Lucy Vickery

In Competition No. 3292, you were invited  to provide a poem to mark the death of Betty Boothroyd. The formidable Lady Boothroyd – the Guardian obituarist’s description of her exuding ‘warmth and wit’ and ‘a whiff of glamour’ was spot-on – brought out the best in you. There were neat acrostics from David Silverman and David Shields, and head--turning double dactyls from Richard Spencer and Alex Steelsmith. Here are Mr Steelsmith’s final two quatrains: Eulogists speak of herHonourability;Countless admirers, whileRaising a cup, Picture her shatteringParadisiacalCeilings of crystal whereTime’s never up. It was a struggle to whittle down a large and stellar field, and Janine Beacham was only just nudged out of the prizewinning line-up.

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 Competition No. 3290, you were invited to recast the Lord’s Prayer as a sonnet. The late Frank Kermode reckoned that any schoolboy can write a sonnet, but this challenge was a deceptively simple one; as Nick MacKinnon observed: ‘the Lord’s Prayer is very efficient’. Nonetheless, it drew a large and witty haul, in which some competitors chose to put more of their own spin on the original than others, making a pleasingly varied entry. Jennifer Zhou, Ann Drysdale, John Wood, George Simmers, David Silverman, Lachlan Rurlander and Simon May stood out, but the £20 prize goes to the seven below. Our Father, Sister, Mother – gender-freecelestial deity, by all extolled,it’s said one day you’ll visit us to seeif we conduct our lives as we’ve been told.

In Competition No. 3289, you were invited to provide an extract from a politically correct version of a work by an unreconstructed male novelist or poet.  An honourable mention to Alex Steelsmith for his reimagining of ‘Song of Myself’ by Walt Whitman, celebrated poet but also author of the long-forgotten Manly Health and Training in which he prescribes a meat-only diet, naked sunbathing and the avoidance of the draining company of women. Here is a snippet:  My pronouns are They, Them and Theirs.(I am large, I contain multitudes.

In Competition No. 3288, you were invited to supply a sonnet on an embarrassing ailment. To make space for as many winners as possible, I’ll keep it brief: in an amusing and accomplished entry, the sonnets below nosed ahead of the pack and earn their authors £15. They flee from me that sometime did me seekOr make excuse to end our conversation;They turn away when I begin to speakOr greet me with a look of consternation.I wondered many times about the causeNor could I fathom why I should feel shame;I asked myself why I got no applauseWhen I said something, but no answer came.And then one day a visit to the docRevealed the cause of each departing friend;The fetid breath I breathed produced a shockAnd brought a meeting to a speedy end.

In Competition No. 3287, you were invited to supply a review of a film, novel, poem or play in the style of a writer for whom the theme might be deemed an appropriate choice. Thanks to Philip Stevens for suggesting this terrific challenge, which attracted a sizeable and stellar entry. Honourable mentions to Moray McGowan’s Kafka on The Very Hungry Caterpillar (‘There is a story here, but it needs something more radical, perhaps even wildly implausible, to make it more realistic.’), Chris O’Carroll’s T.S. Eliot on James and the Giant Peach and Russell Chamberlain’s Jeremy Clarkson on Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. In an especially hotly contested week, the winners below snaffle £25 apiece.

In Competition No. 3286, you were invited to submit a toe-curling Valentine poem to Harry, or to the love object of your choice. Meghan and her frightful poems were the inspiration for this assignment but perhaps we should cut her some slack; as Carol Ann Duffy has said, love poetry is the hardest to write. Mindful that some may be heartily sick of the Sussexes and their shenanigans, I widened the brief, and while most of you had Harry in your amorous sights, other love objects ranged from Sergei Lavrov to Nicola Sturgeon. Honourable mentions, in a smallish and patchy entry, go to Richard Spencer, Robert Schechter, Susan Firth and Nicholas Lee. Also eye-catching were John O’Byrne’s tri-ple haiku to Alexa and David Shields’s Betjeman-inflected Valentine to Jacob Rees-Mogg.

