WoW: Jabroni
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Salon 36
I’m still nursing bruises. Not from the election, but small balls of paint hitting my flesh at 110kph. The punishment was in the name of my daughter’s 16th birthday, where a bunch of us scrambled around barrels, walls and forts with pump-action splatball rifles. High-gloss fun.
For your diaries, next week I’m running a free session on Thursday evening at the Doncaster Library – all Melbourne dabblers welcome. And in case you can’t get enough DA-AM, I’m cohosting the Conversation Hour this Tuesday with Jon Faine, meeting the curators of the First People exhibition at Melbourne Museum, as well as the comic historian David Hunt, the wit behind Girt. Tune in, 11-12. Or slurp ABC’s local website.
Enough hustings. Time for a game. On the weekend I spotted a two-novel volume of Nick Hornby: High Fidelity/Of A Boy. (How lovely to hear of such a loyal lad.) But what next? A Martin Amis double: Experience/The Pregnant Widow? Or Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye/The Blind Assassin.
Other combos from the one author invited. And Brit puzzle reflections – such as today’s top-notch Times – also most welcome.
Double Rainbow [BB427]
A. The letters AV can be jumbled into three of the rainbow’s seven colours, so making new words each time. Which three colours are enlisted, and what are the FOUR words that result?
B. THE RAINBOW, a lesser known novel by DH Lawrence, holds two verbs of similar criminality, where every letter is used once. (Or can you add two more consonants and scramble to make a relative?)
SOLUTION NEXT WEEK
BB426 SOLUTION: Fuming, brassed off, ropeable, seeing red, in a lather, incensed, cranky, fed up to the back teeth
Results Are In
Votes have been counted. We have a majority of quality candidates, with plenty of grass-roots support, but who wins the mandate to boast for the week, and get to read Dr Johnson’s Reliquary of Rediscovered Words?
But first a general word of counsel: KISS. This week I’ve seen splendid ideas struggle due to needless uploading of words or complexity. To win general favour (bear in mind I came last recently), see how you can pare. And ask yourself: is it fair? As often a cluttered clue will carry redundancy, or demand a step that’s not lucidly supported.
Anyway, the top five vote-winners first, and then candidate with the highest aggregate, tallying both clue scores:
CORANGAMITE – Cook organic meat [With the perfect name, Sausage Sizzle exhibits the perfect KISS example. He gets 14 points from 5 votes.]
LINDSAY – Layabout independents [Despite a lack of explanation, Albert Langer impressed plenty, with 15/6.]
ASTON – Empty answers by Abbott found wanting? [Loved the ‘found wanting’ device, and the newsiness is brilliant. A worthy 19/6 for Sausage Sizzle.]
ASTON – Hidden agendas, Tony? [Donkey Voter struck early with a brilliant hidden, accruing 21/6]
ASTON – Backflips cannot save faction [Nice to know I can still dazzle with my acrobatics, earning 28/7 as Core Promise.]
Tally time, and we have a bunch of stranded aspirants. (Hence my advice. It can be tricky to nail the tone – or Tone.) The margins go like this: A Week Is a Long Time and Cob Batter (both clean sheets I’m afraid), Kony Rubbot 3, Stephanie Bannister 6, Albert Langer 15, Donkey Voter 28, and Core Promise AND Sausage Sizzle both on 33.
That’s right a hung parliament. Though as the book holder, and prize pledger, I hereby make my concession speech, granting the Sausage full rights to the title. Congratulations. Well campaigned, all hacks. Now, who is our mystery winner?!
"Huh 40
Beer glasses, missing grubs, lakes and a spot of shuttlecock. All this and more bundled into five British clues I don’t quite fathom. That’s the spirit of a Huh post. See if you can unpick the wordplay’s workings, and enlighten any klutz like me who fails to grasp the nettle.
And if you’re not burned out by our ferociously good federal Storm, Marginalia, then I invite you to clue any of these six answers. (Just be wary not to betray your political alias from the other contest.) Here’s the quintet:
Lead man of our time = HEAD [Lead is luminous, then I struggle with this Qaos clue.]
Check rather round sherry glass = SCHOONER [If you drink and solve an Enigmatist clue, you’re a bloody eejit.]
Combine around NATO member in determined way = CAUSALLY [This one’s from Times anthology 17. ALLY and CA and US. Everything’s there, but it seems arsy-versey.]
