In 1987 I read my first fantasy novel, Equal Rites, laughing a lot, and went on to order the first two Discworld books, as they did not appear on bookshop shelves. I’d never heard of Terry Pratchett, he didn’t appear in the fiction charts, and no-one I knew read him, so I wrote to him via his publisher, just to assure him that one person at least would like him to write more about this fantasy world. A few weeks later, I received a handwritten letter from Terry, and so when I noticed I could get my book signed by him in the Charing Cross Road, I took it along and met the author.

Our casual aquaintance continued in this way, me writing the odd letter or meeting him at various book-signings in various places. One day, in a queue for a book-signing, someone gave me a leaflet for the first Discworld convention. I went, and was completely hooked.

At conventions, Terry would breakfast in the restaurant, but unless he asked to sit with you, his fans knew to leave him alone. During the rest of the time, he would have two name badges. You could speak to him if his badge read Terry Pratchett, but not if was wearing a pseudonym.

In the bar in the evening, he mingled with fans and often said that he was well disposed to those who bought him a drink. But he always refused to read the fans’ fiction as he did not want to be accused of stealing ideas. He would only talk about his next book if it was with the publisher.

We all knew he was busy visiting Discworld conventions abroad and usually very much in demand, generally. If one sympathised with his hectic schedule, he would often say: “Don’t feel sorry for me, I am extremely rich, you know.”