No. 1343: The winners

J.asPistos reports: Competitors were asked tor an 'acrostic poem (the key phrase being P,01: ROGER CHAMPERS) on the subject of the Spectator. It was a most enjoyable exercise in tilutual flattery (which does get you some- where, sometimes). We scratched the back of Pol Roger, and you scratched ours. Even I got a light buttering-up. 'Precious paper property, pearl-like periodical,/ Offered up by oil-producing owner once a week!' cried Charles Mosley in alliterative rapture. The dear old organ was variously hailed as 'shabby yet impeccable', 'hard- headed yet tangential', 'graciously gassy', 'rightly inclined but sycophantic never', 'sweet Spec' and 'the Reader's Delight'. All our regulars got rubbed up the right way, but no ego got a more delicious massage than that of our unroving corres- pondent, our fearful investigative journal- ist Jeffrey Bernard. The winners below get £10 each. Mary Holtby and J.C.M. Hepple only just missed the money. The bonus bottle of Pol Roger White Foil Champagne (NV), presented by the distributors Dent and Reuss, goes to 'Peter Norman for an artfully original piece.

An Anglo-Saxon Riddle Posh people prize me, paying silver Our for me weekly, no ordinary organ. Loved by the legless (i little Low Life Reaches even my rarefied realms); Olympian, oracular, overly generous Giver of geld for good contributions Entered eagerly and in earnest; Reasonably royalist, red-detesting, Calmly counselling Kinnock-contempt, Hattersley-hatred, Healey-abhorrence; Admired by admirals as much as authors, Matrons as much as members of parliament. Precious product of doughty pressmen, English folk everywhere find enjoyment Reading my racily written runes.

Survivor from Steele-days, still I survey you!

(Peter Norman)

Put out more flags! Prepare a feast! Open a Jeroboam at least! Lord and yeoman, gown and gaiter, Raise a glass to the Spectator! Other journals rant and roar, Gripe or miserably bore; Every week your doughty sense Runs its rapier through pretence. Chancellor has gone. Now Moore Heads your team, but as before Auberon with outrageous wit Mocks the phoney and the shit; Poor old Jeff, always in trouble, Each week, rising from the rubble,

'Ile's Marcel Marceau'.s. scriptwriter.' Rues his manifold disgraces Swilling champers at the races. .

(Barney Blackley) Pastures new we do not seek —

Old Spectator readers stay

Loyal, and, week after week, Regularly bless the day Of its publication, when — Giving forth, solemn or flip — Expert wielders of the pen Richly serve the readership.

Circulation figures fly Higher and yet higher; yes, And I might increase them by Means of this sincere address: Parents, let your girl or boy — Early taught to scan its page — Read, mark, learn, and thus enjoy Spectatorial tutelage. (Stanley Shaw)

Phoebus of Reason! Let thy brilliant rays On shadow'd corners cast their burning gaze. Luculent MOORE, that politicians' scold; Rare WELCH, the thinking person's centrefold; Omniscient JOHNSON; and the upstart's bane Great AUBERON (long may his acid rain). Elysian fare! From Portrait of the Week Right through to jottings by some classy Greek, Clear and unwavering the lumens flood. How am I doing? Rot too fulsome? Good. And last, observe those august columns where Mighty JASP1STO5 from his judgment chair Pronounces weekly sentence. Fair, humane, Erudite, kind to animals, urbane,

Revered, mysterious, almost divine . . .

Stop, that should do it. Is the champers mine?

(Noel Petty) Party-time he'll sip a coke Or a cup of tea Like any dull surburban bloke, Reticent Jeff B.

On the dot he's home at five, Gives his wife a kiss, Early riser, bright, alive, Reckons life, is bliss.

Can't abide the Soho types, He abjures that mob, All that jazz of Jeffrey's gripes — Man, it's just a job.

Promptly JB pays his debts, Eats quite modestly,

Romps with kiddies, never bets,

Saintly Jeffrey B! (Gerry Hamill)