Sticking quality grub up by natural lake = STUBBORNNESS [Same book, and similar snag: where’s the grub?]
One sport in place of another = BADMINTON [Also the anthology. And I know badminton is named after Gloucestershire village, but…]
Enlighten, or delight, below. Thanks in advance.
Tint Tintin
Can’t see this list growing too much longer, but the phenom is phun at least. In this week’s Salon I noted that BOOB can reproduce its core as a suffix to make a synonym, BOOBOO. Then RK matched the feat which CHIC and CHICHI. Only for Sam to suggest that a petulant Asian cook WON’T WON TON. Or to colour in a comicbook hero is to TINT TINTIN.
Of course I couldn’t let the idea rest. Hence this list:
DA1. Jinx cover (6,4)
DA2. Kick apathy (4,6)
DA3. Town bike deposit (4,6)
DA4. Trial requiring cojones (6,4)
DA5. Onion bird (4,6)
DA6. Pine for the other half (4,6)
Any more to add?
Marginalia
Let’s all agree – SK first of all – that if SK wins this week’s Storm he gets to keep Dr Johnson’s Reliquary of Rediscovered Words, our book prize reprised from last week.
Below are eight marginal seats in Saturday’s election. To craft clues for any, just invent the wordplay, minus definition. Muck around with all eight, but come the crunch on Thursday, between 1 and 6pm, you need to submit your best two only.
As for voting – the Storm kind at least – that occurs on Friday, submitting your responses via email, with all constituents voting 5/4/3/2/1 across the board. These figures enter the tally room, and we see which candidate grabs the prize. To keep things above board, use a political alias of any stripe. And may the aspirant with the greatest sex appeal win. Here are the swing seats:
ASTON
CAPRICORNIA
CORANGAMITE
EDEN-MONARO
GRAYNDLER
LEICHHARDT
LINDSAY
MACARTHUR
Get thee on the campaign trail…
Salon 35
Next time you stroll into a newso, seek out the Smith Journal spring edition, out this week. Inside you’ll find my chequered history of the crossword, along with a bonus two-speed DA puzzle that interweaves plenty of Smith’s two-year inventory, from hipster speak to retro gadgetry. Also stuff on new-wave punctuation, bullfighting, the chess revolution and the beloved Dave Eggers.
In the lingo department, an emailer named Fiona is wanting some English reform on two fronts. The first is her quest for the annoying and/or construction. When we say if you want the mayo and/or sauce, etc, is there an alternative? (And please don’t say horse radish!) Can we invent a substitute?
Reform Front #2 is another slash-word, namely if/when. People say that if/when they go to Bali, or even if-or-when, dodging the possibility of the former, or the probability of the latter. How can we pin down this weaselly hypothetical, or is it here to stay? All suggestions welcome.
A big thanks to SK for relaying his ‘divine’ book prize in last week’s Storm, making the booty available for this week’s showdown. And lastly a puzzle to ponder: What four-letter word can repeat its centre as a suffix to make a six-letter synonym?
Of course, the Salon is the place to discuss all things crosswordy, including today’s pleasant grapple in the Times, with the best clue my last solve: Extreme way parts of seesaw are different (7) Have fun out there.
Apoplectic [BB426]
If an angry infant is up in arms, or wrathful dim-sim chefs are steamed, how furious might these eight be? (And can you dig up any furious idiom we missed, giving us a bonus clue?)
- Smoker (6)
- Trombonist (7,3)
- Docile rodeo bull (8)
- Matador’s bull (6,3)
- Barber client (2,1,6)
- Aromatherapist? (8)
- Vintage car buff (6)
- Over-biter? (3,2,2,3,4,5)
Is there another idiomatic bunch to expose? Feel free to make a fresh list.
SOLUTION NEXT WEEK
BB425 SOLUTION: Eight/height, has/ash, earth/heart, Soho/shoo, wither/whiter, chasing/
cashing, Aceh/ache, with/whit, sheeting/seething
Lindy's Locum
For the first week in October I’ll be filling in for Lindy Burns on 774 Melbourne, between 7 and 10 all week. Tune in to hear talk of wine, sport, language, music and family politics. Oh, and songs. And weather if I push the right button.
Divine Results
As you would predict, this week’s divination storm showed some extra perception, with a landslide result in the set menu, and a merry squabble in the Wiki list. Let’s put away the tea leaves, the old shoes, the German octopus, and get down to see who won the good doctor’s book: Johnson’s Reliquary of Rediscovered Words.
