(...in acknowledgement of, rather than in answer to, your unanswered blog letter, as I re-read it after writing this,)

Hurry up and finish having time off. Today I semi-planned how I would next see you. My ideas got more and more outlandish, until it went something along the lines of 'stowaway in the suitcase of my mother's colleague, who happens to be going to Bergen for a few days in September as part of the Bergen-Keele Uni link. Track down The Bean. Go to swimming pool soley to drink the amazing coffee from the amazing machine which looks not unlike Marvin the depressed 'bot.'

I want to discuss Harry Potter theories with you whilst reading the book. It could be a bit like that 'conversation' Harry and Sally have, when both are watching Casablanca and neither are talking. Only over Skype. And we could do gasping-in-unison when people die. Or perhaps even crying-in-unison. If Rowling is lucky.

Also you have to come and convince me to partake in the 'thon madness. I know I won't bring myself to do it after seven hours of work if you're not there to convince my inner-sensibleness it is wrong, and to cheerlead. Only yesterday I was thinking '24 hours is a long time to do anything at all, even sleep. It'll seem even longer if all I'm doing is sitting at my screen drinking coffee and panicking.'

Blub,

Kiwi xxoxoxoxoxoxox

P.S. I am looking at the coffee-sun-laughing photo, and you have a strange tuft of hair which stands at exactly 90 degrees from the rest of your hair. It is almost like a cute, hairy extension of your forehead. Is it still alive? Send it my regards.

P.P.S You know how the mafia send people fish through the mail? I am seriously considering sending you one of the three babies from my family of Venetian glass penguins. See how desperate I am?


:D

I promised for there to be no more flurries of exclamation marks, so there won't be.

Twenty minutes and then Harry Potter The Very Last comes out. I feel bad being excited. I tend to stay away from hype. I guess chair dancing and stalking JK Rowling via her website is a very mild form of excitement in comparison to camping outside Waterstones for three nights. Now that is silly. And dangerous. Especially in this weather. I saw a photo earlier of a girl sitting inside a plastic shell thing, brandishing a torch in the one hand, and Harry Potter the Penultimate in the other. I saw no breathing holes in the plastic shell. And there was rain.

So I am not queuing up. I will, however, be at Morrisons not long after 8am. My aim is to read it before anyone has the chance to ruin the ending for me. Having to work tomorrow ruins this a bit, unless my customers are very understanding about me having my head in the book whilst serving them. My hope is that the town will be dead, because the vast majority of the Newcastle-under-Lyme population will be ensconsed in their homes. Reading.

I wonder how it feels to be the author of a series of books causing environmental concerns with regards to excessive paper usage.