Irate Verbiage

One of the things I miss about home the most is the daily newspaper... I just miss my Saturday mornings surrounded by piles of the stuff. And what I miss most in those papers are the crosswords. American ones, despite being the original, are simply not the same.

When in Spain I was very kindly bought a subscription to the grauniad online crossword facility, and I have kept it up, paying my twenty quid a year. However, until the trip home, I had, alas, abandoned my crosswording for sudoku. Hussy-like, I know. Those little number puzzles are useful for pre-exam getting your brain into logical thinking mode. But they are, well... dissatisfying in comparison. There are a few knacks and you can basically do almost any one. Crosswords however, are infinitely more varied and complicated, because it really does depend on the mind of the setter. Whether you can understand the workings of the setter's thought process really does determine whether you can complete the puzzle. Bunthorne was the bane of my life, and I never got to grips with him--he always got to me, and I will be slightly annoyed about that for the rest of my existence, I imagine.

Yet I had a shock this week. After a conversation with an excellent ape impressionist, I was inspired to re-start doing crosswords. Imagine my horror at, this week, being able to solve a maximum of three clues in each of the daily offerings. It has been... horrible. I'm not completely depressed, as I've managed to complete the vast majority of the Times Jumbo Cryptic Bonanza thingy from last Saturday. Nonetheless, it has been disorienting, along with the rest of the week's shenanigans, to find that something I believed about myself is no longer really true. I'm sure that I'll get the hang of it again. I just would rather just have that hang right now, please.

Fortunately, Orlando appears to be more my cup of tea, but still... Not fun.