The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret

Each month, we read one of the Discworld novels, going in chronological order; we then summarise, dissect and discuss it in front of a microphone, in three parts.

We point out literary devices, track character development, highlight bits we liked (and, more reluctantly, bits we didn’t), and go down tangential research rabbit holes.


Anyway, looking up is unnerving. Suffolk sky is huge: Endless, mottled, flecked with birds, it grants nothing to the imagination.


When I was smaller than my grandmother, she used to let me have a bath in her dark green en suite (I have since heard avocado bathrooms referred to sneeringly, but I thought it was wonderful).

An unlikely source of names

I can’t vocalise why particular combinations – Matthew Grief, Gloria Swarm, Jebediah Vault – sound so funny, but they are very satisfying. Often, the results of trying to find these names are trounced by coincidence.

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