Pretty Girl in Crimson Rose (8), by Sandy Balfour

Cryptic confessions of a crossword addict

The snag with crosswords is that a no-hoper can end up with absolutely nothing to put in the white squares. At least with Scrabble, you can slap down an "an" or "is". In Pretty Girl in Crimson Rose (8), Sandy Balfour charts his progress from crossword virgin to roué. It is a fascinating trip, even for those who will never make it themselves.

This personal history is the latest in the my-life-as-a-hobbyist sagas. Obsessives play Scrabble or Monopoly, or watch Arsenal , so we don't have to. For white South African Balfour, there is an extra element in his leisure pursuit. Crosswords become part of his journey towards being British. It is a long haul, both ways.

The black-and-white squares slide into his life. He comes across a river in Africa which is so sensitive to where rains fall that it flows backwards or in two directions; he reflects that crossword clues can be read in just such an omnidirectional way. A woman teaches him the rudiments of the Texas two-step; so, too, did the US devise the crossword and export it to Britain. The system of apartheid he fled is crammed with double meanings. He even writes in short sentences and paragraphs, just like lists of clues (slightly overdoing it: my only criticism).

Rushing to the maternity hospital with a dilated girlfriend, he compulsively works at a niggling clue: "potty train (4)". Minutes from delivery, she gasps that she must be mad to give birth again. Of course! Potty equals mad equals "loco", which means train.

It is seven years of half-completed crosswords before the proud moment when he completes his first puzzle in a broadsheet. Driving in South Africa, he is left with just one clue after weeks of struggle: "XI ay 100 (7)". A hitch-hiker asks him how Everton football club got its name – and accidentally presents him with the answer. XI equals a team; ay equals ever; 100 is a ton. Balfour punches the air in triumph. He hits a cow; it ends up on his bonnet. It sounds like a clue: "Bonneted cow not over moon".

Sometimes, reality and puzzles become too entwined. By an awful mischance, the Telegraph printed "outcry at Tory assassination (4,6)" on the very day the IRA blew up the Conservative junior minister Ian Gow. It was indeed a "blue murder".

Balfour battles with cryptic crosswords, much tougher than the quick (or, in my case, slow) type. Given the brains needed to solve them, can you imagine the mental abilities of the boffins who set them? Balfour interviews these folk, most of whom use a nom de plume, or rather nom de clue: Plodge; Tampi; Axed and Afrit. He persuades the doyen of the setters to celebrate Balfour's 40th birthday by incorporating, in a crossword published on that day, autobiographical words such as "Sandy".

The title, Pretty Girl in Crimson Rose (8), is not one of those clues. It dates back to Balfour's early days as a crossword freak. The answer is "rebelled". Don't ask me why.