Speccie 2838 Fifty-Something
 

The nice lady at my bookshop says this is the worst book ever written. Worse than Dan Brown and Denis Wheatley? Cripes. I've just read two pages on the Internet. It's appalling.

No. 2838: Fifty-something
You are invited to submit a short story entitled Fifty Shades of whatever you choose] (150 words maximum). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 5 March.

As a prose man, I like these almost 'freestyle' short story comps. Inspiration hasn't struck yet, though I certainly won't be aiming to mimic the style of the original Fifty Shades.

Has anyone here read it? I haven't, although to my shame I have read both Wheatley and Brown. Shocking stuff.

Mind you, what about Fifty Shades of (Dan) Brown?

Do I admit this? I skipped through a library copy, because I was thinking of using it for a comp (El James for the Under-Fives) but I soon lost the will to live. The writing is abysmal, the plot practically non-existent: Man wants S & M sex with girl. Girl says 'yes'. They do it. She doesn't like it. End of story. It's unbelievably bad.

Funny how some things take off isn't it? Soft-porn novels are ten a penny after all. My local Waterstones had a whole bay of this kind of stuff even before the success of Fifty Shades, but no-one else seems to be raking it in like Ms. James does.

The er, source text is in almost every way a mystery to me. I read some of chapter 8 online & it was as arousing as Nigel Farage in a onesie. Which is a shame, as S & M can be a spicy topic. If I should want porn I feel I could write it better myself. But the title is only a prompt, we just do 50 shades of whatever any way we please.

High difficulty level, though. We are condemned to be free. Tough comp.

And there I had always thought, until similar research to Bazza's, it must be American and called 50 Shades Of Gray, giving scope for 150 words on multiple appearances by the haunter of country churchyards. Swiz!

Fifty Shades of Lady Grey
 

Percy Wintergreen, the Head Taster, pursed his lips. “Tinted tea? Fifty shades of Lady Grey?? I think not.”

“Nonsense!”, said Rufus Redwood, Global Outreach Manager. “It’s the way the market’s going. One product, lots of shades, sales increase exponentially.”

Wintergreen frowned. “And what do you propose using to achieve these, er, effects? The stuff’s full of organic extras as it is.”

Redwood laughed in his irritatingly superior Leicester Uni manner. “Oh, there are well over fifty EU-approved harmless chemical additives we can bury in the small print. Meanwhile, the packets continue to major on . . .”

He was interrupted by Malcolm Mordent, a stooped scholarly-looking representative from Ethics and Brand Integrity.

“You realise that the eponymous founder specified the beverage should exhibit a strictly limited palette from light yellow to mid-umber ?”

There was an uneasy silence, broken at last by Redwood. “No problem! We’ll rename it Lady James!”

Gosh, Sylvia, you mean it doesn't have a happy ending? Then I certainly shan't be reading it. Why, it would be like letting Tinkerbell die.

Story of my life.