Narrative irony. Now visiting a subconscious somewhere near you.
So I dreamed that I was checking into a hotel, and the clerk saw my surname and jokingly asked if I lived in Newcastle, in England. So I said yes, actually, and he asked if I knew this other guy with my name, Chaz Brenchley. And I said actually I am Chaz Brenchley, and he turned out to be my Greatest Fan Ever, he had all my books and thought I was an undeclared genius, and told his fellow-clerk all about me, and and and.
And then there was a civil war, and he shot me dead. And lamented beautifully over my corpse, of course.