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Happiness

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1844 you were invited to write a poem beginning `Happiness is ... ', defining that elusive concept with individuality.

Perhaps the last word on the subject is Richard Whately's, the 19th-century Archbishop of Dublin, who concluded, Happiness is no laughing matter.' If I had no duties, and no reference to futurity, I would spend my life driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman,' said Dr Johnson, one of his few remarks which tempts the response, 'You must be joking!' And surely Jaspistos's leg was being gently pulled by the competitor who included these two items of bliss: Setting the angle on the Anglepoise:

Tube rides from Chorleywood to Theydon Bois.

But then, again, perhaps not. Happiness is a very odd as well as a very rare bird.

The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt whisky goes to A.C. Bowden for the most individual definition.

Happiness is insight, that exhilarating shock That comes from the removal of a stubborn mental block: The sage's flash of genius which prompts the cry 'Eureka', The crossed pons asinorum of the youthful knowledge-seeker, The arithmetic breakthrough of a schoolchild's early days, The infant's exclamation of its first coherent ,-zphrase, The word-blind adult's psychic leap to conquer his affliction,

The lisper's sudden tongue control which rectifies his diction.

When Galileo realised the Earth went round the Sun, He jumped for joy until the Inquisition spoiled the fun.

Then Newton, on discovering the laws of gravitation, Downed fifteen pints of barley wine by way of celebration.

Perhaps the most prodigious feat was Einstein's great quadratic;

`E= mc2,' he cried, in tones well-nigh ecstatic. Will Stephen Hawking be the next to feel a thrill so heady?

Considering his royalties, I guess he does already. (A.C. Bowden) Happiness is the unpredictable guest Who's at his worst when you demand his best; The more you stalk him the better he hides, The less you court him the longer he bides.

Happiness is the plan which goes awry, The x which pleases when you wanted y, The wrong turning which becomes the right road, The last straw which completes the ideal load. (Tim Hopkins) Happiness is a pile of dirty plates, Smears on the tablecloth, crumbs on the floor; And though another hour of toil awaits The fool who welcomes this postprandial chore, When I consider all those burdens shed The battered brain, the desperate decisions, The lists re-listed, and the constant dread Of final irretrievable omissions; The hotplate's hang-ups and the oven's whims, The summer pudding madly streaked with white, The vegan visitor, the guest who slims (All sober while the host's distinctly tight) — `Goodnight!"A lovely evening!' Thanks!'

`God bless!'

A pile of dirty plates is happiness.

(Moyra Blyth) Happiness is tax-evading, Perks and assets undeclared; Offshore banks, insider trading, Legal nosey parkers squared. Happiness is asset-stripping, Bending rules and regulations, On the side, some bodice-ripping, Pension misappropriations.

Happiness is social climbing, Getting one up on your mates, Wife and mistresses two-timing, Debt defaulting, sham cut-rates.

Happiness is fast-lane living, Sailing closest to the wind, Serving self without misgiving - There's no call to be thin-skinned.

(W.F.N. Watson)