But Xs and Os are not always opposed to one another. Both can stand for negation. If every answer in my long division test (something I could never do) was marked with an X, the total of those Xs at the end of the exercise was O.

It transpires that the circle and the cross are the easiest shapes for the human eye to distinguish. In the First World War, a more deadly game of noughts and crosses was played in the sky. The Italo-Turkish War of 1911-12 (fought in Libya) was the first to use aeroplanes. But only the Italian side had aircraft, so there was no need for any national marking. In 1914, for the first time, a war was fought with aeroplanes used by both sides. If both sides were not to shoot at the unfortunate pilots, the machines needed to be marked with a national identity. Britain’s first such markings were the Union Jack. In practice, the military authorities found that anti-aircraft gunners failed to distinguish between this and the cross with which the Germans marked their aeroplanes. Hence, all of the allies adopted circular national insignia.

I wonder whether, and to what extent, two world wars in which we were on the side of the noughts (against the crosses) served to reinforce the idea that the cross marked something unacceptable — as seen, for example, in the ‘X’ of X rated films.

The cross marked on German aeroplanes was not a saltire cross (X). But the upright and saltire cross are easily interchangeable. Witness the ease with which gunners (in 1914) confounded the Union Jack (combining crosses of both kinds) with the upright German cross. Witness also how Charing Cross (an upright Eleanor cross) becomes Charing X on bus destination blinds.

Perhaps the very talented Hodge could help with the illustrations, once she’s completed her alphabet.

I’ve found the story online:

http://www.eliteskills.com/c/5264

Unfortunately, it’s reproduced without paragraph indentations, or spaces between paragraphs, which renders it difficult to read. What is more, it contains typos.

I’ve copied and pasted to quote the two final paragraphs, correcting the errors I noticed. Poe’s XXX ale may have been even stronger than Edward Lear’s XX ale. The reference to a “devil” is to a printer’s devil (or apprentice) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Printer's_devil

The more common conclusion, however, was that the affair was, simply, X-traordinary and in-X-plicable. Even the town mathematician confessed that he could make nothing of so dark a problem. X, everybody knew, was an unknown quantity; but in this case (as he properly observed), there was an unknown quantity of X.

The opinion of Bob, the devil (who kept dark about his having ‘X-ed the paragrab’), did not meet with so much attention as I think it deserved, although it was very openly and very fearlessly expressed. He said that, for his part, he had no doubt about the matter at all, that it was a clear case, that Mr. Bullet-head “never could be persuaded fur to drink like other folks, but vas continually a-svigging o’ that ere blessed XXX ale, and as a naiteral consekvence, it just puffed him up savage, and made him X (cross) in the X-treme.”

They’re definitely happening, those posts – I just need a less knackering day job and to stop pushing aside writing in favour of only doing the editing on here :)

Grace O’Malley, Cheng I Sao… they’re on draft, in need of completion (and drawings. Illustrations definitely need to happen, and with less rushing than the scribbly speeddoodling I did for Lady K!)

A quarter of an hour’s ride brought us into a smart and prosperous-looking village that must have been Lay Town Zone. The local constable, a fat man, leaned on his halberd and puffed at a pipe. Dashing Daniel brandished the warrant in his direction, at which the officer nodded affably. Just beyond his sentry box was an elaborate shrine decorated with obviously old mosaics, many of the colours still bright.

“They show scenes in the life of Alfred the hatch cook, a local demigod,” Barguin told me. “There was something about his slaying a psycho during a rain shower, but I forget the details.”

“How on earth do you know that?” I asked.

“I was born in Hammer Town, just on the other side of the marshes. When I was little, my dad brought me through this way, selling fencing twine, lamp oil and cabbages.”

Yes, I’ve been wondering what’s happened to the pirates. There’s a Little Britain sketch (from the period when it was still funny) in which David Walliams seeks to buy a pirate memory game. He rejects one game because “it’s too piratey for me”. I wondered whether the pirates you intended to feature had turned out to be too piratey for you. But perhaps that isn’t possible.

I really must finish the next part of the pirate series!