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First Place: Evelyn Quinn (Auckland)
Second Place: Mark Derbyshire (Te Awamutu)
Third Place: Chris Way (Auckland)

The winner receives a jigsaw puzzle; not just any jigsaw puzzle but one depicting the greatest of all Ferraris - the 250 GTO. It's not a new jigsaw, but hey, surely a collectable? Hope you enjoy it, Evelyn; it'll be in the mail shortly (I did say it wasn't going to be a great prize...).
No bribes were included, unfortunately, but 13 year-old Mark Derbyshire's covering letter had enough greasing in it to expand my head some 6 inches in diameter. The letter is now laminated and framed on the wall next to the computer. I may even send it to the bank!

First Place, By Evelyn Quinn

THE BRIGHT PINK TIGER TALE.

The sweet scents of the spring day, mingling with his after shave and her perfume, filled them with sensual delight. He, tall and distinguished in his classy casual clothes, her, soft and gentle in her slinky fluoro green cat suit, walked hand in hand towards the core of her conversations, the base of her braggings, her passion.

She stepped into the bright pink Sunbeam Tiger, he slid into the seat beside her. As the seat belts clicked closed he kissed her tenderly on the cheek. She, with a delicate touch, turned the ignition key. Cruising along the country roads, the wind on their faces and tousling their hair, she prattled on, extolling the virtues and accomplishments of her pink Tiger.

Half listening, away in a world of his own, daydreaming of the evening ahead, he caught the words .........'to Hamilton in under an hour'

"That's not possible" he heard himself saying.

"In my little Beauty it sure is, Honey" she assured him.

"I've heard some tall stories and outrageous bragging," he answered, "But that is ridiculous."

She tapped a long red fingernail on the speedo, proclaiming "If that shows my Beauty can do 100mph-plus it's sure not lying, Honey."

He gave a chuckle, reached over and gave her knee a squeeze.

"Now Doll, bragging is one thing but being down-right ridiculous is another."

"Ridiculous," she chortled, "My Beauty could do that in first gear."

"Oh really? 100mph in first gear?" he mimicked with a hearty laugh. Glancing at her face he had the sudden, desperate wish to erase that statement forever. The ÔI'll show this creep' expression on her face made him feel scared sick.

She wouldn't would she? Her hands were now gripping the wheel tightly-her face stolid. She was as if one with her Tiger-ready to pounce. The road now stretched away ahead, straight as far as the eye could see. He tried to speak-say her name, nothing came. She wouldn't - she's kidding! His mind was racing - addled. If ever he wanted to see a traffic cop it was now. 'Stop her, Please' he prayed.

She pushed the accelerator to the mat, his body bored into the back of the seat, his hands and knees gripped and pressed the dashboard. His mind was blank, his stomach churned and boiled. It hadn't felt like this since his life threatening bout of diarrhea in Singapore. In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, seconds became minutes. Nature was desperately, urgently calling.

Her foot released the accelerator from the mat. Now his back was less heavy against the seat, his hands went limp, his feet fell back to the floor.

Through the mists of terror he could hear her voice.

"Now, smart fella, tell me again I'm bragging, being ridiculous."

The spring day was still full of sweet scents mingling with their perfumes, but these were lost now among a different acrid aroma. It was like, well, as if- his shoes were covered in cow manure.

"Please," he mumbled "I need somewhere to have a shower, and my underwear from my case in the boot."

Ends.

Second Place, By Mark Derbyshire (Aged 13)

MISSION IMP-POSSIBLE

"Oh really? 100 mph in first gear? I never knew lmps were such fast little beasts!" said a prospective buyer of Joe's Imp Sport, in a West Auckland Bar, surrounded by 23 empty cans of Lion Red.

Joe Bloggs was on a mission to sell his Sunbeam Imp, and this was looking easy. He'd already talked some drunk guy into paying $20,000 and a beach house near the Mount for it, as he thinks it does 100 mph in first gear and runs on three AA batteries ( He must be an Aucklander).

Just as the drunk guy was bringing out his cheque book, a beautiful, middle-aged woman, dressed in a short skirt and Bikini top walked in the door. The mysterious lady walked over to Joe and said with a strong English accent,

"Excuse me, but is that your pristine, 1968 Sunbeam Imp for sale?"

The room fell silent. This is the woman every single (and married) man was looking for. She was beautiful, and she knew her cars. Joe sat there speechless, though the question was pretty simple!

