[Jerome Betts]

Thanks for the trenchant accolade, John, but the tea-set still eludes us. Interesting to discover the Oldie at least will shell out for short measure. I had set my hopes no higher than a mention. Nice if it was all paid at £5 a line.

[John Whitworth]

Bazza got a tea-set. I WILL have one. I once won a case of Cobra beer from the Speccie and I once won a bottle of excellent Scotch from the Oldie. Happy days!

[Jayne Osborn]

I never quite got the beer but I won the excellent Scotch from The Oldie TWICE - in a wooden box with a sliding lid, like a large version of those pencil cases we used to have as kids.
But ah! - we all crave the elusive tea-set... (and, while we're at it, I would sell my very soul for a Countdown teapot.)

Well done, Jerome. Nice one

[basil ransome-davies]

The Tattooist's Tale

Mine is a narrative of woe,
Of how the mighty are brought low,
Descending from renown to shame
Through ego and the lust for fame.
I started young in Potters Bar,
But fast became a West End star
Who worked on Robbie Williams' pecs,
Was shortlisted for Posh and Becks
And – such was my hubristic hope –
In line to decorate the Pope.
Alas, I wrote, while inking in
Some love words on Madonna's skin
(The ghastly memory recurs
Like pain) my squeeze's name, not hers.
So now I only needle losers:
Druggies, dossers, no-marks, boozers.


(Many years ago I decided on impulse to get a tattoo but was sent away for being drunk. Phew.)

[John Whitworth]

I don't really see how there could be half a dozen better than that, Bazza. You will surely win again.

[John Whitworth]

Neverthless I shall try it. I suppose Chaucer would hardly have written in limericks.

The Tattooist’s Tale

When the ships are in port then the crews
Spend night after night on the booze,
And when well off their faces
They seek out the places
Where fellows like me do tattoos.

If they come with the cash I tattooes ‘em –
Naked ladies with acres of bosom,
Cute callipygous dames,
But as to their names?
I suggest it’s much better to lose ‘em.

On my life, said a wife once, ‘God rot ‘em all!’
When she spied ‘em inscribed on his bottom, all
The names of the tail he’
-d been rogering daily.
She took a revolver and shot ‘em all

[Martin Parker]

It is years since I tried the Oldie. I did once win a bottle of whisky, but I suspect that this possible entry reflects my total lack of interest in teasets.

Tailpiece

I’m tattooed with the names of the women I’ve loved
And my whole epidermis is covered
Except for the last private inch of my flesh
Which has been so exhaustively lovered.

You tell me, sweet Stephanie Fortescue-french
That your name would not fit on this site
Since the space would not stretch to the requisite length.
But I think, at my best, it just might.