World of strangeness

Well, the brown package from Amazon landed with a thump on the mat yesterday; three new albums from an old and worshipped band's back catalogue (Half Man Half Biscuit if you're interested - nobody told me when they reformed in 1990 and I've got about fifteen years worth of backlog to deal with). I've got the usual "new album" trauma, but three times over. Used to get this with the likes of Metallica before they learned to suck dead donkey's cock; Hetfield started wearing designer glasses and eating organic and Ulrich - well, he always WAS a hyperactive gobby little shite that I couldn't abide. I realllllly want to like this stuff. I barely dare play 'em! Times three.

And strange times here in Fortress Shadey. We have company, boys and girls. A lodger, no less. Over in Jobdodgertown, the dwelling of the Combat Hobbit has burned up to the ground; the lower burrows and Mathom chambers are alright but those areas nearest the surface are done for. Apparently a cart went "phut" while bringing in a new supply of white man's electricity, that's a bit freaky ju-ju over there, and the brown string under the floorboards didn't much like it. Whoomph. No major changes here, except I'm eating a bit better and drinking a bit more (real cider really is bad for you, boys and girls), but there were these dwarves and some tall bloke in a pointy hat who turned up the other night talking about a dragon, but I told 'em to foxtrot oscar. Can I fit any more Tolkien references in here? No!