I know that most of you will view Tolkein with disdain, even despair. I know: I do. No character, no comment on the life of man, no insight into good and evil, other than it exists. Still, cracking FantasyFi, eh, Gromit?
One thing about JRR is that he understood a tale, and a smoky pipe. Please extinguish all your smoky pipes, or tails. The ladies have not left for the drawing room.
JRR knew how to describe the descent into horror, evil, the abyss: poor old Greybeard fell to a Balrog, yet re-emerged as blanc-des-blancs. You really have to read it!
Anyway, as I positioned myself for another boring weekend in Bedford, a plea from the northern televisual wastes touched my heart, and so I ventured to Salford. A scouse-o-phile ventures deep into the heart of MancyLand whilst Chelski are doing the Double. Uh Oh! But Lo!! As I entered the heart of the Beast, I discovered a forgotten past. All the lads in the pubs wore Rugby League replica shirts; no-one was watching the Cup Final. A Northern Weekend!!
Too far from Wigan, but still, the home of the Twisted Wheel. I guess Northern Soul was for southern softies wanting northern birds, cos no-one I met had a clue what I were going on about! (Read it again with Vera Duckworth's voice in yer 'ed.)
The lass was on top form, but I reckon the away side scored. That being so, the return leg might prove difficult: a sharp, hawk-eyed home crowd could put undue pressure on our hero.
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