Harry Potter

It’s probably a good thing my daughter came back yesterday as I have started to live like a student this past week, neglecting domestic duties in favour of watching telly and eating bowls of cereal and biscuits because I can’t be bothered to cook. We had a sweet reunion DD and I, lots of hugs and kisses, then a lunch at Wagamamas where we talked about her Majorcan sojourn and definitely out of left field this one, her new interest in becoming a WAG.   The catalyst for this ambition was the handsome and talented foot balling, Majorcan Moroccan lad she had met -‘ I didn’t get with him or anything obviously, because I like, have a boyfriend, like‘ – and her eyes widened in wonder at the thought that if she were to become single again she could pursue the relationship and ‘ I could be a WAG! ‘. Hummmm, not really my ambition of choice for DD but I fear rich husbands will never go out of fashion so long as there are handbags to be bought.

Then we went to see the latest and final Harry Potter movie, something DD has been both anticipating and dreading since The Deathly Hallows part1.  She is an avid and passionate Harry Potter fan, which has not lessened with the onset of teendom and although she loved the film, burst into painful tears as soon as we were back home because, ‘ It’s the end. I’ve grown up with them and now it’s over ‘. I really felt for her as she cried like the little girl she still sometimes is for the end of Harry Potter and because without yet knowing it, she was also crying for her own scarily fast growing up these past few years. It’s tough being 15 and not knowing if you want to be a WAG or a wizard.

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