No 3586 Set by Leonora Casement
After mass murderers, say, are convicted, the neighbours are always there to point out how they knew all along that there was something about him . . . We asked for a twisted mind seen with hindsight.
Report by Ms de Meaner
Excellent. I loved T Griffiths, even though here, strictly speaking, it is the twisted mind who is doing the reporting. Actually, most of you tended that way - I mean, if Tony Blair, Damien Hirst and a typical, caring member of new Labour aren't safe from your sarcasm, then who is? A number of you fell down on the "hindsight" instruction. David Silverman, for example, had Stevenage Borough Council appoint a Mr Jones to design the town's one-way system even after he had "delivered his presentation in Aramaic to the music of Reparata and the Delrons". Surely they knew he was raving even then? £10 to Tom Bowling, £15 to the rest; the bottle goes to Keith Norman.
. . . And we should have known that a fellow who could tell porkies in court would make a bad poet.
Tom Bowling
Looking back, it is now disturbing to see how he looked the camera so firmly straight in its lens, before turning, gripping his wife's hand with peculiar ardour, to wave at the sky directly above him. Here was a man who had just worked his way up the street, reaching, with crossed arms, to shake hands mysteriously encumbered with Union Jacks, for which his friends had forked out. And yet he was oblivious to everything but the sky, its preternatural shade of blue. And once inside, the signs were inescapable. The loosening of the tie. The quiet unbuttoning of the jacket. The sudden, almost girlish leap up the stairs, pausing only by the portrait of MacDonald, the way that the guitar appeared in his hands, with its long, curling lead already plugged in - and the manner in which, still smiling fixedly, he walked, as if through the wall itself, into the adjoining property, looked its occupant straight in the face and hit the opening chords of "Brown Sugar". And then, without pausing for breath, took the call on the mobile from his predecessor, and startled his listener with that singular epithet, "Margaret! Hi!"
Will Bellenger
We now realise that the first warning signs came during potty training. We'd brought him up not to be ashamed of any bodily function and, as parents do, we used to say "Well done!" when . . . you know. Admittedly, we were a bit surprised when he insisted on having each turd individually assessed and took to inviting the neighbours in for what he called a private view. We didn't say anything, though; we didn't want him to become inhibited. My wife did express some concern when he started preserving dead pets in formaldehyde and displaying them in glass cases. When I asked him about it, he showed me some essays he'd written saying traditional forms were dead. Well, there's no answer to that. You don't want to discourage them, do you? Not if it's their vocation. We knew, of course, that it would all end in failure and tears, that he'd go from one extreme to the other. But we thought the worst that could happen was that he'd become a teacher and take it out on his pupils. With hindsight it is obvious that our only son would end up as the art critic of the London Evening Standard.
Keith Norman
When she opted to love, honour and obey, I was over the moon. I was fair, though, and said she could cut out the obey part if she wanted to, but she insisted. Right from the start I felt it was too good to be true. I couldn't believe my luck. Nor could I when I found she was totally true to her word. She loved, honoured and obeyed me to a fault. Then, one day, I twigged.
I am wealthy; also I own a great deal of land. After six years or so with her record, she could expect half of everything on divorce. I began to test her in order to see how sincere her vows had been. I came home late, spoiling delicious meals. She never complained. I humiliated her before guests, skimped on the housekeeping and cut her allowance. She continued to love, honour and obey me. Finally, I was blatantly unfaithful to her. She forgave me.
I could not fault her sweet and loving behaviour, but I now realise how devious she was being. A typically cunning and ruthless feminist, she has me trussed and ready for a financial basting. How twisted can you get?
T Griffiths
I know now I should have been suspicious from the start. I suppose I was flattered. She was a smart lass, good clothes, nicely spoken, way out of my class. But she really did talk as if she liked me. And she doted on my whippets and pigeons. When she said my cloth cap was chic, I thought she was having a laugh; but she swore blind she meant it.
Then she was always asking me funny questions about the minimum wage - I only wished my boss would pay it. And the way she kept on about single mothers, I thought she must be up the stick.
I should have seen what was coming. One night she kept trying to get me to drink French wine. I've drunk Tetley's bitter all my life, and that foreign stuff goes to my head. Luckily, I'd kept my wits about me and I spotted what was going on just in time. "Winning back traditional core supporters", she called it.
I shudder now at how close I came to doing something I'd always regret.
Ian Birchall
No 3589 Set by Leonora Casement
We mentioned an old comp last week in the Internet column (see Nanookie the eskimo and the greasy sealskins). So let's have another go. We want anaphrodisiac sex scenes (max 200 words) by 29 July.
E-mail: comp@ newstatesman.co.uk
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