COMPETITION

Bottom for top

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1415 you were in- vited to write a verse or two in the style of Cole Porter's 'You're the Top', substitut- ing for 'top' an uncomplimentary equiva- lent.

In his recent book Anthony Burgess quoted some 'censored' lines from Porter's lyric: 'You're the burning heat of a bridal suite in use,/You're the breasts of Venus, you're King Kong's penis, you're self- abuse.' I toyed with the idea of asking you to continue in the spirit of the original but eventually plumped for a reversal of the message, with the happy result of a huge response and many fresh names in the field. The most memorable single line was B. Devereux's 'You're the kiss of life that makes us long for death', run a close second by Mary Ann Moore's 'You're a Zaire band playing Sousa out of tune'. Douglas Goolden's 'You're a sigh, you're a disappointment,/You're the fly in a pot of ointment,/ You're the carcass of a polecat long since dead' had the authentic ring, but along with many others who came close to a prize he was too curate's eggish.

I allowed 16 lines, but of course it all depends on how you arrange the lines, so I have standardised the lay-out. The winners below take £9 each, and the bonus bottle of Champagne Victor Canard (Brut), pre- sented by The John Milroy Wine Mart, 3 Greek St, London Wl, goes to Fran Landesman. Very honourable mentions to Berni Wellgell and Keith Norman.

You're the pits, phoney and conceited, You're the pits, you should be deleted,

You're the sheer delight of a summer night in Slough, You're as bright and witty as a Tim Rice ditty, you're middle-brow, You're the pits with a heart of Fagin, You're the zits on the bum of Reagan,

I'm a car that's stalled and doomed to fall to bits, But if, baby, I'm the bottom you're the pits.

You're the pits, you're a baby-snatcher, You're the twits who elected Thatcher, You've got all the charm of a broken arm for

me, You're a soggy salad, a Manilow ballad, you're VAT, You're the pits, you're the Pope's erection, You're the pits, you are vivisection, I'm an awful mess whose songs are less than hits, But if, baby, I'm the bottom you're the pits. (Fran Landesman) You're the dregs, you're a cap at Ascot, You're the dregs, you're the West Ham mascot, You're the milk in first, a beery thirst, a tattoo, You're the Motor Show, you're Mon Repos, you're Radio Two, You're the cheer in a TV dinner, You're the tear of a Vernon's winner, I'm the dashing beau that every socialite begs, But if, sweetie, I'm the bubbly, you're the dregs.

You're the dregs, you're an Eton day-boy, You're the dregs, you're the front of Playboy, You're a penny-pincher, a part in provincial rep, You're a Wembley Scot, a sansculotte, you're

rum and Pep,

You're the mind of a Dallas-lover,

You're refined as a loo-seat cover,

I'm the breakfast tray, I'm sausage, bacon and eggs,

But if, sweetie, I'm the coffee, you're the dregs.

(Noel Petty) You're the pits, you're the world's carbuncle, You're the pits, you're a monkey's uncle, You're a tortured scream from a nightmare dream of life, You're a clapped-out sofa, a skid-row loafer, you're Mack the Knife,

You're a pain, you're an all-time loser, you're the nose on a far-gone boozer, I m a sure-fire risk, a golden disc, the Ritz, But if, baby, I'm the penthouse you're the pits.

You're the pits, you're a run-down sideshow, You're the pits, you're a waxwork tableau, You're a has-been clip from a cartoon strip by Scarfe, You're a cast-off sneaker, a party squeaker, you're a laugh, You're a mess, you're a dustbin liner, You're a crack in the Wall of China, I'm a winner just about to play the ace, But if, baby, I'm the apex you're the base.

(Philip A. Nicholson) You're a berk, you're a total wally, You're the smirk on the Robertson's golly, You're the gold medallion on a beach-bum stallion in Spain, You're a nodding dog, you're a winter jog in the rain, You're a twerp, you're last season's fashion, You're a burp in a clinch of passion, You're a DIY-er who would try to wire in gas, You're a nylon rug, you're a Wogan' mug, you're an ass.

You're the pits, you're my pet aversion, You're the Brits on a day excursion, You're the biggest clown in the Luton Town back four,

You're a used French letter, you're mouldy feta,

(Katie Mallett) you're Gresham's Law, You're the slime on a reptile's hunker, You're the rhyme of a Nigel Bunker, I'm a swinging ace whose natural place is first, But if, baby, I'm the finest you're the worst.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) You're the pits, you're a lousy lover, You're the Blitz when we ran for cover, You're the kind of man who's an also-ran in bed.

You're a sawdust teddy who's never ready, you're Ethelred.

You're the crop of a freezing summer, You're a flop, you're a Selwyn Gummer, I'm a hackneyed slogan, a Terry Wogan with tits, But if, darling, I'm the bottom you're the pits.

(Roger Woddis)