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Equal Rites  - Terry Pratchett

The broomstick lurched upwards and increased its speed to that of a geriatric jogger.

‘Mr Wizard.’


‘When I said hold on—’


‘I didn’t mean there.’

There was a pause.

‘Oh. Yes. I see. I’m terribly sorry.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘My memory isn’t what it was . . . I assure you . . . no offence meant.’

‘None taken.’

They flew in silence for a moment.

‘Nevertheless,’ said Granny thoughtfully, ‘I think that, on the whole, I would prefer you to move your hands.’