'You're so unfair!'
'We did let you drop rocks on the pixies, dear. Life can't be all fun.'
The coachman stirred as the voices descended through the clouds. And then four figures were standing a little way off. He clambered down and, with difficulty, opened the coach door as they approached.
'Most of the wretched things got away, though,' said Mother.
'Never mind, my dear,' said Father.
'I really hate them. Are they a dead end too?' said Daughter.
'Not quite dead enough as yet, despite your valiant efforts. Igor! On to Lancre.'
The coachman turned.
'Meth, marthter.'
'Oh, for the last time, man... is that any way to talk?'
'It'th the only way I know, marthter,' said Igor.
'And I told you to take the plumes off the coach, you idiot.'
The coachman shifted uneasily.
'Gotta have black plumeth, marthter. It'th tradithional.'
'Remove them at once!' Mother commanded. 'What will people think?'
'Yeth, mithtreth.'
The one addressed as Igor slammed the door and lurched back around to the horse. He removed the plumes reverentially and placed them under his seat.
Inside the coach the vexed voice said, 'Is Igor an evolutionary dead end too, Father?'
'We can but hope, dear.'
'Thod,' said Igor to himself, as he picked up the reins.
The wording began:
'You are cordially invited...'
... and was in that posh runny writing that was hard to read but ever so official.
Nanny Ogg grinned and tucked the card back on the mantelpiece. She liked the idea of 'cordially'. It had a rich, a thick and above all an alcoholic sound.
She was ironing her best petticoat. That is to say, she was sitting in her chair by the fire while one of her daughters-in-law, whose name she couldn't remember just at this moment, was doing the actual work. Nanny was helping by pointing out the bits she'd missed.
It was a damn good invite, she thought. Especially the gold edging, which was as thick as syrup. Probably not real gold, but impressively glittery all the same.
'There's a bit there that could do with goin' over again, gel,' she said, topping up her beer.
'Yes, Nanny.'
Another daughter-in-law, whose name she'd certainly be able to recall after a few seconds' thought, was buffing up Nanny's red boots. A third was very carefully dabbing the lint off Nanny's best pointy hat, on its stand.
Nanny got up again and wandered over to open the back door. There was little light left in the sky now, and a few rags of cloud were scudding over the early stars. She sniffed the air. Winter hung on late up here in the mountains, but there was definitely a taste of spring on the wind.