IN COMPETITION NO. 1806 you were invited to incorporate a

dozen given words, in any order, into a plausible piece of prose.

As ever, this old favourite elicited a big response. I am left with only enough room to fit in a request to those whe send me handwritten entries: please either borrow a typewriter or make sure that your entry is easily legible. I am here to judge, not to decypher. Thank you.

The prizewinners, printed below, take £20 each. An honourable mention goes to Dick Prosser. The bonus bottle of Drum- mond's Pure Malt Scotch whisky is on its way to Peter Norman.

COMPETITION

Dirty dozen

Jaspistos

`Food and Drink of the World' by Elspeth Wiggin

Older readers may remember Ms Wiggin: all quivering nostril and rapturous franglais, she used to adjudicate the 'Cook of the Year' show on BBC TV. Now a sprightly octogenarian, she has produced this impressively titled tome, but readers with £25 to splurge on a cookbook might be advised to look elsewhere. The choice of dishes is suitably eclectic, from falafel to fudge brownies, from Irish stew (here ludicrously but characteristically called 'casserole Irlandais') to tiramisu. She rightly lambasts Britons for ex- isting joylessly and often costively on an unre- mitting diet of sliced white bread. The tiresome- ly gushing personal anecdotes, however, are somewhat malapropos, and Ms Wiggin has an inexplicable hatred of the humble caper. Finally, anyone who believes the juniper to he a de- ciduous tree does not inspire confidence as arbiter of the perfect gin-and-tonic.

(Peter Norman)

The new guest curled a contemptuous nostril. 'Some Bonny Sporran Country House Hotel,' he said. 'Franglais menu, Filipino chambermaids and Portuguese gillies.'

`Mostly octogenarian,' added his friend.

The laird gazed out at his plantations (no deciduous) with the calm of a man whose savings are costively immobile. 'Merely eclectic,' he murmured.

'Makes up for last year,' said a corporate regular nastily. 'Thirty days of mutton stew and mutton with caper sauce. From a flock of scraggy sheep he bought when they came to adjudicate his livestock subsidy claim.'

'There are mice in my room,' wailed a woman guest. The cry, if malapropos, came from the heart.

'Don't encourage him,' sighed a regular. He'll probably splurge on a cat and fiddle it an enterprise allowance.'

`Is there anything Scottish here?' demanded the new guest.

Triumphantly, the laird indicated a bulging Plastic bag. `Rowanberry fudge,' he beamed. Only two pounds a quarter.'

(Chris Tingley)

I'd always had doubts about Charlie's favourite restaurant. The waiter who now shuffled costive- ly towards us had to be an octogenarian: if his white locks were sadly deciduous, that was made up for by a luxuriant growth from each nostril. Either way, there was likely to be hair in the soup. Charlie studied the somewhat eclectic menu as attentively as if he had been asked to adjudicate the Newdigate Prize — though I knew he would plump, as usual, either for Irish stew or for mutton with caper sauce. `Garcon,' he began somewhat malapropos to this vieux bonhomme, `je wish le stew Irlandais, et pour afters je intend to splurge sur le fudge chocolat.' Proud of this execrable franglais, he beamed at the waiter.

'Stew's orf,' the improbable garcon replied. (Martin Woodhead) The arguments of England .and France as regards afforestation are well researched, eclec- tic, and entirely different. Even the definitions of deciduous and coniferous trees differ, and our people on the Committee with no more than franglais are at a great disadvantage. The French chef de bureau, on the other hand, cultivates the Commissioner who will adjudicate on funding; he is bilingual, and although an octogenarian is very active in promoting French interests. Our own approach is, as so frequently, costively undertaken; parsimony where the French splurge, fudge where they attack. I hope it is not malapropos to reiterate that funds are at stake here; if the reward of undignified capering is no longer to stew in our own juice but in juice provided free by others, then caper we must. The French use one nostril to breathe with and the other to smell out EC money. We should do the same.

(D. Shepherd)

More snow on those trees!' shouted Bangel- stein. `This is A Christmas Carol, not a crime caper.'

`Dear boy,' said Sir Rufus, 'don't you think deciduous trees at Christmas a little . . . well, malapropos?'

'What's that, some kind of franglais? OK, so you want pines, we get pines.' Bangelstein, a vigorous octogenarian, had never quite adjusted to post-Thirties Hollywood.

`We must watch the budget, Mr Bangelstein,' said the assistant director costively.

'Budget schmudget,' said Bangelstein. `If I say we splurge, we splurge.'

'Don't get in a stew, ducky" said Sir Rufus. 'A touch of the flared nostril there, I fancy.' 'Perhaps we can fudge it,' said the Assistant. `Use the old Nanook set.'

The producer was called to adjudicate. A weary eclectic, he went straight for the middle ground. 'Pull all the leaves off and get spraying.' (Noel Petty)