Reread Making Money and am still a bit blinkety-blink at the notion that Vetinari is grooming Moist to succeed him. Moist gets rattled far too easily. Vetinari need only look at him sideways-- indeed, occasionally needn't look at him at all-- and Moist immediately starts gabbling, 'I dun it, yer onner, I confess.' He may be inspired when his mouth runs away with him, but cities are not run by spur-of-the-moment invention.
Have the weekend free for the first time in three weeks. Alas that there's nothing interesting on at the Bloor (though *next* week I could happily stay there all Sunday) so maybe perhaps I shall flog myself into some reading and writing and grammar study.