It's a kind of magic

Well, all I can say is it wasn't like that when I was a teenager. Apparently it's now cool for a fourteen-year-old to be able to tell a television crew you've been sitting outside a bookshop for the last eighteen hours. Dressed as a witch. And now you are going to go home and read all night. Wild. In my day she'd've been slumped outside the local petrol station with a couple of her mates and an empty bottle of White Lightening, not sitting outside Waterstones with her mum. What is the world coming to? See what you're doing to our kids JK? Hmm?

And I now know who dies. I've not read it, but I had a flick through it in Borders. And no, it still isn't Hagrid. Apparently when she killed off Sirius in the last book she cried. Which seems a bit daft when she's the author. I presume there wasn't some bloke holding a knife to her throat saying "kill him off or else"? Oh, well. I assume her tears subsided once she looked at her bank balance. Kill 'em all off. They won't be expecting that. Make the Hogwarts Express the target of a vicious terrorist attack by, oh, I don't know, the Christian Voice? They think you're corrupting good Christian kids with the evils of the Occult (er..right, then.) Go on. I dare you.

OK, OK, I am going to read it at some point. But really...18 hours?