The Summer Fest

This being my very first few months out of Gondor all these quaint northern customs still come somewhat as a surprise to me. Now they're celebrating Summer, or at least the Men are. The pointy-ears, the dorfs and the bobbits would never celebrate the same thing as what the Men do, so they call it something else, but this is only a transparent attempt at a pathetic kind of semi-independence.

And, by the way, one has to write Men with a capital M, just in case anybody thinks you're only talking about men, as opposed to Men, if you see what I mean. The Race of Women has a much better ring to it if you ask me, but then nobody did.

Anyway, Summer. I have discovered in myself a great aptitude for riding horses along little rickety wooden bridges, mostly falling off, but sometimes not. It is, of course, hardly a surprise that I should have aptitude for things, as I am, at base, such a highly accomplished and talented person, but I imagine that a little pretended  surprise is not a bad thing. Based on my horse-riding skills I have now bought myself a brand new horse, and a very pretty one she is, too. Called Manuka. Or she could be a he. I have no intention of looking for myself.

The best thing about my new horse is not the fact that she is a pretty wee thing (much like myself) but that she comes with padding. For some weeks I've been riding a very nice horse indeed I'm sure, but with no saddle. I don't care how nice the horse is, a sore arse is a sore arse. It cramps my performance style. How can I catch the roses which all the beautiful girls are throwing if I am suffering from piles and blisters in my nether regions? Good question. What about Madame Celestine's girls? I know they have greatly enjoyed massaging these same nether regions, but enough is enough. They deserve a break.

So now I can ride around in comfort, securely protected from burns, bruises and rashes in unmentionable places.