The Thunderous Advance of the Last King of the World

It was a beautiful morning. The air was dry as old bones and bitterly cold making the sky a serene winter blue*. Unfortunately I hadn't noticed; a problem at the office was working me over.  Most of the way through my double expresso, one of the wild stories  that Terry Pratchett writes about leapt upon me.  Stories like this seem to lurk in coffee shops;  slightly wierd and needing just long enough to finish before my morning parking space stops being free and therefore infested with traffic wardens. When it was done, my problem seemed somehow diminished - avenged even - and I realised what a lovely day it was after all.

 It's here and its completely free-as-in no-really-its-free and I dedicate it to some people who really ought to know better**.

* like that amazing blue jelly* that you used to get in the seventies that was probably made from whaleskin and refined carcinogens.
**there is nothing wrong*** with my the aforementioned people, they just had a bad patch, but it's better now.
*** oh so sack me