Terry Pratchett's new book's out.

That's probably not news to most people who care, it's been out a little while and I personally had read it about a week after it came out. It's the usual witty, poignant blend of fantasy and real-world satire, this time on the ephemeral nature of wealth, or more specifically, money.

It largely revolves around the fact that money is only worth anything because we all agree that it does, and it has no innate value. I really can't recommend it highly enough for a good, pageturning read.

The book, incidentally, is currently published in two formats in my local Waterstone's; a hardback edition costing about ten pounds (including the inevitable markdowns) and a signed edition - with glittery binding - costing thirty-five of your pounds, if you please.

I can't decide if that's an evil cynical gimmick, or given the topic of the book, genius. Considering that you wouldn't know that it was an elaborate joke, to which you provided the butt until you'd read it and therefore presumably spent a day's wages on it, I think it might be both.