Nothing much to hold folk up here, so long as non-sporty types are sufficently clued up on their sweaty types in the scrum. I did this online at home while Typhoon Usagi petered out and managed a possible PB of 13:36, earning myself 6th place on the leaderboard at the time. Should have got me Canon out for posterity…
Perhaps I could give a shout-out to Sunday’s Jeff Pearce if anyone’s missed it and has time on their hands. Not hard, but very elegant.
Across
1 INFORM+AL[l]
5 HANSOM – H[enry] + MOANS*.
9 EXERCISE – double definition.
10 D[ALL]AS – city of shoulder-pads and big hair.
12 THOROUGH+FARE
15 [w]INNER
16 LOOSE HEAD – the loosehead prop (wearing 1) is usually slightly less fat than the tighthead (3) and is distinguishable from his mate by having one ear (the left) that doesn’t look like a cauliflower.
18 PROFESSOR – PROCESSOR with C changed to F; only one I didn’t parse while solving.
19 RADON – ADO in RN (our, i.e. Brits’, sailors).
20 INDIANAPOLIS – IN + DIANA + POLIS[h].
24 TRIVET – [restuaran]T + RIVET; my last in.
25 AGAR-AGAR – A GAR is a fish and AGAR-AGAR (or simply AGAR) is jelly from seaweed used in kitchens and crosswords.
26 DIKTAT – KID reversed + TAT.
27 FRONT ROW – FRONT (promenade) + ROW (paddle); Collins ‘paddle 13’ has ‘to row (a boat) steadily, esp (of a racing crew) to row firmly but not at full pressure’. Those fat blokes in 16 together with a hooker comprise the front row of the scrum. Must be fun, if a bit cramped.
Down
1 IDEA[l]
2 FLEE[t]
3 RACEHORSE – cryptic definition and not that bad; a jumper is a horse that has to negotiate fences or hurdles as it gallops round wearing its owner’s colours.
4 AUSTRALASIAN – ALAS in AUSTRIAN for a native of Port Moresby taken in by the anti-freeze in Tyrolean wine?
6 AWASH – A + W + ASH.
7 SALSA VERDE – SERVE SALAD*; foodies will have heard of this, which rules me out.
8 MISLEADING – MIS[s] + LEADING (first).
11 RUMOUR-MONGER – R[elatives] in MORGUE MOURN*.
13 PINPOINTED – PIN (nail) + POINTED (sharp).
14 IN GOOD NICK – an &lit; NICK is slang for prison, and IN GOOD NICK is an idiom meaning ‘in good condition’ or, of a sportsperson, ‘in good form’.
17 EARLIER ON – [alsac]E + LORRAINE*.
21 ARE[N]A
22 IGOR – hidden(-ish); Ruddigore is by G&S, while Prince Igor is the excellent Russian composer Alexander Borodin’s best known work. Smart chap, Borodin – he was also a chemist and a doctor.
23 D+RAW – ‘take out’ as in ‘draw blood’.
Not a lot of queries except for “head of department” for PROFESSOR. While I have been both (Head of School actually) and simultaneously, in my experience most professors shrink from (= “shirk”) such mundane administrative tasks so as to be able to continue their obscure (= “important”) researches. The exceptions are the “professors of administration”, but they tend to get the title by virtue of becoming Deputy Vice Chancellors or similar drones. You can tell them by their synthetic suits and over-use of aftershave (the men) or their shoulder pads and brooches (the women).
Oh and … on edit: is 14dn actually an &lit; or is it two defs, the second punning on the first?
Edited at 2013-09-23 04:04 am (UTC)
* Not ‘you’, McT, I hasten to add, on edit. Your having moved from Liverpool to Australia I take to be of no relevance… 🙂
* Not you Ulaca!
Edited at 2013-09-23 04:51 am (UTC)
Who names typhoons, anyway? In Japan we just number them–no. 18 last week; I think ‘Usagi’ was no. 19. And whatever 18 was called, it didn’t begin with a T, which makes the nomenclature the more puzzling.
I seemed to remember a famous murdered gossip (though the name escaped me), which blinded me pro tem to the generic answer and the anagram potential.
LOI were the two 1s, though I’m not sure why. Not solving either straight off rang alarm bells, quickly silenced by the relative simplicity of the rest, assuming you know your Rugby. Quite liked the Mills & Boonish plot outline at 20.
1 down was my first in but 1 across almost the last.
On the one hand I’m treasurer of our local scout group. That involves arranging payments, banking cash and cheques, producing rudimentary annual accounts and sorting out a float for the coconut shy at the village gala. None of this makes me, or requires me to be, a finance expert.
On the other hand I’m also a treasurer by occupation. That requires me to manage financial risk for the company (interest rate, foreign exchange, liquidity & refinancing risk etc) as well as to take responsibility for cash management, investor and bank relationships and various other bits and bobs related to “real” money rather than finance as it applies to accounts and reporting.
The corporate treasurer is a very common role in larger UK firms. The profession got a bit of publicity recently when Justin Welby became Arch Bish as he used to be treasurer of an oil company.
My professional qualifications required me to demonstrate a working knowledge of, among other things, the workings of financial markets and banks, how economic events impact interest and exchange rates, how to price and value bonds and derivative instruments such as interest rate swaps and options, interpreting yield curves etc. There were also meaty elements of corporate finance, financial analysis, taxation, international cash management, trade finance and so on.
In summary, if one of my colleagues took it upon himself to suggest that being company treasurer didn’t make me a finance expert he’d get a slap.
I should have got 10ac must faster than I did because it was only last week that I noticed that one of the channels was showing the excellent “Das Boot” again, so the fact that “die”, “der” and “das” are all German for “the” should have been fresh in my mind. Wrong. It was only when I got the “s” checker from MISLEADING that I saw it.
Edited at 2013-09-23 03:33 pm (UTC)
Pretty straightforward puzzle.