COMPETITION

No. 623: Artful aid

Set by M. W. Matthews: Mr Agnew has produced two alliterative phrases which, according to the Sunday Telegraph, promise to become legendary tongue-twisters: 'Nat- tering nabobs of negativism' and 'Hopeless hysterical hypochondriacs of history.' Com- petitors are invited to compose three such alliterative phrases descriptive of well-known individuals or groups. Entries marked 'Com- petition No. 623,' by 9 October.

No. 620: The winners

Charles Seaton reports: Competitors were asked to furnish verse comments from a local seagull on the Isle of Wight pop festival. Now that the floating debris is well clear of the Solent, I am able to reveal that a gull is as conservative as the next bird. Many, indeed, were so reactionary as not to scruple to use any weapons at their disposal. This entry, for instance. (which wins three guineas) dif- fers from many only in the mildness of its reference to the ultimate deterrent: I wish I loved the Hippie race. I wish I loved each bearded face. And when they sing their human song, I wish I didn't smell their pong.

I wish I loved their drummers' beat, For what I feel I can't repeat. I wish they didn't love to love While I am flying up above.

I wish I loved each hairy head.

But no! Alas! I find instead That every kid's a most absurd 'un.

Thus making them the Wight Birds' Burden.

I wish I loved their guitars' strum, But I wish most they hadn't come; So I smile sweetly at their Pop, And gently let a something drop.

Maud Gracechurch Rather more vindictive was Joyce John- son's gull: I've spotted Hippies. layabouts, And long-haired, filthy-looking vandals, And drug addicted litter louts With nothing on but shorts and sandals, I've spotted Woodnut (got him pat!) And those who had, perforce, to stop out; I've spotted such a number that I cannot get another drop-out!

Gulls, like ourselves, evidently live and learn; here's one that enjoyed the experience: For several summers I have soared Above my Island rather bored.

But now, oh, bird, my crop is full Of joy enough for any gull.

Hast ever had a bird's-eye-view Of half-a-mile of lovely loo?

Or seen foreshortened lads so nimble Display their little phallic symbol?

Or seen for free love unashamed And naked breast and hair untamed?

Until they plunge into my sea Uninhibited, nude and free It's very hard to tell their sex Although for sure it's all Cert. X!

Oh man, oh, bird, I've seen the lot Hooray, my Island's gone to pot!

Lilla Funnel!

Here's a bird that won't try pot again: My head aches, and I have peculiar pains In my inside; my eyes can't stand the light.

My wings feel weak; my breath smells like bad drains. Something I've eaten hasn't settled right. 9 for a beak full of the sweet, salt sea!

Full of the true, the unpolluted brine. Such as in days of yore, when pop was not. Was to us seagulls free; That I might drink, and drinking cease to pine. Regurgitating this revolting pot. Peter Poet son And for a really jaundiced view from an old sweat, what about this?: Me 'eart throws up when I be'olds Them Pop-Lot on our Isle; The din they makes fair murders sleep.

An' frights the life from farmer's sheep, No wonder that we squawks an' scolds In sea-mew bile.

The shrimps all nips on nimble toes An' ides beyond our ken, Scared by the beat, I makes no doubt, So we've no chance to 'ook 'em out Till all these 'ippies ups and goes Away again.

Torn Brinier

And the money to buy bird seed? Three guineas each to Maud Gracechurch. Lilla Funnel!, Peter Peterson and Tom Brewer: two guineas each to Joyce Johnson. Molls Fitton and E. 0. Parrott; and a guinea to 1. Griffiths. Commendations to C. L. Bundela. Tony Robinson. Malcolm Burn, P. W. R. Foot, Vera Telfer and P.M.