'Welt er ... it's ... well, it's ... it's symbolic, Archchancellor.'

     'Ah?'

     The Senior Wrangler felt that something more  was expected.  He  groped around in the dusty attics of his education.

     'Of  ...  the  leaves, d'y'see ... they're  symbolic  of ...  of green, d'y'see whereas  the berries,  in  fact, yes, the  berries symbolize  ... symbolize white. Yes. White and green. Very ... symbolic.'

     He waited. He was not, unfortunately, disappointed.

     'What of?'

     The Senior Wrangler coughed.

     'I'm not sure there has to be an of,' he said.

     'Ah? So,' said the Archchancellor, thoughtfully,

     'It could be said that. the white and green symbolize a small parasitic plant?'

     'Yes, indeed,' said the Senior Wrangler.

     'So mistletoe, in fact, symbolizes mistletoe?'

     'Exactly,  Archchancellor,' said the Senior Wrangler, who  was now just hanging on.

     'Funny thing, that,'  said  Ridcully,  in  the  same thoughtful tone of voice. 'That statement is either  so deep it would take a  lifetime to fully comprehend every particle of its meaning, or it is  a load of absolute tosh. Which is it, I wonder?'

     'It could be both,' said the Senior Wrangler desperately.

     'And  that comment,' said Ridcully, 'is either very perceptive, or very trite.'

     'It might be bo...'

     'Don't push it, Senior Wrangler.'

     There was a hammering on the outer door.

     'Ah, that'll be the wassailers,' said  the Senior  Wrangler, happy  for the distraction. 'They call on us first every year. I personally have always liked "The Lily-white Boys", you know.'

     The Archchancellor glanced up  at the mistletoe, gave the beaming man a sharp look, and opened the little hatch in the door.

     'Well, now, wassailing you fellows ...' he began. 'Oh.  Well, I  must  say you might've picked a better time ...'

     A hooded figure stepped  through the wood of the  door, carrying a limp bundle over its shoulder.

     The Senior Wrangler stepped backwards quickly.

     'Oh ... no, not tonight ...'

     And then he noticed that what he had  taken for a  robe had lace around the bottom, and  the hood,  while quite definitely a hood,  was nevertheless rather more stylish than the one he had first mistaken it for.

     'Putting down or taking away?' said Ridcully.

     Susan pushed back her hood.

     'I need your help, Mr Ridcully,' she said.

     'You're ... aren't you Death's granddaughter?' said Ridcully. 'Didn't I meet you a few ...'

     'Yes,' sighed Susan.

     'And ...  are you  helping out?' said Ridcully.  His waggling  eyebrows indicated the slumbering figure over her shoulder.

     'I need you to wake him up,' said Susan.

     'Some sort of miracle, you mean?' said the Senior  Wrangler, who  was a little behind.

     'He's not dead,' said Susan. 'He's just resting.'

     'That's what they all say,' the Senior Wrangler quavered.

     Ridcully, who  was somewhat  more  practical, lifted the oh god's head. There was a groan.

     'Looks a bit under the weather,' he said.

     'He's the God of Hangovers,' said Susan. 'The Oh God of Hangovers.'

     'Really?' said Ridcully. 'Never had one of those myself. Funny thing, I can drink all night and feel as fresh as a daisy in the morning.'

     The oh god's eyes opened. Then he soared towards Ridcully and started beating him on the chest with both fists.

     'You utter, utter bastard! I hate you hate you hate you hate you-'

     His eyes shut, and he slid down to the floor.

     'What was all that about?' said Ridcully.

     'I  think   it  was  some  kind   of  nervous  reaction,'   said  Susan diplomatically. 'Something nasty's happening tonight. I'm hoping he can tell me what it is. But he's got to be able to think straight first.'

     'And you brought him here?' said Ridcully.

HO. HO. HO. YES INDEED, HELLO, SMALL CHILD CALLED VERRUCA LUMPY, WHAT A LOVELY NAME, AGED  SEVEN, I BELIEVE? GOOD. YES,  I KNOW IT DID. ALL OVER THE NICE CLEAN  FLOOR, YES.  THEY DO,  YOU KNOW. THAT's ONE OF THE  THINGS ABOUT REAL PIGS.  HERE  WE ARE, DON'T MENTION IT.  HAPPY HOGSWATCH AND BE GOOD.  I WILL KNOW IF YOU'RE GOOD OR BAD, YOU KNOW. HO. HO. HO.

     'Well,  you brought some  magic into that little life,' said Albert, as the next child was hurried away.

     IT'S THE EXPRESSION ON THEIR LITTLE FACES I LIKE, said the Hogfather.

     'You mean sort of fear and awe  and not knowing whether to laugh or cry or wet their pants?'

YES. NOW THAT IS WHAT I CALL BELIEF.

     The oh god was carried into the Great Hall and laid out on a bench. The senior  wizards gathered round, ready  to  help those  less  fortunate  than themselves remain that way.

     'I know what's good for a hangover,' said  the Dean, who was feeling in a party mood.

     They looked at him expectantly.

     'Drinking heavily the previous night!' he said.

     He beamed at them.

     'That was a good word joke,' he said, to break the silence.

     The silence came back.

     'Most  amusing,' said Ridcully.  He turned back and stared thoughtfully at the oh god.

     'Raw eggs are said to  be good ...' he glared at the Dean '...I mean  bad for a hangover,' he said. 'And fresh orange juice.'

     - 'Klatchian coffee,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, firmly.

     'But  this  fellow  hasn't just got his hangover, he's  got  everyone's hangover,' said Ridcully.

     'I've  tried  it,' mumbled the oh god.  'It just makes me feel suicidal and sick.'

     'A mixture of mustard and horseradish?'  said  the  Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'In cream, for preference. With anchovies.'

     'Yoghurt' said the Bursar.

     Ridcully looked at him, surprised.

     'That sounded almost relevant,' he said.  'Well done. I should leave it at that if I were you, Bursar. Hmm. Of course, my uncle always used to swear at Wow-Wow Sauce,' he added.

     'You mean swear by, surely?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

     'Possibly both,' said Ridcully. 'I know he once drank a whole bottle of it as  a hangover cure  and it certainly seemed to cure him. He looked  very peaceful when they came to lay him out.'

     'Willow bark' said the Bursar.

     'That's a  good idea,'  said  the  Lecturer in  Recent Runes.  'It's an analgesic.'

     'Really? Well, possibly, though it's probably better to give it to  him by mouth,' said Ridcully. 'I say, are you feeling yourself, Bursar? You seem somewhat coherent.'

     The oh god opened his crusted eyes.

     'Will all that stuff help?' he mumbled.

     'It'll probably kill you,' said Susan.

     'Oh. Good.'

     'We could add Englebert's Enhancer,' said the Dean. 'Remember when Modo put some on his peas? We could only manage one each!'

     'Can't  you do something  more,  well, magical?' said Susan. 'Magic the alcohol out of him or something?'

     'Yes, but it's not alcohol by  this time, is it?' said Ridcully. 'It'll have turned  into a  lot of  nasty  little poisons  all dancin' round on his liver.'

     'Spold's Unstirring Divisor  would  do it,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'Very simply, too.  You'd end up with a large beaker full  of all the nastiness. Not difficult at all, if you don't mind the side effects.'

     'Tell me  about  the side  effects,'  said Susan,  who had  met wizards before.

     'The main one is that the rest of him would end up in a somewhat larger beaker,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

     'Alive?'