In a lot of ways, the photocall with J.K. Rowling reminded me of either a good homecooked meal or bad sex: hours of foreplay, and then it's all over in a few minutes - which of the two scenarios you recognise best depends on your point of view.
The publisher's PR machine worked overtime to hype up the seventh and final Harry Potter booklaunch and it seems that they've tied themselves in knots. The media pack had to queue up outside the Natural History Museum to pick up their press passes (nevermind having faxed accreditation forms weeks earlier) only to be told to come back several hours later when they would finally let us in. J.K. would be reading from her new book and signing copies all night, no doubt pleasing the 1200-odd fans who congretated on the venue. The press were ushered in last minute, told to stand in front of the cramped stage, J.K. walks in, poses with the book, bang bang bang and two minutes later we're asked to leave.
Nevermind, the event was clearly not organised with photographers in mind, and so we all did the best out of bad circumstances:
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