Cassowary Crossing

Who said the Vatican is old school? Just stumbled on a word list issued by the Holy See that brings Latin into the new millennium, with such words as tape recorder (or machina echoica) and astronaut (aerius viator) converted into Pope-speak.

Some are hilarious. Drugs aren’t drugs but medicamentae stupefactivae, while a bidet cops the elegant ovata pelvis. Even the wicked gateau is so much easier to resist as a placenta farta.

Turning to new-wave trades, any clue who a siphonius might be? My stab was barman, but the answer is a fireman. (Hang on a minute. Didn’t Ancient Rome have a fire brigade? This could explain pyro Nero….)

Barman, meanwhile, is a taberna potoriae minister. No wonder the Empire fell to the Visigoths. A senator could die of thirst before his bloody vino lobbed.

Entering the holy spirit of this Lexicon Recentis Latinatis, see if you can figure out what modern concept has been translated into the old tongue below. The English answers (to come soon) are in alphabetical order:

Segregatio nigritarum
Totius corporis inspectio
Amor levis
Brevissimae bracae femineae
Capacissima aerinavis
Umbrella descensoria
Maizae grana tosta
Mandatum nummarium periegeticum

Lucky for some, seven lies at the heart of many sets, like 7 = C in a R (Colours in a Rainbow). Even green solvers will work out a few more.

7 = P of E
7 = N in the TS
7 = T per SP
7 = V of S
7 = P for a CT in RU
7 = HPB
7 = C on E
7 = A of M
7 = P in a TS
7 = Y in T
7 = P in a WPT

SOLUTION NEXT WEEK
BB177 SOLUTION: El Niño (a blend of NINE + L + 0)

Beowulf – the classical warrior-meets-monster tale – is one yarn to make the American soldier’s swag, bound for Baghdad. So too is The Odyssey – another travelogue with sword. And The Iliad, where the Trojan War of course is the major bloody episode.

Lieutenant Colonel Jason Armagost, who flew aboard USAF squadrons in 2003 during air strikes on Iraq, contributes to a new set of essays entitled Planning for Conflict in the 21st Century.

Hardly a heartening topic, but the literary angle that Armagost adapts towards the skirmish has a ghoulish allure. Harpers Magazine – the September issue – lists the library in full, all the books Armagost smuggles through the bomber hatch to appease his soldier soul.

Many of the titles are predictable – such as Tim O’Brien’s standout memoir of Vietnam paddies The Things They Carried, or an apparent no-brainer like Thoughts of a Philosophical Fighter Pilot by Jim Stockdale. But others, like Don Quixote, seem out of a left battlefield.

Q: How would a dreamy romantic help drop a Scud over Isfahan? Or maybe it’s the bomber who seeks the release.

A spot of housekeeping before this week’s posts roll out.

My ten-minute play, The Mercy Kitchen is due to run on December 20 at The Arts Centre in Melbourne, a matinee show featuring the weird, the wild and the occasionally subtle Short & Sweet Wildcard winners. Come support the fest, and let your voice be heard on the end-of-show ballot paper.

And speaking of theatre, the answer to the Romp poem from last week, was HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE, taking the first letter from the first line, second from the second and so on. While I did crack it – pre-reveal – as my mate Beck will attest – I didn’t figure on that pesky ‘apostrophe’ warranting its own special place in the code. How’d you go?

[If none of the last paragraph made sense, scroll back a few posts and look for the cryptic doggerel in bold.]

In a day or two – the literature that soldiers take to war. (We’re not talking bazooka manuals here, but novels.) Any care to guess before I reveal the master-list in a US grunt’s kitbag?

Explain why 50 in 09 reversed
Is a code by which our land is cursed.

SOLUTION NEXT WEEK
BB176 SOLUTION: Island (think about it)

Melbourne Romp ran last weekend, a mix of treasure hunt, Amazing Race and puzzle. To compete, say the organisers, you need a team, a mobile and a sense of adventure, sleuthing clues around town in hope of snagging part of a 10-grand purse.

You also need an IQ above 180 to crack this final rhyme pitched at the event’s University Level. A mate called Beck shot me this poetic finale and I can’t find the gem just yet. Sifting for hidden words – or landmarks – I’ve managed to pinpoint such tempting morsels as STONE, and DIANA, and RYDE LIGHTS – but can’t say they ring a Melbourne bell.

