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Spectator
02-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Spectator
Spectator Competition: Problematic
For Competition 3406 you were invited to cast a well-known fictional or non-fictional character, living or dead, in the role of agony aunt or uncle and provide a problem of your invention and their solution. There was very little to choose between an excellent crop. Unlucky losers include Bill Greenwell, Ralph Goldswain, Peter Smalley, Frank McDonald, Mark Ambrose, Bill Ries, Frank Upton and Brian Murdoch. The £25 John Lewis vouchers go to those entries printed below. Q: A near neighbour has a white van he insists on parking right outside my house, even though his own parking space usually stands unoccupied. At home most of the time and noticing its comings and infrequent goings, I ponder constantly how to resolve the situation amicably. A: Amicably be damned! In van or rear, the white monstrosity described in thy beseechings hath transfixed thee to the limits of obsession. 'Tis a predicament I know, for all my locale hath been the insufficient vasts of seven seas, whereon I have been haunted by a whiteness I cannot unsee, a blankness that is nothingness and yet carries about it intimations of Eternity. Thy white leviathan hath consumed something of thee, be it only thy sanity, and a hunt to its or thy extinction stands revealed the sole route to resolution. The quarry stands outside thy very window – harpoon it, damn thee! Adrian Fry/Captain Ahab Dear Senor Borges: I hesitated to propose to my girl; now she has accepted and married someone else. What should I do? Answer: In similar circumstances the Alexandrian poet Plestocles committed suicide by eating fire. Less drastic would be to take consolation from philosophy. Our universe, though unbounded, contains only a finite number of atoms. In time it will inevitably collapse and perish, but, following immutable laws, it must again expand and rebuild itself, using those same atoms. The process will be repeated infinitely, and since the permutations of a finite number of atoms are themselves finite, a fraction of these eternal recurrences will be universes precisely like ours. It may be consoling to consider that therefore (a fraction of infinity being itself infinite) countless future yous will in their turn have the opportunity to muster courage to propose more punctually. In a few cases, you may even be accepted. George Simmers/J.L. Borges Dear Mrs Malaprop, I'm a happily married man, but I've developed an unwholesome infatuation with my mother-in-law. Please help. Perturbed of Dorney Dear Disturbed of Porny, I'm sorry to hear you've taken a swine to your muddler-in-law, but it's a more condom problem than most people are wary of. It's known as 'erratic transference'. Perhaps you're secretly raving for someone to pimper and care for you, just like your own smotherer used to. How does your monster-in-law respond to your advantages? Is she rappelled? Or is she as inflatulated with you as you are with her? To resolve matters, try neuro-linguini programming: when tempted to think about your mutton–in-law, instead picture an unpleasant animal, like a wartyhag or a harrypottermas. This will gradually desanitise you to the charms of the muddy-in-loo. A word of whining: don't mention this to your wife or you'll end up in diverse proceedings. Joseph Houlihan/Mrs Malaprop You write, sir, that you are tempted to ask a young lady of your acquaintance to lie with you and your wife so you may have full conversation with them both. You assure me that your wife is well disposed to such a scheme but fear the lady will take your proposal ill for she appears mannerly and modest although rumour has it otherwise. Prithee, sir, do not importune her under any circumstances for if she is indeed careful of her reputation no good will come of it, viz. you risk the loss of your name. Procure instead a comely wench of easy virtue, nay, already debauched, who in return for gold will open up her purse for you and consent to the particular congress you describe. Indeed I know of such a one and can reveal to you her whereabouts. Write to me in the strictest confidence. Sue Pickard/Moll Flanders Aunt Titania, cans't thou guide me through the predicament that afflicts me? I am in love, yet my companions murmur and say I am away with the fairies, that the object of my passion is a beast and I should be rid of him. Yet I dote on him in extremity. I know not what to do. 'Love-in-Idleness'. Dear 'Love-in-Idleness', hark not to the ne'er-sayers, nay, follow the dictates of thy heart. Indulge thy love, give him jewels from the deep, feed him with apricocks and purple grapes. Like the night owl, ride on moonbeams while thou can'st, for pleasure may swiftly flee. Do not, as alas did I, abandon thy dreams for one who is, forsooth, somewhat of a fairy, with a perverse fancy for changeling boys. Hence I commend thee from the bottom of my heart, be not sway'd by others, but straightway pursue thy dream. Sylvia Fairley/Titania Dear Pollyanna, I am having a terrible time with my neighbours. I invested in some peaceful, civilian-use-only heating technology, but they've got it into their heads that it's going to explode all over their property. I think it might be the 'Radiation – severe danger' signs I stuck on for a joke. Anyway, they and their friend Donald have been throwing rocks over the fence all week and say they'll keep it up until I move out. What can I do? Dear Mr Khamenei, Why, your neighbours sound perfectly lovely! It's delightful that they're encouraging you to build a beautiful rockery in your garden and then take a holiday. Not everyone's neighbours take such an interest, so remember to hunt out the glad things and invite them over for ice-cream before going to Church together. If Donald comes too you can be sure it'll go with a bang! Tom Adam/Pollyanna No. 3409: Family matters You are invited to submit parental advice courtesy of famous writers. Please email entries (150 words/16 lines maximum) to competition@ by midday on 16 July.
