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I have a problem.
I’ve recently been dreaming of holding a 9-14 inch long, supple piece of wood, whilst a big hairy man looks at me in the eyes softly telling me I’m a Wizard. That’s right! Like every other late 30s male, I’m playing Harry Potter!
One thing I’m finding interesting about this game, is the complete trust people seem to have in what is essentially a young teenager, who has been at Hogwarts for literally 3 days, to run around and save the world… well I’m guessing that’s the plot. All I’ve really done is stroke cats and slap flying keys about (see here for my thoughts on that).
I’ve flown a broomstick for no longer than 10 minutes, and I’m already delivering potions across the country and have become a test pilot for experimental Broom enchantments.
Oh look! It’s one of the hooded robed wizard brats from the giant monolith private castle school. Let’s ask them to run errands and risk their life for me! Oh you have a knife … Here take all the Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Beans you can carry. Just don’t Expelliarmus my pants into a wedgie.
If you can’t tell from that, I might not be playing your quintessential Gryfindor student. Unless you are a cat that needs stroking, everything I’m doing is a means to an end. And that end is to become the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived!!!!
Now where did I put my man eating lettuce.
“You’re a Wizard Rob. Now come here, daddies thirsty.”
