COMPETITION

The way to the top

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2150 you were invited to write a poem offering cynical advice to a beginner on how to succeed rapidly in a profession or trade.

If the client moans and sighs, Make his logo twice the size.

If he still should prove refractory, Print a picture of his factory.

Only in the gravest case Reproduce the client's face.

Those lines of advice to an aspiring advertising agency, printed in the Times `Letters' column last month, sparked off this comp, which elicited tips for those aiming at anything between high military rank and success in the felt-roofing busi- ness. The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bottle of the Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky goes to Chris Tingley.

Garden design, rule one: no grass. A bit Looks nice, I know, but colour-coded grit, Or plastic chips maybe, will mark you out. (Rule number two: get yourself talked about.) Master the eco-gambit. Water features Will draw in various ugly threatened creatures, And cost a bomb. Spare clients irksome chores.

A giant patio saves their time (and yours). Talk about `plantsmen' with superior smiles; And, if you must surround your twisty tiles With sports from Chad, or hybrids from Peru, Or Javan strains, whatever else you do Don't call the buggers flowers. That's it, I guess (Apart from timely drinkies for the press). Soon you'll see punters flock with cash in hand To drag you out of bed. Tell them ten grand.

(Chris Tingley) Learn the language, son That's the way it's done - Keep your words four-lettered.

Any punctuation? None. Topics? Sex and dope. Make it like a soap, Simple sentence structure, So near-literates can cope.

Plot line? Getting sloshed Suits the great unwashed. Lots of blood and tissue When the heroine gets coshed.

Got to change your looks, Live with tarts and crooks To make yourself a writer, And to make it big in books. (Ann Alexander) Go, junior doctor, round the ward And see your scalpel as a sword, A righteous blade, a wondrous knife That cuts the weary cords of life; Observe the old, the weak and frail, See them as bodies in a jail, Too tired and sore to take a breath, Waiting for you to bring them death. Detach yourself from foolish care, Consultants have no love to spare, No time to chat, no time to feel, Rich doctors' hearts are made of steel.

A sugar pill can cure a cough, And limbs were made for chopping off; Don't let the sick distort your view: The buggers die in spite of you.

(Frank McDonald) If you want to be the rage, like Bernhardt or like Irving, Do not bother with the stage: acting's too unnerving.

Get your words on every theme well before the media: How Society's out of steam, why the poor grow needier, Where to go with HIV, how to cook risotto, How your Mum is 93, why your pet's a potto. Make no secret of your ways, and your strange proclivities: Everybody loves to gaze at sexual activities.

This, my luwie, is the moral: acting quality's equated With the passion and the quarrel and the noise that you've created.

(Paul Griffin) Give every man your ear, and few your voice, And claim the best ideas as your own. Ever a borrower be, when there's a choice; Thus risk is borne by bank that makes the loan, And lending to a rival on his house Can bring about his absolute eclipse. Adultery most carefully espouse The warmest pillows pass the hottest tips. Above all, to yourself be true, and then It follows as the knighthood the donation You'll soon be taking tea at Number Ten, Sincerity ensuring elevation.

(Michael Saxby)