Spectator
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Spectator
Spectator Competition: First thoughts
Competition 3403 invited you to provide an extract from a prequel to a well-known work of prose or poetry. It was a stellar haul this week, with prose and poetry represented equally. I was sorry not to have space for Ralph Goldswain's 'Eleventh Night', Brian Murdoch's The Lion, the Witch and the Trip to Ikea, George Simmers's 'On First Considering Looking into Chapman's Homer' or John O'Byrne's The Pretrial. Also worthy of special mention are Sue Pickard, Alan Bradnam, Mike Morrison, D.A. Prince, Nick Syrett, Joe Houlihan, Sylvia Fairley, Martin Parker and the Revd Dr Peter Mullen. The £25 John Lewis vouchers go to those entries printed below. Had she been of a less patient nature, Maisie Farange, a girl of six years, custody of whom proved contentious in the acrimonious divorce of her parents, might have contested the argument, advanced by attorneys in the case, that her opinions ought not be sought on the grounds of her inexperience. Considerable lawyerly wit was deployed in the listing of things of which Maisie as yet knew nothing. The proceedings of certain of the Punic Wars were instanced, together with the ability to parse Latin sentences and the process for successfully bleeding a radiator. Maisie's mind, they argued, stood as an unfurnished room, wanting only the chattels of knowledge to fill it. Maisie, hitherto content to run about said empty room and greatly enamoured of its unique atmosphere, demanded from the court an exhaustive list of accomplishments required for the attainment of personhood. Its compilation, and necessarily the case, continues. Adrian Fry/'What Maisie Doesn't Yet Know' A handsome young Owlet aloft in a tree Gazed down on a Kitten below, The Owlet was smitten at once by the Kitten Whose whiskers were whiter than snow. 'Dear Kitten,' he said 'we're too young to be wed But I simply adore your sweet purr, Do you think that we might, when we're older, unite In a marriage of feathers and fur?' 'We might or might not,' the Kitten replied, 'I imagine it rather depends On how things turn out but I'm sure beyond doubt We'd be happy for now to be friends. Let's frolic and play for a year and a day Content to be cheerful and free, What the future might hold has yet to be told And till then we must just wait and see.' Alan Millard/'The Owlet and the Kitten That's my first duchess painted on the wall Looking as grim as a warrior from Gaul. She'd move in mourning black from room to room And everywhere she breathed was filled with gloom. I dreamt of having someone who'd beguile And warm my heart with the magic of a smile; Someone who'd grace the title that I gave her With regal looks and exquisite behaviour. Instead I got a witch whose evil spell Made me believe that I had gone to hell. But thankfully she's dead and I must find A wife who dotes on me, who's warm and kind, And mindful of the horrors of the past I pray my next duchess will be my last. Frank McDonald/'My First Duchess' Santiago, clutching the plastic Che Guevara bucket his mum had bought in Havana, caught a sudden movement in the rock pool. Translucent, mysterious, with dark brown stripes – la gamba! With his long antennae the shrimp looked to Santiago like a bull in the corrida. Imagining himself in the plaza de toros, he waved his net like a matador's cape. The shrimp glared at him, did a little salsa turn then darted under a rock. Santiago waited, net in one hand, bucket in the other. 'I will catch you, hijo de puta, if I have to wait for ever,' he thought, smoking an imaginary Cohiba cigar. Then he began to move the other rocks. 'Cangrejo,' he muttered, as a little crab scuttled away. But with the shrimp, it was personal. An obsession. 'Shrimp,' he said softly, 'I love you and respect you very much. But you will be in this bucket before sunset.' David Silverman/'The Young Boy and the Rockpool' And I saw in my dream, a man that stood not up, nor moved (Esther 5:9), but turned aside and stood still (II Sam. 18:30), and could not in three days expound the riddle of what he must do (Judg. 14:14, Num. 6:21). And it came to pass after three days, that he was still in the same place where he was on the first day of the first month when I saw him (Josh. 3:2, John 11:6, II Chr. 29:17, Rev 1:7), without hope, not walking northward, southward, eastward, or westward (Job 7:6, II Cor. 4:2, Gen. 13:14), and stood like a pot of ointment (I Sam. 6:14, Job 41:31), as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding (Ps. 32:9), proceeding neither to the right hand, nor to the left (Rev. 22:1, 11 Chr. 34:2), and falling into a trance (Num. 24:16). The fool! (Ps. 53:1). Bill Greenwell/'Pilgrim's Standstill')' Do not go careless into that good morn, young dads should juggle coffee cups and toys; engage, engage with your offspring and spawn. Jog with the pram, change nappies, feed at dawn, Join playgroup meetings, relish bathtime noise, Engage, engage with your offspring and spawn. Read bedtime stories, scrub off puréed corn, Dress them in onesies, rompers, corduroys, Engage, engage, with your offspring and spawn. Take naps, build castles, get those pictures drawn, Give up wild nights of drinking with the boys, Engage, engage with your offspring and spawn. For each new father this time flies, I warn, Curse, bless the little darlings and their joys, Do not go careless into that good morn, Engage, engage with your offspring and spawn. Janine Beacham No. 3406: Problematic You are invited to cast a well-known fictional or non-fictional character, living or dead, in the role of agony aunt or uncle and provide a problem of your invention and their solution. Please email entries (150 words maximum) to competition@ by midday on 25 June.
