Discworld

Blessed are the Cheesemongers LBE

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Blessed are the Cheesemongers LBE

Postby Grace Speaker » Wed Sep 05, 2018 01:32 pm

Am I the only one who read "Blessed are the Cheesemongers" and immediately thought of the opening scene from The Life of Brian? :D

"Don't you call me big nose!"

"Speak up!" :lol:

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Re: Blessed are the Cheesemongers LBE

Postby phalarope » Wed Sep 05, 2018 04:36 pm

Nope! :lol: :lol: :lol: :wink:
Cheers -
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'The world is full of signals that we don't perceive.' -- Stephen Jay Gould, (1941-2002) paleontologist, evolutionary biologist, science historian

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Re: Blessed are the Cheesemongers LBE

Postby the_apprentice » Thu Sep 06, 2018 08:24 am

Nope :D :lol: :D :lol:
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Re: Blessed are the Cheesemongers LBE

Postby Grace Speaker » Fri Sep 07, 2018 12:01 am

A long time ago, in another trouser-leg of time . . .

The Life of Shaun Ogg :wink:


High on a hill a kind faced man dressed in flowing white robes stood overlooking an adoring crowd of worshippers, seekers of truth and pathways to a better life, who had gathered to hear his words of wisdom, truth and guidance.

And out of the expectant crowd of humanity that had gathered there that day*, a lone voice spoke thusly:

'SPEAK UP!'

'Shhhh! Quiet mum!' said Shaun Ogg, in the anguished tones of all children, regardless of actual age, once again mortified by their parent's embarrassing behaviour.

'Well, I can't hear a thing,' grumbled Nanny Ogg, as she rummaged in her pockets for a hard boiled sweet. Or a small bottle of something medicinal, she wasn't fussy. It had been a good three hours since lunch, so her concentration was slipping a bit and she and was having trouble following what the chap in the dress was saying. She gave up.

'Oh, let's go to a breading** instead,' she said.
'But Mum, you can go to a breading any time!' moaned Shaun, still craning to hear what the man in white was saying.

Shaun was really starting to find the man on the hill very inspirational, but was having certain worried speculations about the wisdom of an attractive man from For'n Parts wandering about Lancre in a flowing dress. Some of the more isolated farmers in the remote areas of Lancre could get very lonely o'nights and, well, he'd heard rumours. He hadn't understood a lot of them, but felt it was his civic duty to keep the King's peace and that extended to the protection of mystic men from For'n Parts, preaching about the secrets of the universe. Or at least it did for as long as he was doing the preaching in Lancre and also while Shaun wasn't required by His Majesty, Verence II, to be doing something more important, like hoeing the vegetable patch in the castle's kitchen garden.

'Come on Shaun, my lad' said a bored Nanny Ogg, who had just remembered that she had left a plump cooked chicken leg in the cooler back home.

'Will you be quiet!' snapped a man who clearly wasn't from the Ramtops, as he didn't recognise the hat or possibly just had suicidal tendencies. Shaun Ogg closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for the man's soul.

Nanny's eyes twinkled as she took her pipe out of her mouth and smiled at the stranger, then caught the eye of his wife. Shaun swallowed nervously and took a step back, out of the line of fire. He was prepared to do many things in the line of duty and the defence of the realm, but getting in the way of his mother wasn't one of them.

The impertinent man glared at Nanny defiantly, but there was something about the glint in her eye that was beginning to worry him. He nervously wiped his suddenly runny nose on the back of his sleeve.

'Don't pick your nose!' snapped his wife, loud enough to be heard fifteen feet away and thumped him on the back. Several members of the crowd turned to watch.

'I wasn't picking my nose! I was scratching it', he said petulantly, loosing several points in the bravado stakes in the process, as the audience started to take a keen interest.

'You was picking it! While you was talkin' to that lady', insisted his wife in the tone of voice usually reserved for talking to a small child who'd just been caught with their hand in the biscuit barrel, but were still trying to brazen it out.

