They may not speak it aloud, but they mouth it furtively, running its mad phrases past vast cerebral databases for a match, the crazier the better, all at the speed of light.

The language of clues: Tart's thigh cut. Little guy embraces wife, the jerk. Thinking Greek child's left in a lift. And so on, 54 lines to be cracked open in an hour, each one a puzzle as seductive to the champion as it is opaque and maddening to the also-ran. (Black bird of muted colour to alight around start of evening in Alpine area (7,8)? Relax, the winner struggled with it too).

There were eight previous champions at yesterday's grand final of The Times' National Crossword Championships in Cheltenham. One of them, Mark Goodliffe, won in 1999 and won again in 2008, despite his trouble with 18 across in puzzle two, which, along with puzzles one and three, readers can tackle on page 55.

Mr Goodliffe did them all - not each - in 18 minutes flat. That left 43 minutes to sit and wait and hope he'd got them right. He had. This earned him £1,000, a trophy and, for a while at least, the blissful absence of the self-reproach that is the lot of top crossworders who don't quite win.

Speak boldly to goose. Long-necked female keeps touching groom. A latin dish of fish, not started.

For the very best, blanking on the blanks is the cruellest frustration. But occasional crossworders, and even moderately good ones, can actually enjoy trying to complete the puzzle, which has appeared in The Times since 1930 despite being written off in 1924 as “the pastime of a few ingenious idlers”.