Triffids Beard 2 - The Bearded Triffid

Mingled in with the satire are some appallingly bad jokes (I love them). Bill has saved money by putting
some of his wages aside. He kept his savings in a rubber toy cat. And bit by bit the kitty grew.
The original novel has recently been followed by several sequels, written in collaboration with a number
of different authors. They are much less successful and seem quite clumsy by comparison.
In recent years the bookshelves have begun to groan under the strain of supporting vast numbers of
enormous tomes with ethereal anorexics and mythical beasts on the covers. We are living in the age of
the fantasy novel. And sometimes we poke fun.
The first of the modern fantasy satires was probably the Harvard Lampoon's Bored of the Rings, an
enormously funny pastiche of the Tolkien classic (their Doon -- the Dessert Planet should not be
missed either). There are, however, two writers of humorous fantasy who stand head and shoulders
above the rest. Terry Pratchett and Tom Holt leave the competition standing.
Tom Holt's field of fun is mythology and legend and his best comedic effects come from juxtaposing
these with modern day reality. In Expecting Someone Taller, Malcolm Fisher inherits the Tarnhelm,
which allows him to assume any shape he wishes, and the Ring which makes him ruler of the world.
Serves him right for running over a badger who turns out to be Ingolf, last of the giants. The stage is set
for a Wagnerian romp
Over the course of a dozen or so books Tom Holt has romped along with greek mythology, the Faust
legend, the Flying Dutchman, Blondel's pursuit of King Richard the Lionheart and the legend of the
sleeping hero who returns with his knights when the country is in peril. Here is the scene, from Who's
Afraid of Beowulf, when the sleepers first awake:
Something moved in the darkness and moved again with the restlessness that attends on
the last few moments before waking. "For crying out loud," said a voice, faint and drowsy in
the darkness, "there's some of us trying to sleep."
The silence had been broken irrecoverably, like a pane of glass. "You what?" said another
voice.
"I said there's people trying to sleep," said the first voice. "Shut it, will you?"
"You shut up," replied the second voice. "You're the one making all the noise."
"Do you two mind?" A third voice, deep and powerful and the structure of beams seemed to
vibrate to its resonance. "Quiet as the grave, they say. Some hope."
"Sorry," said the first two voices. The silence tried to return, as the retreating tide tries to
claw its way back up the beach.
"I told you, didn't I?" continued the third voice after a while. "I warned you not to eat that
cheese, but would you listen? If you can't sleep then be quiet."
...Somewhere in the gloom there was a high pitched squeaking sound... "The wizard says try
counting sheep," said the second voice.
"I heard him myself," said the third voice. "Bugger counting sheep. I've counted enough
sheep since I've been down here to clothe the Frankish Empire. Oh the Hell with it.
Somebody open a window."
There was a grating sound and a creaking of long-relaxed timber. "Sod it," said the first
voice. "Some clown's moved the ladder."
Terry Pratchett operates in a completely different (but just as funny) world. The Discworld is an
enormous disc resting on the back of four elephants which are standing on a giant turtle called A'Tuin. In