am I the new Harry Potter?

I woke up three days ago with a red mark on the inside of my wrist. It looks exactly like the red mark on Harry Potter's forehead. Well, not exactly. It isn't shaped like a Z, it is on my wrist and not my forehead, and it is gradually fading. Still, it is something, and perhaps the sign that I have some special powers other than being able to juggle with one hand and eat a whole packet of Jaffa Cakes in ten minutes. (I don't mean simultaneously, although it would certainly slow down the Jaffa consumption rate if I tried.) I have no idea what has caused this mark. I could have burned myself on the oven rack when I cooked Sunday's roast pork, but I don't remember doing so. In itself, this could be a sign that I have special powers, if I burned myself and didn't know it. Not that having this as a special power is going to be of any use unless I apply it in public, leap into a fire and charge money, because burning yourself on your own oven rack, even if you don't realise it, doesn't strike me as impressive as sweeping through the corridors of an old school building wearing an invisibility cloak or being able to play team games in the air.

I can only assume that the significance of my wrist mark will be revealed at a time to come. Perhaps, in the middle of a lesson on punctuation next term, I will find that a previous lesson on the apostrophe has been remembered by the whole class and no one will put one in possessive pronouns ever again. This would, indeed, be a miracle, and worth having a mark on the inside of your wrist that looks like you just couldn't use oven gloves properly.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Reasons why Fran is desperately in search of earbuds

Image
My try-to-get-fitter walk in the fields today was a silent one. I usually listen to the radio through earphones but have lost one of the soft earbuds and nothing spoils a walk more than having hard plastic nudging up against your fragile tympanic membrane. The BBC's  'Woman's Hour' is a brilliant programme but loyalty has limits.  It was disconcerting, walking in silence. Listening to radio distracts from the disturbing reality that my legs are propelling me in forward motion because, if I think too hard about this, I frighten myself.  Today, while walking, I had to listen to my own thoughts.  And now I've listened to my own thoughts, I remember why I like radio better. The inside of my head is like a wastepaper basket.   Be grateful that I only offer you a brief excerpt.  Oh, look, that bird is - / Where did I put that mark scheme. I'll need it for - / My shoes are getting muddier./ Maybe mash with the fish tonight / really muddy / The trees are defin...
Read more

More evidence that the wrong consonant makes all the difference to a famous book title

Image
More typo-lit, one of my favourite genres: To Kilt a Mockingbird - a tale set in the Southern States of America in which a young family move into the area from Aberdeen.  The children are found dressing the local wildlife in tartan and have to be taught that clothing innocent victims in bright material is not acceptable.  The little girl (Scot) says, 'Shoot, Pa, that's the darndest thing I ever did hear!' and there is surprise all round at her adoption of the local dialect in such a short time. To Kiln a Mockingbird - a tale set in the Southern States of America in which a wise father teaches his children that to put an innocent bird into a red-hot oven, converting it into an attractive china piece for the kitchen, was bound to upset Aunt Alexandra when given as a birthday present, and if this was indeed their intention, they deserved a whipping.   They don't get the whipping; the father can't stand Aunt Alexandra either. To Bill a Mockingbird - a tale set ...
Read more

Reasons why Fran can get a 90,000 word novel down to a haiku if she's paid enough

Image
My first published story was in ‘Your Cat’ magazine.  (Don’t laugh … we all have to start somewhere.)  I sent the editor a 1500-word story.  She said she liked it (great!) and would publish it (fantastic!) but that I should cut it by a third and tighten up my style.  Ah.  Not so good. I loved every word of that story.  I gave birth to each one in pain and suffering, so there was NO WAY, absolutely NO WAY I was going to cut or change them.  I was determined.  I would stick to my guns.  She could forget it.  My mind was made up. Then she said she’d pay me £200 if I did the alterations.  I wavered for a whole nano-second.  U-turn Queen, that’s me, when it comes to hard cash. The editing of that heart-warming story about a couple who rediscover their love when their cat has a crisis (it was a real sick-bucket saga) taught me loads.  I hated making the changes.  I felt like a murderer, slashing and s...
Read more