mercredi 5 mars 2008

Return to the Shire

And so, after years of absence, the Wanderer is due once again to set out with the faithful merry brethren on the pilgrimage Holcombe-ward, where many a drop of mead will be supped and spilt in Ye Shoulder of Mutton over tales of yore - of foolish imps making cack in buckets, and of naked fauns striding through chill woodland streams. The days of such elvish merriment may be past, but their memory lives on.

4 commentaires:

Sophie a dit…

Pub-crawl, then?

Ian a dit…

Holcombe Hill. Good Friday. Piss-up.

Sophie a dit…

Wish I could join you!

Ian a dit…

That would make it a blast from the past! And I bet you're missing pace-egging too, up there with the Picts!