In Competition No. 3285, you were invited to supply an extract from the libretto of a musical based on the life story of a politician. Berlusconi: A New Musical, which comes to Southwark Playhouse next month, is described enticingly on the theatre’s website as ‘a hilarious, naughty, noisy exposé of the original perma-tanned media mogul and populist politician… like Evita on acid’.  Tim Rice didn’t get much of a look-in in the entry, swept aside by the spirits of Sondheim, W.S. Gilbert, Irving Berlin and Oscar Hammerstein. Opening the show is Basil Ransome-Davies’s riff on Frank Loesser’s ‘If I Were a Bell’ . He and his fellow winners pocket £30. An honourable mention goes to Sue Pickard.

In Competition No. 3284, you were invited to supply a topical short story that begins with the last line of a well-known novel and ends with the first. Much has been written about the rise of AI bot ChatGPT (from zero users to several million its first two weeks!), and reader Alistair Kelman fed it the last and first lines of Nineteen Eighty-Four to see how it would fare with this challenge. There’s no room to share the result, alas, but I can say that while it won’t be winning any prizes for now, the bot’s performance was a marked improvement on that of a predecessor, GPT-2, set the same task a few years ago. So watch this space. Brian Murdoch described this as ‘an interestingly difficult assignment’ which was evidently a good thing judging by the mammoth entry.

In Competition No. 3283, you were invited to submit ‘A Peer’s Lament’. There was a smattering of references to Baroness Mone, whose travails prompted this challenge. But of course members of the Upper House have plenty to worry about besides, as winningly detailed in a lively and varied entry that contained echoes ranging from Poe, Belloc, Thomas Hood and W.S. Gilbert to Boney M. The winners earn £25. By these drivellers of babble-on who wouldn’t weep? No wonder so many just drift off to sleep When others talk nonsense that leaves us agog With claptrap as clear as a thick London fog. There are those like the ‘Churchill dog’ stuck in a car Who nod as if listening then rush to the bar.

In Competition No. 3282, you were invited to submit a short story narrated from an un-usual perspective. The seed for this challenge was Kim Stanley-Robinson’s cli-fi novel Ministry For the Future, described by the New Yorker as ‘both harrowing and heartening’. One of its chapters is narrated by a carbon atom, another by the market; a literary device informed by Bruno Latour’s actor-network theory (the idea that non-human entities have agency). Honourable mentions go to Bob Pringle, Joe Bogle, Martin Leigh, C-A Herstedt and Frank Upton. The winners, printed below, are awarded £25 each. When first I began to clear, Haggie realised he was – somehow – still alive. Very little else was, so it seemed.

In Competition No. 3281, you were invited to provide 16 lines of cheerful welcome to 2023 in the metre of Tennyson’s ‘In Memoriam’. ‘Ring out the old, ring in the new,’ wrote the poet in ‘Ring out, wild bells’, part of ‘In Memoriam’. Hats off to all: it was a terrific entry – cheery but with the occasional gratifying sting in the tail. The winners take £25. Ring out wild bells for ’23,    Forget the country’s woeful state:   With luck, inflation will deflate,In time we’ll all be Covid-free. Ring out the old, ring in the new    As PMs come and PMs go,    Though all is blue, the wind may blow –Bring changes of a different hue.

In Competition No. 3280, you were invited to submit an updating of W.H. Auden’s ‘Night Mail’ entitled ‘Email’. ‘Night Mail’ was written to accompany a section of the excellent 1936 documentary about the London to Glasgow Postal Special directed by Basil Wright and Harry Watt (who described Auden as looking like a ‘half-witted Swedish deckhand’). Auden used a stopwatch as he was writing to ensure that each snippet of spoken verse fit the shot on which it commented. ‘We were experimenting to see whether poetry could be used in films,’ he said, ‘and I think we showed it could.

