Dear Diary,
What an evening I have had!
As I was settling in for a nice quite evening in front of the fire, undisturbed by Tooks, Brandybucks, Gamgees, Hartfoots and all the other nosey Hobbits coming around, eating my food, drinking my wine, trying to offload their daughters, the most extraordinary thing happened.
Would you believe that a whole company of dwarves came crashing through my door insisting to keep ME company!
The only company I needed for company tonight was a nice fried fish and a cup of nice tea to accompany it!
Let me tell you, dwarves are not at all what I had imagined.
Apparently that giant bearded stalker I mentioned a while back, lurking around mummy’s rose bushes making a racket, decided to invite all his chums to my house this evening.
I knew beardy was trouble the first time I laid eyes on him and I should have turned the sprinklers on to shoo him away.
Mummy always said never to trust anyone who couldn’t be bothered to put on a nice crisp shirt on in the morning.
Who knows what he keeps tucked away under that grey robe, which I presume started out white, but I shall have to count the family silver before he leaves.
And, although proper Hobbits don’t talk of such things, have you seen the size of his pipe?
Compensating much Gandalf? (if that’s even your real name, weirdo…).
Anyway, here I was protecting my home from the onslaught of this motley crew, defending the honour of my poor violated pantry, catching flying cutlery and mugs, and listening to them moaning about mountains, caves and the like.
Maybe they like geography? I like cheese and onion pie but you don’t hear me serenading it!
And what’s the point of a tune you can’t dance to?
Miserable lot…
And if “Gandalf” looks scruffy, this bunch is just the limit.
I’d heard dwarves like to fight, but they look like they’ve just come back from a scuff with a pack of rabid boar!
Clothes torn, blood dripping from festering wounds, patches of hair yanked out from their scalps.
I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of a bone or sinew.
You try eating your supper staring at an almost torn off ear hanging by just a thread.
Do I really need a sign that says: “Leave your axes by the door! Yes, even the one lodged in your head”?
Being the host that I am, I offered to bring bandages, especially that they were bleeding all over Aunt Rosie’s rug, but they all just laughed.
Dwarf sense of humour? I don’t get it…
“An Orc, a Troll and an Elf walk into a bar…”- now, that’s a joke!
Anyway, as the evening progressed I found myself slowly dozing off as there’s only so much a poor Hobbit can take.
The Wizard kept banging on about not getting any peace (I know how that feels…), not being able to rest (again, sounds familiar), until their home is reclaimed (so he does get how naughty he was inviting this lot round!).
He insisted I confirm I understand what he’s saying, and as I looked around at muddied boots trampling my rugs, all I could do was nod.
I appreciate the mea culpa gesture “wizard”, but I hope you know a spell that will clean up this awful mess.
Grey kept harping on, using the phrase “roaming the earth in unrest” but the only roaming I saw was to and fro my emptying pantry!
Quite frankly I’m not surprised this lot got locked out of their dwellings because the smell of these creatures is stifling.
I’ll be airing the place out for weeks to come.
There’ve been more pleasant aromas coming out of Old Mother Took’s kitchen, and that’s saying a lot!
I don’t know what passes for polite and stimulating conversation where this bunch is from, but burglary (excuse me, but you’ll find that’s illegal), dragons ( The Easter Bunny’s BFF) and maps (enough with the geography already!) just isn’t my cup of tea.
And another thing, these dwarves seem to be autograph collectors or something as they asked me to put my name on a piece of dodgy parchment.
I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’m no one famous, apart from my prize winning pumpkin patch, and my signature will hardly enrich their collection.
Maybe they needed a Hobbit one to round up the whole set?
It seemed to make them happy and shut them up, although that meant that they scoffed down more of my apple strudel.
I must have dozed off again because I could have sworn that when the fat one was gulping down a mug of wine, it all came trickling out from the apparent wound he had in his belly.
I hope he mopped that up.
I awoke to mummy’s tea pot with the pretty rose pattern flying across the dining room, just as Thorin mentioned heading out tomorrow.
Good riddance stinkies and make sure you take beardy with you!
I hope the first stop you make is at a stream for a good scrub, so you’ll stop inflicting your fly-drawing stench onto the world.
And if you’re going to pinch anything before you go, might I suggest taking a bar of soap.
This is perhaps how you do things in Dwarfville, but that’s not how we roll in the Shire!
Dear Diary, it has been a testing day, but it’ll all seem better in the morning.
Remind me to change the locks, get an electric fence, and dwarf/wizard repellent so we won’t ever have a repeat from today’s catastrophe.
Night night,
Bilbo
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