In a hole in the ground there lived a Holly (and Sim). Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a Holly (and Sim)-hole, and that means comfort.
I’m sure most of my loyal readers are aware that I am NOT A FAN of Peter Jackson’s film versions of one of my favourite books, The Lord of the Rings. However, even I am forced to admit that I thought he got some things pretty well on the money, and Hobbiton was one of them. Sim and I have a totally geeky obsession with the Lego video game series, and my favourite thing to do in Lego Lord of the Rings is to just run around Lego Hobbiton, smashing stuff (which gives you coins). I like to imagine living there, with some goats and wheels of cheese. And also some things to smash.
This morning, in anticipation of going to the Hobbiton movie set, I took out my Kindle and re-read the section of The Hobbit that describes Hobbiton and Bilbo Baggins’s hobbit-hole. Here are some quotations that resonated with me:
“[Hobbits] are inclined to be fat in the stomach…and laugh deep fruity laughs (especially after dinner, which they have twice a day when the can get it).”
“We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!”
“He had only just had breakfast, but he thought a cake or two and a drink of something would do him good after his fright.”
So you can see that I have a certain affinity with the Hobbit way of life. Hobbiton met most of my expectations. I mean, I would have preferred to be there without a lot of other bothersome people; ideally, I would have just liked to live there, but not have to do any of the actual work that is required to exist in a pre-industrial rural community.
Hobbiton is located basically in a hilly kind of paddock, surrounded on all sides by grazing sheep, most of which have lambs at this time of year. It’s beautiful country that in a just universe would be an attraction in itself. I was a little worried that there would be too much Peter Jackson worship (can you believe he got a knighthood basically for making the most disappointing cinematic product of the last hundred years, not including that weird animated Lord of the Rings film?) but it honestly wasn’t too bad. I mean, every time I was told about his obsessive attention to detail over the movie sets, part of me wanted to suggest that maybe he should have spent that time and money having someone competent look over the screenplay, but I restrained myself admirably and even bought a tea towel in the gift shop. Some things aren’t worth the fight. The important thing was that I felt superior to everyone who put their hands up for seeing the films but not reading the book, and to the pimply guy wearing literally a feather in his hat.
Loyal readers (which I assume includes everyone I know) may recall that today was not my first drink in a pub called the Green Dragon; the one in New Zealand was built in 2012, whereas the one in Wiltshire dates to 1620, so it, as I said two years ago, wins. Also there were actually locals playing darts there, not grown-arse adults trying on dress-up clothes and taking photographs of the ale barrels (the latter included Sim at my urging; I number myself among the guilty).
If nothing else, our expedition this morning gave me a clearer mental image to enhance my subsequent readings of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. But that mental image is also now populated with annoying (because less over-informed than me) tourists instead of Tooks, Bracegirdles, Underhills and Proudfoots. Whatever; at least I got a Green Dragon mug out of it.
#loyalreader