In Competition No. 3279, you were invited to submit an extract from a contemporary reimagining of Charles Dickens’s A ChristmasCarol. In 2018, the former children’s laureate Michael Rosen updated the novella – my ‘Ghostly little book’ as Dickens called it – for a 21st-century age of austerity; fast forward a few years and its themes and moral message strike more of a chord than ever. But it’s not all doom and gloom. This week’s brace of entries was a spirit-lifting pleasure to judge, as were all your submissions over the course of the year. Thank you to veteran competitors and newbies alike. The festive winnings of £30 each are awarded to those printed below. A Merry Christmas to you all. ‘I am the Ghost of Christmas,’ said the Spirit.

In Competition No. 3278, you were invited to supply a well-known writer’s response to the question what makes the perfect citizen? In 1970, as part of a school project, a ten-year-old wrote to Charles M. Schulz to ask him a similar question. But the boy asked what makes a ‘good’ rather than ‘perfect’ citizen, and this is how the Peanuts creator replied: ‘I think it is more difficult these days to define what makes a good citizen than it has ever been before. Certainly all any of us can do is follow our own conscience and retain faith in our democracy…’.

In Competition No. 3277, you were invited to supply a poem to mark the 100th anniversary of the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb. Fifty years ago, amid a wave of Tut mania, some 1.6 million people queued up to see the boy king at the British Museum. Nick MacKinnon and his mum were among them and he earns a commendation for his account of their outing. In a diverse, clever and technically accomplished entry, Roger Rengold, A.H. Harker, Michael Jameson, Paul A. Freeman, Donald Mack and Robin Hill also shone, but the prizes go to the seven printed below, whose authors snaffle £20 each. Three thousand years of strangers own his bones And traffic in the trappings of his reign – From mummy mask of gold and precious stones To canes that helped him limp with bent-foot pain.

In Competition No. 3276, you were invited to supply an extract from the memoir of a celebrity with some unfortunate misprints. Step forward, Nick MacKinnon’s Matt Hancock: ‘I was sorry that “bushtucker trials” wasn’t a typo, as I am expert at handling pubic heath during box-tickling exercises on hidden cameras’; Basil Ransome-Davies’s Nigel Farage: ‘I proudly affirm that Make Britain Grate is the slogan of a go-ahead, viral nation. Believe me, as president of the Deform UK Party, I swear that Britain comes above all…’; and, last but not least, Brian Murdoch’s Prince Harry, whose panic--inducing tell-all was the inspiration for this challenge: ‘Living with the pressures of loyalty didn’t agree with us, and we decided to lie in California.

In Competition No. 3275, you were invited to follow the format and formula of Lewis Carroll’s ‘The Mad Gardener’s Song’ and supply a poem entitled ‘The Deluded Politician’. The same challenge was set 15 or so years ago, and on that occasion Tony Blair hogged the limelight. This time around, you were rather more spoiled for choice. Here’s a snippet from Hugh King: He thought he saw ahead of him A glittering career, But soon his mediocrity Became entirely clear, And he, a crass celebrity, Cried ‘Get me out of here’ Entries were uniformly excellent and it was painful whittling it down to just the five below, who take £30 each. He thought he saw a bison with A teapot made of Spode; He looked again and found it was the Ministerial Code.

In Competition No. 3274, you were invited to supply toe-curling analogies. Bad writing has attracted some high-brow fans. J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis revelled in the overwrought prose of the ‘uniquely dreadful’ Amanda Kittrick Ros, and used to take it in turns to read aloud from her work to see which of them could last longer without laughing. Some competitors accompanied their entries with apologetic notes, commiserating with me for having to judge this challenge, but it was a hoot. The winners earn a fiver per analogy. His hand slid up her thigh like a string of partly defrosted sausages that had been imbued with lascivious intent, inexpertly animated, but then denied any sense of decorum.

In Competition No. 3273, you were invited to supply a poem addressing a well-known poem of your choice. In a keenly contested week, honourable mentions go to Robin Hill’s response to John McCrae’s 1915 rondeau ‘In Flanders Fields’ (which was rejected for publication by this magazine), Chris Ramsey and Alex Steelsmith. The winners take £20.