Great Guide Entry: Cryptic Crosswords
Another entry from our June Great Guide Entry Giveaway contest. Can you decipher the hidden meaning here?
Cryptic Crosswords
The cryptic crossword is a form of torture developed only on the most depraved planets in the galaxy to have developed a written linguistic culture, such as Faframox Gamma, Kelper-37e, and, formerly, Earth.
Unlike a simple definitional crossword,1 where the answer WAR CRIME may clued by, say, ‘Treaty law violation’, ‘Disaster Area concert tour’ or ‘Vogon poetry recital’, that part of a cryptic clue is generally supplemented by wording ostensibly giving a second route to the answer via its spelling and/or pronunciation.
In theory, this makes the clue easier, but in practice it can turn the entire exercise into the most sanity-warping time hoover since the Ultimate Halls of Fashion on the planet Oopsilon Watamilike decreed that no Oopsilonian could be seen in public without having first measured and tagged in ascending length order each and every hair on their (exceedingly hairy) body.
The reason this extra information actually makes life harder for the solver is that it gives the setter (compiler/constructor/tormentor) leeway and permission to disguise which part of the clue actually is the definition, and/or in what sense the definition is being used.
Even the definition may be grammatically devious, such as when ‘flower’ is used to indicate not a bloom on a plant but a thing that flows (a river), ‘butter’ not a dairy spread but a thing that butts (a goat), or ‘wicked item’ not something evil but something possessing a wick (a candle).
Additionally, the wordplay part of the clue is subject to a number of constructional rules or conventions that the solver just has to learn as they go along, and the decades-long quest to master these is the sole reason so many respectable journalists are perennially late filing copy (and not, as is often supposed, that they are out drinking and dancing).
Types of wordplay that can be used alone or (commonly) in combination include (but are not limited to):
- CHARADE – the answer is broken down into smaller parts, which are defined in order. These parts include shorter words, but also abbreviations and initials, if they are supported by dictionaries and/or common use.
- SECOND DEFINITION – clueing a different meaning of the answer word from the primary definition.
(These are the only two that don’t require an ‘indicator’ word or phrase hinting to the solver what sort of wordplay is being used.)
- ANAGRAM – the letters of the answer are jumbled into another word or phrase, referred to as ‘anagram fodder’. An ‘anagram indicator’ (anagrind – pronounced ‘Anna grinned’) typically suggests wrongness, disorder, or reassembly.
- HIDDEN (or TELESCOPIC) – the answer is presented unjumbled, in plain sight within some longer word or phrase, typically with different word breaks. A ‘hidden indicator’ is used to imply that the longer phrase owns, contains, or hides the answer.
- CONTAINER AND CONTENTS – if the answer can be seen to be made up of one word inside another, these are defined individually with a similar indicator implying containment or enclosure.
- DELETION – if the answer can be assembled from a longer (etymologically unrelated) word with one or more letters removed from it, the longer word is defined and an indicator given suggesting that the deleted letters are lost, abandoned, destroyed, etc. See also BITS & PIECES below.
- BITS & PIECES – individual letters or small clusters of letters in the answer may be indicated with reference to their position in some other word. ‘Head of…’, ‘top of…’, or ‘leader of…’ may indicate the first letter of the next word; ‘heart of’ can mean the one or two letters in the exact middle of it; ‘odd characters’ can mean alternate letters starting with the first; ‘periodically’ or ‘on occasion’ can mean every second (or third, or fourth…) letter without specifying a starting point, and so on. Which leads us to…
- ACROSTIC – initial letters of a string of words in the clue spell out the answer; indicated by a term such as ‘initially’, ‘at first’, etc.
- REVERSAL – where the answer or some part of it is another word written backwards, this is marked with an indicator such as ‘returning’, ‘going west’, or (in a down clue) ‘on the up’.
In all these cases, the wordplay comes at one end of the clue and the definition at the other; though the order, length of each, and demarcation between them may be disguised. There are two clue types where this does not hold true:
- CRYPTIC DEFINITION (or DAD JOKE) – No wordplay, just a groanworthy humorous definition. Indicates the setter is a frustrated comedian.
- &LIT (short for ‘and literally’) – The whole clue is the wordplay, but somehow also simultaneously the definition. Indicates the setter is an insufferable smartarse. While it is true that the setter of the Sidereal Daily Mentioner’s puzzle is also a lexicographer for the Maximegalon Hyperdictionary, any suggestions that previously unknown words appearing in the latter were coined specifically to solve a gridfilling problem in the former have been strenuously denied (and, furthermore, vollexipated).
While most crosswords use two-dimensional square grids, a few Earth-based setters occasionally try cubic ones. Only the Pizmatic Morgomites from the fifth moon of Yubb regularly set and solve tesseractic puzzles, and the only non-trivial 5d puzzle ever created was set by the supercomputer Deep Thought in the time between calculating the Ultimate Answer and being asked to deliver it. Unfortunately, the only possible gridfill contained six words so staggeringly offensive that no publication would consider running it. It is rumoured that Deep Thought has supplied the solution to Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged, who is said to be storing it up for a particularly deserving recipient when he gets to the ‘Tr…’s, but nobody knows who this might be referring to.
— Dave Williams
1Attempts to introduce any form of crossword to the planet Tersurus have proved fruitless, although they do enjoy news farticles and other such guff.
