Article in Swindon Globe News, 12 June 1988

I drove to the car park above the Brunel Centre and bought a pay-and-display ticket, noting how they had almost tripled in price since I was here last. I looked in my purse. I had fifteen pounds, three shillings and an old Skyrail ticket.

'Short of cash?' asked Hamlet as we walked down the stairs to the street-level concourse.

'Let's just say I'm very "receipt rich" at present.' Money had never been a problem in the BookWorld. All the details of life were taken care of by something called 'Narrative Assumption'. A reader would assume you had gone shopping, or gone to the toilet, or brushed your hair, so a writer never needed to outline it – which was just as well, really. I'd forgotten all about the real-world trivialities, but I was actually quite enjoying them, in a mind-dulling sort of way.

'It says here,' said Hamlet, who had been reading the newspaper, 'that Denmark invaded England and put hundreds of innocent English citizens to death without trial!'

'It was the Vikings in 786, Hamlet. I hardly think that warrants the headline: "Bloodthirsty Danes Go on Rampage". Besides, at the time they were no more Danish than we were English.'

'So we're not the historical enemies of England?'

'Not at all.'

'And eating rollmop herrings won't lead to erectile dysfunction?'

'No. And keep your voice down. All these people are real, not D-7 generic crowd types. Out here, you only exist in a play.'

'Okay,' he said, stopping at an electronics shop and staring at the TVs. 'Who's she?'

'Lola Vavoom. An actress.'

'Really? Has she ever played Ophelia?'

'Many times.'

'Was she better than Helena Bonham Carter?'

'Both good – just different.'

'Different? What do you mean?'

'They both brought different things to the role.'

Hamlet laughed.

'I think you're confusing the matter, Thursday. Ophelia is just Ophelia.'

'Not out here. Listen, I'm just going to see how bad my overdraft is.'

'How you Outlanders complicate matters!' he murmured. 'If we were in a book right now you'd be accosted by a solicitor who tells you a wealthy aunt has died and left you lots of money – and then we'd just start the next chapter with you in London making your way to Kaine's office disguised as a cleaning woman.'

'Excuse me—!' said a suited gentleman who looked suspiciously like a solicitor. 'But are you Thursday Next?'

I glanced nervously at Hamlet.

'Perhaps.'

'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr Wentworth of Wentworth, Wentworth and Wentworth, Solicitors. I'm the second Wentworth, if you're interested.'

'And?'

'And . . . I wonder if I could have your autograph? I followed your Jane Eyre escapade with a great deal of interest.'

I breathed a sigh of relief and signed his autograph book. Mr Wentworth thanked me and hurried off.

'You had me worried for a moment there,' said Hamlet. 'I thought I was meant to be the fictitious one.'