A story about this — 3 years ago
Two of my favourite passages, partly because it sounds as though Pratchett got into my head:
(i) There were big mountains around the Hub. But the ones towering above the temple didn’t all have names, because there was (sic) simply too many of them. Only gods have enough time to name all the pebbles on a beach, but gods don’t have the patience.
Copperhead was small enough to be big enough to have a name. Lobsang awoke and saw its crooked peak, towering above the lesser local mountains, outlined against the sunrise.
Sometimes the gods have no taste at all. They allow sunrises and sunsets in ridiculous pink and blue hues that any professional artist would dismiss as the work of some enthusiastic amateur who’d never looked at a real sunset. This was one of those sunrises. It was the kind of sunrise a man rises and looks at and says, “No real sunrise could paint the sky Surgical Appliance Pink.”
Nevertheless, it was beautiful. * * But not tasteful.
(ii) A horse walked out of the darkness. Some toast racks had more flesh.
“I’ve been thinking,” said a voice. “Maybe there are things worth putting up a fight for.”
“And they are—?” said Pestilence, looking around.
“Salad-cream sandwiches. You just can’t beat them. That tang of permitted emulsifiers? Marvelous.”
“Hah! You’re Famine, then?” said the Angel of the Iron Book. It fumbled with the heavy pages again.
What, what, what is this nonsense of “salad cream”?* shouted the Auditor.
ANGER, thought Death. A POWERFULEMOTION.
“Do I like salad cream?” said a voice in the dark. A second, female voice replied:
“No dear, it gives you hives.” * If you live in a country where the tradition calls for mayonnaise, just don’t ask. Just don’t.
