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Order Only: Swamped at work, as usual
Jun. 2nd, 2009 10:35 pmJust a very brief journal entry, since I’m simply buried in reports.
Alice and Frank, I’ve not been able to find Felicia Saint's parents to make her birthday report to them, although my visit with Louis Barton's family went off without a hitch last week. I did locate Mrs Saint's sister, who thinks the girl's parents were transferred to another camp further north, perhaps in Lancashire. I'll start with checking the camp rosters at Chorley and South Ribble. The Ministry, of course, cannot be bothered in the least with keeping relatives informed when they shift Muggles around the country to fill work orders. There's no reason for alarm, though: if I don’t locate them within the week, we can always resort to using the locator charm on little Felicia’s sketch of her parents.
Other than that, there is not much to report, except I'm being driven half-mad by requisition requests for labour from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, of all things. There's some worry that the stadium won’t be completed in time for this August's Quidditch Cup Finals otherwise. Why a new stadium must be built and then torn down again for the event each summer is beyond me, but it seems that local pride means that every District has to compete to host the event, and once a site is chosen, Merlin forbid that a stadium ever be reused. Why bother, when there is all this free labour available to slave away under the hot sun, just to ensure that we wizards can sit in comfort to cheer for our favourite teams?
Molly has a dreadful cold that she simply hasn't been able to shake. I think the Pepperup Potion she got from the local apothecary is adulterated, black market rubbish, probably; she dosed herself last night but got barely a wisp of steam coming from her ears.
In other news, Geoffrey Dunstan remains as insufferable a git as always. Warrington is even worse. I am sure you are all astonished.
(Upon reading this over, I realise that I do sound rather uncharacteristically cross. Sorry, all. It has been a difficult week.Molly and I are worried about Percy and—well, never mind. I hope to recover my good cheer over a slice of Molly’s apple crumble tonight. Though I doubt I'll get home to enjoy it before midnight.)
Alice and Frank, I’ve not been able to find Felicia Saint's parents to make her birthday report to them, although my visit with Louis Barton's family went off without a hitch last week. I did locate Mrs Saint's sister, who thinks the girl's parents were transferred to another camp further north, perhaps in Lancashire. I'll start with checking the camp rosters at Chorley and South Ribble. The Ministry, of course, cannot be bothered in the least with keeping relatives informed when they shift Muggles around the country to fill work orders. There's no reason for alarm, though: if I don’t locate them within the week, we can always resort to using the locator charm on little Felicia’s sketch of her parents.
Other than that, there is not much to report, except I'm being driven half-mad by requisition requests for labour from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, of all things. There's some worry that the stadium won’t be completed in time for this August's Quidditch Cup Finals otherwise. Why a new stadium must be built and then torn down again for the event each summer is beyond me, but it seems that local pride means that every District has to compete to host the event, and once a site is chosen, Merlin forbid that a stadium ever be reused. Why bother, when there is all this free labour available to slave away under the hot sun, just to ensure that we wizards can sit in comfort to cheer for our favourite teams?
Molly has a dreadful cold that she simply hasn't been able to shake. I think the Pepperup Potion she got from the local apothecary is adulterated, black market rubbish, probably; she dosed herself last night but got barely a wisp of steam coming from her ears.
In other news, Geoffrey Dunstan remains as insufferable a git as always. Warrington is even worse. I am sure you are all astonished.
(Upon reading this over, I realise that I do sound rather uncharacteristically cross. Sorry, all. It has been a difficult week.
