"Rincewind!"
Twoflower sprang off the bed. The wizard jumped back,
wrenching his features into a smile.
"My dear chap, right on time! We'll just have lunch, and
then I'm sure you've got a wonderful programme lined up for
this afternoon!"
"Er --"
"That's great!"
Rincewind took a deep breath. "Look," he said desperately,
"let's eat somewhere else. There's been a bit of a fight
down below."
"A tavern brawl? Why didn't you wake me up?"
"Well, you see, I - _what_?"
"I thought I made myself clear this morning, Rincewind. I
want to see genuine Morporkian life - the slave market, the
Whore Pits, the Temple of Small Gods, the Beggar's Guild...
and a genuine tavern brawl." A faint note of suspicion
entered Twoflower's voice. "You _do_ have them, don't you?
You know, people swinging on chandeliers, swordfights over
the table, the sort of thing Hrun the Barbarian and the
Weasel are always getting involved in. You know --
_excitement_."
[ The Colour of Magic, by Terry Pratchett ]