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COMPETITION

Dirty dozen

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1969 you were invited to incorporate 12 given words, in any order, into an entertaining piece of prose.

At last I tested you to the hilt — this was a deuced difficult dozen. Eponymous and exponentially were there because however many times I look them up I never manage to remember their meanings precisely. I shall forget them again; some words are like that. There were too many chaotic and orgiastic Scout jamborees and descriptions of dramatic productions gone wildly awry.

0. Smith, D. Shepherd and Godfrey Bul- lard were workmanlike and Giles Ewing impressively confined himself to 130 words, but the prizewinners (£25 each and printed below) practically picked themselves. The bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Felix Stowe, whose charming 'piece of prose' is cheekily internally rhymed.

I love the way you play the oboe starkers, regard- ing peeping Toms and Nosy Parkers as nothing but an irritating glitch ... I've always loved the way you start to twitch your nose, like some delightful vole or gopher, whenever you are curled up on the sofa ...I love it when you use words like 'eponymous', or talk with quiet authority on Hieronymus Bosch ...I love those little buns you make, those tiny greaseproof pack- ets filled with cake ...I've loved you since you lent your India-rubber to me in Miss Mackenzie s class. I blubber when I remember how I had t0 stand on tiptoe just to kiss you and how, hand in hand, we'd walk around the park, ignoring your so-called friends who told you I was boring and uppity. Impervious to their smut, you let me grope you in the groundsman's but ...My first and last love, will you marry me? Our wedding would be quite a jamboree! A celebration of longevity, a proof that love grows exponentially.

(Felix Stowe)

`Umpire Bird removes the smut from Atherton's eye, meanwhile a steward is getting rather appal' with someone trying to tiptoe past the sight screen. After that slight glitch, Ambrose bowls. Ooh, that ball must have pitched on india- rubber. Either that or there's a gopher living below middle and leg. `Atherton jabs at this one and they'll take two. His score moves exponentially — is that the right word, Bill? — on to three. Time to say thank you to Lady Celia Lavender's School, whose epony- mous headmistress writes to say that they're holding a musical jamboree tomorrow in aid of distressed donkeys. Are you musical, Fred?'

:Can't tell me harp from me oboe, Blowers.' Well, they've sent us a wonderfully sticky cake wrapped in greaseproof paper, and here to enjoy It with us is today's teatime guest, who, perhaps surprisingly, is a Lancashire fan: Mr Richard Starkey, better known as Ringo Starr. After- noon, Starkers....' (David Jones)

Istill clearly recall standing on tiptoe in our kitchen in 1952, watching my mother baking Coronation biscuits'. I was her gopher, eagerly fetching flour, wooden spoon or greaseproof Paper as required. The rest of the country was obsessed with that eponymous forthcoming jam- boree: TV sales were increasing exponentially, while archbishops and royals rehearsed solemni- ties to avoid any last-minute glitch. At 29 Blenheim Road, however, my infant mind was on matters closer to home. I had uncovered a pile of smut-filled magazines under my father's bed; on inquiring why all the ladies had bare chests I had been warned not to 'get uppity'. Worse still, peeking through our lodger Mr Baxter's keyhole I had been astonished to see

him with Miss Fishburn from the newsagent's, both starkers, their bodies twisting and turning as if made entirely of india-rubber. Miss Fishburn, furthermore, appeared to be enthusiastically playing the oboe. (Peter Norman) Hi! Welcome to Murgatroyd Mouldings' tenth annual sales jamboree! I'm the eponymous Murgatroyd — give him a dictionary, somebody — and this is Marilyn, my gopher. I did ask her to leap starkers from our birthday cake, but she's a lady. Charlie tells me sales are rising exponentially — I'll have the dictionary back — but with the odd glitch here and there. Pull your socks up, Cumbria! And I see Pentangle Plastics are get- ting uppity again, making inroads in Central. Stick with it; as the trombone said to the oboe, it's an ill wind that has no turning.

Over to Charlie, then, and remember my four golden rules: if you go in on tiptoe you'll come out on your arse; a good rep's like india-rubber: the harder he's rejected the harder he comes back; a bit of smut never lost a sale; nobody's greaseproof — know what I mean? All right, Charlie, I'm stopping. (Noel Petty) `I must dash for my oboe lesson,' Cassandra breezed. `If he's uppity, try the india-rubber bone.'

Ponto seemed asleep. I crept around on tiptoe,

fearful of any glitch in the fragile calm. Then, as time passed, my spirits rose, you might say, expo- nentially. The dog accepted me, which would put me in with Cassandra. I started to swagger like the eponymous master of Toad Hall, taking in the purple lady, cubically starkers, over the fire- place, the Giacometti-style rodent (a gopher, perhaps?) on the cabinet. If only Cassandra....

A gargling sound shattered my reverie. There was Ponto, his teeth bared. 'Good old chap,' I said heartily — but Ponto was greaseproof. What, I wondered, was he glaring at? Was there a smut on my nose? Then, realising, I made the inevitable sacrifice.

`So,' Cassandra beamed later, 'how was the doggy jamboree?' 'I survived,' I said moodily, 'but my uncle's