SET LIST
TYROMANCY = It’s a cheesy way of seeing things, yes – for starters, it sounds lovey-dovey? [Astralia does a Paulish thing, making up a word, like Paulish, earning 9 points from 5 votes.]
NOTARIKON = Initial divination a rank notion. Interminable nonsense [I failed to foresee the relevance of Olaf Johnson’s alias, the same enigma reaping 12/6.]
SCARPOMANCY = Intervention due to Slipper’s misuse of company cars [Sublime clue. Not only the predestined anagram, but inspired enlistment of Slipper is far too good. This scored Psychic Sidekick a staggering 20/7.]
WIKI LIST
FELIDOMANCY = Cats used to cast “AFL- My Code In Crisis” [Sidekick rides again, his jumble snaring 7/4.]
SORTES = Cast by tosser?! [Nostradamus pips Psychic by a nose, on 10/5.]
OMPHALOMANCY = Only a macho PM mocks navel gazing [Magus is masterful in the Wiki leg, boasting a 12/5 return.]
Can Psychic be psuperseded after his Slipper coup? Let’s examine the tally, with yours truly as Medusa owning the basement. (That’s OK. I have two copies of Reliquary anyway!) Here’s the ladder: Medusa 4, Ouija Bored 6, Ed Chigliak 8, Astralia 9, Magus 12, Nostradamus 12, Olaf Johnson 18, Psychic Sidekick 27.
My waters tell me the true identity of our winner is a tall, dark, handsome recidivist, and not the first time he’s plundered a book from my library. But how can anyone dispute the calibre of his two podium clues? Please confirm your ID (and address in the winner’s case), and thanks for the exquisite scrying one & all.
"Sex Jerkins
Forgive me. I have a hangover. Someone kept thrusting Coopers and Sambuca shots into my mitt at the Text party, an annual bacchanal of the Melbourne Writers' Festival. If I find that sod, I’ll smite him.
To hasten my recovery, let’s have a laugh. Pick a name, any name, and change its initials to make two words. Tex Perkins, my example, can be morphed into sex jerkins, earning the clue: Venereal vests? (SJ) Simple idea, but we should uncover some comical combos. And if we’ve done this Friday folly before, indulge me. This headache is fraying the memory. To kick you off:
DA1 – Candy box (LC)
DA2 – Ex-chief (LB)
DA3 – Put off logging (DF)
DA4 – Yank AC/DC fan? (HB)
Ensure you post quietly. And look for our Divine Storm results, and winner, on Saturday. Cheers.
Divine Storm
Time to win a book, as you may have predicted, for this week we wangle the old ways of divination. The theme underpins this week’s Wordplay column, in light of the looming election. But finding this Wiki page of weird words, I felt we should play with the prophesy.
The game is simple. Pick any ‘mancy’ from the five below, and clue it, using both wordplay and definition. Likewise, pick any other divination from the Wiki page, and provide word and clue (with definition and wordplay). In the end, using shamanic aliases, we will submit our best two clues, one from the set list, and one from the Wiki list.
Voting is 3/2/1 per category, and the overall winner receives a whole book of weird words: Dr Johnson’s Reliquary of Rediscovered Words by Dr N Johnson, no relation. So here’s the set list, while the Wiki wonders are on the above link:
BELOMANCY – future-seeing via arrows
GELOSCOPY – divination by laughter
NOTARIKON – clairvoyant interpretation of initials
SCARPOMANCY – divination via old shoes
TYROMANCY – forecasting through cheese
The die is cast. Adopt an astral alias, and get to your dark work, making clues from both lists. File your best two between 3-7 on Thursday, and on Friday-day all players vote (via Email) 3/2/1 for each category. The best tally wins the good doc’s book. Simple. Divine.
Radio Days - Salon 34
Feeling antsy, in a good way. For the next two Sunday mornings I’ll be tagging with Libbi Gorr on 774ABC. Libbi’s taking a holiday, and the Southbank savants thought they’d guinea-pig a newbie as locum. Presuming I can suss the buttons, with expert help from Bridget Fitzgerald and John Standish, I can’t wait to blab and quiz and play, in pre- and post-election modes.
