so... about 26-27 years ago, a thin, awkward headbanger went to a book signing in Ealing, London. he was the only adult there, the rest being kids. but he met the author and got a book signed, The Light Fantastic.

he then forgot about it and what was written in it..

26-27 years later, he retrieved the book - it had been stored in his parents attic, given to his sister - and he opened the book and read what was written.

....... "To Chris, all the best, Terry Pratchett" ......

today was the day he, the headbanger, aka I, cried. 

I'll miss you Sir.