Un Lun Dun

There are no cats in UnLondon, for example, because they’re not magic and mysterious at all, they’re idiots.

“My dad hates umbrellas,” said Deeba, swinging her own. “When it rains he always says the same thing. ‘I do not believe the presence of moisture in the air is sufficient reason to overturn society’s usual sensible taboo against wielding spiked clubs at eye level.’”

“Destiny’s bunk,” said the book. “That’s why this lot aren’t the Propheseers anymore.”

“From here on in,” said Mortar, “we’re the Order of Suggesters.”

It had some allies. Believe me, there’s nothing so terrible that someone won’t support it.

Throw something away and you declare it obsolete.