Harry Potter and the Prisoner Of Asda Van

Harry Potter and his freckle-faced chum, Ron, were strolling along a quiet street in suburban London, on their way to catch the Hogwarts Express from Kings Cross after a splendid day out in the land of the Muggles. It was a beautiful sunny day and they were both in very good spirits as the sun shone down on their smiling faces. As they turned the corner, they came across a large green and white vehicle, from within which came the most terrible racket. There was banging, bellowing and the most terrible profane language Harry had heard. “Gosh!”, Harry exclaimed, “What on earth is that dreadful din?” Ron looked visibly worried and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, Harry. Should we investigate?” After a moment’s careful pondering, the boy wizard nodded vigorously. “Yes, Ron, I think we should. Someone could need our help.”

The brave twosome rounded the vehicle and saw that there was a lock on the outside of the door which had been turned, trapping whatever was making all of the constant noise inside. Cautiously, Harry reached his trembling hand towards the handle. “Cripes, Harry, be careful!”, Ron yelped. “Don’t worry, Ron”, Harry gulped, “I have my wand at the ready!”. The lock clicked loudly as Harry opened the van’s door and, immediately, a large, red-faced man burst out of his temporary prison. “You rotten little bastards!”, he roared at the top of his voice, shaking his fist at the magical teens. Ron and Harry leaped back and began to protest their innocence. “Please, sir, it wasn’t us”, stammered Ron, “we were only trying to help you.” The angry man, who – as his ASDA name tag revealed – was called Alan, quietened and eyed them suspiciously.

“I’ve had enough of this!”, declared Alan, sitting on the steps of the van, mopping his brow with his arm. “There was a whole crate of Strongbow Cider that I’d just put outside the truck to deliver to this house and, as I went back inside the delivery van to get the rest of the groceries, the door slammed behind me and I was locked inside here for about five minutes… until you two came along.” The delivery driver looked a bit sheepish. “Sorry about having a go at you, boys”, he muttered. “That’s OK, Sir!”, smiled Ron, “Perhaps it was the work of the evil Voldemort!”? Alan looked at Ron incredulously. “Fuck off, you little ginger twat!”, Alan spat derisively. “The evil Voldemort? What do you think this is, fucking Narnia or something?” Ron shook his head and tried to explain, “Oh no, Sir, Voldemort doesn’t live in Narnia, he is…” Harry put his hand over the red-haired apprentice wizard’s mouth. “Better not, Ron”, Harry explained, “it really doesn’t matter right now”. Ron Weasley opened his mouth as if to reply but, looking at the expression on Alan’s crimson face, decided against it.

After bidding him farewell, Harry and Ron walked away shaking their heads, leaving Alan to quietly curse under his breath. “He was so rude, Harry!”, Ron protested. “I know”, Harry replied, “but it’s just the way of the world when we’re mixing with the Muggles, Ron.” The two chums rounded the corner and, who should they spy, but their old friend Hagrid, hitting on a park bench. “Harry! Ron! What the fuck are you doing here, ya little bastards?” Harry and Ron stood wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Their giant friend was quite clearly off his face. Surrounded by dozens of empty, crumpled cans of Strongbow, Hagrid swayed and staggered as he got to his feet. “Where’s that sexy little bitch, Hermonie?”, Hagrid demanded, “I’m feeling quite randy after all this cider!” The two boy wizards looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and grinned at their friend. “Come on Hagrid, share them out!”

And they all lived happily ever after. Apart from the next morning when they all woke up with terrible hangovers in awkward circumstances – Hagrid ended up waking up on a packed commuter train at Bristol Temple Meads with a traffic cone on his head and Ron and Harry, well, they ended up waking up together in bed. Naked. Something they have vowed never to talk about ever again. It’s a shame Hedwig filmed the whole thing, isn’t it?

About A.D.S.

You are reading the musings of a music-obsessed forty-something who was brought up on The Beatles, lived through Britpop and now spends his time in pursuit of the best music around. This 'blog gives me an outlet to write about the huge number of albums I buy and the many gigs I go to. All of the opinions expressed are my own and if you don't agree with me, then I understand - music is a very personal thing. I like to receive comments, especially if they're nice ones.
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