My other half and I haven't spoken much all weekend. The dark circles under his eyes mark a lack of sleep and I'm sure I don't look much better. We're both tired and haven't eaten much since Friday night. I glance at him from time to time, sitting there hunched and tense on his sofa. It's a situation that's unlikely to ease for the next couple of days.

We haven't argued. In fact, things are just fine. It's just that since 1am on Saturday morning when we got home each armed with a copy of the last Harry Potter, we've both been totally immersed in a world of wizards and witches. If only we could master summoning charms we wouldn't have to leave our sofas to get food and drink.

As always when reading HP I'm convinced I should be able to work a little magic and cast a few spells. It's so disappointing to find I can't. JK Rowling definitely can though. I'm tired of the smug detractors who rush to criticise the books as though they feel it's an obligation. It's fabulous to see young and old queuing to get their hands on the first copies and seeing people on buses and trains lost in a world of make-believe. How often does a book get such a reaction?

Anyway, I'm wasting valuable reading time here so I'm going to apparate to somewhere quiet to get on with it.