Report by Ms de Meaner
Most entries were up to scratch, though two genuinely didn't know the difference between "groin" and "groyne". To sort out the winners, I devised a strategy: the entry had to make me laugh aloud. Welcome to Glyn Banks, Albert Black, Graham Dukes, Clare Hobart, Richard Ivett, Martin Jones, Peter Marley, Philip McCormac, Mathilda Pollard, Simon Ridley, Rosalind Stops, Martin Westlake. The winners - newbies Bongerman and Maxine Harris, plus Shirley Curran - get £20 each; hon menshes to Nicholas Hodgson, Anne Du Croz and G M Davis; and the overall top dog, Maxine Harris, also gets the Tesco vouchers.
Brown's jutting groyne
Tony's metaphorical toothpick rummaged around the cavern inside his head, from tympanum to tympanum, trying to make sense of the detritus accumulated over the previous decade, when all became crystal-clear . . . well, as clear as formalin. "The reason people prefer me to Gordon," he mused, "is that I am the suave group captain to his library monitor; I am the history-making polar bear, ready to take the nation to hell and back for the right cause, whereas he is a prudent sporran-wearing Brown bear; I am the majestic Brighton Pier to his jutting groyne." Then he awoke. If not a eureka moment, perhaps a Marmite one: "People will either love me or hate me," he concluded.
Bongerman
Lighting his campfire
Great God! This was an awful place and Group Captain McWhirter a blithering idiot. Here was the Scottish Antarctic Expedition, stranded on an ice floe, constructing a flimsy groyne to restrain the entire Arctic Ocean. McWhirter based his route on an Auchterarder library whaling map and refused to admit his error even after sighting the first polar bear. We suffered hell from his bagpiping (I had a burst tympanum in my left ear, as well as frostbite in my privates - kilts simply aren't suitable), survived on interminable Marmite sandwiches and humoured him when he produced a toothpick from his sporran and, like a geriatric Boy Scout, spun it in formalin from the medical kit "to light his campfire". I thanked God for my private whisky supply!
Shirley Curran
Traces of Marmite
"Tasty," said the polar bear as he used the unfortunate victim's sporran to wipe traces of Marmite from around his snout. Dissecting the head, his claw withdrew a minuscule membrane. Human tympanum was a celebrated prize that he stored carefully in formalin. The pot would take its place in the library of trophies in his lair. Group Captain McCleod's remains were thoughtfully extracted from his fangs with a toothpick. He contemplated the scene of icy Atlantic crashing against a groyne. Soaked in the warmth of the sun, a slight breeze ruffled his fur.
He lay back, crossing his paws contentedly. "Isn't life hell," he smiled to himself.
Maxine Harris
No 3985 In the old style
Set by Gavin Ross
Inspired by the Guardian's celebrations on its 50,000th edition, we'd like reports of the day's events in the style of 1907. Pick any "light" story in the news (Big Brother, Paris Hilton) and see if you can give it gravitas.
Max 125 words by 28 June
Email: comp@newstatesman.co.uk
