[Jayne Osborn]

It was very nearly an all-female line-up this month, apart from Bazza and an HM for a man called Alan Pentecost. Congratulations to Bazza (as G M Davis) and also to Julie and Ann for receiving Hon Menshes.

Next comp is ‘The Builders’ (see new thread).

Jayne

The Oldie Competition
by Tessa Castro

In Competition no 195 you were invited to write a poem called ‘The Satnav’. Resistance to this little gadget is indicated by the number of entries that ended with the word ‘map’. Julie Steiner began with a striking invocation of the satnav cult: ‘Salvator mundi, Satnav, save us.’ Alan Pentecost blamed the lack of a satnav for the Ark ending up on Ararat. Ann Drysdale expressed beautifully the social quandary of a non-English taxi driver insisting, on satnav evidence, that a strange house is the destination requested. Commiserations to these and congratulations to those printed below; each wins £25, with the bonus prize of a well-mapped Chambers Biographical Dictionary going to Wendy Goulstone.

He came in late again from work,
Thrust pink carnations in my hand
Bought from the garage down the road.
He really is the greatest berk
To think that I don’t understand
That this is how he gets his kicks
Alone with his dominatrix
Switched on to sultry mode.

He made excuses, said he had a cold,
I’ll sleep in the spare room, he said,
But unconcerned I dimmed the light,
Put on my negligee, the gold,
Perfumed my hair, slid into bed,
Then softly so he would not hear
Whispered in my true love’s ear
And slept with Siri all the night.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWendy Goulstone

All the fun’s been taken out of travelling;
It’s impossible to lose your way.
Used to be, your journey kept unravelling
Till you realised you’d gone astray.
This produced its own unique adventures,
Which, quite often, made it worth the trip.
Makes a person want to gnash his dentures,
Losing this quaint bit of serendip.
This is all because of an electronic
Gadget made its way into The Car.
Satnav – GPS – the thing’s demonic –
You can never not know where you are.
Well, you counter, You don’t have to use it,
But the thing’s like Everest: it’s there,
In your eyes and ears. You can’t refuse it.
(Modern life is sometimes hard to bear.)
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxMae Scanlan

She said turn left – or was it right?
Did you hear what she said? It’s quite
a business when the traffic’s tight.
xxxRecalculating.

You bought this satnav thing. You said
my navigation hurts your head.
I think our satnav wants us dead.
xxxRecalculating.

A one-way street! You can’t turn there!
I know she said you could – but where
would we end up? And please don’t swear.
xxxRecalculating.

That’s all she does: recalculate
in Dalek tones like nails down slate.
I’ve never had so much to hate.
xxxRecalculating.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxD A Prince

It’s a dodgy old world we inhabit,
But I’ve done quite well in the circs.
I’ve enjoyed lots of hugs and I’ve done lots of drugs,
And I’ve got a satnav that works.

I’m a free, uninhibited spirit
Who always indulges his quirks.
I may seem rather odd to the nine-to-five squad,
But I’ve got a satnav that works.

These occult, diabolical stories,
Which I read with superior smirks –
Irreversible bends and satanic dead ends?
Well, I’ve got a satnav that works.

All solace to satnavigators
Sat seething in Beemers and Mercs,
But life is a breeze from Beijing to Belize
If you’ve got a satnav that works.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxG M Davis

[Ann Drysdale]

Well done, Bazza!

And menshes for me and Julie, hurrah!

How many menshes do you have to get before you are officially a mensch?

[basil ransome-davies]

Originally Posted by Ann Drysdale

Well done, Bazza!

And menshes for me and Julie, hurrah!

How many menshes do you have to get before you are officially a mensch?

Thank you, Ann, and indeed a double thank-you, since it was your post that suggested to me the 'satanic' potential of the topic. I do not drive, but as my chère épouse would testify I am a shit-hot navigator. Eat your heart out, Satnav.

[Julie Steiner]

Originally Posted by Ann Drysdale

How many menshes do you have to get before you are officially a mensch?

I dunno, but I'm now up to two! (And Lucy called me an "unlucky loser" once, which is still a mensh, even if it seems more hoff than hon.)

Yeah, yeah, I know that the rest of you have lost count of your own. Let me have my moment anyway.

May we see your entry, Annie?

And I'd better congratulate Bazza, too. Since he's got a satnav that works, he might show up at my door to ask me why I didn't. Awkward.

[Ann Drysdale]

Sorry. I forgot I didn't put it up here. I chickened out after all that clockwork orangery.
Here it is:

He was a well-built man, the taxi driver,
Muscles like mighty conkers stretched his vest.
He didn’t have much grasp of English, either.
When he said “postcode here”, I thought it best
To leave the cab, pay up and walk away.
“It isn’t here,” I said. “But this will do.”
“No. This your house because this what you say.
“This what you ask for and I bring you to.”
My postcode was correct; the satnav lied.
But that man’s eyes glittered like evil ice,
I couldn’t have convinced him if I’d tried;
One cannot argue with a strange device.
So, like a gratefully-escaping mouse,
I trotted up to someone else’s house.
.