Tune in if you get the chance, from 10 till noon both Sundays. The guest list is growing, from superheroes to Alzheimer experts. Should be a buzz, where all opinions stand to be my own, and not those of my gallant employer.
Meanwhile two books are taking shape. Cluetopia is scheduled to appear in mid-October, while Puzzles & Words 2 is out a little later. I’m thrilled with both, and hope you get a kick when they come. More about these titles soon, as well as your chance to snare a copy of one or the other here at DA Central.
So now for a game. Last week we removed an S-initial. What say we add an S to the tail, turning CARES into CARESS, or TIMELINES into TIMELINESS? Or these six – a gentle start to your verbal week:
DA1 Alloy underwear (5,4)
DA2 Wrong writer (5,4)
DA3 Redundant obelisks (8,7)
DA4 Wrestler suburb? (3,4,3,5)
DA5 Roam city (4,5)
DA6 Stab singer (5,6)
PS – today’s Times looks a corker. Share your -S clues, or Brit blues here.
Moving the Goalposts [BB425]
You may find yourself stumped by your own clue with this Birdbrain. (A familiar scenario for your blog host, believe me.) Reason being, this little teaser was actually generated onsite, handpicking your best suggestions a year ago.
The challenge was all out moving the letter H – or goalposts – within a word. Yell/compass point, say, is SHOUT/SOUTH. As in all examples, only the H is moved, taking up a different position within the second word.
- Of the last tentacle/stature
- Owns/tree
- Planet/core
- Sexy London/scram!
- Shrink/paler
- After/redeeming
- Indonesian province/hurt
- Beside/jot
- Manchester/mad
SOLUTION NEXT WEEK
BB424 SOLUTION: We found brazil (a wood), chad (punched paper scrap), china, guinea, japan (lacquer), morocco (leather), turkey and wales (skin welts). Other nations may qualify.
Conundrum 10
Long-time dabbler Mauve came up with a neat puzzle during the week. His question is this: What common five-letter word can lose its initial S to reveal what it isn’t?
The same conundrum inspires a game idea, where we dock the S-initials off any word that works, so making for a STRUMPET TRUMPET, or a SAD AD. Or these six:
DA1. Chilly nag (4,5)
DA2. Extensive grief (8,7)
DA3. More vapid idolator (9,8)
DA4. Depletes Hogwarts? (8,7)
DA5. Hogwarts groupie? (6,7)
DA6. Economic recovery due? (8,7)
*Add you own. And thanks to Mauve for the brainwave. *
Meh 19
Time to drag out some less-than-thrilling clues from the Brits. See if you side with my meh-ness, or possibly find exception to my derision. And should the cryptic spirit move, then what say we compose finer alternatives as well.
Mercury’s group on board = QUEEN [Qaos spells out the bleeding obvious, hardly a scrap of crypticity about it.]
Obstinate swine lost the lead = PIGHEADED [Times 9593 makes me shiver just to revisit. Swine = pig, lead = head. Meh.]
Scoundrel cad and bounder for starters forming crust = SCAB [Sorry, Dogberry, but the surface story is a dog’s breakfast.]
Steer tight, one way to show determination = GRIT ONE’S TEETH [Where’s the anagram signpost in Philistine’s clue?]
Spooner’s happy smiling at wedding, maybe = CEREMONY [Merry what? Maybe this clue belongs in a Huh post, but I suspect Gaff’s spoon is bent.]
District in which one’s nearest pub has Ruth appearing topless = LOCALITY [A local is a local because it’s local, within your district. This clue is from FT’s Wanderer. A turbo tapeworm.]
Artistic Mixes
This week, can you shine at the ancient art of anagrams? The challenge is to pick an artist of any kind – a muso, a writer, an actor, a painter – and convert their name into a mock-title they’ve created.
PETER CAREY, say, could be CAREER TYPE, which warrants the blurb: a New York exec marries an apiarist in a glass cathedral. Or RUSSELL CROWE could be in a movie called ORWELL’S CURSE, where a man is trapped on the Big Brother set with live rats and high ratings. While CLARE BOWDITCH may sing an Irish ballad about an unknown poet called CELTIC BARD WHO?
That’s the game. No need for aliases. Or voting for that matter. Let’s just roll out some quality mix-ups, and see who can find the ideal project for the perfect auteur. The best will conjure a plausible title of work or song, and give us a telling summary of the output, according to the auteur’s past. Let’s mix.
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