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COMPETITION

Books and life

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1955 you were invited to supply a piece of prose beginning or ending with 'That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard' and ending or beginning with 'Have a cheroot, my dear boy'.

John O'Byrne's entry was amusingly eco- nomical with the words: 'That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard. Your syndicate has reported a £1 billion loss for the year and your cash call is £20 million. Have a cheroot, my dear boy.' A striking coincidence was that two competi- tors put the cheroot offer into the mouth of a parrot; only one had it spoken by a cannibal.

The prizewinners, printed below, are rewarded with £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Alanna Blake. Unless you have clearly legible writing, please don't sub- mit handwritten entries.

`Have a cheroot, my dear boy.' This, in a loud, commanding voice, produced a fascinated silence. The big man had staggered down the ward, open magnum of champagne under one arm, elaborate but disintegrating floral arrange- ment squashed under the other. We other new fathers, noticeably less flamboyant, turned from congratulating our partners and assuring them of our eternal affection to watch his progress. After a certain amount of spillage, he negotiated the door of the private room at the end, from which was emerging the plaintive wail of the newborn. This increased in volume as the visitor crashed through the door. Then we heard the drunken tones admiring the force of the youth- ful lungs and apparently offering the offspring a smoke. We waited with the proverbial bated breath. A yell was followed by loud profanity. Then: 'What do you mean, a daughter? That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard.'

(Alanna Blake) 'Have a cheroot, my dear boy,' the fat man chuckled, 'if you insist that whisky's inappropri- ate to this visit.'

'A cheroot? There's a thing,' Taragon replied, dipping a lean hand into the cedarwood box.

'Aroma,' grinned the Egyptian, 'blended expressly for policemen.'

'Enough, Azizl We both know you killed her — you've as good as said so ... almost certainly while she was inspecting your tobacco ware- house. But my suspicion won't hang you, as well you know. We must first ascertain what you have done with the body.'

One hand caressing his monogrammed slip- per, Aziz extended in the other a lighted taper.

`Obliged,' murmured the Inspector, exhaling smoke. 'My colleague's body, now. You burned it?'

`On the contrary, dear Inspector, that crime is yours. It is you who inhale her remains as we talk.'

Horrified, Taragon dashed his smoke to the ground, crying, 'That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard.' (Lawrence Rich) 'That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard,' he yelled. All I had said was that, with his previous record, I did not give much for his chances of permanent success this time. `Look around you,' he went on. 'No cigarettes, no tobacco, no pipes. I binned them all. Every ash- tray in the house has gone to the Marie Curie shop. I feel much better already.' He was inter- rupted by a spasm of coughing. Several strong- smelling pastilles joined the revolting gum he was chewing. I took a few steps back from his white-faced, shuddering body while he attempt- ed to find some relief in fingernails already bit- ten to the bleeding quick. 'Here's the real test.' Smiling at him, I lit up, gently puffing in his direction. He stood there manfully for several

seconds before sinking to his knees, gasping for the scented air. 'You weren't cut out to be a martyr,' I said, holding out the packet. `Have a

cheroot, my dear boy.' (Giles Ewing) `Have a cheroot, my dear boy.'

`No thanks, Dad.'

`Not one of those weedy non-smokers, are you? Weedy non-smokers. Get it?'

`Yes, Dad.'

`Good. Glad you've got a sense of humour. Well, Saturday night and all that. Mother's away and we can play, what? How about nipping down to the Rose and Crown for a quick bevy? I can introduce you to Big Maisie.'

`No thanks, Dad.'

`Good grief! Don't young people know how to enjoy themselves these days? May as well open that other bottle then. Come on. Get a glass.

Don't want to drink alone. Perhaps give young Fiona a tinkle. What do you say, boy?' `I'm doing my homework.'

`All work and no play....'

Dad. '

`Yes, boy?'

`You're pissed.'

`That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard.' (Rosemary Fisher) `That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard.'

Fidel smiled. 'You think so, amigo? But it's true. That's what the CIA planned to do. They were going to smuggle in a box of cigars and sub- stitute them for my own. Only these new cigars would contain a chemical which would make my beard fall out. The CIA believed that without it I'd be merely ridiculous. Castro without his beard would be a joke, I'd soon be overthrown.'

'That really is astonishing,' I murmured.

'Si. But you never know what the CIA is up to, do you? Or who is working for them.' He stared at me intently for a moment, then laughed. 'But you are my amigo, no?'

`Right on, buddy — er, I mean, quite correct.' I pulled the small, flat box from my pocket and offered it to him.

'Have a cheroot, my dear boy.' (Paul Hatton)

No. 1958: Un-English Archery

A critic has accused the radio series The Archers of being 'no longer a typical story of English village life'. It is now 'a load of feminist tripe' and 'you don't get neo-Nazi thugs throwing acid at Hindu lawyers in the countryside,' he said. You are invited to supply part of a script of an Archers pro- gramme in the year 2000 which shows these tendencies in even riper development. Maximum 150 words. Entries to 'Competi- tion No. 1958' by 7 November.