Thank god that's over ... or is it?

Well I've done it. I finished HP&TDH, on Sunday morning. And was too ill yesterday to admit that I've now read ALL of them.

The first four were given to the offspring by the paternal grandparents when the thing was really taking off and they saw it as some sort of obligatory rite of passage to be steeped in the Lore of Harry Potter. It was a few years before the offspring could be persuaded away from neurotic trains and onto wizards and we heroically read the lot to her.

Unfortunately then the series really started to take a darker, more grown up hue. As ever she was slightly behind the HP curve. So while His Lordship and I continued to appreciate the story telling, if little else, the offspring became somewhat detached - and she hasn't even evinced the slightest interest in the sixth installment let alone this latest one.

As usual it was excessively long. Not one of the books contained anything to justify being longer than the first three were. I rather hope that one day someone will come along to do a damned fine editing job on the final four; to do so would almost inevitably sharpen the focus and lift the narrative tempo which often sags almost fatally through the middle stages of each installment.

No spoiler here - the ending was pretty much inevitable and the key ingredient to explain it all was all integral to one character I successfully identified, but so I suspect did millions of other readers. Yes some died, but others survived and whatever we might have been led to believe the way is open for more.

I had lamented not going back and working through the entire JKR oeuvre before setting out on No. 7 but by the time I realised I should it was too late. The new book would have been sitting about the house luring me to the space between its covers the way a siren lures the condemned sailor to the rocks. And now I find I'd only have upset myself anyway. On Sunday I set myself to the task of assembling the books so that I'd now re-read the lot. And I can only find four of them: Books 2, 3, 5 and 7. His lordship 'thinks' he might have one of them in his room but that still leaves three gone the way of all things that are valuable. Trashed.

This served as a fine pretext for me doing my nut, raving and ranting and reducing the offspring to tears. She's now consoling herself with her playstation console. If the weather continues to be this miserable throughout the holidays she will be one very happy bunny. Even I can't insist that she spend all day out in howling gales and driven north sea rains.

Any hoo, I got the vacuum cleaner under the beds I have access to (or would access without a full bio-hazard suit - that bed is a problem entirely of his making and he can sort it), through out bags of rubbish.

Perhaps 'twas the strain of all that housework led me to feeling so poorly yesterday?