THE HOBBIT NOT QUITE GOOD ENOUGH TO BE RINGBEARER: BINGO BOLGER-BAGGINS
I had another one of those awful dreams--much the same as the last, but this time, as I was sitting in the tree--certainly not a mallorn--I began to hear a nefarious laugh. I woke with a jolt--and I could have sworn I still heard the laugh--as though it were coming from right outside the window. I arose and looked out--but nothing. And it sounded familiar to me as well, but I just couldn't place it. Very, very odd.
And my goodness, they were making a ruckus up at Bag-end last night! It sounded like they were smashing tables--they must be redecorating. Keeping later hours than I remembered, certainly.
Well, I should say my day, at least, was just lovely: sit in bed, eat, read, eat, condition my footfur, eat, read, eat some more. No dish the outside world can conjure up can outdo even a frozen Hobbiton entree.
I've been a political hobbit for far too long. Trotter was right--it was time for me to return home. I hope.
I shall try to forget about all this strangeness--it seems so incongruous with a warm Shire-made bed. Perhaps tomorrow I'll venture out--and find all my dear old friends. Or maybe the day after. No need to hurry--that's why I'm here, isn't it?