I used to set weekly cryptic crosswords for a student newspaper when I was at university. Although I had a pseudonym which was printed above each grid, my full name also appeared elsewhere in the paper, so other students knew who was behind the puzzles, and occasionally someone would ask me for a pointer or let me know how they got on with that week's clues.

One morning, I was walking through the porter's lodge, deep in conversation with my friend Alex, when I was suddenly accosted by a student I'd never spoken to before. Without any preamble - and in a rather indignant tone - he said: "I can't get high fives to go through bacon!"

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but luckily Alex realised immediately that this was a cruciverbal issue. With remarkable recall of the solution to my last puzzle, he told the young man: "It's not HIGH FIVES, it's HANDSHAKE." The student thanked Alex profusely and walked away looking soothed and relieved.

About 12 years ago, at Poprad airport following a wonderful week hiking through the Slovakian Tatra mountains, we were delayed as his plane was diverted to Luton after a bit fell off.

 Although I have been a cryptic crossword aficionado most of my life I had so far avoided the AZED as it seemed too difficult. But, having read every word of the previous Sunday’s paper, and done all the other puzzles, needs must.

Suffice to say we have been hooked ever since. 

So, much as it pains me - thanks Boris.

"The playwright and novelist Michael Frayn once described himself as “addicted” to Azed.

Crowther met him at the Oxford literary festival some years ago, where Frayn was giving a talk. When Crowther introduced himself as Frayn was signing books, the author jumped to his feet, beaming with a big smile, and declared that Crowther was not at all how he had imagined him. Then turning to his wife and fellow author Claire Tomalin, he said: “Darling, this is the chap who you say ruins your Sundays.”"

I’m partial to cruciverbiana in all its forms, one of my favourite stories in the former category being this letter to The Guardian written by the actor Michael Feast:

“Many years ago I played Ariel in The Tempest at the Old Vic with John Gielgud playing Prospero. Every day in the rehearsal room during tea breaks and idle moments Sir John would sit quietly doing the Times crossword. Sometimes he would complete it and put it aside within 20 minutes or so. Everyone was terribly impressed. The Times crossword was, in those days, the toughest nut in the bowl.

One afternoon after this had been going on for some weeks, one of the cast idly picked up the great man’s paper – he had finished for the day and had gone off to the Garrick Club or somewhere to meet Sir Ralph or someone. Suddenly the actor who had been looking at the paper gasped and showed us the crossword. It was indeed all filled in, but apart from one or two correct answers the rest were just words that happened to fit the spaces and had no bearing on the clues. Needless to say none of us confronted Sir John with the discovery and he continued to complete the Times crossword every day with consummate ease.”