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Witch Weekly · August 30, 2020 – 3:46 PM

Missed Connections
The Perfect View We sat in the same box for the World Cup finals, and spoke a bit. I don’t know if you noticed, but I couldn’t take my eyes off you for the rest of the match. In the chaos I did not get to say goodbye, but I want you to know you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. I gave you my name, so write to me if you feel the same. Quills & Spills Were you shopping at Scrivenshaft’s Tuesday last, and ever so pleased about buying yourself a nice eagle feather quill? Don’t think I didn’t see you fiddling with all the ink bottle lids! You’re the reason my new gloves are ruined. I have left my details at Gladrag’s, and if you have any remorse you will attend to reimbursing me there for a new pair immediately. Yours, Miss Spelling.	Meet Me at the Platform 9 3/4 at 11 o’clock, as we used to. Do you remember? Once we have bid goodbye to the children for the year, I will be waiting for you past the brick wall. Perhaps we might share a private compartment somewhere? Yours, A. Excusez-Moi! You absolute harlot! I heard you and a friend having a nasty little conversation at a party last week. Do you think no one else could understand all the dreadful things you were saying? Everyone speaks French, you imbecile! Vous avez fait une grande erreur. Weak At The Knees The real question about the Morocco vs. Britain match is: did you see that Moroccan beater? Forget the players’ kneecaps, he has made my knees buckle: I don’t think my heart will ever beat for another. If perchance he reads this, he will find me waiting for him on the Sanditon boardwalk every day next week. Please get down on one knee for me.	Looking Out For You There was a bit of a stampede in our section of the stands after the bludger incident, and you dropped a pair of quidditch-viewing spectacles on the stairs. I picked them up but could not catch you - you had brown hair, were wearing blue - so if that’s you and you find you are missing something of yours, write to me at P. O. Box #143 at the Hogsmeade post office. Great Show, Britain What a useless game at the finals. But what could we expect from a team full of usurpers and murderers? If you, too, are disgusted at our national team’s lack of skill, join us at Padmore Park next Saturday morning to reform our quidditch league and find Britain some better players for next time. Greet us with the words: Justice for Peter Quince!
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