Great Guide Entry: Matter Disintegrator
Through June we ran our Great Guide Entry Giveaway contest. Here is one of the entries, giving advice on not where to set when listening to certain music. At least, that’s what we got out of it!
Matter Disintegrator
The most widely known matter disintegrator is most easily constructed from a three-bar heater and a rendition of the “Queen of the Night” aria, sung by Diana Damrau. This fact was discovered by David Harvey, of Roundshaw, near Croydon, England, Earth, some years before the planet was destroyed.
David was listening to the aria on a cold winter night and accidentally put his coffee down at the precisely-required distance between the heater and his laptop speakers. His mug, the coffee and the fully-contained marshmallows instantly disappeared. Only the tops of the marshmallows floating above the rim of the mug remained.
Note: the disappearance occurred fifty-three seconds into the playing of the video. Very few people have been known to listen much longer than this.
Given the vast expanse of the universe (see the Guide entry re Chemists), this experiment has been repeated on millions of occasions but has not been fully documented elsewhere than the Guide. The precise wattage of the heater and the musical composition of the aria have not been fully identified other than in the examples given in the appendix to this entry.
The fact that these experiments result in a matter transporter, rather than an actual disintegrator, is known only to the people of Jayscondel VI, whose entire economy is based on the astonishing assortment of objects that appear atop a particular mountain at various times during the day and night. Their prayers to the great god Omnifacutous do not in fact have any effect but no-one is about to stop now, not when they seem to be on to a good thing.
— Willo Hanri
Poems of Vogonity
Poems of Vogonity
It’s not been quite a month since Towel Day, where five fan written Vogon Poems were chosen as winners. Those entries have been posted here, but now additionally presented in a convenient easy-to-store PDF. Who wouldn’t want Vogon Poetry available at a moments notice? (no, don’t answer that).
There are a couple of other treats in there, including details of our Great Guide Entry Giveaway contest, and a discount code for the new Audiobook about Douglas from Pushkin.
Download, read, share: Poems of Vogonity
The Great Guide Entry Giveaway
The Great Guide Entry Giveaway
Roll up, roll up on and all, and especially ZZ9 members, because it’s to them our next compettion applies to. (to everyone else, you can join up and then compete)
The Great Guide Entry Giveaway, where one talented ZZ9 member will win a Champagne Edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy courtesy of Curious King.
- The mice will see you now
- Vogon Poetry, our favourite
- 2 to the power of…
- Champagne spine
- Book and slip cover
- Slip cover with whale
As ultra-fans of The Hitchhiker’s Guide, we know what goes into a great Guide Entry. This is your chance to show us that you know what we know, by submitting a guide entry that no editor would dare shorten, condense, abridge or redact!
In 1000 words or less, guide us with everything we need to know about any person, place, or thing in a universe (ours or any nearby space time continuum). Entries must have an English text component but can also be enhanced with audio or video (host those on a platform of your choosing and send us the link). Terms and Conditions have the full boring details. (I assure you it wasn’t written by a Vogon)
So! Share your entry far and near so other froods can gain from your wisdom, but to enter, drop us a line by email to publicity -at- zz9.org, or just use our contact form. (either way, make sure you include your membership number!).
Untitled (fifty miles back)
The fifth and final in our series of Vogon Poems written for our Towel Day 2025 competition. Our judges comment was “after this, it can only get better”
Untitled
Its fifty miles back
after being away
There’s a brand new baby
at home in the hay
Christmas and New Year’s
have come and gone
Now I wonder
if I still belong
I’m biding some time
before seizing a moment
My eyes and ears are
quite frankly wide open
This one little line
repeated so trite
“He looked like Churchill
what an awful sight”
Hurt and angry
and feeling unwanted
I dropped the bomb
“Was I born…or adopted?”
A flurry of answers
came back with a scream:
“So what’s the difference
You see what I mean?”
“That’s all behind you
just look ahead”
“Things were hard enough
with your hair so red”
Descramble a name
which reads like the war
Only one letter short
to name three babies more
After his birth
by about the sixth week
My adoption was sealed
I lived like a freak
Taken for a ride
I was four years old
“…going to see a lawyer”
that’s all I was told
Neighbour at the door
with blood on her dress
A birth had occurred
oh, what a mess
“When you have a baby…”
(I’m enlightened at four)
“…they cut you open”
-I imagined her floor-
Speaking of floors
have I ever said,
that toilet training
was all in her head?
Put down some newspaper
and make him sit there
That was her method
‘cause she didn’t care
This is for sure
That baby…was tummy
(So whatever happened
to my very first mummy)
For the next six years
Until my departure
I served in the pantry,
The cupboard and parlour
“Stand in the corner,
get down on your knees!”
Lie in that bed
full of puke and green peas
Abandoned! Runover!
and whipped with wet clothes
Why do you ask
for a nice piece of prose?
Soap in my mouth
and clothes-pins on ears
They bought two straps
and whipped me for years
She’s thirty-nine all over
from her head to her toe
My God…I’m packed
I have to go
Beware of the lies
and any old secret
There was no stork
just a big fat egret.
-Epilogue-
Death is my mother
our reunion at hand
Adopt me not!
this is my stand.





