No. 1280: The winners

Charles Seaton reports: Competitors were asked for verses entitled 'On Finding a Wheel Clamp on my Car.'

This minor calamity doesn't seem in fact to have happened to any of you; at any rate, nobody confessed to having been a victim of the Denver boot. Curiously enough, the policeman I talked to at New Scotland Yard called it a 'Denver shoe,' a term presumably chosen by the police because it doesn't immediately call up the idea of putting the boot in.

Most of you managed to control your simulated rage very well — J. C. M. Hepple even went so far as to call the clamp a 'perfect artifact — handsome, strong, com- pact.' Contrariwise, George Moor pointed out that a motorist can remove the clamp and enclosed a newspaper cutting to prove it.

Several entrants complained of the police sometimes picking a modest little banger in- stead of the cars of the affluent. As John Mitchell put it: It shows a lack of consideration To pick on a Mini, N registration.

Commendations go to Mrs B. Lee and Basil Ransome-Davies and also to Jerome Johnson for his story — in Latin, with translation appended — of a clamped Dat- sun. The prizewinners this week receive £10 each and the bonus bottle of Pimm's No.1 goes to T. Griffiths.

Malignant object on my wheel Full of malice I can feel, What immoral hand or eye Could frame thy fearful gadgetry?

What policeman with what art Fixed thee with such lack of heart? And when the man resumed his beat What dread hand and what dread feet? What inventor? How explain Such perversion in what brain? What technician? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When at my cheque the sergeant peers, Smudged and watered with my tears, Will they smile their work to see?

Did they who made the Law make thee?

(T. Griffiths) Truly a most rewarding day!

Synod's acknowledged moral sway Centres, you know, on this, above All else — the matchless power of love. Sweetness, decorum (shades of Horace!) Grace our debates. Ah! Here's the Morris. Back in good time for scones and tea At the vicarage hearth. Now, where's my key?

Evil has triumphed! This must prove it! 'STOP' 'Do NOT ATTEMPT To MOVE IT'. Damn all their laws! Oh, damn this trouble! Blast this vile town to mounds of rubble! Damn this device and the fool that laid it! Gripes grip the vitals of those that made it! Satan incarnate's iron tread Tramples the world, and God is dead.

(Michael Lee) O range-restricting Denver Boot, That on this car has taken root, What sorrow do you bring the man Who overstays his parking span?

How can my tinni-minni face Your clearly steely cold embrace? ...

What shabby shrinks of shame you bring, As, like a tungsten crab, you cling!

From Colorado's mountain heights, Your baneful bolts our movement blights - Vile limpet, Old Man of the Sea, Immobilising Gran and Me!

Would you had picked a Rolls, or Bent., And not my Mini — anguish-rent! ...

And on my final, flower-vamped lurch, Will I be clamped ... outside the church?

(Pascoe Polglaze) My darling daughter, to my joy, Has one small girl and one small boy Who, when they visit London Central Seem to be prone to spasms ventral - On which I park the car and run, Hoping no damage has been done.

One day, returning from the Toilet Bearing one girl-let and one boy-let, I was impelled to rage and stamp, For on my Austin was a Clamp.

Oh, Metropolitan Police, On Judgment Day I wish you peace; And yet I fear the Angelic Bar May treat you as you did my car, It's very hard to plead your cause With metal clamps across your jaws.

(Paul Griffin) I used to park outside an office block Just round the corner from Samantha's flat And drop in for a quick lunch and a chat, But Monday last I got a horrid shock. The car was clamped: 1 was in such a fix, Both short of breath and short of ready cash. The afternoon was one enraging dash And I was due in Colchester at six ...

But, when the Mere. was anchored in the gutter On Friday, and 1 faced all that again All I could do was hop about and splutter; I recognised a personal campaign And went bananas. My despair was utter. Samantha's finished. I commute by train.

(Poppy Pratt)