Diana Wynne Jones has decided to attend the convention in Winchester. It's not going very well. There are lots of comments like "flying pigs, snigger" and "my sister's a griffin" and the sycophants are being even more sycophantic than usual. Plus, she's been bought too many pints of lager. She leans on a blue police box that's supposed to be Dr Who's Tardis and wonders if anyone would notice if she was sick inside.

The door opens at her touch and she is surprised to find that they are using the Tardis to store fur coats. Very odd. Never mind. She pushes passed the first row, then the next row, then the next, in search of the back of the blue box. Her feet start to make crunching sounds on the ground and it is getting rather wet. In fact, it's feeling rather wintry, which is odd because it is August in Winchester. It starts to snow.

There is a light ahead – a streetlight – and rather an odd sort of figure underneath it clutching lots of parcels.

DWJ approaches and the figure is revealed to be a man in a dressing gown and carrying several boxes marked KP Peanuts. "I say," says the man hopefully, "you wouldn't know the way to Earth, would you? Only I've been thumbing a lift for hours now and I'm not getting anywhere."

DWJ looks at him oddly and gestures back the way she came. "Oh, thanks very much. Here have a peanut," he says. "In fact, have the whole lot, I've gone right off them. If I never see another peanut again I'll be very happy."

DWJ decides she's had enough of this for a while and sits down on a rock beneath a tree to see what happens next. A little girl comes out of the forest from a different path to the one DWJ had arrived on. She seemed to be sneaking up on somebody. A rather small fawn to be exact, carrying his Christmas shopping. "But it's August" DWJ affirms to herself and burps, beerily. The next thing that happens is that the little girl hits the fawn on his head with a large branch and makes off with his presents chuckling to herself evilly.

A woman dressed in white and dripping icicles appears, where the tree DWJ was leaning on once stood. "That's happening a lot lately" she sighs "I blame television myself. It's even effected the seasons here. I mean, look at it… always Christmas, never a normal day. Father Christmas is completely worn out. You just can't get the better quality children these days. Mr Tumnus, head of the fawn union, is threatening to strike and the Bulgy Bears are locking the brats up."

She waved her wand in an annoyed way and turned back into a tree.

DWJ decided that she'd go and sit somewhere else.

Around a bend she came upon a rather mangy looking lion. He looked up at her and roared/coughed/roared. "Diana Wynne Jones… at last… I thought you'd never get here. Please help us. You've got to make children turn off their televisions and read more so that they become less greedy and self-centred. Our world is suffering and that means that your world feels the effects."

"Me" says Diana Wynne Jones.

"Yes, you. We have decided that you should become a great author and that many children and adults should read your books. We wish you to have a central character called Chrestomanci."

"Chrestomanci?" says DWJ puzzled – thinking "what kind of a name is that."

"Chrestomanci," confirms the lion, positively "oops."

A small whirlwind has sprung up next to them and it deposits a rather tall dark haired man on the ground. Getting up, he brushes off his rather splendid dressing gown ("why is everyone here wearing dressing gowns" wonders DWJ) and looks affronted.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," he snaps at the lion. "You're only supposed to call me for emergencies – fire, flood, misuse of magic, that kind of thing"

"I'm sorry," the lion apologises "While you're here I'd like you to meet Diana Wynne Jones."

"Charmed" said the man absently. "Look, I was in the middle of a bath, do you mind if I go now?"

DWJ had been looking at the man in a bemused kind of way. The beer, the peanuts and the odd things around her had been working on her mind in a strange kind of way and the sight of the stunning dressing gown had completely tipped her over the edge. DWJ was in love.

"Could you just take this lady back home first?" asked the lion. "There seems to be a problem with her way back. Several Klingons are having their photos taken in front of the entrance." He turned to DWJ. "Don't forget, write lots of books for us."

DWJ nodded absently, her gaze still drawn to the wonderful man in the splendid dressing gown.

And suddenly, she was standing amongst a group of klingons having her photo taken. It was all too much.

"Skuze me," she begs, and runs for the nearest ladies room.