So the other day my dad somehow (and I’m not ruling out the Imperius curse just yet) managed to recruit me into helping him with his latest project. There I was doing the dutiful thing by stopping by to pay my mother a visit and catch her up on all the latest news when out of nowhere my dad suddenly accosts me and drags me off to the garden shed. If anyone has had the misfortune of seeing inside our garden shed then you’ll know it’s filled to the brim with all the muggle crap dad’s accumulated over the years. And trust me when I say the man is a pack rat. He’s got everything from electric toasters to gardening shears in that hovel. I distinctly remember getting lost in it when I was four and having to spend the entire afternoon uncomfortably squished between the video recorder and an old rabbit hutch.

But anyway, to get back on track, it seems dad had promised mum a new set of drawers for their room. Instead of doing the sensible thing and using his wand to put the wood and nails together, he decided to do it “the muggle way”. This of course had resulted in the entire project going pear shaped and what I’m sure were a perfectly nice set of drawers in the beginning now looked like they’d been mauled by some mad bloke waving a chainsaw. Actually in retrospect they probably had been mauled by a chainsaw wielding maniac. I don’t know how muggles manage to do anything without magic, it took me three and a half hours just to reverse all the damage dad had done and even then they still didn’t look quite right.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that DIY is madness. Complete and utter madness.

Other than that life has been remarkably boring. I know that I should be thankful that it has taken a rather nice, quiet turn but I find myself itching for something to do most days. Working at Gringotts isn't really doing it for me anymore, there's only so many disgruntled goblins I can take without exploding. I wonder if the twins are hir- no, no. Somebody tell me I'm not that desperate.