Potty about Harry

The clock is ticking, counting down the days, hours, minutes to the release of the grand finale of Harry Potter. It's with a sense of mounting excitement yet knowledge of a sad finality to come that I count down.

With the end of the series so close now, it seems an appropriate time to marvel at the phenomenal success of these books. Thanks to HP, reading has, at times, been the new TV. When I worked at a school it was often a struggle to get many kids interested in reading, but get them into these books and they were away - never mind the fact it took them a school term to get through each one.

I am an unashamed fan. You know those columns in magazines/papers/websites where they ask such-and-such celebrity/professional what they're reading, and most of them list a wonderful assortment of serious, weighty, wordy (boring?) 'literature'? I'd quite happily shout about HP (and many other children's books).

I dare say Saturday evening I shall be moping about like a child who's unwrapped her Christmas presents, played with them all, eaten turkey until she's bursting and watched every film on TV, and is now mourning the loss of anticipation, suspense and excitement. Until then, I watch the hands on the clock.