J.K. Rowling turns 44 today – she’s the woman who writes the books about the little boy with the magic fingers, who’s at a big school with his friends Roger and Henrietta, who are both a bit magic too. Down on the football pitch, there’s a fat giant who tells them secrets about Gary Oldman, and after around six or seven films, Harry has finally magicked himself some pubes. We know that because he once pulled his genitals out on stage. We’re not going to lie, we haven’t seen the films, nor read the books. Still, we thought we’d get this Rowling character a gift, so we all put glasses on and pranced around town shouting abracadabra! and hocus pocus! and blungoss!, until we finally got bored and decided to get her either a deck of cards or a clip of Krull – the original Harry Potter. In the end we got her both. Happy etc… Rowling!