WAS REGA

12 YEAR OLD SCOTCH WHISKY

COMPETITION

Dirty dozen

J asp istos I. a Competition No. 1702 you were in- vited to incorporate twelve given words, in any order, into a plausible piece of prose. From time to time curmudgeons write to Ine, complaining that this type of competi- tion is boring. How come, then, that it invariably elicits well over 100 entries? Indeed, how come that I derive particular Pleasure in the judging? I made this one easier than usual. There was one trap ( disinterestedly doesn't mean 'unin- terestedly') and one problem word, 'bap', w. hich drove some of you to amusing Mgenuities — 'The tearaway who thinks nothing of giving a fellow driver a sharp bail" from his obnoxious horn', 'Oh, my _ -god, what a dis-disaster, what a bap- baptism, thought Roy, as he plunged to the sea below', and 'Having to sing the chorus tor Santa's gatecrashing stunts — "Ba bop! /3a. bap! Here's Santa in your lap!"' The prizewinners, printed below, took hie winnowing. They get £14 each, and tne bonus bottle of Chivas Regal 12-year- old de luxe blended whisky goes to A. G. Gordon for his amusing sprint.

Let's raise a hurrah for the new EGO (European Governmental Organisation) mandate for hot dog manufacture, which for once deals disin- terestedly with Britain. No more vilification of the British sausage, no more gatecrashing our traditional working processes. Here it is in brief. Mince up cattle remains. Congeal. Extrude into ballooned intestines. Stuff into bap.

For the streetwise this means that those iffy carcases with BSE can now find a use.

(A. G. Gordon)

It was always an iffy relationship, though there was never vilification on either side about extra-marital sex. Most of us looked at the situation disinterestedly: no gatecrashing, we

said. People, unlike cattle, don't need minders. What milk of human kindness each of them possessed would not congeal for want of in- terference. Besides, Edna at least was streetwise, perhaps literally from what one had heard. And Archie, despite his frequent conversational ego trips, was the last to claim a mandate for male superiority.

The crisis, in betting terms odds on if not a `cerr, ballooned from an unlikely beginning. Hurrah for surprises, some might say. Who would have expected that ultimately divorce would result from two entirely English people quarrelling over an Inverness bap?

(Laurence Fowler)

'We had a mandate over those territories then,' Carruthers said. 'I was Station Officer — in- flated my ego — only in my twenties, you see — thought I could act disinterestedly — escape the vilification reserved for top dogs. Usually I left the natives alone, but my assistant, a streetwise young Scot, wanted to get first-hand experience. We crept up on a tribal gathering in a clearing. I said the situation was somethat iffy, but Mac was set on gatecrashing their feast, saying their brand of bap reminded him of home. Suddenly every- body started milling around like cattle, scrab- bling over an oval object in their midst. My blood began to congeal when I realised it was a human head. Then 1 saw Mac. With an enor- mous kick he ballooned the obscene thing over the tree-tops. The natives bellowed a kind of hurrah, and hoisted him shoulder-high . . . and that's how rugby came to Western Samoa.'

(0. Smith)

Attending a football match is iffy at the best of times; there's no room for the pure fan who wishes to watch, disinterestedly, a contest of skill. Spectatorship is a mandate to abuse, a ritual of vilification. In principle, rival suppor- ters are separated, but there's a lot of gate- crashing. Streetwise kids always outsmart secur- ity measures. Shout `Well played!' or 'Hurrah!' instead of Wankers!' and you'll be lucky if all you feel is someone's half-eaten burger bap, on which nameless things congeal, ballistically hurled in your face. Scum, vermin, cattle, you think — but are the fans the worst? There's little to admire on the pitch, as the ball is endlessly ballooned from one penalty area to another, and the modern footballer's ego is more apparent than his talent. Better the armchair and the TV than boredom and bodily harm at the stadium.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) Is it really fifteen years since the heyday of punk? Remember when Malcolm McLaren was

streetwise, thriving on vilification and spittle in equal measure? Remember being crammed like cattle into firetrap venues, where the beer was crap and you could never tell whether your bap contained burger or rat-meat? Remember Jamie Reid's iffy graphics, where 'Bollocks' ballooned from the mouth of a blindfold Queen? Remem- ber when Bob Geldorf was simply another ego looking for a hit, before Live Aid (hurrah for Live Aid and Status Quo, everyone!) gave him a mandate from the masses? Back then, gate- crashing was a way of life, not something that went wrong with a yuppie's lap-top.

Now I watch disinterestedly as punk retro grips far-from-anarchic UK. The greasy rebels of yesterday congeal into tomorrow's Establish- ment dripping, but one blazing message sur- vives: GRAB THE MONEY.

(John MacRitchie) 'Hurrah!' cried Merritt, brandishing the news- paper. `We're gonna have girls at Gayflyers!' `G-girls?' faltered little Prettyman, his pink cheeks greening and his cupid's-bow simper beginning to congeal into a grimace. Merritt ballooned his bubble-gum, then repeated, 'Yeah, those chaps with pectoral protuberances! It's a mandate from the Equal Opportunities lot.' Cor!' gulped Blunter, choking on his bap. `Equal opportunities for snoggin', like in Com- prehensives.' Excluding your monstrous sister

Bessie, hopefully,' murmured Mauliverish. `Gerrout,' snorted Blunter, 'Bessie's me great auntie. Me sister Kylie's anorexic.' Considering things disinterestedly, since I'm leaving,' re- marked Mauliverish. judicially, `it seems a decidedly iffy arrangement — clutches of great streetwise scrubbers gatecrashing the nets and squash-courts. 'Yeah,' growled Warthogg, Just to bolster the ego of Sexual Equality bimbos, the lousy. . ."No vulgar abuse,' Mauliverish said sharply. 'Women may indeed be, as Samuel Lover put it, "troublesome cattle", but vilifica- tion achieves nothing.'

(W. F. N. Watson)