Illegitimately Morose (3, 7)

This is the Crosaire crossword from today's Irish Times. It's a cryptic crossword, and I find it pretty difficult, although serious crossword people (what are they called? crossword fans? crossworders? crossword solvers?) probably wouldn't rate it.

I don't manage to complete it very often, and when I do, I go around feeling smug and pleased with myself for the rest of the day.

This is an immature and somewhat pathetic reaction to solving a pointless puzzle, but there you are. I'm counting on fatherhood to deflect attention from some of the more egregious flaws in my personality; I'm hoping that people will begin to think of them indulgently as foibles. At the very least, I'm hoping that my own offspring will think of them indulgently as foibles. That means you.

Of course, I'm probably not fooling you by pretending to be archly aware of my own conceitedness. After all, I've just taken a screen grab of the crossword I managed to finish and posted it on the Internet. Not the behaviour of a well-adjusted and self-aware adult.

I could try to justify it on the grounds that this is your Rough Guide to Earth, after all, and that knowing how to do cryptic crosswords could conceivably be useful to you one day. But then I'd have to actually explain cryptic crossword clues, and this isn't an option because:

(a) if I were qualified to do that, I'd be solving them all the time and wouldn't be crowing about it on the Internet, and;

(b) I'm completely knackered after finishing this one.

So, let's just let this slide, OK? Cut the old man a little slack? I might just remember it during crucial negotiations on bedtime or pocket money, know what I mean?

Good. I'm glad we understand each other.