Lucy Vickery

In Competition No. 3114 you were invited to submit estate agents’ details in the style of a well-known author.   Highlights, in a cracking entry, included Jeremy Carlisle’s Hemingway: ‘Who needs a house? Certainly no real man known to this agency. Cabin by lakeside for sale… A cabin of strong oak-framed construction. The timbers are as honest and straight as the men who worked them…’; Bill Greenwell’s Harold Pinter: ‘I mean, if you want cosy, I can do you cosy. Cosy. Bijou with all the trimmings, no word of a lie…’; Frank McDonald’s Oscar Wilde: ‘Here is security wrapped in splendour, with all the intoxication of alcohol. There is nothing to declare about the architect but his genius.

In Competition No. 3113 you were invited to submit an acrostic poem about a politician in which the first letter of each line spells the name of that politician.   While most of set your sights on modern-day politicians, David Silverman (as well as his poignant prizewinning haiku) penned a double-dactylic portrait of Caesar Augustus:   Cheesius Maximus: Augustus Caesar Empowered the People and Senate of Rome. Annexed Hispania; Raided North Africa; Authoritarian — Unless at home… Ian Barker earns an honourable mention, the winners below take £20. Joyless autumn day: Falling like cherry blossom, Killed from grassy knoll David Silverman   Wily old warhorse, you made your name great In leading your country to fight against Fate.

In Competition No. 3112 you were invited to submit an extract from Gilbert & Sullivan’s The Brexiteers.   The title of this new addition to the G&S canon was, of course, a nod to The Gondoliers. But in an entry both serious and silly, full of wit and whimsy, you also plundered The Mikado (‘Four little maids in politics, we,/ Boris-resistant as can be…’), Iolanthe (Lord Chancellor’s ‘Nightmare Song’) and H.M.S. Pinafore (‘Ring the merry bells for Brexit!’), among others. There were stellar performances from Max Gutmann, Sylvia Fairley, David Shields and D.A. Prince. They were only narrowly outstripped by the winners below, who earn £30 each.

In Competition No. 3111 you were invited to submit William Topaz McGonagall’s poetic response to Magaluf.   The Tayside Tragedian was much taken with the town of Torquay, and wrote a poem singing its praises. But what would he have made of Shagaluf? He took a dim view of alcohol, if these lines are anything to go by:   Oh, thou demon Drink, thou fell destroyer; Thou curse of society, and its greatest annoyer. What hast thou done to society, let me think? I answer thou hast caused the most of ills, thou demon Drink. Some of you clearly reckon, though, that beneath the teetotal, God-fearing façade lay something altogether wilder. Over to the winners, who pocket £35 each.

In Competition No. 3110 you were invited to provide a version of the hokey-cokey filtered through the pen of a well-known writer.   Thanks to George Simmers and C. Paul Evans, I now know that doing the hokey--cokey — said by some to have been composed by Puritans in the 18th century to mock the Catholic mass — could constitute a hate crime. Mr Evans weaved this into his amusing take on Kipling’s ‘If’. Equally enjoyable were reworkings by D.A. Prince, David Silver-man and John O’Byrne of Henry Reed’s ‘Naming of Parts’ (‘Today we have shaking of parts…’) and Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of My Self--Humiliation’, courtesy of Mark McDonnell. There was so much to admire.

In Competition No. 3109 you were invited to submit a short story entitled ‘The Last Bumble Bee’. The buff-tailed bumblebee, Bombus terrestris, was once voted Britain’s favourite insect, and this challenge seemed to strike a chord, inspiring stories that ranged from the topical to visions of a near-future of drone pollinators and enforced entomophagy. The winners earn £25 each. As B. came buzzing over the common, he noticed that he was alone. Where were his erstwhile friends? he wondered idly. They seemed to have packed up their hives and vanished, although some, he realised, had switched sub-genus, and were describing themselves as rumblebees, jumblebees, even zomblebees. Very discombobulating. Were they really of a different stripe?

In Competition No. 3108 you were invited to submit a sonnet with the following end rhymes: son, mire, fire, won, run, re-inspire, attire, spun, choice, rise, voice, air, spare, unwise. The end rhymes are taken from Milton’s Sonnet 20, ‘Lawrence of virtuous father virtuous son’. Milton was the most political of poets, and many of you followed his lead. Sergey Trukhtanov and Joe Houlihan submitted fine homages to Conan-Doyle. David Shields, Martin Elster, Jenny Hill and Tim Raikes also stood out. And props to clever John O’Byrne, who made his entry using first lines of Shakespeare sonnets (changing the final word to fit the brief). The winners, printed below, are rewarded with £20 each. Milton!

In Competition No. 3107 you were invited to provide an extract that is a mash-up of two well-known works of literature. The germ for this challenge was the discovery that Middlemarch was originally two separate works — a novel about the townspeople (the Vincys, Bulstrode, etc) and a short story called ‘Miss Brooke’, which focused on the country folk). Neither worked on its own, so Eliot stitched them together and, hey presto! I realised, reading your entries, that the brief had been ambiguous: while some of you lifted the exact text, others went for a looser approach. Both were permissible and both produced some terrific entries. Honourable mentions to Lauren Peon and ­Adrian Fry. The winners take £30 each.

In Competition No. 3106 you were invited to submit a poem with an ingenious twist at the end. This challenge, a popular one, was deceptively tricky and while there were many accomplished and enjoyable entries, none of your twists truly blew my socks off. Douglas G. Brown, Max Gutmann and Martin Elster were unlucky runners-up. The six below take £25 each.   The deadly battle is renewed each morning; The enemy, entrenched within the field, Defeated for a while at each day’s dawning, Regroups by night, yet I shall never yield.   I arm myself with blades that need no honing To face the war that must be fought each day, Steeling myself against the anguished groaning And cries of pain that permeate the fray.

In Competition No. 3105 you were ­invited to submit a fragment of commentary on the Women’s World Cup delivered by a figure from the world of fact or fiction, dead or alive.  From Joseph Houlihan’s William Mc­Gonagall, who chronicles the ­Scottish team’s defeat at the boots of the Auld Enemy, to R.M. Goddard’s Samuel Beckett — ‘Miss Reilly, a fugue of female feet at frolic, dribbles delicately past the centre forward and passes to the sweeper, then pauses to spit decorously on the greensward…’ — it was a cracking entry.  J. Seery and W.J. Webster earn honourable mentions, those printed below take £25 apiece, and woman of the match, D.A. Prince, pockets the bonus fiver.