Gratuitous Pratchett Post.

I'm a Magrat. Oh, I wish I was a Nanny, and possibly one day I shall become a Granny seemingly overnight, but for now I'm a Magrat. Sometimes I get a bit Agnes (although mostly Perdita) but I go back to Magrat every time. I haven't the figure but I've the hair, the nose and the tendency to be snuffly over the death of small birds. This morning, unbidden, came thoughts of Wyrd Sisters and specifically this couple of paragraphs:

"As she plunged down towards the forest roof in a long shallow dive she reflected that there was possibly something complimentary in the way Granny Weatherwax resolutely refused to consider other people's problems. It implied that, in her considerable opinion, they were quite capable of sorting them out by themselves.
Some kind of Change spell was probably in order.
Magrat concentrated.
Well, that seemed to work.
Nothing in sight of mortal man had in fact changed. What Magrat had achieved was a mere adjustment of the mental processes, from a bewildered and slightly frightened woman gliding inexorably towards the inhospitable ground to a clear-headed, optimistic and positive thinking woman who had really got it together, was taking full responsibility for her own life and in general knew where she was coming from although, unfortunately, where she was heading had not changed in any way. But she felt a lot better about it."

Off to work now. See you later.