The Colour of Magic

Fantasy is an exercise bicycle for the mind. It might not take you anywhere, but it tones up the muscles that can. Of course, I could be wrong.

The above words were written by Terry Pratchett – the late, celebrated author of the Discworld novels.

I discovered the Discworld novels through my other half. Not long after we had begun seeing each other, she arrived at my house one day with a many-times-read paperback book called “The Colour of Magic”. Through that book I discovered a humor and wit I had not seen since reading Douglas Adams books about the adventures of Arthur Dent and friends.

I suppose in many ways Discworld opened my eyes to a literary world where the nonsensical was encouraged – where the madcap, insane, and really rather clever were celebrated.

There’s a lot to be said for being a bit of an idiot from time to time. My children delight in the moments when I drop the parent act and go all out for a smile on their face. They are defenseless against the idiocy. I have Mr Pratchett to thank for at least a part of that.

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