Greatest? Surely that should read sincerest:
However, greatest v sincerest is a mere bagatelle. Upon entering your answer you would be scratching your head when you realised that IMITATION, at nine letters, refused to fit. You would then have to wait until the following Saturday to discover that the answer was, contrary to convention, INTIMATION.
The holiday season, and it looks like the work-experience kid compiled the Saturday Snodger:
Hint: the two key players in The Dismissal were John Fraser and Edward Whitlam, and the Australian batsman who scored 155 on debut at the Gabba in 1965 was Kevin Walters.
You should now be well placed to say that the author of Miss Julie and The Ghost Sonata is Johan Strindberg, the famous Swedish Danish author?
Obviously not "poofs":
Nor AGB. Only three letters. What's more, the persona generator reveals this blog to be a sophisticated beast, suavely across all issues:
Up: Norgay. Down: Hillary.
New Zealand companion? Makes Hillary sound like a partner, euphemistically speaking, if you get what I mean, nudge, nudge, "Ooo, you are awful." Or a pet: Old Hiller.
From the Sunday Age Giant Snodger... it's only a small mistake, but, well, someone has to do the descent thing:
The Sunday Age Giant Crossword can be a right bastard, since around half the clues range from obscure to fvck off:
"Then Kolokolo Bird said, with a mournful cry, 'Go to the banks of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, and find out.'"
Remember David Astle? Well, one thing guaranteed to piss off crossword mavens, apart from a clue which is a complete fiasco, is a wrong clue:
The answer is Limpopo: burst = pop, into wheels of fortune = limo. Pretty good clue, as it happens, except that the Limpopo is a banker in Africa, not South America.
Some colourful clues in recent crosswords. This appetite whetter was in yesterday's Big Snodger.
The answer, for those of you interested in these matters, and I'm sure there are many, is lientery. Might have to shoe-horn it into a rant. Or a limerick.
The Dictionary Cryptic in the Weekend Australian contained these three.
The mechanics of the clue are fairly simple: l - u - v - vies. But don't ask me what Bill Hunter (1 across) has to do with luvvies.
This one is taking the ssip.
Deep.
This rabelaisian dooble-ontonder could partner another crossword favourite: seraglio.
A unique clue, if you get my drift.
From the Saturday Age General Knowledge Crossword:
There are seven letters in Dorothy, right?
Via Collins commented on a recent crossword conquest: "Can't help think showing a completed cryptic on a blog is vaguely in the 'getting a root and going down the pub and telling your mates about it'
category".
He's right; up to a point.
Showing a completed cryptic on a blog, when the grid has been fucked up, completely transcends boorish pub skyting. It's all class.
It's also a matter of record which SHOULD be posted on a blog, and probably linked to by megablogs - Instawhatsit, Huffington Puff, Two Boings and Little Green Crosswords - so the whole world can bask in my aura.
"Ooo, vicar! My aura, indeed."
It's coming up two years and still those swine at The Australian haven't picked my entry out of the bag/hat/barrel.
They must be biased to contestants called Peggy and Beryl and Reg.
Or family members. Remember how competitions on cereal packets used to be accompanied by the disclaimer "Not available to relatives of Kellogg's employees". Well, I don't see any such rider here. How many Oz employees now own a shiny, new, unopened dictionary? I bet Rupert has one. Lachlan, too. Phillip Adams probably uses his to prop up a sarcophagus.
And how many punters do the crossword, anyway? Surely, just on the balance of numbers, my entry must be due.
I've a good mind to ring the crossword desk and give them the piece of my mind that doesn't do the crossword.
Solve this puzzle. It's no lead pipe cinch.
"The last true showcase for elegant language, sparkling wit, and groan-inducing puns." Thus Clive Thompson describes this blog. He's spot on, too, except for the bit about the groan-inducing puns. Doubtless he meant grin-ducing.
Any. Way. Thompson's article is actually about the New York Times crossword, which he compares with the tedious Sudoku. I've never seen a Times crossword, you've got to fork out to read it, but I seem to recall American crosswords are a different beasty from those in the civilised world. An untidy cross - Tah! Dahh! - between cryptics and the general knowledge versions. It could also be that Thompson is talking utter rubbish because the "Classic Puzzle from The New York Times Archive" is pants. Nevertheless, if you know a good American crossword can you point me in the right direction.
Speaking of crosswords - any idea?
That the Saturday Age crossword compiler is a lefty should not surprise anyone, it's the Age, right - or left. Still, for every ten adjective-laden clues like "Who sacked the democratically elected government of Australia in 1975?" he could maybe slot in a token "The federal member for Cunningham. Who proposed a pipeline be built around Gough Whitlam's ego?"
But that's politics, and politics is only a game so it doesn't really matter. Not so cricket. Leave cricket alone, you stinky, dandruff flecked, corduroy clad, Fitzroy stereotype:
From the Sunday Age Giant Crossword. 1954? If Peter Lalor were alive today he'd be turning in his grave.
There is a glaring mistake in 1 Across from the Sunday Age crossword:
Did you spot it? Of course you did. Only a lowbrow oeuf would leave the acute off the é in André Previn. Filistine!
The clue also contains a joke which the more impulsive among you may have misconstrued as the tpyo. Those of you with a finer ear for music would not have jumped to such a conclusion and instead realised the Gammys are spelled correctly. Lauryn Hill, anyone? Lenny Kravitz? Best Polka Album? In fact, name me just one year where there weren't ten better songs than the Gammy winner for Best Song. The compiler was merely having a sly dig at the expense of a wank-fest that can be best summed up in two foul words - Adult Contemporary.
Then again, maybe he wasn't - 9 Down:
Still haven't won that dictionary. Bastards.
The Weekend Australian has a crossword competition whereby the first person to send in a correctly completed entry wins a dictionary. Great prize, no? Of course it is - you can never have too many dictionaries. (Or tomes, in general.) Yet despite regularly sending in The Winner, I still haven't received my booty. Sharp practice can be the only explanation for this rum turn of affairs - the compiler is doubtless doling out dictionaries to his friends and relatives. This wickedness will change quick stix when they realise I am posting their answers five days before the comp closes.*
Click the picture for the clues. Or you could try out the Jeopardy Option and suss the clues from the answers - 28 Across: Sir Eddy Syne comes out at Mardi Gras.
David Astle compiles the crossword in The Age. Astle is reviled by all for his idiotic clues, but this one pilfers the baked confection.
By the way, people who do cryptic crosswords do the crossword. On the other hand, people who do quick crosswords just do the crossword. They are oafs. There are crosswords and there are crosswords, as I’m sure you are aware.
Update! Some good eggs in comments. It turns out Astle's so-called answer was "If you want to make an omelet you have to break some eggs". That's a bit rich for me. The Phrase Thesaurus version is closer to how things should look; "You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs." It's ridiculous to butcher a phrase to fit the crossword. And since when do us Strayans (Astle is one, too) spell omelettes sans te? Next we'll be changing tires and picking our favorite colors.
And it's not just me. Here's a letter to The Age. Mind you, it's a wussy affair, what with the self-esteem whine. Better to grab Astle and force-feed him the crossword page.
