ISLE OF III I ISLE OF

1,1,LF .0,01,1.11W

URA RA

COMPETITION

/11,LIE MALT SCOTCH MHISX)

Shock confession

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1928 you were invited to provide a song lyric with the refrain, 'It just brings out the bourgeois in me'.

The ghost of Noel Coward hovered over me as I judged this one — it fairly begged for the hand of the Master. You followed pretty plausibly in his footsteps, though some of you forgot that a song lyric must appear singable. John Wardroper poked shrewd fun at the emergent bourgeois in Tony Blair and Peter Mandelson, and John Sweetman excelled in his final catchy verse: My nephew, who reads The Spectator,

Has a very good Honours degree, But he's happy to work as a waiter.

It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

The prizewinners, printed below, take £20 each; the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Chris Tingley.

Though I try so hard to be avant-garde And shine with the Hampstead swells, I honestly think I'm more in sync With `Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells'. I raise my brows at pickled cows And sculptures with gaping hole, But the merest hint of a `Bubbles' print Is balm to my weary soul.

It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

Though I strive and strain to attune my brain To the beat of the new idea, I'm bound to confess its charm grows less With every passing year.

I'm simply not keen on going green Or trying out kinky sex, But I'll gaze all day at the comfy way John Major hitches his specs.

It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

(Chris Tingley) In the Sixties I raved like a wild man, Wore loon pants, and beads at my throat.

I became so confused from the drugs that I used I couldn't tell Stork from a goat.

But these days I'm more of a mild man. My taste runs to Elgar and tea And Victoria sponge. I've no patience with grunge: It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

In the Seventies I was a devil.

I spat, swore and squelched all the time - So addicted to junk, so devoted to Punk, My life was a record of crime.

But now my idea of a revel Is muscadet, crackers and brie With my silver-haired wife. The alternative life Simply brings out the bourgeois in me.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) When I see a well-dressed beggar with a well-fed dog, When they send kids on safari whom they ought to flog, When people call the lavatory the `john' or `bog' - It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

When self-styled 'artists' coin it by embalming sheep, When they try to run our grand old railways on the cheap, When Peter Hobday's pensioned off by some smooth creep - It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

I'm an average commuter, A Nineties Mr Pooter, And I've had about enough Of all this trendy stuff.

When the media thinks it's clever to gratuitously shock, When former polytechnics churn out graduates in Rock, When Vivienne Westwood's feted for some daft kind of frock - It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

(Peter Norman) I'm not a conservative person, By nature I'm quite fancy-free (Here at Chorlton-cum-Hardy they're so lah-de- dah-dee I find them excessively twee).

But when Maud (I was sweet on her, ages ago) Threw a wife-swapping party, I just wouldn't go: I should cringe at that binge — why, I really don't know: It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

I'm not a demonstrative person, I'd rather let Newbury be - So when Norman suggested we went and protested I thought he was out of his tree.

Oh, one can't but be moved by the tales that they tell (Though my own triple bypass went off pretty well); But I think it's the stink; yes, I fear it's their smell: It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

(Martin Woodhead) He offered me castles and deer-parks and moats, Portcullises, turrets and towers, Fine perchings for peacocks and grottoes for goats, In gardens resplendent with flowers, Stuffed swan for my supper, and syllabubs sweet. But I like a good solid tea, And a comfy detached — so that's hardly a treat: It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

I've heard him refer to a goosefeather bed; Silk sheets were a regular theme; Ancestral tiaras to flatter my head - You'll say that it's 'just like a dream'.

But now I sleep snug on interior springs; Lose my duvet, and where would I be?

And gosh! A tiara! Ridiculous things!

It just brings out the bourgeois in me.

(Mary Holtby)