A Story At Bedtime

By far the best bit of the first day of my first convention had to be settling down with the man we had all come to adore, as he read us a bedtime story. Dressed mostly as the characters from our story-teller's books, but also in various nighties and pyjamas with teddy bears tucked under sleepy arms, children young and old filed excitedly into "the Dysk" to listen in rapturous awe as our hero read from his new novel, "The Nation" (not officially released until 11 September).

It sounds quite a dark endeavour compared to some of Terry's tales, and our breaths were simultaneously held as the wave crashed about the tiny island, leaving Mau and Daphne alone, together, but apart. We laughed with relief when the humour returned as Terry read on, and the time hurried by. Where were the history monks tonight? Too busy at the bar one assumes, when the end of the allotted time was reached and neither story- teller, nor (most of) the audience, were prepared to leave.

It was lovely to see that, despite the trouble Terry had with lighting on stage, with his own head casting a shadow across his page, he enjoyed reading to his devoted audience, as much as we enjoyed the precious creation of his new words. He could quite easily have read the whole book tonight, and we would of course have let him, shuffling out in the early hours of the morning as tired messes, but not caring having been able to share the night with our hero.

But forty-five minutes after he should have stopped, Terry suddenly shut the book and told us all in no uncertain terms to "go away". We cheered, we yawned and we left: happy that the great man we have come to love through his writing, loves us in turn so much that he couldn't tear himself away.

And like a kindly grandfather, Terry Pratchett put his charges to bed. (the conventioneers and his book alike).

Sarah Ganderton

Photo: Robert "Otto" Flach