COMPETITION

Over the top

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1971 you were invited to supply an imaginary example of an embarrassingly effusive, flattering or otiose author's Acknowledgments Page.

I have been an editor in a publishing house, and my superannuated blue pencil leapt to attention when I came across these two sickening salutes in forthcoming books: 'It is an honor and education to work with the editor Erroll McDonald; the guidance of such a profound literary mind is beyond thanks.' (In which case why thank?) And: 'My Random House editor, Kate Medina, a class act, a good captain, and such a mixture.of will and savvy that if the act of Creation had been left to her, our world would have been finished in only

four days, and with elegance.' (Not like God's bumbling effort!) The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to W.J. Webster.

For Beth, always there when I needed the deep, strong heartbeat of a mother; for Chrissie, my sister by blood, who shared the laughter and the weeping, the dizzying highs and the chasmic lows; for Deirdre, the wise aunt of one's dreams, guiding without seeming to, advising without for a moment interfering; and for Lally, whose eyes always shone with the light of the future and who stood like a daughter pointing beyond the doubts of here and now to the undimming hopes of another generation; to these, and to every other member of the Finsbury Park Collective Sisterhood, I dedicate Mendacity: The World of Male Lies, not as its author but simply as the medium of its universal message. (W.J. Webster)

I extend my undiminishable gratitude to every- one who, separately or conjointly, has assisted me through the conception, gestation and even- tual parturition of this little-seeming offspring, my firstborn autobiography: To Mom and Pops, brother Juke and kid sister Fontanella; to Lars, Zedd, Flame and Notso, the guys in the band; to my ex-wife (and almost-best-friend) Netsuke.

Megadoses of respect go to manager Al Squitt; to Flildca, the roadie dropped from Heaven; and to Abe Meileiff, my analyst, who also set me on the right road: nice one, Abe. To Danny Scheisskopf, for keeping the joint rollin' by rollin' crazy joints! And I owe One Big Hi to the fishguys and fishgals in Theda's New Age aquarium; those beauties sure knew where they were coming from.... Did I forget someone? If so, I guess you know who you are and, hopefully, you'll forgive me. (Mike Morrison) Big sloppy kisses go to my agent Julian, for all the terrifying talks with passionless profit-hungry publishers; to my editor Jane, for policing my prose, tolerating my tantrums and overseeing my outrageous exuberance; to Cedric for being the greatest, hippest, most zeitgeistily famous writer ever greedy for new young talent; to Dorian, Clarrie and Bing for showing me the way back to the enchanted garden of childhood; to their mother for having them and staying crazy; to Monica at Vidal Sassoon for totally ace haircuts at critical junctures, to my Mum for her brilliant biscuits, and finally, for all the cuddles and con- solations of all the long nights, to Norbert, hero, friend and teddy bear. (Annelise McArdle)

In writing This Sceptred Aisle: Happy Marriages Within the British Monarchy, I have incurred

innumerable debts which I gladly discharge.

My thanks to my two friends — so they became — Rouge Dragon and Portcullis Pur- suivant, who, notwithstanding onerous responsi- bilities in the College of Heralds, were always helpful and courteous to the stranger within their barbican.

Among standard authorities my debts will be obvious: Burke, Debrett, Mirror Publications plc, Roget and Wooster's British Upper-crust Humor. A Synopsis — all frequently consulted and relished. And thanks to my publishers, the very English Sigurd and Wtirtburg, for their marvelous patience.

Lastly, to her Majesty, the Queen Mother for simply being there, a steadfast beacon, both sides of the Atlantic. We love you, Ma'am!

(John E. Cunningham) Only the humblest thanks could begin to do jus- tice to the following lighteners of my task: the erudite and unstuffily wise Wanda Grimethorpe, who guided my first stumbling steps in Shrop- shire folk entomology; my son Jason, who, with an electronic skill and resource far beyond his years, undertook a crucial restructuring of my chrysalis database; my cat Puddles, whose steady gaze somehow soothed away all fear of faltering in my enterprise; Mr Ian McCaskill, whose smile and air of cosy gravitas refreshed my spirits after many a weary day at the keyboard; and, above all, my wonderful wife Clarissa, who patiently bore my patchwork moods and was always at hand, in hours of despondency, with her inim- itable 'born-again spotted dick'. (Chris Tingley)

Where to begin, when I am indebted to so many? To my dear wife, Mrs Beverley (Boo Boo) Quirk, for filling my stomach with gastro- nomic miracles and feeding my soul with love. To my mother, Mrs Joan (Mumsy) Quirk, whose warm milk endowed me with a high IQ. To Philip (Sticky) Wickett for his invaluable advice on the use of the apostrophe. To Sharon (Shaz- za) Bagg of the King's Head for her inspirational philosophic insights. To James (Bozzy) Boswell to whose dazzling genius I humbly aspire. To William (Wobbly) Archer and Frank (Fearless) Ozone for sharing the pain of literary birth through creative contractions and editorial epi- siotomy. 'Tis done. I thank, therefore I am.

(Suzan Lindsay Randle)