She looked expectantly at the other two. 'That foreign for bum,' she added. 'Although, it's a funny thing, in some foreign parts “bum” means “tramp” and “tramp” means “hobo”. Funny things, words.'
'A laugh a minute,' said Granny.
'The river's quite wide here,' said Magrat. 'There's big boats. I've never been on a proper boat. You know? The kind that doesn't sink easily?'
'Broomsticks is more witchy,' said Granny, but not with much conviction. She did not have Nanny Ogg's
international anatomical vocabulary, but bits of her she wouldn't even admit to knowing the names of were definitely complaining.
'I saw them boats,' said Nanny. 'They looked like great big rafts with houses on. You wouldn't hardly know you're on a boat, Esme. 'Ere, what's he doing?'
The innkeeper had hurried out and was taking the jolly little tables back inside. He nodded at Nanny and spoke with a certain amount of urgency.
'I think he wants us to go inside,' said Magrat.
'I likes it out here,' said Granny. 'I LIKES IT OUT HERE, THANK YOU,' she repeated. Granny Weather-wax's approach to foreign tongues was to repeat herself loudly and slowly.
' 'Ere, you stop trying to take our table away!' snapped Nanny, thumping his hands.
The innkeeper spoke hurriedly and pointed up the street.
Granny and Magrat glanced inquiringly at Nanny Ogg. She shrugged.
'Didn't understand any of that,' she admitted.
'WE'RE STOPPIN' WHERE WE ARE, THANK YOU,' said Granny. The innkeeper's eyes met hers. He gave in, waved his hands in the air in exasperation, and went inside.
'They think they can take advantage of you when you're a woman,' said Magrat. She stifled a burp, discreetly, and picked up the green bottle again. Her stomach was feeling a lot better already.
'That's very true. D'you know what?' said Nanny Ogg, 'I barricaded meself in my room last night and a man didn't even try to break in.'
'Gytha Ogg, sometimes you - ' Granny stopped as she caught sight of something over Nanny's shoulder.
'There's a load of cows coming down the street,' she said.
Nanny turned her chair around.
'It must be that bull thing Magrat mentioned,' she said. 'Should be worth seein'.'
Magrat glanced up. All along the street people were craning out of every second-storey window. A jostle of horns and hooves and steaming bodies was approaching rapidly.
'There's people up there laughing at us,' she said accusingly.
Under the table Greebo stirred and rolled over. He opened his good eye, focused on the approaching bulls, and sat up. This looked like being fun.
'Laughin'?' said Granny. She looked up. The people aloft did indeed appear to be enjoying a joke.
Her eyes narrowed.
'We're just goin' to carry on as if nothin' is happening,' she declared.
'But they're quite big bulls,' said Magrat nervously.
'They're nothing to do with us,' said Granny. 'It's nothin' to do with us if a lot of foreigners want to get excited about things. Now pass me the herbal wine.'
As far as Lagro te Kabona, innkeeper, could remember the events of that day, they seemed to happen like this:
It was the time of the Thing with the Bulls. And the mad women just sat there, drinking absinthe as if it was water! He tried to get them to come indoors, but the old one, the skinny one, just shouted at him. So he let them bide, but left the door open - people soon got the message when the bulls came down the street with the young men of the village after them. Whoever snatched the big red rosette from between the horns of the biggest bull got the seat of honour at that night's feast plus - Lagro smiled a smile of forty years' remembrance - a certain informal but highly enjoyable relationship with the young women of the town for quite some time after . . .