The World of Poo Read Free

good citizens of Ankh-Morpork burn coal, wood, dried dung and, when no other alternative beckons, anything that can be persuaded to go up in flames. There are forges and foundries along with dye-works, tanneries and slaughterhouses. In fact every smelly occupation you could think of, and some that you wouldn’t like to think of. In addition, with so many animals passing through and with so many people staying put, the heavy sullen smell of poo, in all its varieties, is the main melody in which the other smells are merely the high notes.
    3 Actually, at the time young Geoffrey didn’t know it was a portico, but it was a portico all right and the fact that he didn’t know it was a portico didn’t stop it being one.
    4 Once you have one old shed somehow you always end up with another one, and after that anything can happen.
    5 The belief that a bird pooing on your head is good luck is common to many cultures. When you ask why, the ribald reply is often, ‘Well, it weren’t a cow.’ In fact birds were often perceived as messengers of the gods and their movements (both geographical and biological) as part of some divine plan. Needless to say only those endowed with arcane knowledge could understand the particular message in bird poo. However, it is believed that some Ephebian philosophers stood for hours under trees hoping for ‘a message’ – which they got, but invariably the message was that they should soon clean their jackets.
    Bird poo is one of nature’s special garnishes. A bird’s insides are cunningly designed to preserve fluid and the slimy green poo is iced with white solid wee, as every schoolboy knows, or did, back in the days when schoolboys knew such things.
    6 Sir Charles Lavatory is the president of the Guild of Plumbers and Dunnakin Divers in Ankh-Morpork. Geoffrey will make his acquaintance before too long.

A TRIP TO THE PARK AND A NEW FRIEND
    VERY EARLY THE next morning Geoffrey ventured back into the water closet. He sat on the seat with his legs dangling while Widdler the dog ran round in circles unravelling a roll of soft paper, clearly in some kind of dog heaven. Geoffrey felt like a king on his grand throne. Indeed, like many a king, he was perched on the edge precariously, quite concerned that if he wasn’t careful he might slip off; in his case, into the great bowl and its contents below. Eventually, the business at hand being finished, Geoffrey was pleased to see he wouldn’t have to climb up again to reach the chain because someone had very kindly added a length of cord with a cotton reel on the end so it was low enough for him to reach with ease.
     

    Picking up Widdler, Geoffrey wandered down to the kitchen hoping to find some breakfast. The big kitchen seemed empty but, as in many kitchens in old houses, there was a lot of life going on out of sight. There were rats romping along the drains, biting through pipes and the backs of cupboards, and popping up in the sink and through the skirting board. There were all manner of beetles and weevils and spiders and, in the damp corner under the sink, a collection of snails stuck to the wall. As Geoffrey opened a cupboard or two, hoping to find something to eat, he heard a scurrying scratchy sound coming from behind the pantry door. Between a pot of raspberry jam and a large jar of pickled eggs sat a small grey mouse. The mouse looked at Geoffrey and Geoffrey looked at the mouse. The mouse looked at Geoffrey again and then, possibly because it wanted to, or perhaps because it was frightened, did a poo, followed by another one and another one before running off. 1
    Mice are like that. And all that Geoffrey was left with was a number of small dark droppings, which he scooped up. I wonder if mouse poo is as lucky as bird poo, he thought. I must ask Mister Twaddle.

    ‘I wouldn’t put that in your pocket if I were you, my dear,’ said a friendly voice behind him. ‘Let me see what I can find for you.’
     
    He turned round to see a jolly