So welcome back, The Times Crossword Championship. There has been a famine of six years without you. But on Sunday at the Cheltenham Literary Festival the choice and master cruci-verbalists will resume their fight against the clock, each other and the wits of our setters. This is the blue-stocking riband of contests. On Monday The Times will print the three final puzzles to let “ ordinary” readers test themselves against the masters.

It is a topsy-turvy world that they inhabit. Its common birds are emus, skuas and ibises, though on occasions they turn out to be young women or a term in prison. The flowers may be flora, but they are more likely to be the Cam, Dee, Oder and other flowing rivers. The humans include an unusual proportion of sailors, alias ABs, salts and tars. In the undergrowth lurk puns, anagrams and the dreaded concealed (backwards) word.

It is a very English world. Other nations have crosswords, often of devilish difficulty. But theirs are general knowlege crosswords, in which you either know the answer or you don’t. A good light in a cryptic illuminates the word, even though it is one you have never met before. The cryptic crossword arises out of the British love of wordplay and jokes. It is the homeland of Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear, and of that shameless punster, Shakespeare. This is an English peculiar, like ringing changes in campanology or placing horsehair on the heads of lawyers. Like cricket, the cryptic crossword has spread around the world in the retinue of the Empire. But its origin and headquarters are The Times Crossword. So let battle recommence for this endearing test of wit and wordplay.