2 MAY 1987, Page 44


Fab vibes


In Competition No. 1469 you were in- vited to write a poem including a good sprinkling of words that are truncations or ahbrevations.

An exotic week for me — a postcard from Japan on the subject of `raspberries' and an entry from Qatar. The number of apocopated words in current usage is pret- ty limited but it's surprising how many of them rhyme with each other — 'demo' and `limo', 'welly' and 'telly' and (nice one, George Moor) `sarge' and `marge'. I may have done one or two competitors an injustice by regarding as not legit some truncations which struck me as private rather than general (e.g. the Sunday papes), but they were only ruled out after consultation with young and old. The prizewinners deserve their £15 each for making the difficult look almost easy, and George Moor, Frank McDonald, Monica G. Ribon and M. R. Macintyre earn honourable mentions. The bonus bottle of Mumm's Cordon Bleu Champagne, the gift of Mr Gaston Berlemont, belongs to that rare but recurring talent, Noel Petty.

I'd like to be a top exec - In ads or showbiz, not hi-tech.

I'd sus out gen on media tricks Like maxi hype and fancy pics.

An amex card would be my perk As would a twin-carb D-reg Merc.

My cottage (five receps) in Herts Would have mod cons in all its parts.

I'd have a micro by the phone; My fi would be the hi-est known.

I'd swing all night in some glam disco, Then fly Pan-Am to Gib or Frisco, While all my secs and temps at base Would fax my info out through space.

Oh, never vac would be my sit If I could be a Euro-Brit! (Noel Petty) We modern debs, All yuppie Brits, Don't fall for plebs With horny mitts. We want a guy In some glam biz Who wears a tie, Has handsome phiz (Including tash), Dislikes hard porn, Inspires some pash, But doesn't forn- icate on hols.

This is no con Romance with proles Just isn't on. (F. D. Gardiner) There was a sit vac at the Tech In social Science. I wrote on spec; They asked for refs; I forged a beaut From Hackney Ad Ed Institute And got the job. The pay was brill!

`That's triff, Prof,' said my girlfriend Gill.

'No more wet Sundays watching telly Or popping round the local deli For pasta for those grim spag bols — We'll go to trendy spots for hols, Have showbiz pals with E-type Jags, A lifestyle based on glossy mags . . Mere dreams, alas: in six months, natch, My job had vanished — thanks to Thatch!

(Peter Norman) Turn on the hi-fi, Norman, Our system's the height of high-tech; And the video's starting to bore me; This biopic really is dreck.

Or would you prefer to watch telly And take in a sitcom instead? That new soap from the Beeb is on later; If we miss it, we'll lose all our cred.

It's loaded with glitz and with glamour, Unless I've been conned by the hype, And they say the male lead is so macho. Don't flip, Norm! He isn't my type.

Oh look! There's an ad for that micro.

It's super for admin, I've heard. You're what? Going out for a bevvy? Norm, how can you use such a word? . (Keith Norman)

Our guv hands out some high-tech perks But not one mod con ever works; My video set's gone out of sync And now the telly's on the blink.

He gave our rep a Rolls buckshee For which he'd conned an MOT; Next day it dumped him in a ditch And now the poor sod has to hitch.

Our temp got given a fab hi-fi (She's la-di-da as Lady Di), But like most gizmos got for free It didn't work. Then nor does she.

You'd think he'd pay the dim deb's rent Pro tem, if he were half a gent. (David Cram)