This morning, Owen and I ventured across two tube stops, three train stations, and a unit van ride to Leavesden Studios to explore the Wonderful World of Harry Potter. It didn't take long for Owen to size up the film set, find it maneagable, and make himself at home. I, on the other hand, was dumb (physiologically and intellectually) for a solid 20 minutes after entering the premises.
Our angelic hostess, Shelly, gracefully paced the tour according to Owen's commands, and didn't miss a beat when Owen's only question pertaining to the magical trophy room was: "where Rip Hamilton's is?"
In the world of mature adults, my state of dumb awe was only aggravated by three line exchanges, such as:
"How did you get the paintings for this study?"
"We hired a painter."
"Oh. ... Nice."
"Where do the animals stay when they're not on set?"
"In our zoo."
"Oh. ... Nice."
After the official tour, Owen sat in a high folding chair, wearing a pair of headphones, a mere 10 feet from Dan Radcliffe and Rupert Grint, and immediately behind the director. In my muted state, I began to lament that I was not 4-years-old, dangerously charming, and completely oblivious to social heirarchies. However, there were perks to my state-of-being: despite his genuine desire to watch Harry Potter work, Owen found the task of being silent daunting. He did a noble job, but we left after 5 takes.
Contemplating the day's events, we both fell asleep on the train ride back to reality. Upon arrival, we woke up startled that so much had passed prior to 2 p.m., and determined that only lunch at Wagamama could revive us from our mid-day trance.
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