by Steven Holding
All it took was one look at her hook nose and Danny knew that his granny was a witch.
A familiar black cat, dark pointy hat, although her number of nipples remained firmly under wraps, despite Danny lurking on the landing at bath time, desperate to administer a dunking.
He took no risks, smashing his eggshells at breakfast, stopping her from setting sail upon the seven seas, sinking fleets using sorcery.
Granny was suitably distressed.
“Don’t you love me?” she pleaded. “Warts and all?”
“Oh, Nanna!” sighed Danny.
She hugged him.
Then bunged the little bastard straight in her oven.