'I wasn't!' he protested, increasingly conscious of the leering grins of the onlookers who liked a bit of schadenfreude*** when it presented itself amusingly. Mrs Nosepicker was having none of it.

'Leave it alone! It'll fall off if you don't give it a rest!' she said, to the amused sniggers of the crowd.

'Do you mind?' said a large and annoyed man in the crowd to Mr and Mrs Nosepicker. 'I can't hear a word He's saying,' he complained, gesturing to the man on the hill.

'Don't you "Do you mind" me!' said Mrs Nosepicker, rolling up her sleeves meaningfully, 'I was talking to my husband!' she screeched proprietarily.

'Well, go and talk to 'im somewhere else, I can't hear a bloody thing!' said Mr Annoyed, who had come all the way over from Scrote to hear the man on the hill talk and was fed up with the sudden influx of all these foreigners cluttering up the place.

'Don't you swear at my wife!' challenged Mr Nosepicker, in a desperate attempt to reclaim the situation.

Nanny grinned and nudged Shaun with the bag of sweets that she'd found in one of her knicker legs, but as he knew exactly where they'd just come from, he politely declined.

'I was only asking her to shut up so we can hear what He's saying' said Mr Annoyed of Scrote, who waited for Mr Nosepicker to turn round and face the front before adding: 'Big Nose'.

Mr Big Nose spun round, but was beaten to it by Mrs Big Nose, who screeched: 'Don't you call my husband Big Nose!'

The people in the immediate crowd had given up trying to listen to the distant man in the dress, as what was happening up close was turning out to be far more interesting and might involve someone getting punched on the nose. For your average crowd, learning the secret to unlocking the mysteries of universe will always play second fiddle to the entertaining prospect of watching random strangers having a punch-up. And where you get a crowd of randomly gathered people, sooner or later their will usually be a fight, especially if alcohol has been made available. This explains a lot about weddings and also why religious doctrine is often so confusing and contradictory, because no one was actually listening to the prophet in question from start to finish and what they actually said has to be retrospectively cobbled together from the slightly befuddled recollection of those who are still in a fit state to remember anything that the prophet had been banging on about.

'Well, he has got a big nose,' said Mr Annoyed of Scrote, beginning to enjoy himself, as Mrs Big Nose bristled.

A posh voice from behind, and at least a foot above, them intervened. 'I say, could you be quiet please?' it said to Mr and Mrs Big Nose.

They turned to regard the speaker who was quite clearly a vampire. As one man, they took an involuntary step back despite the Black Ribboner badge on the vampire's lapel. He was exceedingly well dressed, with a neatly trimmed beard and the obligatory deathly pale skin which was currently being protected from the sun by the large parasol being held above them by his equally tall wife, who clearly felt that a peach silk evening gown and a tiara was perfectly appropriate attire for an afternoon of listening to a prophet halfway up a mountain.

'Now,' said Mr Vampire when he had their full attention, 'what was that?'

'I dunno,' said Mr Annoyed of Scrote nervously, surreptitiously edging away a bit further. 'I was too busy talking to Big Nose,' he added, waving at Mr and Mrs Big Nose in an attempt to deflect the vampire's attention away from his own throat.

Bestiality Carter, who had had his attention hijacked by the sudden edgy silence behind him caused by the vampire's involvement, turned to say 'I think it was "Blessed are the Cheesemongers",' before catching sight of the vampires, turning round again sharply and doing his best to melt into the crowd.

'What's so special about the Cheesemongers?' said Mrs Vampire in a voice so posh it could have been used to etch glass.

Mr Vampire rolled his eyes. 'Well obviously it's not meant to be taken literally,' he said in the weary but careful tone of a put upon husband who has been having this sort of conversation with his beloved for hundreds of years, but really doesn't want to end up having to sleep in the uncomfortable single coffin in the spare crypt again. 'It refers to any purveyors of diary products.'

