...you just need a bit of Granny and Nanny.
I woke up way too early this morning, and the only things making this unprovoked state of being awake more pleasant are a great cup of tea and listening to Celia Imrie narrating Wyrd Sisters.
This is my third (or fourth?) re-read, and I love this story even better than when I first read it.
And Granny Weatherwax, striding home alone through the midnight forest, wrapped her shawl around her and considered. It had been a long day, and a trying one. The theatre had been the worst part. All people pretending to be other people, things happening that weren’t real, bits of countryside you could put your foot through . . . Granny liked to know where she stood, and she wasn’t certain she stood for that sort of thing.
The world seemed to be changing all the time. It didn’t use to change so much. It was bewildering.
She walked quickly through the darkness with the frank stride of someone who was at least certain that the forest, on this damp and windy night, contained strange and terrible things and she was it.
‘Let him be whoever he thinks he is,’ she said. ‘That’s all anybody could hope for in this world.’