A good day today. It began with a slow morning of deer watching with Molly, followed by a sparkly ferry crossing with divers flashing wings and shaking tail feathers all around.
A friend rang just in time for us to meet for lunch. Restaurant criteria: no Piskies.
Two book shops, a quick pass through Starbucks and out of Glasgow ahead of the traffic. Off to the cinema to see Harry Potter; home via Tescos, and an other beautiful ferry crossing with golden light shearing down and low white clouds curling around the hills.
The present Harry Potter film is of the book most people hated. I suspect the film will be equally unloved. But I have always liked the fifth book. It is angry and dark and it doesn’t seem to go anywhere. The plot is thin, and the characters don’t progress much, caught between wanting love and sulking off in solitude because they can’t trust it. Which is, it seems to me, the very essence of being 15. Some years just have to be lived through. Rowling’s skill is in so perfectly charting the journey from childhood to adulthood — even if that means that book five has to be awkward and difficult and hard to love.