Speccie: Talking Pictures
 

The Gilbert/Shakespeare Competition was a triumph for Bill Greenwell who wins the extra fiver. I won money too. Frank Osen was nearly there, should have been there in my opinion. Good for us! Full text below.

The new competition looks like a goodie. What view of us would our toilet/lavatory/comfort station have? For instance.

No. 2644: Talking pictures
If your television could speak, what would it say about you? You are invited to submit the views of an inanimate object, in verse, on its owner/s (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 21 April.

Incidentally, I think I know why the prizes are sometimes £25 and sometimes £30. Lucy will have a fixed sum of money - I think £155 each week. When there are only four winners (because they take up a lot of space) then we get a fiver more each than when there are six winners. So in a normal week Frank would Probably have won. Grind those teeth, Frank. I have your money.

Quick try, subject to revision or catapulting:

SAME BACK AT YOU

Where do you go all day, my friend?
I'm staring at your empty sofa
hoping at the bitter end
you'll return, yet I can't know for

sure you haven't left for good.
I sit here in a funk and wallow
in my grief and wish I could
roll upon my stand and follow.

When you arrive with plates of food
and hit my switch and turn me on,
it brightens up my darkest mood
and feels like you were never gone.

You make me come alive at night
and feel that I have words to say.
You love me, don't you? Am I right?
Then sit down on the sofa. Stay.
.
.

Let's Call the Whole Thing Off?

You choose a documentary
on Lifetime or Discovery,
a drama from the BBC,
while I prefer reality,
game shows, stand-up comedy,
a juicy courtroom mystery.
But on some programs we agree:
Old classic reruns, certainly:
Cheers, All in the Family,
I Love Lucy. And aren't we
completely hooked on Jeopardy?
And though we sometimes disagree
we're still the best of buddies. Gee,
when you aim that remote at me,
you turn me on, pal, yesiree!
Just thought I'd tell you. Your TV.

They say I am a 'boob tube.'
Well yes, I am a tube,
but you're the one who watches me
so you must be the boob.
.
.

John,

Speaking of the dosh - be it £20 or £25 - how long do you normally have to wait for it? My winnings from March 13th haven't arrived yet.

Just out of curiosity, do we think these have to be about TVs? The wording is "the views of an inanimate object," right?

No they don't Maryann. I'm working on the thing you sit on in the loo. I, being English midle class call it the lavatory, though that is really the room. What do you call it. What does anyone call it? Toilet? Loo? But that's the room too.

Anyway, here's a draft. I don't see how it can really be called Talking Pictures, but that's Lucy's problem. A bit Gilbertian I can't halp thinking, but then a lot of my stuff is. Would I had his godlike skill.

I am that poor closet
Where humans deposit.
I sorrow, because it
Can never be mine,
To share in your leisure,
Those moments you treasure,
The joys without measure
That make you divine.

In winter or summer
This life is a bummer.
It’s time for a plumber,
The end of the line,
When life such a farce is,
A wretched catharsis,
A parking of arses,
A grunting of swine.

Terrific John, if Lucy doesn't stump up I'll give you the fiver meself.

Wonderful poem, John, but Jim may have to pony up the fiver if Lucy feels the closet isn't really sharing its views about its owner. I call it a toilet.

I had completely overlooked that the object doesn't have to be a TV. This opens things up quite a bit.

UNEASY CHAIR

I don't mind when the woman sits.
She's not a tub of lard like him.
Her backside is so small. It fits.
She works out daily at the gym.
My legs support her weight just fine.
With him I feel my legs might snap.
I fear someday he'll cross the line
and let her sit upon his lap,
and then I'll meet my sorry fate
in splinters strewn across the floor.
If only he would lose some weight
I would not worry any more,
or if she'd toss him on his crown,
divorce him for some skinny chap,
I would not mind when they sat down,
alone or in each other's lap.