Deathly Hallows reminiscence

A number of people on my flist have recollected the fact that it is three years since the release of Deathly Hallows, and have been thinking back to that great and exciting time in fandom, and how they read the book.

I read it very badly. Mr Brammers had to run up to Newtown to grab my copy, because I was physically unable to make it out to the local shops, let alone up the hill to town. We had come back from New Zealand a week before and I had brought back a spectacular case of influenza, the sort that makes you understand that it kills people. I curled up in bed, propped up on pillows so I could breathe and with hot water bottles easing the ache in my ribs from coughing. Unlike the previous books, I read this one in fits and starts, and hallucinated large sections.

I only realised this last when I spoke about it with a friend at work a few weeks later. We both agreed the camping went on a bit further than it needed to, but the battle was pretty good and the twists convincing. She told me she liked the development of Hermione as the cranky voice of reason, I told her I liked the bit where Dementors were responsible for everyone wailing so emotionally about Princess Diana and forcing those poor grieving princes into that horrible public spectacle of a funeral.

She looked at me blankly.

I looked at her questioningly.

'That's not actually in the book,' she said.

'You sure?'

'Yup. You were pretty sick the other week, I think your mind wandered.'

I went home and picked it up and read it again. About 35 per cent of what I thought I had read the first time did not exist. 

In memory of the occasion, I appeared to have contracted a ghastly virus thanks to all those bastards who come into work and sneeze everywhere. Oh well, I've had a good health run lately, and if it means I need to take tomorrow off, at least I left everything in a good state today!

Deathly Hallows reminiscence

A number of people on my flist have recollected the fact that it is three years since the release of Deathly Hallows, and have been thinking back to that great and exciting time in fandom, and how they read the book.

I read it very badly. Mr Brammers had to run up to Newtown to grab my copy, because I was physically unable to make it out to the local shops, let alone up the hill to town. We had come back from New Zealand a week before and I had brought back a spectacular case of influenza, the sort that makes you understand that it kills people. I curled up in bed, propped up on pillows so I could breathe and with hot water bottles easing the ache in my ribs from coughing. Unlike the previous books, I read this one in fits and starts, and hallucinated large sections.

I only realised this last when I spoke about it with a friend at work a few weeks later. We both agreed the camping went on a bit further than it needed to, but the battle was pretty good and the twists convincing. She told me she liked the development of Hermione as the cranky voice of reason, I told her I liked the bit where Dementors were responsible for everyone wailing so emotionally about Princess Diana and forcing those poor grieving princes into that horrible public spectacle of a funeral.

She looked at me blankly.

I looked at her questioningly.

'That's not actually in the book,' she said.

'You sure?'

'Yup. You were pretty sick the other week, I think your mind wandered.'

I went home and picked it up and read it again. About 35 per cent of what I thought I had read the first time did not exist. 

In memory of the occasion, I appeared to have contracted a ghastly virus thanks to all those bastards who come into work and sneeze everywhere. Oh well, I've had a good health run lately, and if it means I need to take tomorrow off, at least I left everything in a good state today!

Politicians behaving badly

Nick Griffin is the head of the BNP, a loathsome British political party that basically legitimises racism. He is also a Member of the European Parliament (MEP), which only goes to show that people should be far more conscientious when it comes to voting because I think I could have swung at least as many votes as he did without resorting to bastardry.

Nevertheless, thanks to his position, he attracted an automatic invitation to a tea party at Buckingham Palace, with the Queen in attendance. Last year he was invited to accompany another guest to the 2009 party, but after a great many people asked that he stay away, he made this into a large political statement about The Establishment Not Caring For the Little Man and Working Against Him.

This year he took his invitation and turned to the media, declaring that it both legitimised him as a politician and struck a blow for all those BNP members who had stood up against all the hate (no, seriously, he said that with a straight face).

Last night, I was reading my flist and found that shocolate  had reported the invitation had been revoked, after Griffin emailed supporters asking them for questions to ask the Queen. The Palace decreed that he had politicised the event, which is against protocol, and withdrew his invitation (nicely done, Ma'am!)

That had already put me in a good mood, as I think he is a nasty little man. But then tonight, it became even better as I watched the SBS coverage of the incident, which included vox popping people who were attending the party. One of the couples who spoke on camera included a vaguely familiar-looking man with large teeth: 'Despicable as his politics might be ...' he began.

His companion, presumably his wife, an also vaguely familiar-looking Lady in Green, drew in her breath and frowned discreetly.

He went on: '... he had been democratically elected as an MEP and I think, therefore, has a right to come.'

There was a thinning out of mouth from the Lady, accompanied by a small head shake.

The gentleman was not finished: 'But if he then exploited that position, then yes, I think the Palace is correct.'

The Lady's face told the story: her frown disappeared, a restrained but sincere smile appeared, and the tension left her shoulders.

He will not need to sleep on the sofa tonight! 

Politicians behaving badly

Nick Griffin is the head of the BNP, a loathsome British political party that basically legitimises racism. He is also a Member of the European Parliament (MEP), which only goes to show that people should be far more conscientious when it comes to voting because I think I could have swung at least as many votes as he did without resorting to bastardry.

Nevertheless, thanks to his position, he attracted an automatic invitation to a tea party at Buckingham Palace, with the Queen in attendance. Last year he was invited to accompany another guest to the 2009 party, but after a great many people asked that he stay away, he made this into a large political statement about The Establishment Not Caring For the Little Man and Working Against Him.

This year he took his invitation and turned to the media, declaring that it both legitimised him as a politician and struck a blow for all those BNP members who had stood up against all the hate (no, seriously, he said that with a straight face).

Last night, I was reading my flist and found that shocolate  had reported the invitation had been revoked, after Griffin emailed supporters asking them for questions to ask the Queen. The Palace decreed that he had politicised the event, which is against protocol, and withdrew his invitation (nicely done, Ma'am!)

That had already put me in a good mood, as I think he is a nasty little man. But then tonight, it became even better as I watched the SBS coverage of the incident, which included vox popping people who were attending the party. One of the couples who spoke on camera included a vaguely familiar-looking man with large teeth: 'Despicable as his politics might be ...' he began.

His companion, presumably his wife, an also vaguely familiar-looking Lady in Green, drew in her breath and frowned discreetly.

He went on: '... he had been democratically elected as an MEP and I think, therefore, has a right to come.'

There was a thinning out of mouth from the Lady, accompanied by a small head shake.

The gentleman was not finished: 'But if he then exploited that position, then yes, I think the Palace is correct.'

The Lady's face told the story: her frown disappeared, a restrained but sincere smile appeared, and the tension left her shoulders.

He will not need to sleep on the sofa tonight!