Waiting for God1990

[first lines]

Diana:
How are your yin and your yang?

Tom:
Yin's fine, but the old yang's a bit creaky.

Diana:
And how are your eyes?

Tom:
Oh, as good as ever. I pop them into a glass of Steradent each night; they come up nice and bright in the morning. Why do you ask?

Diana:
I was just wondering if you were adequately barking daft to do today's cryptic crossword.

Tom:
Uh, try me.

Diana:
Well, it's nine letters, uh? "I throw my weight around in North London."

Tom:
Islington.

Diana:
What?

Tom:
Islington. I sling ton. I - I, throw - sling, weight - ton, North London - Islington.

Diana:
Could be, I suppose.

Tom:
Give me another.

Diana:
No, it's all right.

Tom:
Finished it, have you?

Diana:
No, just don't want to tax you.

Tom:
Oh, don't worry, come on.

Diana:
All right. Ah! Seven letters. "Mister O'Connor is unable to reach the highest register." [pause] Hmm-hmm.

Tom:
Descant.

Diana:
What?

Tom:
Descant. Mister O'Connor - Des, is unable - can't, Des can't - descant, the highest register.

Diana:
Yes, well, it's always pathetically simple on Thursdays.

Tom:
I worked in an office for over five hundred years, Diana. The cryptic crossword was a delicate piece in the endless game of one-upmanship. If you finished it first, you were cock of the walk. But, if you were beaten to the post, then you just tossed it over your shoulder and said, "Oh, well, I wasn't really trying this morning; it's always so pathetically simple on Thursdays."