books, britishness, personal
When Harry met Harry
This morning Dr B. bought the adult edition of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
And I have just come back from Tesco across the road with the children's edition – so we don't mix them up, I claimed, but really it's because it matches the previous six in the box in the back of a cupboard. A bookcase? That would mean dusting, so no thanks.
Two years ago I was pining for not being able to buy Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince straight away. This time I was not too bothered, but it was going for a fiver if you spent over fifty pounds – which I was going to anyway, as we are having a birthday boy over from France for pre-Duckie drinks tonight, and he treated us for dinner last night at Amici, and we were going to buy champagne anyway.
Great. I have just added another 607 pages on my ever-expanding reading list, and all I seem to be able to do these days on public transport is play solitaire on my mobile.