In Competition No. 3285, you were invited to supply an extract from the libretto of a musical based on the life story of a politician. Berlusconi: A New Musical, which comes to Southwark Playhouse next month, is described enticingly on the theatre’s website as ‘a hilarious, naughty, noisy exposé of the original perma-tanned media mogul and populist politician… like Evita on acid’.

Tim Rice didn’t get much of a look-in in the entry, swept aside by the spirits of Sondheim, W.S. Gilbert, Irving Berlin and Oscar Hammerstein. Opening the show is Basil Ransome-Davies’s riff on Frank Loesser’s ‘If I Were a Bell’ . He and his fellow winners pocket £30. An honourable mention goes to Sue Pickard.

Chamberlain:

Ask me how do I feel, Ask me now we’re together in Munich.
Well sir, all I can say is I’m really admiring your tunic
While von Ribbentrop just pops my cork,
Mussolini has been a great help,
And we’ve had such a wonderful talk
That if I were a bulldog I’d whelp!

Hitler:

Ask me how do I feel, little me with my modest entreaties.
Well sir, all I can say is if I filled a jar I’d be sweeties!
And if I were a message I’d be in a secret code!
Or if I were an ammunition dump I’d explode!
Ask me how do I feel from this conference I am attending.
All I can say is as a story I’d be never-ending.
Yes, I knew we would compromise
From the shadow of fear in your eyes.
If I were a road I’d be a hairpin bend,
And if I were British I’d appease me to the end!

Basil Ransome-Davies/‘Munich!’

When war’s due and he’s a clue that the Nazis aim to smash through,
he’ll lead the Brits, puttin’ on the Blitz,
Bletchley Park, blackouts so dark, won’t appease, Europe’s on its knees,
the cigar fits, puttin’ on the Blitz,
Churchill will be Adolf’s party-pooper, won’t play with the SS or stormtrooper,
now he’s top dog in Defence, cheers the RAF, raids intense,
he loves those Spits, puttin’ on the Blitz.
Have you seen his siren suits, kitted up against jackboots?
Heard the sirens in the air? Big Three meetings, world warfare,
Dunkirk, Victory salutes, ration books, spy parachutes,
it’s the boy from Blenheim, Winnie’s rockin’ wartime.
Blood, sweat, tears, fight on the hills and beaches, morale-raising speeches,
massive hits, puttin’ on the Blitz,
bunkers, trenches, LDV, he will add those to his CV
he won’t say quits, puttin’ on the Blitz, puttin’ on the Blitz.

Janine Beacham

Seat belts and cameras that capture me driving;
Trade pacts from which I’m in favour of skiving;
Free-kitchen faux pas I’d rather forget,
These are a few things that follow me yet.
Boris, Theresa, Liz Truss and the others,
Old lags, short-timers, my sisters and brothers;
Bitter cold weather and fuel poverty –
These are a few things the whole world can see.
Fulbright and half-bright and still smaller fractions;
Oxford and Stanford and hedge-fund transactions;
Partygate revels and FPNs paid,
These are a few of the games I have played.
Ethic advisors, a chancellor’s taxes,
Codes one enforces but sometimes relaxes;
Billionaire in-laws and millionaire me –
These are a few things the whole world can see.

Chris O’Carroll/‘The Sound of Sunak’

It’s a step to the left
And then a jump to the right.
With every word from your lips
We know your pants are alight
But it’s the pelvic thrust between Leave and Remain,
That small matter of trust that drives women insane.
You just can’t resist a sly ‘Hasta la vista’:
So let’s do the Time Warp again!
Once a climate denier
Now you’re turning bright green;
Your pants are on fire
But you’re keen to be seen
At COP 27
And then in Ukraine.
After dissing Sunak you’ll be coming right back:
So let’s do the Time Warp again!

David Silverman/‘The Boris Horror Picture Show’

Liz Truss: Hooray, they’ve made me the Prime Minister
Now I can do just as I please.
You’ll find that the pound will be thoroughly sound,
Based on imports and exports of cheese.
But I have to go to Balmoral first,
And I gather that Scotland is cold,
Though I’ve never yet been, I must meet with the Queen,
Who I gather is really quite old.
Elizabeth II: Do come in, Prime Minister – what was it? Truss?
I didn’t think they would choose you,
But I said I’d make sure I’d show Boris the door
Even if it’s the last thing I do.
So we’ll make do with you as Prime Minister
Until they find somebody stronger,
Because, Mrs Truss, I think neither of us
Will be keeping our jobs for much longer.

Brian Murdoch/The ‘Audience duet’
from ‘Liz Truss: the Musical’

No. 3288: bring up the bodies

You are invited to supply a sonnet on an embarrassing ailment. Please email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 22 February.