Competition
IN COMPETITION No 234, you were invited to write a poem called Taking the Biscuit. The entries were very moreish. John Wilsher made a joke about internet cookies; Peter Wyton’s cookie crumbled as the bailiff’s men arrived. Mike Morrison couldn’t get the packet open; Katie Mallet got chocolate on her art-class portrait.
Adrian Fry took Broadmoor and Jimmy Savile as a subject; John Oldershaw (not alone) dementia. Dorothy Pope sentimentally remembered broken biscuits. Basil Ransome-davies knowledgeably praised the Petit-beurre.
Commiserations to them and congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the bonus crumbs of comfort in the form of The Chambers Dictionary of Great Quotations going to Peter Hollindale.
They never learn, it’s easy, they invite Us in the place. There’s no intruder light, No dog, and no alarm, and what’s
amazing – He hasn’t even put in double glazing.
A chemist owns it, put it on the map, But not like Boots, mind, some
professor chap. Now, a shimmy with my jemmy, and
I’m in. The first thing is to find the biscuit tin.
Yes! Biscuits hiding wads of cash below. I’ll help myself to both before I go. A funny taste, though. Almonds? Now
what’s stirring? Pain. Pain. The world is whirling,
whirring, whirring...
A latch. A voice. ‘I do believe I’ve
caught one. ‘How easy it is, almost as if they
sought one. ‘Mice, men, they’re all the same. And
just his fate ‘To cross a world authority on bait.’ Peter Hollindale
What is the use of biscuits? What Have biscuits, in their essence, got That cakes or crisps or crumpets lack? The perfect or platonic snack, Adjunctive to a cup of tea. Are biscuits all that this might be? Or are they an irrelevance, A hypocritical pretence, A mask, a mummery, a sham? Do biscuit junkies give a damn For values decent people feel? Betrayers of the commonweal Of common sense and common good, Of modesty and motherhood! Race hate, date rape and child abusing Can all be linked with biscuit using. John Whitworth
‘Please take a biscuit’ like ‘drink up your tea’, the words convey nothing, she gazes at me.
Reaching out grasps the plateful to pull on her knee, as she sits on the sofa just challenging me.
I gently take charge and select from the choice. Dementia ensures that she hasn’t a voice.
Not taking the biscuit, in more ways than one, is this cruel disease and the web it has spun. Janet Kingsbury
May I offer you a biscuit - Jammie Dodger, Florentine? A lovely Lincoln’s just the ticket, Go on, dear, the pleasure’s mine.
Bourbon, Boortsog, Abernethy, Anzac, Empire, Oreo, Shortbread, fig roll, Garibaldi, Snickerdoodle, tareco,
Hobnob, tirggel, Wagon Wheel, A langue de chat will make you purr, Chocolate finger, Toll House, tuile, Cornish fairing, Petit-beurre, Cuccidato, koulouraki, Ricciarello, Lady Lock, Plain digestive, butter cookie? Hurry up, it’s tea o’clock! Philip Machin
COMPETITION No 236 Outside Buckingham Palace they have the wallflowers safely bedded in for next year. A poem, please, called The Wallflower, in any sense. Maximum 16 lines. Entries, by post (The Oldie, Moray House, 23/31 Great Titchfield Street, London W1W 7PA) or email (comps@theoldie.co.uk – don’t forget to include your postal address), to ‘Competition No 236’ by 6th December.