On an evening bus out of Worcester. A stoned passenger is sitting on the back seat, playing a flute. The driver just audibly muttered "When the fuck is Tom Bombadil getting off my bus".
We journey on, into the darkness. With musical accompaniment.
We journey on, into the darkness. With musical accompaniment.
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And, it definitely still worked.
But then I thought, no. Imagination is the greatest power, the greatest gift. Let's every one of us concoct our own ending to the story.
(Hoping yours involves beans on toast, toasty warm at home)
To be thick as a brick.
What happened next?
"No time for you, weirdo!"
A very Cotswold story
I got the train back.
Bus Driver: FROM THE BOWELS OF MANWE, WHY?
This is a 1780 reenactment.
I register them and they speed off in the darkness, dude on top playing unit calls on the trumpet.
The evening couldn't have ended any other way.
Hartford is now 4th.... in Connecticut.
my own hometown has a namesake in Durham AND Derbyshire.
Tom Bombadilly
Shut that fucking flute up or
I'll kick you in the willy.
- JRR Tolkien, The Night Bus to Hobbiton, 1959
Or maybe it was peppermint schnapps and "i just got out of jail"
But he told us we could call him "Little Elvis" so it was cool.
Excellent