COMPETITION

IN COMPETITION NO. 1792 you were invited to incorporate into a musical lyric the words written by Cardinal Newman: 'He's so positive, so knock-me-down.'

The words were, of course, applied to Charles Kingsley, that lover of the bracing north-easter and hater of Newman's 'slop- py' thought. It was an excellent entry. Peter Rowlett amused with an extract from Lionel Bart's musical, Logical Positivism, featuring a song and dance routine by Bertie Russell and `Luddy' Wittgenstein, rounded off by a chorus of jiving dons. The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Drummond's Pure Malt Scotch whisky goes to Watson Weeks.

Christian aid

Jaspistos

He's so assertive, so knock-me-down;

He's street-smart, he's a la carte, he's State of

the Art, A Proper Noun; He's debonair, ripe Camembert, a real Dan Dare, My Super-Bowl, record-breaking touch-down.

He's so affirmative, so knock-me-down, He's Doctor Jazz, he's got bezaz, with the razzmatazz Of Tinseltown;

He's a star, an Indy car, he's the jour de gloire, He's my very own Monk of Great Renown.

He's so positive, so knock-me-down; He can swing, he's got zing, he's a priceless Ming From Chinatown.

He's a beaut, he's so cute, he's a major suit; He's my Ace of Hearts and King without a crown; He's so positive, so positively knock-me-down. (Watson Weeks) He's so positive, so knock-me-down, So thirty-pence-to-your-half-a-crown, So chin-up-we're-not-beaten-yet, So what-you-see-is-what-you-get.

He's none of your let's-just-wait-and-see, Or 'fraid-it's-hardly-my-cup-of-tea, He's never the least bit not-on-your-life, Or let-me-just-have-a-word-with-the-wife.

He's much more let's-get-the-show-on-the- road Than always-follow-the-green-cross-code. He's a boots-and-saddle man, horse-and- away, Not a what-was-the-forecast-for-later-today?

He's a he-who-hesitates sort of chap With bags of bugger-it-who-needs-a-map?

In fact, I'd say it's becoming quite clear He's a multiply-hyphened pain-in-the-rear.

(Noel Petty) He's so positive, so knock-me-down, So take-the-town affirmative.

He's the man who gets things done,

Say both the Guardian and the Sun.

Youth has voted him Number One, And feminists say, 'He's charming!'

The Pope is most impressed, I hear, the Queen is quite beguiled, But his family are screaming, 'cause he's driven them utterly wild.

He's so positive, so bull-by-horns, So tread-on-corns rebarbative.

His wife is suing for divorce; His daughter much prefers her horse; His son's come out as gay, of course, (Which the playgroup finds alarming). When he walks in the door tonight, the dog will sidle out; There's nothing so exhausting as an overgrown boy scout.

(George Simmers) Oh, I can't abide that bumptious fellow Manning!

He's an upstart who's determined to rise high, He's a bully, always pushing, plotting, planning; Not as subtle nor as scrupulous as I — He's so positive, so knock-me-down, so fly!

He's an arrogant, ambitious up-and-go man, Full of energy and restlessness and dash, Who's made himself more Roman than the Roman.

It's no wonder our careers and egos clash: He's so positive, so knock-me-down, so brash!

Though intellectually he's just a second-rater, Pio Nono and the Curia adore him, And at Vatican intrigue there's no one greater. He's my rival, I admit, and I abhor him — But I think that I'll be canonised before him!

(Geoffrey Riley) He's so positive, so knock-me-down — over a pint of beer He speaks with the conviction of a prophet or a seer, He always knows someone who knows someone — and so That's how it always comes about he's always in the know; Whatever subject is discussed he's got the answer pat, From juvenile delinquency to cricket, crime and GATT, He's reeking with assurance, and makes you feel a wimp, In any situation he's the whale and you're the shrimp; He'll air his views at any time, no matter what it is, On any subject of your choice (or preferably his),

An ipse dixit, Jim'll fix it, funny sort of bloke, Who likes to spice his talk with an occasional smutty joke.

Whenever there's an argument he always has his way, Dismissing with a patient smile whatever you may say, He interlards his endless flow with confidential winks, Sir Oracle — a Solomon— in short, the fellow stinks.

(Stanley J. Sharpless)