Mo Huffle, Mo Puffle

It seems once you’ve been outed as a Hufflepuff that they’re everywhere you look.

Carole took the Sorting Test and she came out as a Hufflepuff as well, so we are two peas in a really naff, bright yellow, badger-shaped pod.

But it doesn’t stop there.

I’ve been in work today and had a game book in for a later slot. They arrived, a lovely couple, and got straight down to solving the murder of Lord Farringdon. And then, towards the end, they started to get very warm because of both the running around the room and the fact that I’d put the heater on because it was cold as buggery this afternoon.

He took his jacket off.

He was only wearing a bloody Hufflepuff t-shirt, wasn’t he?

What are the chances. Twenty-four hours after I discover the sad truth about my life and now there are more of them. Everywhere I look.

When the game has ended, I made a comment about the t-shirt and his other half admitted to having one as well but that she had decided not to wear it.

So now I know, if nothing else, that Hufflepuffs are the kind of people that would wear matching Hufflepuff t-shirts in social situations. But sometimes wisely choose not to.

I explained that I have been put through the sorting test yesterday, somewhat under duress and that I, too, was a Hufflepuff. It felt, in a way, like I was in a support group admitting that I really, really liked to drink.

They told me it was the best house.

I mean, it’s not. But that’s entirely what you would say if you were part of it, isn’t it? Oh yes, absolutely the best house. People involved with Mrs Brown’s Boys say it’s the best thing going, and that’s shit too so it’s clearly a tried-and-tested method.

“JK Rowling’s a Hufflepuff,” they said. As though that should seal the deal. But I’m not sure it does. If she’s a Hufflepuff, she could have put more work into creating a decent house…

I explained that my colleague, the one who had forced me into discovering this side of me, was a Gryffindor…

“Ugh,” they said, almost in unison.