ca VAS RE G4

12 YEAR OLD SCOTCH WHISKY

COMPETITION

esWAS REG.44

2 YEAR OLD SCOTCH WHISKY

Spooner v Spooner

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1673 you were in- vited to imagine that Dr Spooner had a twin, that they met once and had a short conversation, and to supply the script.

`Ah, another clan of the moth, a yellow foeman of the Church' was an examplary way to start; 'Now let's brack a cottle and wink some drine' was not the best way to finish. The real Dr Spooner probably achieved no more than two Spoonerisms in his life, but he has been the cause of much wit in others. Martin Woodhead pleasingly referred me to a French instance which occurred in a newspaper article about South Africa: 'la copulation immense du Pape'. Most of the runners in this difficult steeplechase failed to fake their tenses convincingly, but the first six, by whom the honey is mad (£14 apiece), preserve days. The bonus bottle of Chivas Regal 12-year- old de luxe blended whisky goes to Paul Griffin. Bad luck, Mary Holtby and Basil Ransome-Davies.

Dr Spooner: I see you are taking a thorough pairing in the Ark. Mr Spooner: One has to heave the louse sometimes. Dr Spooner: The further the better. I prefer the widdle of males.

Mr Spooner: I savour the fee myself.

Dr Spooner: Yet great mills hold such history. Theirs is the wealthier hay.

Mr Spooner: Either way, we have to size ourselves from the pretty — here where the mazy lasses wait to pick our nurses. I'll net the boys would drive us insane before we steered the nation.

Dr Spooner: Brother, this is all fantasy. I must return, and curse my knowledge; while you have to remain cute in a mounting house, fighting down rigours. (Paul Griffin) Mr S: William!

Dr S: My near Devil!

Mr S: What brings you to town?

Dr S: The opera. They're booing Doris Godu- nov tonight, and I shall see Turandot tomorrow — and doubtless sing 'Des and Norm' all the way home.

Mr S: Can't you stay longer?

Dr S:No, I'm only here for new tights.

Mr S: You came by train as usual?

Dr .5: No, I've caught my bra.

Mr S: Strange, meeting you today: only this morning someone mistook me for you.

Dr S: How galling! I'd never share a wort like yours, not in that grade of sheen. And as for those sawn flippers you wear.. .

Mr S:Anyway, we must have a drink while we can.

Dr S: Excellent. A stink of drought would be most pleasant. And I do believe the Whore's Bed is nearby. (Nicholas Hodgson)

Spooner 1: Fail hello, and merry well vet! Do you chancy a fit of a bat?

Spooner 2: My all beans, mother brine. If twins cannot phew the chat, it would be a dad say indeed.

Spooner 1: Did you know, some steeple pay that my Germans are seditious, while others bed it a sprout that I gawk tough and sore them billy? Spooner 2: I give it them slain and pimple: something from the Boob of Joke to peep them in their queues. Then I slays them from their rhumba with a holly gym.

Spooner 1: 'What a punning clan! Now those students — chewed craps, all — will wang on every herd that palls from my full pit!

(Em L. Welibilge)

Spooner 2: Your fame now resounds among the brasses, mother — far beyond the confines of cue knowledge.

Spooner 1: I thank you for your paternal phrases, but I fear my reputation rests less on the rooks I have bitten than on my vaulting herbal skills. The screams of a dollar grow ever fainter in me. But what of you, brother? Are

you still conferring your beastly prunes on your parishioners?

Spooner 2: Ah, mine is a furious clock! The congregation seems to hang on every surd I weigh, but I fear they are hocking me in their marts.

Spooner I: 'Twas ever the crooners' spy. All unwitting, we flay the pool and our fishes wail. Spooner 2: Your warts are thighs, brother. They still weigh with me as I hide Rome. For now I bust mid-farewell to thee.

Spooner 1: And Ito me, thy brother!

(W. J. Webster)

Dr S: I couldn't live in a flock of bats. I love my holy louse with its gritty pardon of bowers and fleas. I sow my own greed; I kick my own parrots and have ample mace for my sparrows. Twin: My lurking wife compels me to fly a bat and keep dizzy babbling in shocks and stares. Pity subs aren't always purveyors of dried fishes; I lack my own punch.

Dr S: I have a food wire, so I stop my own chicks. I also break my own bed.

Twin: I never view my knickers, but you obviously have tots of lime.

Dr S: I'm not interested in vocal liquors. I am a chiller of the perch in Oxford, England's a load

of burning. (0. Smith)

Spooner I: Hallo, how are you? How's Dumb and Mad?

Spooner 2: Well, Mum's got too many hairs at comb, but she's all right when the feather's wine.

Spooner 1: And mister Sargery?

Spooner 2: She was harried to Marry, of course. Two children, Fatty and Helix.

Spooner 1: Dad still shirking whip-building? He must be the coldest rain-driver on the tanks of the Bees. Surely it's time for flippers on the seat and a stalking-wick when he owes gout? Spooner 2: Oh, Bad's dizzy enough — he's bought a hayground. Bad debts on it every week — it's always a dinner at the wogs.

Spooner 1: I cannot approve of his sweating, or of his bearing. I fear that he has gone to the dogs.

(D. Shepherd)