Tomorrow is (I think) the
Birthday of JK Rowling, well that is good timing because my blog is in JK
Rowling mode at present. Well me and Harry as you know have had our little ups
and downs over the last couple of years, as the regular readers will know, OK
if you are like me you will have forgotten. My brain is rubbish these days and
that’s for sure. Anyway the point is Harry made it to the top and I sadly
languish in the depths of obscurity laughed at by the masses for even
attempting to write anything good or interesting.
Of course the great
success of Mr Harry Potter means that Mrs Rowling is a rather wealthy woman and
it made me think that this must be a bit of a problem for her friends and
family when it’s her birthday. Now me I am happy with an old raggedy jumper
from the charity shop because I can bum about and folk will not shout at me
when it is attacked by stuff. Oddly I have a problem wearing clothing because
stuff leaps at me as I pass it, so mud, paint, oil, grease, dust, nails and
many other things all go OOOOOooo look its Rob and then leap.
But if you are rather
wealthy then what do folk get you well its tricky because unless you are even
more wealthy than the wealthy person who is having the birthday then buying
something nice from Marks and Sparks or getting a voucher for a plant from the
garden centre or even a new smart phone (I hate them and don’t have one or want one) is a futile exercise. So what do you do? Well you are left with doing
something very personal that has no link to monetary worth. So as I wander round the local village market
in the morning catching up on news about things like the state of the raspberry
harvest this year I would not be entirely surprised if somewhere in the UK a Mr Rowling
is muttering while attempting to bake a cake. Although he might cheat and phone
Harrods up, but I imagine JK Rowling will notice if he does that because the
cake might be just a bit too good with its spun sugar decoration of Hagrid
pirouetting and holding a seagull.
Actually I suspect the one
thing she will not want is Harry Potter based presents, I mean just how many
Harry Potter Soaps on a rope can one person look enthusiastically at and still
sound pleased thanking all the fans who sent them. Mine is the one with the
wooden leg and the Parrot on his shoulder going . . . HAR HAR HAR . . . RON LAD ME OLD Wizardy PAL HAR HAR HAR . . . with the light up eyes.
Anyway as it’s entirely
implausible that JK Rowling will ever read this, so wishing her a Happy
Birthday is a silly thing to do. But I often do silly things (well so my family
tell me) so.
Do they still sell soap on a rope?
ReplyDeleteFor a single mother, sitting in a cafe all day with her little one, whilst writing the beginnings of a novel and drinking a single cup of coffee in order to stay warm, Ms Rowling has done pretty well for herself.
Happy Birthday J.K. Oh and you might wanna sign up Mr Z for your next project. Might make things a little more interesting.
Life is a fickle thing Miss Lily but if there is one certainty it is that Ms Rowling will not be reading this blog any time soon and that's for sure. It is good when folk get a chance and stuff works out and they go on to fame and fortune, but for every one that succeeds there are a thousand who dont.
DeleteLuckily for me I have a nice life and am trapped in the world of neither rich or poor and have a brain full of ideas and a knackered old body. . . OOo that God certainly needs to rethink the ageing process next time he creates universes.
I did have a thought for a great way to revive the Harry Potter tale that involved the sad death of Ron and Hermione Granger sort of losing the plot going a bit mad and becoming the main villain. It would keep a bit of continuity. . . Not that anyone is going to listen to me mind you. . . Brain the size of a planet and this pain down the right side of my diodes. . . . Hang on that sounds wrong
The masses had told me they were laughing at you and I demanded that they immediately if not sooner stop. Or at least sloooow down.
ReplyDeleteWell Mr ESB if you told me that I would listen and obey . . . . sort of . . . a bit
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