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RingBear and the Deathly Hallows
Jul. 22nd, 2007 07:27 pmHarry Potter Day!
I got sucked into the Hogwarts phenomenom about four books back when I wanted to find out what the readerverse was so excited about and why the rest of the family battled over each new book.
I had a bit of catching up to do, but I was quickly up to speed on Muggles and Dumbledores and all the other magical creatures of Harry's world. Since then, I've been as keen as anyone else to read the next book in the series, or watch the latest movie.
Fast forward to book six. My daughter works as a babysitter and was explaining to the parent that she had been up all night reading the latest book.
"Harry Potter! Aren't you a bit old for that?"
"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "I had to fight both my parents for reading time."
Not great literature, to be sure, but JK Rowling knows how to tell a story. Along with just about everyone else, I want to know what happens next.
So today was the launch of the seventh and final book in the series. My daughter went out and bought a copy, hot off the barrow, lining up with dozens of folk dressed as wizards and witches. That was the last we saw of her for a while.
With wife and two kids all reading the same copy, one picking it up as soon as another laid it down, I figured that my chances of snaffling it for a twelve-hour shift were pretty close to zero. I also anticipated a quiet night, with a large chunk of the regular Saturday night partygoers and nightclubbers tucked up at home reading Harry Potter.
And the last thing I wanted was to get back to work on Tuesday and have groups of passengers discussing the plot and destroying all the surprises.
So my first action on Saturday after signing on was to find a park across from a bookshop, dash into the shop, lay down my money before a sales assistant in long black hat and spiders, seize a copy of Harry Potter and dash back to my cab, chortling happily.
Just time for a picture of RingBear and I was off, to find a comfortable slowmoving taxi rank and get stuck into reading.
From that point on for the rest of my shift I was flat out. So much for my prediction of a quiet night. Half of Canberra was out having a few drinks. I'd drop off a passenger and immediately get another radio booking. I'd pull up on a rank and a dozen people would appear out of nowhere.
I managed a page or two here and there but by the time I unloaded the last drunk at dawn, I was barely into the second chapter.
I snuck in another page while running the car through the car wash, then I went back to the day driver's home, signed off, and drove my own car home, ready for my two days off.
"Oh goodie!" exclaimed my son, as I wearily dropped my money bag, coin holder and Harry Potter onto the kitchen table. "Another book! Thanks, Dad!"
And that was the last I saw of him and Harry.
I got sucked into the Hogwarts phenomenom about four books back when I wanted to find out what the readerverse was so excited about and why the rest of the family battled over each new book.
I had a bit of catching up to do, but I was quickly up to speed on Muggles and Dumbledores and all the other magical creatures of Harry's world. Since then, I've been as keen as anyone else to read the next book in the series, or watch the latest movie.
Fast forward to book six. My daughter works as a babysitter and was explaining to the parent that she had been up all night reading the latest book.
"Harry Potter! Aren't you a bit old for that?"
"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "I had to fight both my parents for reading time."
Not great literature, to be sure, but JK Rowling knows how to tell a story. Along with just about everyone else, I want to know what happens next.
So today was the launch of the seventh and final book in the series. My daughter went out and bought a copy, hot off the barrow, lining up with dozens of folk dressed as wizards and witches. That was the last we saw of her for a while.
With wife and two kids all reading the same copy, one picking it up as soon as another laid it down, I figured that my chances of snaffling it for a twelve-hour shift were pretty close to zero. I also anticipated a quiet night, with a large chunk of the regular Saturday night partygoers and nightclubbers tucked up at home reading Harry Potter.
And the last thing I wanted was to get back to work on Tuesday and have groups of passengers discussing the plot and destroying all the surprises.
So my first action on Saturday after signing on was to find a park across from a bookshop, dash into the shop, lay down my money before a sales assistant in long black hat and spiders, seize a copy of Harry Potter and dash back to my cab, chortling happily.
Just time for a picture of RingBear and I was off, to find a comfortable slowmoving taxi rank and get stuck into reading.
From that point on for the rest of my shift I was flat out. So much for my prediction of a quiet night. Half of Canberra was out having a few drinks. I'd drop off a passenger and immediately get another radio booking. I'd pull up on a rank and a dozen people would appear out of nowhere.
I managed a page or two here and there but by the time I unloaded the last drunk at dawn, I was barely into the second chapter.
I snuck in another page while running the car through the car wash, then I went back to the day driver's home, signed off, and drove my own car home, ready for my two days off.
"Oh goodie!" exclaimed my son, as I wearily dropped my money bag, coin holder and Harry Potter onto the kitchen table. "Another book! Thanks, Dad!"
And that was the last I saw of him and Harry.
