dunks in a minute by a rabbit; tallest ever domestic cat — you added the feats below, winningly celebrated in limerick form. Each one printed earns its author £9. Honourable mentions go to Clare Sandy, Jeffrey

The latest challenge, to compose sonnets containing household tips, saw you on sparkling form and there were plenty of stylish, inventive entries to choose from. I was riveted by your recommendations and hope to put some of them to the test, though I might just take John Whitworth’s word for it: (‘Prick sausages and they will never burst./ A pint of piss will slake a raging thirst.’) Commendations go to David Silverman, Joseph Conlon, Jennifer Moore, Fiona Pitt-Kethley and A.H. Harker. The winners earn £20 each. Basil Ransome-Davies trousers £25. Basil Ransome-Davies A healthy dose of vinegar will clean Your windows and wipe porn smears off your      

For the latest competition you were asked to compose poems about Big Ben’s bongs. The decision to remove the 13-tonne bell during the four-year restoration works on Elizabeth Tower has caused a right old ding-dong, with senior ministers, including the PM, joining the fray. There were lots of entries about health and safety gone mad, though given that being at close quarters to the Great Bell’s 120-decibel bong is the equivalent of putting your ear right next to a police siren, I am not so sure about that. Some of you, in a bid to be original, or perhaps just finding the whole kerfuffle too boring, composed entries about a

The latest competition invited poems in praise or dispraise of August. There was a whiff of collusion about the entry this week, so many references were there to rubbish television, rubbish weather, fractious kiddies, tired gardens, traffic jams; as Katie Mallett puts it: ‘A turgid time of torpor and delay.’ But there were some sparkling, inventive turns too. David Silverman was on pithy form: Oh, thou cruellest month! If August comes, then winter Can’t be far behind. And hats off to A.H. Harker’s well-made nod to Eliot, to Paul Freeman and to W.J. Webster, a rare but eloquent fan of August. The winners take £30 and John Whitworth pockets £35.

The idea for the latest competition came courtesy of Steven Joseph, who suggested that I invite competitors to change a letter in the title of a well-known play and submit a programme note for the new production. David Silverman’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Deaf started well but ran out of steam rather halfway through. Other promising titles that didn’t quite deliver included The Cheery Orchard, A Waste of Honey and The Wind in the Pillows. And no one, regrettably, did justice to The Bugger’s Opera. I admired A.H. Harker’s Cook Back in Anger — ‘an intense investigation of the stresses that competitors in Bake Off and Masterchef bring to their

The invitation to submit a poem about Larry, the Downing Street cat, went down well, attracting a hefty postbag. Larry, who came to No. 10 in 2011 from Battersea Dogs & Cats Home during David Cameron’s premiership, was left behind when the family moved on (though Mr Cameron denied that this was because he hated cats). The ten-year-old tabby’s patchy record as Chief Mouser — apparently he spends more time kipping than hunting down rodents — hasn’t dented his popularity; as well as having an impressive 136,000 followers on Twitter, he has inspired a book, a cartoon strip – and now a competition. Honourable mentions go to Sylvia Fairley, Frank

The latest challenge asked for a sonnet that takes as its opening line Keats’s ‘Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:’ (This was a sonnet Keats chose not to publish but transcribed into a long letter he wrote over a period in early 1819 to George and Georgiana Keats, his brother and sister-in-law.) The invitation drew a pleasingly large, inventive and witty entry which saw you deploy a range of sonnet patterns (there are some 30 variations of the form in The Oxford Book of English Verse). In an especially closely contested week, Julia Munrow, J. Garth Taylor, Chris O’Carroll, Susan McLean, Virginia Price Evans, Paul Freeman, Alanna

Kellyanne Conway’s alternative-facts interview earlier this year brought to mind Humpty Dumpty’s words from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass (‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less’), and it struck me that Donald Trump’s America might be a good candidate for the Carrollian treatment. A call for extracts from Alice in Trumpland produced a modest but accomplished entry. As I was reading through the submissions, it occurred to me what a shining example Alice sets, with her calm and clear-headed response to a disconcerting barrage of alternative systems of logic; the

Everyone loves a clerihew, its seems. The request for ones about contemporary politicians drew an enormous and excellent entry — from veterans and newbies alike — and even included a couple of limericks for good measure. For the avoidance of doubt, the clerihew is a comic four-line (AABB) poem characterised by metrical irregularity and awkward rhyme. Here’s an example from — who better? — the form’s inventor, E.C. Bentley: Sir Humphry Davy Abominated gravy. He lived in the odium Of having discovered sodium. Popular rhymes included ‘charmer’ and ‘Starmer’; ‘Boris’ and ‘Horace’; ‘Sturgeon’ and ‘burgeon’; ‘Corbyn’ and ‘absorbing’. Putin likes to ‘put the boot in’, apparently, and that David Davis

This week you were invited to fill a gap by providing lyrics for the European anthem. The powers that be behind the anthem, which has as its melody the final movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, chose to dispense with Friedrich von Schiller’s words. ‘There are no words to the anthem; it consists of music only,’ says the EU website, in bold type. My request for suitable words elicited an absorbing, inventive postbag. I wondered if anyone might revisit Schiller’s 1785 ‘Ode to Joy’ and repurpose the following lines: ‘Yea, if any hold in keeping/ Only one heart all his own/ Let him join us, or else weeping/ Steal from

For the latest competition you were invited to take inspiration from the recently published Walt Whitman’s Guide to Manly Health and Training and supply an extract from a similar guide penned by another well-known writer. While Whitman extols the benefits of stale bread and fresh air and cautions against eating between meals, Fiona Pitt-Kethley’s John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester advocates a rather less ascetic approach: ‘Swiving’s the only manly exercise/ To tone the glutes and work the inner thighs/ No bench presses, go press a wench instead./ Roll up your yoga mat and go to bed.’ In a small but distinguished entry Mike Morrison takes £30; his fellow winners are

The latest challenge was to supply a poem that takes as its first line W.S. Gilbert’s ‘A policeman’s lot is not a happy one’ but replaces ‘policeman’ with another trade or profession. Although this line doesn’t come until line eight in Gilbert & Sullivan’s ‘Policeman’s Song’, it was the opening I prescribed and so it was with a heavy heart that I had to disqualify some excellent entries that veered off piste (Judith McClure; Hilary Cooper; Charles Clive-Ponsonby-Fane; Carolyn Beckingham; Bill Greenwell). A competition-setter’s lot is not a happy one, then, but it does have its consolations and I was entertained — and informed — by your parade of teachers,

The request for a set of instructions for an everyday device that have been badly translated into English was prompted by the appearance in my Twitter feed of some oft retweeted instructions for a PVC mobile phone case. It was, the buyer was told, a device of ‘easy schleping and more function’ which ‘can be hunged up at the waist, hunged up at the cervix and free holding’ There are easy laughs to be had at the expense of poorly translated holiday menus, etc (albeit tinged with a guilty awareness of one’s own linguistic shortcomings), but the challenge here was to amuse while staying the right side of intelligible. This