It’s strange to grieve for a person you haven’t met. I’ve never gone in for celebrity culture, so have never mourned from a distance, but today I lost one of my heroes, and I feel oddly bereft.
I was about 8 when I read my first Terry Pratchett. We were on holiday in France, and my voracious appetite for books was unsatisfied by the number I’d brought. I did attempt to keep myself going by reading the Wolves of Willoughby Chase over and over, but in the end my dad was forced to give me one of his – Guards Guards. As soon as we got home I began working my way through his Discworld collection, and have since done so more times than I’d like to say. One of the first things I did when I moved out of my parents’ home was buy my own set of Pratchetts, and I’ve religiously added to it as every new book came out. He’s the only author I allow myself to buy in hardback, because I’ll be damned if I’ll wait for the paperback to come out.
As I grew up, the series seemed to grow up with me. What started as funny adventures morphed into sharp socio-political commentaries, and the more I learned about the world and its literature, the more I understood just how clever this man really was. Every book is packed full of references, and I’ve never tired of that ‘ha!’ moment you get when you recognise a caricature or twisted quote. You can usually trust a fellow fan to share a certain irreverent sense of humour, not to mention a love of a good Pune, or Play on Words, so I suppose it’s unsurprising that so many of my friends number among them. I met a woman seven years ago, and we had completely dismissed each other until she quoted Pratchett and I finished the line. He has a mention in the speech I’m giving at her wedding next month.
Such a brilliantly corkscrewed mind should never have been struck by anything as mentally debilitating as Alzheimers. Sad as I am that the world has been deprived of his genius, I’m glad he went before it had a chance to reduce him to something he wouldn’t have wanted to be. I just wish I could have been a fly on the wall when Death came to collect him.
I'll be raising a glass of scumble to Sir Terry tonight. It's ok, it's made of apples. Well......mostly apples.
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