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Hobo's Great Adventure (part 1)
Title: Hobo's Great Adventure
Author: Kevin Martin
Rated: U (comedy for any age)
Author's note: This started as an exercise, it was the one where you rewrite a famous story, following on from it's start but changing the story. Here's my rather elongated effort.
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with 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 hobbit-hole, and that means…extravagance! Everything in a Hobbit-Hole is laced with gold, silver and jewels. Every wall screams expense, every alcove, nock and cranny harbours something of worth. From rare pieces of art in gold picture frames, to crystal drinking glasses sat on solid silver coasters. A Hobbit-hole, no matter how big or small, is always filled with valuable artefacts hoarded throughout a Hobbit’s life.
The particular Hobbit that lived in this hole was a standard well-to-do Hobbit, as most Hobbits are, but they are an odd creature. This is not least because of their rather bizarre appearance. They have long crooked legs that jut away from their rotund bodies at obscure angels; they are hunched almost double (this probably comes from living in holes in the ground!) but without question the queerest thing about a Hobbit is their head’s which are totally bald from the day they are born until the day that they die, not a signal hair ever grows on the head of a Hobbit. This leads to difficulties in the summer months, where the local hospital becomes overrun with cases of heat stroke and scalp burns caused by the sun!
But it’s not just a Hobbit’s appearance that is strange; they have the most peculiar mannerisms too. Whereas the vast majority of beings will count their birthdays up, 1,2,3,4 etc, Hobbits count down their birthdays, starting at 100. At birth, a Hobbit celebrates its 100th birthday. This could cause some problems, as I’m sure you can imagine. For if a Hobbit lived for more than 100 years, 123 for example, then technically they would celebrate minus birthdays, minus 23, which is of course ridiculous! But this problem has never come to fruition. Thus far the oldest Hobbit ever to live, Harry Gang, died at the ripe old age of 76 on the day of his 24th birthday from causes unknown.
Another odd Hobbit tradition is the growing of carrots. Every year all Hobbits gather at the Great Vegetable Garden to see who has grown the biggest carrot that year. Why the carrot is the sacred vegetable has confused Hobbit historians for centuries, why not the equally humble Leek? Or Parsnip, even? As it is this is somewhat of an irrelevance, because the carrot it is and carrot it will remain. The record for the longest carrot is a whopping 4ft 6inches, and that carrot was grown by the legendary gardener Albert Bagout. But over recent years the king of carrot growing and the five-time winner of the converted Longest Carrot Cup is Jim Perrygrin. Although it is rumoured that this year’s cup will be the closest contest there has been for many a year. Jim Perrygrin’s arch carrot growing rival, Bob Took, is said to have found out a secret formula to make carrots grow unusually long lengths! Some say it’s a concoction of root beer (apt I agree) and rare minerals obtained from the elves. Other people insist it is elephant dung mixed with dwarf beard trimmings! Whatever it is Bob Took has used throughout the course of the year, it does ensure that this year’s festival will be the best for quite sometime and the buzz is already starting to build around Hobbit Town.
Hobbit Town, the home of all Hobbits, is a truly beautiful place. Rolling meadows, crystal lakes and a copious wood surround the modest dwelling. It has 193 Hobbit-Holes, which are home to exactly 476 Hobbits, and all are totally out of sight to the naked eye. It has 3 barbers (who are all struggling for business!) 2 butchers and just the lone pub, but this place is the heart of Hobbit Town, The Prancing Poacher. Every night Hobbits gather at the Prancing Poacher and drink until they can’t stand and have to be hauled unceremoniously back to their hole.
So with a brief background to Hobbit’s and Hobbit Town completed, this seems a fitting time for us to focus on the tale. The inadvertent hero of the adventure that is about to unfold is the modest Hobo Baggins. Hobo is the most hated Hobbit in Hobbit Town. If he’s not rooming the streets drinking Scrumpy John and causing all kinds of mayhem, then you’ll surely find him terrorising the older Hobbit’s at the day centre with his loud punk music. The Town did commission to get Hobo an ASBO, but he was given one last chance for salvation.