Mr Annoyed of Scrote relaxed a bit at this display of familiar domesticity and returned to the matter in hand. 'See, if you hadn't been going on, we'd have heard that Big Nose.'

'Oi! Say that once more and I'll smash your bloody face in!' threatened Mr Big Nose, brandishing a fist at Mr Annoyed of Scrote, before having it swatted down by Mrs Big Nose.

'Better keep listening,' said a grinning Mr Annoyed of Scrote, 'there might be something about "Blessed are the Big Noses". '

Nanny Ogg nudged Shaun meaningfully in the ribs and waggled an eyebrow in the direction of the simmering row. Shaun puffed out his chest, pulled himself up to his full authority, such as it was, as defender of the King's peace and stepped in to stop things getting out of hand.

'Oh lay off him' he said plaintively to Mr Annoyed of Scrote, picking the safer of the varied targets. Mr Annoyed turned to look the nervously trembling embodiment of the military might of Lancre up and down.

'You're not so bad yourself, Conky MacConkface!' he scoffed, looking back and forth between Shaun and Mr Big Nose. 'Where are you two from, Nose City?'

Mr Big Nose lost it. 'One more time, mate,' he screamed red-faced, while bouncing up and down in anger and shaking his fists at Mr Annoyed of Scrote, 'and I'll take you to the ----ing cleaners!'

'Language!' shouted Mrs Big Nose as she thumped him on the back again. Honestly, it was too much! thought Mr Big Nose. How was a chap supposed to have an honest to goodness punch-up with a stranger when his wife keeps interfering?

'And don't pick your nose!' she added, just to add insult to injury.
'I wasn't going to pick my nose, I'm gonna thump 'im!' said Mr Big Nose in the strained tones of someone desperately clinging on to his temper and what was left of his dignity.

'’ere, hear that?’ said Weaver the Thatcher to Nanny Ogg. ‘He just said “Blessed are the mythic”! That’s you that is!’

‘No lad,’ she said to Weaver, who was in his fifties. Myffic I may be, but you need a loin cloth, a bloody great sword and a beard you can hide a badger in to be mythic and that’s just for starters,’ said Nanny amiably as she re-lit her pipe.

‘"The" Mythic, singular, or the Mythic in general?’ asked Mr Vampire, with a vested interest.

Weaver’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he unexpectedly found himself at the centre of Mr Vampire’s attention. He swallowed nervously.

‘Er . . . um, “The” I think. Apparently he’s going to inherit the Disc . . . um.’

‘Did anyone catch his name?’ enquired Mr Vampire, taking a renewed interest in what the man in the white dress was saying.

Mrs Big Nose wasn’t to be distracted so easily. ‘You’re not gonna thump anybody,’ she scolded her husband, giving him another thump on the arm.

‘I’ll thump ‘im if he calls me Big Nose again!’ said Mr Big Nose to Mr Annoyed of Scrote, warming up once more for a scrap.

‘Oh, shut up Big Nose!’

Mr Big Nose rolled up his sleeves with intent.

‘Right! I warned you! I really will slug you soooo hard . . .’

He was interrupted by Mrs Big Nose who had finally been paying attention to the man on the hill.

‘Oooooooooo, it’s the Meek! Blessed are the Meek!’ she announced loudly in a shrill voice to the world in general. ‘Oh, that’s nice isn’t it?’ she said at a more normal octave and decibel level. ‘ I’m glad they’re getting something, ‘cos they have a hell of a time.’

‘Where’s Meek?’ asked Weaver the Thatcher.

‘Somewhere near Klatch, I reckon,’ said Nanny Ogg, who was unexpectedly enjoying herself.

‘Listen, I was only telling the truth,’ said Mr Annoyed of Scrote in a conciliatory tone to Mr Big Nose, before adding: ‘you have got a very big nose.’

‘Hey!’ shouted Mr Big Nose, vibrating with fury. ‘Your nose is goin’ to be three feet wide across your face by the time I’m finished with you!’

This seemed to amuse Mr Annoyed of Scrote.

