Dear JK Rowling
I whole-heartedly adore your work. Every word of it.
At the end of a full and full-on first term, I’m dragging myself along – on my lips, cos my limbs are too tired – towards the holidays, sustaining myself with every sanity-maintaining strategy I can muster. One of these is copious lashings of chocolate, another is an infinite supply of nicotine gum, and the last and most nourishing is listening to Stephen Fry mellifluously read the whole Harry Potter series through for the zillionth time. Each time I hear it, I marvel at your sheer creative genius for crafting a world we can fall head-over-heels for.
And I want some of it here, specifically in the form of Tinky the House Elf.
If I can’t have her, any one will do, but I’d like a young one that’s strong and will last a long time. Nothing with attitude, please, no Kreachers. This elf must have a particular passion for laundry and cooking, cos those are what I hate most. They in turn hate me. My wash basket looks like Monty Python’s Mr Creosote just before he ate the wafer-thin mint. It gets to vomiting point frequently, no matter how many late night loads I hang and fold. And as for food, I am so utterly fed up of shopping, planning and cooking my usual unimaginative meals I can’t view it as more than body petrol. Apart from chocolate, there’s no longer any pleasure in anything that requires chewing and swallowing. If Tinky (or whichever elf you send) has trained at Hogwarts, I’m in. The meals there sound pretty spectacular. And from what I understand, the dishes do themselves. Awesome!
JK, your wordsmithing is so magical, I can’t believe there isn’t magic inside you. Please conjure me an elf and sent it Down Under quicksticks. I will treat it well – as well as I do the infinitely-treasured cats – and I have a cosy linen cupboard that it can bed down in.
Love, your fan
Vicky