This is a tale of simple folk living a simple life. A tale that may take us to the edges of civilization, far and wide, top, bottom and middle, yes, to Middle-earth itself. It’s a well-known fact that Hobbits don’t like to travel too far from the Shire but few know of the Hobbiton-Nomads.
Legend has it that one dark night a tall gentleman dressed in grey knocked on the door of number 92. The very next day, the little family within was gone, possibly never to be seen again and in their place was a new family that spoke in a language of a distant land far away. Rumours circulated that the young son had gone to learn movie magic in the eastern town of Norwich and the couple had embarked on a mysterious quest to find Nirvana.
Their search had taken them over great seas and oceans, down rivers and up mountains, from small hamlet to sprawling metropolis. Where they would finally settle was still a mystery but home was wherever they were that night. And this particular night, they were returning to the village of Saint Marcet as guests of a charming family of elves.
Typically elven with long flowing locks, Lady Caerlyn and Lord Brúen Elvenaghan had magical powers. Simply by her presence flowers and plants would flourish, her gentle touch could revive the saddest of specimens into beautiful blooms. He was the master of the winds and created mystical flying machines that could transport people to other worlds. With the help of our two hobbits he’d completed the construction of a great glass temple in honour of his wife’s horticultural prowess. Their daughters, Harietild and Alanawyn were often away searching for knowledge but had returned for the summer. A celebration was arranged and everyone feasted on moules et frites, a traditional meal of the region.
Next stop for our hairy-footed heroes was the nearby village of Castelnau Magnoac where they would learn to tend new exotic creatures like a terrapin and ducks. The great Tour was due to pass through the village any day soon and would be a spectacle not to be missed. The hobbits set off early to witness the passing of the great caravan and catch the free gifts that the smiling people on board the speeding machines would hurl at the gathered crowds of cheering observers. There were such delights as a newspaper, fridge magnet and Haribo sweets but best of all a red polka-dot cap from the King of the Mountain. Soon after, the Tour contestants would whizz by so quickly it was difficult to pick out famous faces such as Frome and Cavendish.
A voyage back to the Shire had been long planned and immediately after the excitement of the race the two Hobbits headed north to call in on the good people of Bourniquel once more. Refreshed they rejoined the road stopping at Chateauroux and rediscovered the ancient pastime of camping and for a very thrifty price too; pitch plus four bottles of Kronenbourg for €25 (£21.61).
Next stop was the historical town of Chartres with its majestic cathedral. Set within its stone floor is a labyrinth; not to be confused with a maze, the way in is the way out. Devout Christian followers that couldn’t make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem would replicate it by walking the circular pathway into the centre. Another night was slept under canvas before the next leg of the journey to Calais where a fleet of ships would be waiting to speed them safely home to the Shire.
Here the two would go in different directions, one west to Torquay, the other east to Berlin. A new companion was required for this return to the interesting city of Germanic men and a worthy volunteer, with a familiar face, was found in the son recently of Norwich.
One of Lord Elvenaghan’s flying machines serenely swept the pair from Stansted to Schönefeld arriving in the dark of night. Immediately, the young hobbit’s mastery of the local tongue was tested and polite conversation was made with an elderly couple and their daughter.
A wealth of knowledge and wisdom was gained by visiting the numerous places of interest that were within easy walking distance of their modest accommodation. Many examples of the madness of man are gathered here from the mass destruction of their fellow kind to the construction of massive walls that separate their kind.
From both east and west our travellers rejoined in the Shire on the Isle of Sheppey to celebrate the union of two pokémon. A pikachu and a bulbasaur had tied the knot in a treehouse, family and friends gathered to congratulate the happy couple.
Alas, for a Hobbiton-Nomad it’s the hair on his feet that makes them itchy and he is soon heading into the distance leaving the white cliffs of the Shire far behind. For a second occasion Rouen was halfway-house on the road back again to the good people of Bourniquel.