"'m sorry, I suppose I should introduce myself, my name is Mary Rootes. My Grandfather and Great-Uncle founded the company that made your car, and I am looking for an Imp to finish off my collection of cars my Grandfather produced. I noticed yours was for sale for $2,500, do you mind if I have a closer look?"

"What!!" yelled the drunk guy next to Joe, "I was going to pay $20,000 for that piece of cra-" And with that, he passed out, landing face first in a bowl of peanuts.

"Sure", Joe said, falling off his stool, waiting for the feeling in his legs to come back.

"This is it. I've had it for the last 20 years and its never had any major problems. I'm upgrading to a Tiger", he said, proudly.

" Oh, like mine. It's that pink one, with the Mini-lites, and, oh, I should introduce you to my sisters." Sisters, eh?

" This is my younger sister, Cindy". Joe looked across to see a complete look-alike of Mary.

"And this is my other sister, Lisa. She's a photographer."

Another look-alike! Halailujia!!

She stepped into the bright pink Sunbeam Tiger and returned with a cheque while Cindy walked over to the Imp, and started undressing, and Lisa set up a camera.

"This looks like a good place to shoot", she said.

They were going to pose nude on his Imp! This must be a dream!

"Joe, here's your money, now gimme the @!#$ keys!!"

Joe woke up, startled, to see he was still in the bar, and the drunk guy was waving a cheque in his face that was signed by Elvis. He knew it had to be a dream.

He looked down to see his shoes were covered in cow manure, or was it dog poop? He didn't really care, what he did care about though was selling his Imp, but not to the drunk guy.

Ends.

 

Third Place: By Chris Way

A TALE OF A PINK TIGER, GUCCI SHOES, MEETING A COWPAT, AND 100MP/H IN FIRST GEAR

Rachel pressed the button on the remote. The garage door yawned open, revealing the pink tongue within. Her car, nestled in charcoal shag-pile carpet, was surrounded by pristine white walls and ceiling consisting mainly fluorescent lights behind diffusers. No tools or mechanical paraphernalia showed. This edifice was used for one purpose only; the bedding down of a prized personal possession. The sun shone in and the car glowed happily.

Rachel smiled ruminatively. This was the culmination of her efforts. After the stormy marriage broke down, her husband had violently left with his other love (a bright-red and white early Corvette) she had had to pickup the pieces and carry on. Feeling no regrets she had calmly carried on with her life facing the two main problems head on, a lack of money and transport. She had generated enough money to survive, sales of un-needed and renewable assets had enabled her to put the Tiger on the road.

He had left the Tiger, unfinished, stripped to bare metal. The body had been panelled and strengthened in strategic places. The chassis had also been modified. The car was lowered with HD suspension, disc brakes and sway bars all front and rear. The diff was a Ford 9 inch unit, located with a 4 bar system. The engine and gearbox had been fitted, so all she had to do was paint. She had removed the engine and box, put the car on jacks and stands, lain underneath and painted the entire underbody with underseal, using the only brush she could find, a lin trim brush.

The only paint in any quantity she had was house primer. Deciding the colour was a bit yuk, she had added a small can of Corvette Red and was delighted with the result. Out with her lin brush and a few hours later the car was painted, inside and out. Admittedly the finish was a tad lumpy, more like rough sawn timber really, but she could polish it up some.

After baking the paint in the hot sun for a few days, she glued some emery boards to a cloth, and rubbed the hills and valleys smooth. This was a rather tedious operation, taking several weeks. Next the final coat. Guaranteed non yellowing clear spar varnish was applied in traditional coachbuilding manner, with the one inch brush. Smoothed out with thinners before properly curing, she had gone over and over the car until perfectly satisfied with the glassy, glossy wet-look finish.

The sound but faded leather interior was rejuvenated with her Daughter's ballet shoe paint, and the trusty one inch.

She stepped into the bright-pink Sunbeam Tiger, with bright-pink upholstery, chrome wires. Let the purists laugh, she thought. The engine barked, settled to a deep rumble. She set off towards her destination.

The man left the red Tiger and ambled over. They were deep in the country, surrounded by lush grass.

"Oh really? 100mp/h in first gear?" he sneered, "In your pink Tiger?"

"Get in, buckle up."

She snicked the lever into first. Her foot caressed the accelerator. Six seconds later 110mp/h registered on the speedo. He shivered nervously, she stopped, he fell out. Standing, he looked down and saw his shoes were covered in cow manure - or worse.

"351 Ford, Brodeck heads, roller rockers, turbo. Switch pitch converter drag race prepped powerglide" she laughed - "Never underestimate the power of a woman" and took off - showering him with grass - and worse.

Ends.




 
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