The condition of this salvation was that he no longer drink Scrumpy John, and he, once a week, take the Hobbit pensioners, who he had caused so much grief, away from the day centre on an excursion out of Hobbit Town! This particular tale started, oddly enough, just as Hobo was leading the 6 Hobbit pensioners from the day centre away from Hobbit Town and out towards Mirkwood. They were going mushroom picking! The modest mushroom is the greatest delicacy that God bestowed upon the land, in the eyes of a Hobbit anyway! From the unassuming Closed Cup to the rarest of all mushrooms, Boletus Edulis, if a Hobbit so much as smelt a mushroom then they gained a single-minded focus to hunt and locate that fungus.
It was the peek of mushroom season and the rain had been heavy over Hobbit Town for the last two weeks. With the sun now shining it meant that the conditions were perfect for mushrooms. Though the sun that was so needed for the mushrooms to flourish was causing some discomfort to the older Hobbit’s. Their heads were already starting to turn a bright shade of crimson. The rather cunning invention of hats had yet to reach the isolated Hobbit Town, thus on boiling days like today the bare head of a Hobbit was totally exposed to the extremities!
“My head hurts, I wanna go home! I’ve just celebrated my 31st birthday; this bloody heat will be the death of me. I do wanna see my 30th birthday kiddo!” Shouted one of the pensioners.
Hobo rolled his eyes in frustration. His orders were strict and unalterable, he had to take the pensioners away from the day centre for 3hours and that’s what he planned to do. No way was he going to have an ASBO slapped on his reddening head purely because some old Hobbit was getting fussy and he ended up breaking the terms of his salvation! Plus he himself wanted to have some mushrooms!
“We’re nearly in the forest,” he reassured the Hobbit in his politest tone. “The shade of the trees will give you relief from the sun.” he smiled falsely and carried on towards Mirkwood. “Once we are there, how about we have a nice cup of tea?” the pensioners mumbled cheerfully to each other, they picked up their pace and soon it was Hobo who was trailing their lead as they sped towards the woods. Nothing could stimulate an aging Hobbit better than the thought of a brew – and Hobo knew that, thus he had packed a flask of the finest tea known to Hobbits!
Not much longer had passed when the 7 Hobbits reached the first tree of the bountiful forest of Mirkwood. The Sun was approaching its zenith as midday loomed and even Hobo was glad to be entering the shade. The first few hundred metres into the forest was as expected, the floor was moist and filled with broken sticks and fallen leaves. The air was humid but manageable and there was still ample light to lead the way. But as the party ventured further into the woods, towards the renowned mushroom haven of Harpickerdo (which was directly in the centre of Mirkwood), the light slowly faded away, blocked out by the ever-thickening forest canopy. The air got thinner and infinitely more humid, and the forest floor of sticks and leaves seemed to get replaced by all manner of creepy crawlies! To Hobo’s surprise this didn’t bother the pensioners in the slightest. Hobbits are, after all, hole-dwellers and become accustom to creepy crawlies, however he did assume the thin air and cloistered feel would cause some discomfort. But buoyed by the thought of tea, and Mushrooms, the pensioners seemed to become 20 years younger almost in an instant. Lack of light was never much of a problem for Hobbits, obviously less light did diminish their sight, but they could still see relatively ok in almost total darkness. Partly due to their homes being dark holes in the ground, mostly due to their carrot rich diets.
Hobo decided to treat the pensioners to some tea before they ventured any further into Mirkwood. He called them to order and poured each a single cup of the supreme Silver Needle brew from his flask. Hobo was sat savouring the taste of the brew, when his nose suddenly twitched, before he could react it happened again and the third, almost instantaneous twitch, was the twitch that stole his conscious thoughts. He could smell something, a mushroom, but it wasn’t your regular Close Cup, Oyster or Shiitake. This was better than even the great Pied Bleu that Hobo was given on his 82nd birthday, this was, this was… Boletus Edulis!
Every Hobbit, right from their earliest days, is introduced to the smell of Boletus Edulis – the smell is manufactured in kitchens throughout Hobbit Town. But very rarely would a Hobbit ever get to taste one, it is rumoured that Boletus Edulis rise once every 1000years! And even if a Hobbit were to find one, then they must take it back to Hobbit Town for the Mayor to eat during a grand ceremony.
Copyright of Kevin Martin 2007
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Apr/29/2007, 8:50 pm
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