‘Who hit yours then, Cohen the Barbarian’s big brother?’ taunted Mr Annoyed of Scrote, who also liked to make his own entertainment.

‘Right!’ growled Mr Big Nose angrily. ‘That’s your last warning!’

‘Ssshhhhhhhh!!’ said the family in front in unison. They all turned to look at the shushers. They definitely looked members of the Meek to Shaun Ogg.

Mrs Vampire, who happened to agree with the Family of Meeks, leaned forward and snapped ‘Oh, do pipe down!’ in Mr Big Nose’s ear, which sent Mr Big Nose right over the edge.

The red mist descended and he whirled round, misjudged the distance to the face of Mr Annoyed of Scrote and punched Mrs Vampire right in the fangs.

There was a collective in-drawing of breath and, for those who were quick of feet and even quicker of thinking, a collective running away from Ground Zero, as Mr Vampire helped his wife off the floor. He turned around menacingly slowly and skewered Mr Big Nose with the full force of his gaze.

Into the silence came the sound of the ripping of cloth as Mr Vampire’s wings broke through the back of his impeccably tailored suit and blocked out the sun. He advanced on Mr Big Nose, who had taken refuge behind his trembling wife.

Shaun Ogg had taken refuge behind his mum, which left Nanny Ogg briefly wondering who she could take refuge behind. She knew she didn’t have Esme’s skill with standing up to vampires and had come to the uneasy realisation that the situation had rather got away from her, but she wasn’t going to be caught standing around doing nothin’ and watch anyone get et. Even if that someone was the annoying personage of Mr Big Nose over there.

Since no witch ever liked to admit that they weren’t in control, she tried a spot of Headology on Mrs Vampire on the general principle that the best time to kick a vampire is when it’s down.

Mrs Vampire caught hold of her husband’s arm. ‘Leave it, Asmodeus! He’s not worth it!’ she snapped, in a tone of such sneering dismissiveness that Nanny Ogg was genuinely impressed. Mainly with herself, mind. After all, she thought smugly, you ain’t a witch if you can’t appreciate a damn good bit of Headology, even it it’s you doin’ it.

‘Very well, Lillith,’ said Mr Vampire getting himself under control. He took his wife’s hand and they both took off into the late afternoon sunlight to find a better class of hill that wasn’t infested with such annoyingly talkative riff raff.

There was a collective sigh of relief as the prospect of imminent and horrible death receded with the vampires into the distance.

Mr Annoyed of Scrote tapped Mr Big Nose on the shoulder. Distracted by relief, Mr Big Nose turned round to briefly glimpse the big evil grin on Mr Annoyed’s face, before his fist hit him right on the conk. This was the opening salvo of the ensuing punch-up, which became a general free-for-all within minutes and included many people who didn’t have a clue what had started the fight, but were happy to pile in on the general principle that a good fight was part of the afternoon’s entertainment.

Shaun and Nanny Ogg watched the brawl for a bit.

‘Do you think I should do something to stop it Mum?’ Shaun asked as he stepped aside to allow Mrs Big Nose to tumble past him.

‘Nah, let them enjoy themselves for a bit,’ she said turning to look thoughtfully at the man in the white dress who was still valiantly addressing those members of the crowd who weren’t currently doing their best to punch other members of the crowd.

There was power there, she could feel it, but not the wizarding sort.

‘Right, come on Shaun,’ she said making up her mind and setting off up the hill.

'Aw Mum,' whined Shaun, just as he was about to bite into a small cake that he'd found sitting alone in the middle of a picnic blanket.

'Shaun Ogg, you come away from that picnic right now and leave that Llamados Tart alone!' she said impatiently.

‘I wants a word with Mr Beardy over there . . .’











* about tea time
** like a stoning, but with dwarf bread instead, which is far more painful.
***or at least they would do, if they knew what it meant.
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Re: Blessed are the Cheesemongers LBE

Postby the_apprentice » Tue Sep 11, 2018 08:00 am

Love it!
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