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COMPETITION

Story of the limericks

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1751 you were invit- ed to write a narrative poem in the form of three limericks.

`Narrative' was the word, so the medita- tive, the decorative and the merely satirical were out. Amazingly, no fewer than five of you chose to retell the story of the Ancient Mariner. Is Coleridge, without my knowing it, 'in' this month? Anyway, an enjoyable week for me. The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Aberlour Single Malt whisky goes to Watson Weeks.

A brave Scottish lordling from Glamis Got ensnared in three weird sisters' charms: They declared he'd be king (Crystal balls were their thing, And equivocal reading of palms).

So, pre-emptively acting with speed, Macbeth killed King Duncan, a deed Coolly planned by his wife (Though he wielded the knife, And the grooms took the rap, as agreed).

Scotland now felt the yoke of subjection, Till the thanes rose in armed insurrection. Lady M. died insane While the tyrant was slain By Macduff (born by surgical section). (Watson Weeks) King Arthur, near dead, wounds severe, Summoned his chum Bedivere.

'Old mate,' he implored, 'Just trot off with this sword And chuck it far out in the mere' - Which he did, though it took him three goes. Then, as every Arthurian knows, It was caught at first slip And along came a ship Arthur boarded, bound whither who knows?

Poor Beddy, cast into the void, All hopes of promotion destroyed, Paced that desolate shore, Disillusioned and sore, Unsettled, undone, unemployed.

(Philip A. Nicholson) A city girl once had a suitor Pressing hard for her hand by computer.

She thrilled at the risk When the firm's floppy disk Came by post from her lovesick commuter.

'S-E-X' first appeared on her screen, Then some words that were almost obscene, Then: 'My dear, don't take fright: My bark's not a byte On this hopelessly programmed machine.'

She would rather her boss tried to sack her Than marry that software hijacker. `I'll say what I mean On this green-lettered screen,' She tapped out. 'You're a dirty old hacker.'

(Robert Roberts) There was a wise statesman called More Well versed in the use of the Law, But the King said, 'Of course You'll obtain my divorce,' Which proved very difficult, for There was an old Pope who said, `No,

His status has got to be quo,

And with Anne Boleyn He is living in sin'; With which More agreed, even though There was a fierce King who said, 'I Will get what I want or you'll die.

It seems I'm still wedded, So you'll be beheaded And I shall give Cromwell a try.'

(D. Shepherd) This Mariner — why, I dunno Pots an albatross with his crossbow. His mates cry, 'You pudden!

That bird was a good 'un, It made the fair breeze for to blow!'

So they hang this dead duck round his neck, And guess what? Along comes an old wreck, Drifting, eldritch and weird - Well, the crew's so afear'd That two hundred fall dead on the deck!

At the public inquiry, his boss Says, 'Now, don't blame yerself, Albert Ross.

The crew was just Lascars An' mad Madagascars, An' that ship was an Uninsured Loss.'

(Mike Morrison) When Adam had words with his God, He explained he was bored on his tod, And, not one to jib, God made Eve from a rib - Tete-a-tetes had been given the nod.

Man's life was enriched in a trice, And God said, 'We have Paradise, But don't touch the fruit, It releases the brute, And what follows is fun, but not nice.'

When it came to the ethical crunch, Eve elected to have a wee munch, Which transformed her bust To an object of lust.

It doesn't exist, the free lunch. (Tim Hopkins)

No. 1754: Je regrette

You are allowed before you die to choose a historical person whose life will be your next one. You choose and then live it entirely through that person's conscious- ness. You then have to relive your chosen life with your own consciousness intact. And you now have to write 150 words or less explaining why your choice, which seemed such a good one, was a mistake. Entries to 'Competition No. 1754' by 13 November.