London

I realised the other week that my favourite part of traveling to London is the bit where I leave it, go home and have a long shower. So here are the reasons I hate London. Mostly referring to the underground

1. It stinks
2. I get covered in yuck and don’t feel clean for days, regardless of how many times I wash.
3. It gives me black bogeys
4. There are lots of people
5. People are cunts
6. Lots of people = angry me
7. Small, enclosed spaces = horrible
8. Small spaces + lots of people = angry, stabby me
9. I don’t like being angry, it saddens me
10. The sky is grey, the buildings are grey, and the floor is grey. It makes me feel like I’m trapped in the world’s shittest snow-globe
11. People are rude.
12. People are suspicious and unfriendly
13. If you smile at someone they look at you like you just pissed on their dog
14. 60s and 70s architecture. Ick
15. It takes bloody ages to get anywhere, and most of the journey involves having your face in someone’s sweaty armpit
16. It’s generally raining, which is never a good thing

In which Aragorn is lovely

Ophelia, Aurelia-Mae and a few other amazing lovely people did a sponsored walk for charity in which 26 miles were walked across, complete with swearing, grumbling, and the occasional inability to form a coherent sentence altogether.

There was only one thing that kept us going all those long and weary miles. It wasn't the charity we were walking in aid of. It wasn't the joy of pushing our bodies to the limit. It wasn't the glory of completing the walk and being handed a shiny medal whilst onlookers applauded and cheered. It wasn't even the copious amounts of strong liquor we would be consuming as soon as we reached the pub. It was Aragorn.

Om nom.

The next day, three of us found ourselves sprawled in a living room, only moving to hobble slowly and painfully to the bathroom. We would not move. We even decided against hobbling the short distance to the nearest shop to buy food for our grumbling bellies, making do with Toblerone and Oreos to tide us over until it was time order pizza. But then tragedy struck.

We couldn’t find the extended edition box set of the Lord of the Rings. I mean seriously, what the fudge? Eventually, after turning the entire house upside down and shrieking in panic at the prospect of an Aragornless evening, we discussed the matter and decided there was only one solution. We had to buy another copy.

So off we went, muscles aching and blisters burning, into the town to find our beloved Ranger. Eventually, we found it, and made the painful journey back up the painful hill. I have only two words. Worth it.

After sitting back with pizza and our favourite films, we were reminded of the drooltasticness (that’s a real word, honest) of Elesar, the grace of Legolas and the sadness of Boromir’s tale. There was laughter, there were tears, but most of all there were squees over Aragorn. Let’s face it; he’s pretty hot for an 86 year old.

We can now confirm on high authority that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is lovely when he is:
- Gesticulating wildly
- All wet and covered in Khthulu goo
- Sleeping
- Reclining
- Hiding
- Anguished
- Carrying hobbits
- Covered in snow
- Nursing a pint
- Smoking a pipe
- Threatening Boromir with his eyes
- Sharpening his sword
- Smacking Gimli
- Crying
- Singing sad songs
- Resolute and angry
- Beheading Uruk’Hai
- Listening to rocks

Hail Aragorn, the sexiest beast in Middle Earth