My husband and I also had the pleasure of meeting Sir Terry, or – as our set of friends (AFPers) knew him – Sir Pterry. I met my husband right after he and a mutual friend had been to a CCDE, where another friend’s wonderfully insane Rottweiller had cuddled Sir Terry and left her usual muddy trademark: his t-shirt stopped reading “Less Dead Than Dickens” and read “Less *pawprint* than *pawprint*”. Our mortified friend got a smile of great amusement in return.
My first Discworld Convention was nervewracking. Amazing costumes everywhere, important people everywhere… then later somebody began a jam session in the bar. As I broke into my favourite “Summertime” I was joined by a rich baritone to my left, and when I looked around my voice faded in wonder; the baritone was Terry.
I’m not going to petition Death to bring Terry back to us; I only ask that he take good care of him.
Goodnight good Sir, and thank you for the Soul Music.
It was my extraordinaryprivilegeto meet Sir Terry Pratchett (or just ‘Terry’ as he was then) several times during the course of my late teenage and young adult years. Each one of those meetings was extraordinary for different reasons. Each memoryof those meetingsisprecious, even more so in the wake of his death.
Not long after the publication of ‘Equal Rites’ Terry was signing copies at the local bookshop in Crawley. He was not really a household name at this point and a small trickle of people came up to him and got their books signed. I had read his previous works and in a twist of annoying fate, had purchased my copy of ‘Equal Rites’ a week before, down in Chichester whilst at college. Being an impoverished student, I asked him if he wouldn’t be offended if I got him to sign something else…
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