Competition

No. 1066: Other cheek

Set by C.A.S.: Most of us probably don't take much notice of the slogans often stamped on our letters to extol festivals, holiday resorts and so on. My own favourite has long been 'Hastings: Popular with visitors since 1066.' Competitors are asked to devise their own sets of slogans (up to ten words each) for any four towns, resorts, festivals etc in Great Britain. Entries to 'Competition No. 1066' by 11 June.

No. 1063: The winners

Charles Seaton reports: Competitors were asked for verses from the new House OfCommons a patter song from a new MP, say, or a duet between Jim and Margaret. No new W. S. Gilbert emerged, but there were a number of amusing entries and a deal of ingenious not to say far-fetched rhyming. Sly digs at unsuccessful candidates included one at Auberon Waugh and his Dog Lovers' Party (by Elise and Doris Grundy)and Dromore's put-down of Shirley Williams: It surely is a little sinister

That only I, the Education Minister, Should fail to pass the Commons entrance .. •

Commendations to 'Maggie and Jim's Cross-Talk Act' (Andrew McEvoy) and `Pardoe's Lament' (G. Hare), four pounds each to Messrs Peacock, Vince and Griffin, and three each to the others printed.

The First Lady's Song When I was a lass, at Grantham School, I worked jolly hard and never played the fool.

I always thought there was room at the top; I lived in a flat above a grocer's shop.

(Yes her father owned the flat above his grocer's shop.) He managed that shop so successfully That he sent me to Oxford University;

Somerville — MA — BSc —

And a nice research appointment in Chemistry.

But London called and off I went To find myself a seat in Parliament.

I married Denis Thatcher and bore him twins, A boy and a girl — thank God it wasn't quins!

At Lincoln's Inn I was called to the Bar, As many intelligent young women are, But Parliament is the place for me.

In nineteen-seventy I was made a PC No stopping me now, I'm bound to win.

MP to PM — No. 10 we're in! (Philip Peacock)

I am a happy victor of the General Elect-i-on, My opposition candidates are pictures of deject-i-on.

No longer need I bother to be nice to the electorate — ' Quite frankly they induce in me a longing to expectorate.

I think I promised cuts in tax and rises for the Services

It's difficult to recollect the things one in one's fervour says. The votes are cast, the counting done, I've doubled our majority, I'm hoping to be placed in a position of authority. One job I'd love is trying to emasculate trade unity,

I'd show the sods that nemo me lacessit with impunity. Ill settle for a post that doesn't carry a portfolio,

A thaumaturge (like Denis Howell) or i/c North Sea oleo.

With any luck I'll make a mess of matters parliamentary And so be kicked upstairs where I can join the titled gentary.

(Peter Vince, Enoch Powell's Song When I was young for mental strife I'd an appetite keen and hearty, And that was the moment in my life when I Joined the Tory Party. I stood for Parliament and took the Whip midst general acclamation, But soon I saw my statesmanship had foundered on immigration.

Friends told me not to stir up mud, but I saw the dreadful danger; I spoke about the rivers of blood to every Passing stranger. The Tories started a sort of hunt; for my views they'd no affection. (I might very well pass for National Front in the murk of an election.) 'The Common Market's wrong!' I roared; `let everyone vote Labour.' The Tories chucked me overboard; the Irish cried `Bejaber! Your reasoning's not for London Town, old Ireland's your vocation.' Now l am Member for County Down, and long for repatriation. (Paul Griffin) Candidate's Nightmare Song When you're fighting your seat and you're feeling dead-beat and the polls say the Tories are winning, Yet you're canvassing votes and writing speech notes, though you guess that your end is beginning. Though your chances are slim you keep rooting for Jim, and even for Heffer and Wedgie, But there are loud claps from brash Prentice Chaps where Maggie is speaking for Reggie. Now you feel like a wraith and you haven't much faith in all that your Party's been doing For you're sure in your heart from your seat You will part and this you are secretly rue ing. So you're anxious to learn what ex-MPs earn and if they can claim unemployment, Yet you still have to smile and small babies beguile as you tickle their chins with enjoyment. Now they're unloading each box and you wait for the shocks as the tellers pile votes in a frenzy, Yet it don't mean a thing since you know that Your swing was forecast by Robert McKenzie.

Still you find it a pain though you'd do it again aria De Ott aown a lane all keen to explain With your might and main that Jim is still sane and Maggie's a bane, Now the counting is past, you're defeated at last, andyour agent's aghast, and your die is now cast, and the nightmare is past, and you're getting out fast, for you're free at last, since Jim was outicassed and you're thankful the blooming thing's over.

(Victoria Plumb) Margaret's Song (Tune: Fairy Queen's solo from lolanthe') We've won the fight: the day is done: So, till we light a brand new sun, Goodnight, goodnight, to everyone (exit everyone) Now, Margaret! stand straight and slim: Your cheek is wet, you eye a-swim, It's been a sweat, you need a Pym, you can't forget that glimpse of hi-im — Oh — Uncle Jim!. . . 0 atavistic blunder — But for delayed election-whim, 'tis I should

be your plunder! (pours a drink) Lam a Sword, in satin sheath:

— I can't afford that dratted Heath —

Yet he's so bored, when underneath —

If Keith should hedge — if Geoff is dim — If dreadful Reg his sail re-trim — 0 teeth on edge, 0 prospect grim! when none dares tear them limb from li-imb — Oh — Uncle Jim! . . . Roll of departing

thunder— Smash Victory's Cup, from rim to rim, that

holds twin souls asunder!

(she dashes down the glass) (Gina Berkeley)