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COMPETITION

Missing life's bus

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1898 you were invited to supply extracts from the journal of a chronically disappointed person.

A disappointed — I hope, not chronical- ly — competitor from Australia has written to me: 'There was nothing in the descrip- tion to suggest that entries must be "enter- taining". Must all entries to your competi- tions be entertaining?' The answer is, yes. This comp was a good example — an invi- tation to fall into the trap of not being entertaining. Barbellion (who wrote The Journal of a Disappointed Man), though he knew he was dying and allowed himself some tediously self-pitying entries, belies his title by some marvellously entertaining passages: `I like express trains and motor lorries. I enjoy watching an iron girder swinging in the air or great cubes of ice caught up between iron pincers . . . I like everything that is swift or immense: London, lightning. Popocatapetl . I could eat all the elephants of Hindustan and pick my teeth with the spire of Strassburg Cathedral.'

But that is by the way. The prizewinners, printed below, win £20 each. R.G. Parlour gets a special mention for his last sentence: `Just missed cat's tail with crutch on way to bed; must aim more accurately tomorrow.'

And the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to D. Shepherd.

Telephone call today from Uncle Joshua's housekeeper saying he has passed away. I am his only relative.

Letter from housekeeper: Uncle Joshua died by his own hand, having heard that his invest- ment in Siberian Goldfields was worthless. How I regret listening to him myself. Never mind, his property is 120 acres.

Letter from Lock, Stock and Barrel. Uncle Joshua's debts apparently considerable. They suggest selling off fields and home farm in hope of covering them. Never mind, house and garden still very attractive.

Visited house; shocked at state of dilapida- tion. Mr Mowlem says best to demolish and develop site with estate of small three-bedroom villas. Excellent idea.

Letter from District Council. House is Grade II listed and garden is home for Greater Fan- tailed Newt.

Tenant moved in today. Received Property Tax demand, which is more than the rent. Never mind; have cancelled the insurance.

(D. Shepherd) 20 July. Magpie on the windowsill again. No sleep after 5.30. Broke both yolks on my break- fast eggs, tea stewed. Postman snapped off only flowering stem on the bicolour rose. Two more rejection slips. Is nobody interested in prune recipes? Tried prunes with caerphilly cheese and capers at lunch, but confidence ebbing now.

21 July: Parrot lost vowels, third time this month. Why do I bother? Went for walk in sun- shine to try and cheer myself up. Slipped on water from mains leak, ankle still hurts. Decided to make origami dog for my nephew's birthday. Did exactly as the book said, so why won't the tail stay up? Very disconsolate. Am going to bed with journal and pen, hoping for meaningful dreams.

22 July, early. Only remembered dream: Frank Dobson in tartan boxer shorts. 5.15: prostate played up again. Looked out of bathroom win- dow, saw magpie circling.

(Chris Tingley) 31 December. Hogmanay at Algiers airport. Technical difficulties. Story of my life. A toast, then — in lukewarm decaff — to those who made the past year so memorable. To Moira, who left me after the muggers stole my winning lottery ticket. (Thanks for the happy days we spent together during 22 years of marriage: 16 and 17 August 1974.) To the Club Med officials who ruined an expensive summer holiday by confiscating my Collected Larkin at 'poolside'. To the Sales Manager of Grunter Pork Pies plc for giving me the North Africa beat. (A fellow- ship to All Souls at 21 and I end up working for my twin brother in preserved meats.) To the publishers who rejected my memoirs of life at Gordonstoun, Pedigree Chums.

I suppose it has to get worse before it gets even worse.

1 January. Another year, another diary. This will be my last entry. (David Jones) 13 August. Heard today of George's promotion. He was far more worthy of advancement than me, as I remarked to Suzy when I reached home. She just went back to sleep without wagging her tail. I don't know what's wrong. Another hot day today and the crowds out on the pavements hav- ing a good time as I came back on the bus. No reply to my letter.

11 October. Rather a strange atmosphere in the office. Mrs Becton telephoned to say they were full up for Christmas; I said I quite under- stood and would do very well at home. Had salmon for supper as a treat and looked at my birthday card. 22 December. George called me in today to give me advance notice, in his generous way, that the office is to be reorganised. Shall spend the Christmas break thinking about applying for new positions. Perhaps I should follow Lord Mount- batten to India? (Nicholas Hardyman) Monday. Put up greenhouse. Bet it falls down.

Tuesday. Received Amanda's school report. Says her sociology essays, especially in the anar- chist thinkers course, are poor. Is her home envi- ronment discouraging creative thinking by being too authority-oriented? it asks.

Wednesday. Found bottle of gin in airing cup- board. Fiona said it wasn't hers, she'd stopped all that. Then she laughed and fell over.

Thursday. Police called and showed me a photo-fit of suspect in a supermarket robbery. Said it looked exactly like me. I pointed out that suspect was black, and I'm white. The sergeant told me I was now under suspicion of racial dis- crimination as well.

Friday. Quiet day. Felt uneasy.

Saturday. Thought I'd got the six numbers in the lottery, but then realised was looking at last week's ticket.

Sunday. Greenhouse fell down. (Paul Hatton)

No. 1901: Chesterbellockery

You are invited to write a ballade (two eight-line verses plus a four-line envoi) in which the 'refrain' is, `What's happening to the world I know?' Entries to `Competition No. 1901' by 28 September.