COMPETITION

No. 574: End Games

Some parts of London have lately experi- enced strikes by both the dustmen and the grave-diggers. Competitors are invited to provide the comments on his own industrial dispute of that articulate follower of the former calling, Mr Alfred Doolittle; or the observations upon the second dispute by Hamlet's grave-digger acquaintance. Limit, 150 words. Entries, marked 'Competition No 574, by 24 October.

No. 571: The winners

Trevor Grove reports: A recent issue of the Consumer Council's magazine Focus suggested that, contrary to popular opinion on the matter, baldness is a perfectly normal manifestation of manhood and in no way indicates a state of diminishing virility. Competitors were invited to celebrate this revelation by suggesting lyrics for the opening chorus of a daring new musical—Hairless. An agreeably large entry included a number of new (and, dare one suppose it, bald?) competitors; but though spicy enough, the standard was generally rather disappointing. The best entries were those which fell into a recog- nisable metre, as does W. F. N. Watson's (to the tune of 'Bless 'em all' and, a three- guinea prize): There's many a bride who is sexy and fair, Off on her honeymoon, Hitched to a man with a full head of hair, In for a big let-down soon : There's many a husband a bit thin on top, Whose wife down the staircase has crawled, Weak from the thrill of her life on the Pill, So girls pick a bloke going bald !

Chorus Going bald, going bald, When up to the altar he's hauled; Don't make a match with a lad with a thatch— No man's worth while till he's got a bald patch, So you must pick a bloke going bald, Or, after the novelty's palled, You may find instead that he just reads in bed, So Girls, pick a bloke going bald !

N. J. Rock's 'ate' song also wins three guineas : Of format indeterminate and cost and rate extortionate A thing of weight to titivate—who wants to wear a wig?

Come, desquamates, and celebrate a style that's always up to date; It simply cannot deviate in fluctuating waves.

No setting-spray shall vitiate, no nylon grip encapsulate, No dentate comb excoriate the head that's nobly bald.

A nude and scintillating pate virility must postulate, Negating waste, accentuate the body's joie-de-vivre.

For can a gleam so roseate, immaculate and functionate, Do otherwise than indicate the power- house in store? , Then let our Muse intoxicate, our views will greatly fascinate, And you'll no longer hesitate to wear a wig no more, Finally, a guinea apiece to J. M. Crooks- and Vera Telfer and five guineas to C. A. Mdvor: I thank the bounteous gene which soon harvested me clean : I'm highbrow from the eyebrow to the

nape.

To the proud (because hirsitte) I append the title 'brute'— Their ancestors were very near the ape.

Being barbered was a bind; now by locks

I'm unconfined,

My brushes got bumsrushes when it went: On some tonsorial seesaw I'm the other end from Esau.

I'm bald; yet with a baldness heaven-sent.

Lice and vermin find no bed on the tundra

of my head, From dandruff I am infinitely free, Yet though my hair is 'thinning' I am not

averse to sinning.

The bald are not immune to lechery.

I'm a shiny-headed sinner, school of

Pleasance or Yul Brynner. I scorn the use of wig or monkey gland. I may look like Samson (after) yet there's no derisive laughter As I scatter hairs and heirs throughout the

land.