IS LE OF 111 ISLE OF

JAI s C L I MALI SCOTCH LISKI

COMPETITION

Cocoa for Kingsley

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1992 you were invited to write a poem supplying the dream missing in Wendy Cope's four-liner, 'Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis', your- self or Wendy Cope starring.

Few of you risked taking the place of Wendy Cope. I don't blame you. I had many un-cocoalike drinks with Kingsley during his lifetime and I never once felt I was starring, except as a brilliant listener.

Soon we're in clover.

He dedicates his latest oeuvre `To Wendy, with love'.

I stand distracted at the stove.

My saucepan runneth over.

Thus David Jones, artfully blending pathos and bathos. Noel Petty, Maureen Melvin and Adrian Fry also performed well, but your actual prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and Martin Wood- head takes the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky.

The Grand Old Fart himself stood in my hall That one fat Englishman prized most of all! Now that uncertain feeling fled away: Fancy my evening ending up this way! 'Cocoa?' I said, passing a steaming cup. Scowling, he took one sip; then looking up, How strange the alteration in his brow! The old devils banished, calm, contented now, That pudgy countenance where once did dwell Strange shapes of discontent, new maps of hell, Cleared — and he purred, with beatific smile, `Best drink I've had for years, best by a mile! I love bright women. Take a girl like you: You write, I'm told, most I know only screw.' He added, beaming, 'Would you be a dear And read some verse to me? I like it here.'

(Martin Woodhead) Pausing to scratch his greying thatch And stroke each little horn, He gazed at me with wicked glee Just lightly tinged with scorn. `When I', he said, 'prepare for bed, My needs are very clear.

I look for schemes to spice my dreams. But cocoa — dear, oh dear!

'Now peppered gin, that bites right in And makes my dream a ripper, While curried tea's a foolproof wheeze To conjure up a stripper.

And yet that smell ... Yes, yes. Well, well, You may be right, of course.

It never pays to shun new ways.

Now — where's the Worcester sauce?

(Chris Tingley) It's wartime and it's winter With the snowdrifts three feet deep And there's me and Kingsley Amis Trapped together in this jeep, And he's seeking warmth and comfort As one does in times of stress. He's a Major — I'm his driver And I'm in the ATS.

We've been stranded on the moorland Since we ran into the storm, And the Major keeps demanding Something sweet to keep him warm. He starts edging up towards me, Then he gives my knee a pat, So I make a cup of cocoa 'Cos I'm not a girl like that. (J.J. Webster) In my dream I found my idol In his study, drinking rum, Looking — well, distinctly glum: Feeling, he said, suicidal.

`Try some cocoa,' I suggested.

`That will put you back on track: It's an aphrodisiac!'

Kingsley sounded interested.

`11'm. You talk like my old nurse: She said cocoa is a food ...

Well, it might do me some good.

Not too strong, dear: more means worse.'

At that point my dream turned shady ...

But you'll find it all narrated In his next book, dedicated 'To my sexy cocoa lady'. (Geoffrey Riley) He'd come along to hear me recite You'd have knocked me down with a feather. And what was more, we ended the night In the altogether.

It struck me as being the least I could do No thoughts of social climbing - For one who had sat unflinchingly through My feminist rhyming.

Who could imagine the foreplay of verse?

My couplets had driven him loco.

And when he was finished, he wheezed to me, `Nurse, Where's my cocoa?'

Was it a dream I had last week?

Some kind of record seems vital.

It's madness — him making my bedsprings squeak!

But I'll keep that title. (Andrew Gibbons) She dreamed her kitchen was quite dark And from its depths a voice cried, 'Hark!

If you make cocoa for the famous (Such masterminds as Kingsley Amis) Remember you must humour him And not behave like Lucky Jim.

Don't vacillate: remember how The sage has said, "I want it now!"

Expressing thus that certain feeling That girls of twenty find appealing.

Serve it with cream and do not fear The great man will not like it here.

A girl like you most surely can Soon comfort one fat Englishman And keep him sweet and writing well, Not drawing up new maps of hell!'

(John Harvey)