Harry Potter and the Screaming F**kwits

Only a few days to go to the new Harry Potter book. We’ve been asked every single fecking day for three years when it comes out. Now we have to open at bloody midnight on Friday to sell the bastard thing. What sort of sad fuck needs to come in at midnight to buy this piece of old toss? How sad is your life? And shouldn’t all those little kids be in bed by that time? So we will have screaming kids, dumb ass parents and being Princes Street on a Friday night/Saturday morning we’re bound to get more than a few bloody drunks. Oh the fun… Then the store reopens at 7am for more HP nonsense. So after bugger all sleep we’re all back in to deal with millions of bloody kids. A recipe for fun.

And the abuse we’re getting because J K Rowling can’t bother her arse to do some events – as if it is our fault she doesn’t care about her fans. One event for the whole of the UK is all she will do. She can’t even be bothered to do a signing session in Edinburgh, where she lives and where she wrote the first book in a city café. Nice. Some excuses about how it would be too busy if she did one are proffered. Well bollocks to that – I’ve watched Terry Pratchett deal with queues which go round the block. He will sit there and sign for hours, chatting to every fan until the last one is done. Then he does it across the rest of the UK. And America, Australia… Now if Terry can do large-scale tours across several continents each year then why the hell can’t Rowling do a handful every two or three years? Today author tours are a standard part of a writer’s job. However because of her fame Bloomsbury will obviously not push J K on this. Personally I think it shows a lack of consideration for your fans to avoid even a few events. And when you can’t be bothered to play your home town that really doesn’t say much for you.

In a related tale this week it emerged she was under so much pressure for the next Potter book that she considered breaking her arm to get out of writing. Now I’m sure she is under pressure, but for someone who started out famously scribbling in an Edinburgh café because she couldn’t afford to heat her wee flat to moan about the horrors of being rich, famous and having millions love your books makes me sick. Oh woe, this fame and money and success is soooo awful to deal with… Guess I’ll need to buy another expensive flat in Edinburgh and another Perthshire estate..