Have you got a spare aeon? Take a look and see if you can spot the icon. The spelling and scansion is intact. I’ve tried reading it backwards, and instead of ‘Myer Christmas Windows’, I got EMYHRSIHT and other nonsense. Maybe you will fare better. Any theories welcome.

Hello, our dear Melbournians. Have we a puzzle for you!
Below, above and here, will step you through the coded clue.
Sure you know Melbourne! It’s a divine place to live.
Flames, culture, cafes what more is there to give?
Our Yarra and Port Phillip provide waterways galore,
You be judge, with eyes cast wide, theres a bounty to explore!
A centre for countless sports fans, great spectacles to attend,
Laneways fill our landscape, find many a hidden gem!
The city streets are beaut by day, glorious by night,
Jog, row, cycle or walk to a fitness buff’s delight.
Theatre let’s not forget is central to our locale,
Home for artists and aficionados; each a story to tell.
History aplenty, in buildings, parks and ways,
An experience that is delivered, to many differing tastes.
Universities? Several, for you to learn in lecture,
Art Deco, Victorian, Edwardian architecture.
Culinary delights tantalise your tastebud pleasure,
Wines from our local regions, a great selection at your leisure.
But just one Melbourne icon is contained within these lines,
Sounds like it’s time…write down the answer to this rhyme!

For a cartoonist, Bill Leak has a miserable name. Puzzle-wise.

A few years back I devoted a Wordwit to the dual Walkley winner and resident rascal in The Australian newspaper, highlighting the fact the bloke’s name entails ILL inside BLEAK.

Bill rang the Herald at the time to complain. With a cackle. Fact is he cherished the grim kink in his spelling. As you’d expect.

Well, the worm has turned. Or the pumpkin seed – or whatever Bill was trying to feed some parrots in Mount White, falling off a balcony on Saturday, and plunging seven metres.

Bill remains in a serious condition in Royal North Shore Hospital, his condition improving after two brain operations. Any more news is scarce. I’m sure I belong to a welter of fans, crawling the wires sweating on Leak leaks – the hope of an upswing, a defiant press release, that signature grin.

Ironically, the last time Mr Ill-in-Bleak suffered an injury of any kind was while solving a DA crossword. Here’s an excerpt from the cartoonist’s occasional column around Christmas time last year:

“…crossword solving is not for the faint-hearted, being at least as dangerous - possibly more so - than watching footy on the telly.

Down I went, like a felled tree, bouncing off the coffee table straight on to the floor. I crawled, wild-eyed and desperate, to the switch. I flicked on the light, only to see my poor mangled toe poking out at right angles to its mates….”

One broken toe later, Bill completed my puzzle in a personal best time of 18 hours, 42 minutes and 53 seconds. Mate, from all of us, take as much time as you need and leave the parrots to experts. We love you and long for that inspired bleakness to pervade our lives yet again.

What’s the common six-letter word where la is the middle, is the beginning and the end?

SOLUTION NEXT WEEK
BB175 SOLUTION: All require an exclamation mark

Julia Zemiro steals false fingernails. Charles Firth swallows longnecks in North Korea and waxes poetic about hedgehogs. Meantime Graeme Blundell drops F-bombs in notable kitchens, while crime comic Shane Maloney goes to Underbelly court.

A four-taste of the frolics lurking in The Best Australian Humorous Writing, due for release later this year – unlike those Underbelly guys. I’ve just received an advance copy from Melbourne Uni Press, and the damp ink smells like, ah, Christmas Time.

Lurid green, the book brags 48 pieces, from smart-arse columns to inspired rants, from smirk-funny to goddamn guffaw-worthy.

And why the spruik? This blogger has a quiz-show confessional among the roll-call, a TV flashback that derives its humour from the comedy of self-reproach.

A few years back, I Came, I Buzzed, I Lost needed to run under a pseudonym due to the story’s legal concerns. (Quiz shows outpoint ASIO on their gag-rule demands.) Hence Steve Bennett, a favoured alias of Bart Simpson, was the original ‘author’ in Sunday Life magazine.

But now the truth is out – and so’s the book. Soon. Just in time to titillate this bearish marketplace.

Okay, brave hearts, time to roll out three Paul clues that still leave me stumped, long after their answers have been revealed. Kudos to anyone who shed a ray of light:

Hunter requires variations = NIMROD

“If victory’s British, I’m Batman!” = TAX COLLECTOR

Pensioner’s bedside companion half unsure about support put in place = FALSE TEETH

Any insights welcome