Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld by Terry Pratchett Page B

than a piece of bread that had been left in a damp place for a fortnight. Ferocious dogs would whine and hide under the stairs when Greebo sauntered down the street. Foxes kept away from the village. Wolves made a detour.
    ‘He’s an old softie really,’ said Nanny.
    *
    Above the noise of the river they could all hear, now, the steady slosh-slosh of another craft heading towards them.
    ‘Someone’s following us!’ hissed Magrat.
    Two pale glows appeared at the edge of the lamplight. Eventually they turned out to be the eyes of a small grey creature, vaguely froglike, paddling towards them on a log.
    It reached the boat. Long clammy fingers grabbed the side, and a lugubrious face rose level with Nanny Ogg’s.
    ‘ ’ullo,’ it said. ‘It’sss my birthday.’
    All three of them stared at it for a while. Then Granny Weatherwax picked up an oar and hit it firmly over the head. There was a splash, and a distant cursing.
    ‘Horrible little bugger,’ said Granny, as they rowed on. ‘Looked like a troublemaker to me.’
    *
    ‘Blessings be on this house,’ Granny said, perfunctorily. It was always a good opening remark for a witch. It concentrated people’s minds on what other things might be on this house.
    *
    Sometimes Magrat really wondered about the others’ commitment to witchcraft. Half the time they didn’t seem to bother.
    Take medicine, for example … Granny just gave people a bottle of coloured water and told them they felt a lot better.
    And what was so annoying was that they often did.
    Where was the witchcraft in that?
    *
    Granny Weatherwax waking up was quite an impressive sight, and one not seen by many people.
    Most people, on waking up, accelerate through a quick panicky pre-consciousness check-up: who am I, where am I, who is he/she, good god, why am I cuddling a policeman’s helmet, what happened last nightl
    And this is because people are riddled by Doubt.
    Granny Weatherwax went straight from fast asleep to instant operation on all six cylinders. She never needed to find herself because she always knew who was doing the looking.

    Vampires have risen from the dead,
    the grave and the crypt, but have never managed it from the cat.

    Nanny Ogg sent a number of cards home to her family, not a single oneof which got back before she did. This is traditional, and happens everywhere in the universe.
    *
    In a quiet little inn in a tiny country Granny Weatherwax sat and regarded the food with deep suspicion.
    ‘Good simple home cooking,’ said Granny. ‘That’s all I require. I just want simple food. Not all grease and stuff. It comes to something when you complain about something in your lettuce and it turns out to be what you ordered.’

    Knowing how stories work is almost all the battle .
    For example, when an obvious innocent sits down with three experienced card sharpers and says ‘How do you play this game, then?’, someone is about to be shaken down until their teeth fall out.

    The dwarf bread was brought out for inspection. But it was miraculous, the dwarf bread. No one ever went hungry when they had some dwarf bread to avoid. You only had to look at it for a moment, and instantly you could think of dozens of things you’d rather eat. Your boots, for example. Mountains. Raw sheep. Your own foot.
    *
    There were only six suits of chain mail in the whole of Lancre, made on the basis of one-size-doesn’t-quite-fit-all.
    *
    ‘When did you last have a bath, Esme?’
    ‘What do you mean, last? Baths is unhygienic,’ Granny declared. ‘You know I’ve never agreed with baths. Sittin’ around in your own dirt like that.’
    ‘What do you do, then?’ said Magrat.
    ‘I just washes,’ said Granny. ‘All the bits. You know. As and when they becomes available.’
    *
    Granny Weatherwax had never turned anyone into a frog. The way she saw it, there was a technically less cruel but cheaper and much more satisfying thing you could do. You could leave them human and make them think they were a