Now, here we are, on a merry boyscout trek.


Just when I thought things were bad enough, being stuck with these two dominatrix-obsessed perverts, we managed to - unfortunately - run in to two more of the little Stoners, these ones obsessed with various shapes of vegetables, especially regular mushrooms.


We won't even GO there.


My original pair, I could have coped with because they were so obsessed with each other and Sam saying 'Master' at least six times an hour (Frodo got nasty if the little wanker didn't reach his quota), it took the heat off me, but now there were four and, to be honest, I didn't want to be around the hairy-toed little gits any longer than I really had to be.


So, I did what any other supernatural chunk of metal would, with my superior knowledge about things-of-the-evil-and-sinister variety.


I tried to alert the fashion police!


Yeah, yeah, I know they're called the Ring Wraithes, but still.


Those guys can SENSE bad accessorising from a hundred miles away, so all I had to do was to suggest to Frodo that he might kind of sort of want to slip that everso attractive ring onto his everso attractive and fuzzy finger and he - being a little pothead - listened to the talking accessory (as well as rolling his eyes in an all-too-exaggerated way).

So, with our tweed-clad nit putting on a Ring of Evil only meant to be worn with Sauron's stylish leopard print of battle-garb, the Ring Wraithes would no doubt went into spasm and hunt us down at full speed!

I mean, I can't think of anything else being bad accessorizing...although, there was this time when Sauron foolishly tried to go out in a leather thong with me attached to his unmentionables...

I never thought a Dark Lord would squeal so much when getting a makeover from the Ring Wraithes.

But, getting back to what I was saying, this was my cunning plan, but - alas - that bloody Sam had to ruin it, by stopping our favourite Ring-bearer from donning me.

I tell you, its annoying as hell!


The one time I DO want a Hobbit to put me on, it doesn't happen!


So, the hobbits, thinking they're all clever and so forth, hide underneath a log, while the Ring Wraithes trot past obliviously - they always did tend to ignore the jewellery screaming "I'm down here, you twits! Move your head a little to the left and you'll have found me!"


Alas, they didn't look there, so off they went, all shadowy and backlit and everything.


Its all very intimidating, unless you know that - under the black robes - they're all wearing Gucci and Prada with fittingly matching make-up and shoes.


And now, we see the true stupidity of my travel-companions (Note to self - if I ever get into evil hands, make sure to kill Frank properly for leaving me with these poncey twits) - instead of staying hidden under the log like any normal person would after seeing a black-clad, spooky person ride past, they decide they can outrun those ginormous great big black horses.


Okay, maybe they didn't know that Ring Wraithes ARE actually fast, but you think the fact that they got from Mordor to the Shire in the time it took Frodo to walk to the outskirts of the Shire MIGHT suggest that Horse-power is quite an impressive thing to have!


So, on our so-called heroes go, starting to run through dark woods and...wait for it... BACKLIGHTING!

There are my guys!


You can always tell when they're approaching cos everything suddenly goes blue and gleamy - gotta give the Wraithes credit for that - at least they're consistent in their lighting technique.


So, what do the hobbits do, when faced with a huge, steaming, screaming horse with a cloaked Wraith on the back?


They run.


And here's the even more unbelievable part - they get away!


The Wraithes would probably deny this, but you know, I think they stopped at the Mall for a mocha and a manicure, at the very least. How else could the little sods get away on foot and manage to make it to the ferry, while being pursued by the Wraithes on big old horses?

Either way, they got away and the Wraithes were forced to chase 'em down the bank towards Bree.

You know things are wrong in the world when you're going to a town named after a smelly cheese.