OK. So I popped out at midnight to my local book store, bought Harry Potter and have been sitting here ever since trying to scan it in to my computer using my high tech 'isn''t this a good gadget for the blind' scan software.
I've tried different settings again and again but it seems this book is a nightmare to scan. Aarrgh.
So, fellow bloggers, here are pages 2 and 3 of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince as scanned in by me. You'll see that they're pretty unreadable. How pissed off am I?
zen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how "ed anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had ulted in those two very nasty and well-publicised murders? that the government should have somehow foreseen the ak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much mage to both people and property? And was it his fault that e of his Junior Ministers, Herbert Chorley, had chosen this ek to act so peculiarly that he was now going to be spend\ a lot more time with his family?
'A grim mood has gripped the country,' the opponent had ncluded, barely concealing his own broad grin. And unfortunately, this was perfectly true. The Prime nister felt it himself; people really did seem more miser- Le than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly st in the middle of July ... it wasn't right, it wasn't rmal ...
He turned over the second page of the memo, saw how ich longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretchl his arms above his head he looked around his office )urnfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fire- ice facing the long sash windows, firmly closed against the seasonable chill. With a slight shiver, the Prime Minister t up and moved over to the windows, looking out at the n mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then, he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft ugh behind him.
He froze, nose-to-nose with his own scared-looking reflecn in the dark glass. He knew that cough. He had heard it fore. He turned, very slowly, to face the empty room. 'Hello?' he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. For a brief moment he allowed himself the impossible pe that nobody would answer him. However, a voice ;ponded at once, a crisp, decisive voice that sounded as
The Other Minister 9
(hough it were reading a prepared statement. It was coming as the Prime Minister had known at the first cough — from I he froglike little man wearing a long silver wig who was depicted in a small and dirty oil-painting in the far corner of the room.
'To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Fudge.' The man in the painting looked enquiringly at the Prime Minister.
'Er,' said the Prime Minister, listen ... it's not a very good time for me ... I'm waiting for a telephone call, you see ... from the president of—'
That can be rearranged,' said the portrait at once. The Prime Minister's heart sank. He had been afraid of that.
'But I really was rather hoping to speak '
'We shall arrange for the president to forget to call. He will telephone tomorrow night instead,' said the little man. 'Kindly respond immediately to Mr Fudge.'
'I ... oh ... very well,' said the Prime Minister weakly. 'Yes, I'll see Fudge.'
He hurried back to his desk, straightening his tie as he went. He had barely resumed his seat, and arranged his face into what he hoped was a relaxed and unfazed expression, when bright green flames burst into life in the empty grate beneath his marble mantelpiece. He watched, trying not to betray a flicker of surprise or alarm, as a portly man appeared within the flames, spinning as fast as a top. Seconds later, he had climbed out on to a rather fine antique rug, brushing ash from the sleeves of his long pinstriped cloak, a lime-green bowler hat in his hand.
'Ah ... Prime Minister,' said Cornelius Fudge, striding forwards with his hand outstretched. 'Good to see you again.'
The Prime Minister could not honestly return this compliment, so said nothing at all. He was not remotely pleased to see