Victoria Lane

In Competition 3365 you were invited to submit an extract from a PhD about an aspect of street culture. Obviously this was inspired by Rachael Gunn, aka Raygun, the Australian academic/Olympic break-dancer who wrote a PhD on the cultural politics of breakdancing. This intro has to be short to make room for all the long

In Competition 3364 you were invited to submit a piece of psychogeography exploring a mundane journey. A cartoon in the Guardian recently defined psychogeography as ‘walking around criticising gentrification’ – though it can be down on decline too. One rule of thumb is that if you can imagine Will Self saying it, it’s probably right.

In Competition 3363 you were invited to write a poem about holidaymakers from a local’s perspective. Thanks to Paul Freeman for this suggestion. There was a lovely crop of entries and once again there were too many runners-up to single anyone out. The winners get £25. We hates and needs,Waters and feedsAnd sates the greedsO’

In Competition 3362 you were invited to submit a passage from Shakespeare as rewritten by the sensitivity reader. The entries were on the whole excellent and it was painful to have to jettison so many: often it came down to a repetition of the same excerpt. A special mention to D.A. Prince (‘My partner’s eyes are

In Competition 3361 you were invited to submit a passage or poem whose meaning was affected by some missing, substituted or surplus letters. I should have said ‘corrupted’ as, perhaps predictably, many of the mistakes were rude and puerile (not a complaint). Ideally the correct version could be glimpsed, giving things an alternative–universe quality. Shout-outs

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

In Competition 3359 you were invited to present an account of a historical event as football commentary. There were enough Battles of Hastings and Waterloo to fill a page but it seemed necessary to include some other deciders. Since so much footballese relies on war metaphors, it all gets quite confusing. I was sorry not

In Competition 3358 you were invited to submit a passage in which Gulliver travels to a Taylor Swift concert and recounts his impressions. By and large it was felt that he would succumb to fandom, though a few were more sceptical – George Simmers found him observing: ‘Of all the Laputan scientists none received more

In Competition 3357 you were invited to submit a passage or poem including the phrase ‘The sukebind is late this year’, or similar. In Stella Gibbons’s comic novel Cold Comfort Farm the sukebind is a mysterious vine that flowers in midsummer, driving people into a frenzy which often leads to mollocking. Hence the heightened tone of

In Competition 3356 you were invited to imagine a conversation between some objects that don’t normally talk. This was inspired by the funny/spooky ‘Green Candles’ by Humbert Wolfe (a popular poet in the 1920s and 30s), which ends with these sinister lines: ‘I know her little foot,’ grey carpet said: ‘Who but I should know

In Competition 3355 you were invited to write a romantic poem that did its best to gloss over something unlovely. I think I imagined odes to beautiful sewage-filled rivers and so on, but should have phrased the challenge more clearly, since many understandably decided a love poem was in order. Either way there was much

In Competition 3354 you were invited to put yourselves in the shoes (or head) of a tech billionaire. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Elon Musk provided the most inspiration. Paul Freeman had him intent on world domination: That bozo Bezos and schmuck Zuck will serveas jesters to my court. They’ll daily tastemy food in case some traitor has

Comp. 3353 invited poems about ‘dining and dashing’ – thanks to Paul Freeman for the suggestion. There was a very large postbag/inbox full of delicious offerings and I am especially sorry not to have had room for W.J. Webster condemning the crime for its name alone: ‘it isn’t just pedantic/ To say its source is

In Competition 3352 you were invited to submit a passage about snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, or vice versa. Hitler, the Hindenburg, tiddlywinks and chess all featured, as did Keir Starmer and Rishi Sunak, and it was sad not to have room for D.A. Prince’s cat having victory literally snatched from its jaws.

In Competition 3351 you were asked to send in an election manifesto in verse (lucky timing). The entries threw up plenty of bold ideas for strategists to pick over, though a degree of cynicism was in evidence – the general mood captured by Basil Ransome–Davies’s ‘Opportunist party’: ‘If you favour easy answers,/ Vote for us, the

In Comp. 3350 you were invited to write a refutation of a well-known line from literature. Ian Jack once imagined quibbling with Jane Austen over ‘a truth universally acknowledged…’: ‘“Universally”, Miss Austen, even among pederasts with good fortunes, or among the heathen races?’ Poetry dominated, which is reflected in the winning entries (£25 to each).

Competition 3349 invited you to write a poem riffing on the line ‘I have measured out my life with coffee spoons’, from ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’, but substituting something else for the spoons. You came up with rubbish collections, brands of jeans, obsolete technology, library fines, biros, toothpaste tubes, meds, lovers, visits to Wetherspoons,

In Comp. 3348 you were invited to submit an extract in which Charles Dickens writes about today’s London. It was perhaps a slightly smaller haul than usual but full of nuggets. In Dorothy Pope’s rendition, the great author is gratified to discover that ‘my Oliver is playing in one of the many theatres’; while Paul

Comp. 3347 invited you to write a hard-boiled nursery rhyme. This inevitably led many to think of Humpty Dumpty, hence his multiple appearances (the consensus is he didn’t fall, he was pushed). Philip Marlowe was smouldered at by various femmes fatales including Little Bo Peep and Miss Muffet. A special mention goes to David Silverman’s