COMPETITION

PUKE MALT . - .COTCH WHISK%

All together, flow

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1800 you were invited to supply a candidate for inclusion in the Parliamentary songbook which the Conservative Member for Devizes is com- piling.

My predecessor warned me that politics never brought out your best, but in this case the rule didn't apply — there was a fine crop of 'songs', though their singability was sometimes in question. The prizewinners, Printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Drummond's Pure Malt Scotch whisky goes to Noel Petty.

My pair has gone over the ocean, My pair has gone over the sea, He's gone on a fact-finding mission On juvenile crime in Capri.

Refrain: God bless, God bless My friendly opposing MP, MP, God bless, God bless And bring him back safely to me. Last night as I dined at Quaglino's, Last night as my colleagues sat late, I thought of our mutual beanos, And toasted my absent helpmate.

Next week it is my turn to travel, Next week it is fish-farms in Greece.

While keener men bicker and cavil, We two will know blessed release. (Noel Petty) Ambition, awake in saint and rake, in reprobate and spinster, For a fine career awaits you here in the Palace of Westminster.

Do you have the pluck to try your luck in our congested quarters And risk your soul on a greasy pole in shark- infested waters?

If so, don't slack, but turn your back on other influences And test your weight as a candidate in a few constituencies: They'll like it best if you beat your chest and know what fighting talk is, Or second-guess the local press with a few well-chosen porkies.

If that's your bag, you'll feel no fag when you join our jolly capers As we groan and cheer and shout 'Hear, hear!' and wave our order papers At Ways and Means and guillotines and splits and plots and fixes And Bills and Acts and backstairs pacts — oh, what fun politics is!

We know there's strife everywhere in life, but here the pace is brisker, When we go like stoats for each other's throats and never bat a whisker; ► But the H of C is the place to be, if that's your predilection; Just get into the swing and do your thing — until the next election! (Philip Dacre) All together, now, Six hundred and fifty-one of us, Decent sorts, jolly good sports, Though the media may make fun of us.

Whether we're Red or Blue, We all know what our job is, Toeing the party line As we shuffle through the lobbies.

Catching the Speaker's eye As often as can be, So the folk back home Can glimpse us on TV.

Shucks to the Athenaeum, The Groucho and the rest, We are the most exclusive Clubbable club up West. (Stanley J. Sharpless) How for those happy days we yearn, Those days of England's glory, When each Prime Minister in turn Was Liberal or Tory!

When all the power was shared between Gladstone and Disraeli, They left the Queen in Aberdeen To shoot the capercaillie.

But now, alas, the ship of state Is heading for disaster; Bring back the good, bring back the great, Oh, bring back Lady Astor!

Let Churchill once again hold sway, And, since there's none to match her, Throw out the grey, let in the day, And bring back Maggie Thatcher. (0. Smith) Wuff, wuff! just hear how well we guard your houses, Barking like dogs who hear a stranger creep- ing; Indeed, our barking constantly arouses You that we represent, and stops you sleep- ing.

Wuff wuff! we curs are all such expert crawlers: We crawl for votes and seats and jobs and laughter; But once established, we are closed to callers, Bite first of all, and ask the questions after.

Wuff, wuff! keep off, and do not set us biting; You all should know that if our rest is troubled We tend to charge you with the cost of fighting, And then resolve to have our wages doubled. (Paul Griffin)