- five -
Nice Trees... but what a bloody dull city.
Kemen Yäve skipped along the pathway. In fact, it was hardly a skip, and more of a frantic dash away from
the feet that pounded upon the ground around her. Nevertheless, she was in a joyous mood. So she pretended she
was skipping.
It had occurred to her that perhaps, to complete this image of being happy and carefree, she should sing.
However, this idea was shot down by the fact that she had had it drummed into her head that scones were not
expected to sing. She had come to this conclusion the second she arrived at Gondor, when she sang a short sonnet
about ferns, and quickly saw the shocked, fearful looks of people and various other beings trying to look like
people. The disapproval she sensed was further clarified by the attempts to kill her, via much stamping of feet,
throwing of moldy potatoes and shouts of "It's a singing scone: Kill it!"
So she shut up, silently wondering what scones were allowed to do. Kemen Yäve had no experience at
dealing with proper citizens of a city such as Gondor - in fact she had no experience at dealing with people of any
sort at all. Her only friend had been a blade of grass, who let her do whatever she wanted.
"Why can't these people be more like Lina," the scone muttered irritably.
After a little experimentation, she came to the verdict that scones were also not allowed to dance, perform
street magic, eat trees, tug at people's trouser legs/beards/nostrils, cannonball into mugs of beer, meditate publicly,
diss cats, announce 'My head is not a carrot', or attempt to speak Elvish.
Tired and worn out after hours of trying to carry out the above tasks without one assassination attempt per
passer-by, Kemen Yäve sat down to a skill she prided herself in. A skill that she was miraculously born with. It
was as though it had come straight from her creator, and had implanted itself into her unconscious mind...
*mystical music*
Underwater basket weaving.
The scone soon learned that underwater basket weaving was apparently also frowned upon when practiced
by scones.
This made her rather frustrated, and more than a little angry. "No wonder these people are so damn
unhappy - look! Look at them! Their faces are so droopy and sad. Idiots! Do something with your life! Take up a
hobby, do something that sustains your interest, and then teach other people how to do it! Everyone would be so
much more content with life... Grrr, why did I ever wish to enter such a dull, sorrow-ridden city?!"
Suddenly, Kemen Yäve had an idea.
She ended her speech, quickly apologized to the stray cat she had temporarily sought the attention of just for
the sake of having someone to rant to, and scuttled down the road to the stationary shop.
The scone deftly stole a pad of paper and some chalk, ran out of the shop and settled down beneath a nearby
tree, sheltered from the inquisitive faces of strangers and the feet of the less friendly strangers.
On the paper, she wrote this;
Underwater Basket-Weaving ***
Little of consequence has been written on the subject of underwater basket weaving. Thorough searches of
the world's most complete reference libraries turned up disappointingly few references to major publications,
scientific studies, archaeological expeditions, or even trivial haiku poetry on this significant craft.
It is for this reason that I consider this work a groundbreaking study, the first fully documented history of
an ancient skill released into the public consciousness. I am fully prepared for a skeptical reception, for few works of
this caliber are easily accepted. The information it contains blazes a new trail in anthropology, one that has been
carelessly neglected by scholars worldwide. ?
She continued to write, and soon had pretty much the entire, fascinating history of underwater basket
weaving documented within one notepad. The scone then wrote the following words on the cover:
WHOMEVER PRESENTS THIS NOTEPAD TO THE STEWARD OF GONDOR SHALL FROM THEN ON
PROCEED TO LIVE A LIFE CONSISTING ENTIRELY OF SEX, DRUGS, ROCK N' ROLL AND
CHAINSAWS. CHAINSAWS COMPLIMENTARY; THE REST ARE ONLY APPLICABLE IN THE EVENT
THAT THE TASK IS FULFILLED. GO GET 'EM, TIGER. GROWL.
Smirking, she threw the notepad into the thick of the Gondorian crowd and lay back to watch the scene
unfold. She didn't have to wait long; within a few minutes a cry of wonder emerged from the crowd.
"A message... a message from the prophet!"
Kemen Yäve said 'Pfft', rolled her jam blob eyes, and quickly piled them back onto herself when they
abruptly rolled off the side of her body.
Another cry rang out, sounding even more stupid and baffled than the first.
"Could it be...? Yes, it could! It is most definitely a message from a prophet!"
Everyone gasped.
The scone turned away and waddled lazily up the road, while the crowd behind her continued to yell and
shout with delight as they read the notepad filled with words from the supposed Prophet of Underwater Basket-
Weaving. She even ignored the excited humans when they proceeded to worship the notepad, and sacrifice
turnips, sheep and small children in its honor.
And still the scone waddled. "Silly cults," she murmured. "This is just like Monty Python."
She grinned a manic grin that would have made Lina proud.
Over the next few weeks, rather visible changes took place in Gondor. The number of convenience stores fell
to make way for stores that sold specialty materials - materials that, not surprisingly, were required for
underwater basket weaving. Shops sold diving suits. Citizens trained themselves in the art of holding their breath
underwater, to encourage production of the best baskets possible. Gondor gave up chess. Row upon row of men
and women alike could now be seen out on the riverbank, diving in and out, making basket after basket.
This enthusiasm was, of course, influenced by the Steward of Gondor himself, who had also taken up the
hobby, as a replacement for stamp collecting.
Kemen Yäve silently watched the city reform itself. Although proud of her apparent success, she could not
help but think how stupid these people were. How easily they could be influenced. Gondor was obviously not
under strong leadership if its people would change their city's century-old way of life just because some idiot
found a notebook full of crap and thought it came from some God who was so obviously (to anyone but a
Gondorian) also full of crap.
But what Kemen Yäve was mostly frustrated about was the fact that these people had no idea why they were
making countless baskets in the first place. To be honest, the scone didn't have much of an idea either.
So she continued to observe from a secluded place along the riverbank, but not too near it. There wasn't
much else to do. It was because of her constant watch and immunity to the underwater basket weaving addiction
that she foresaw a potential economic disaster before any of the brainwashed Gondorians could.
Douglas Adams perhaps best describes this kind of economic disaster. The man is not an ecologist or
whatever they're called nowadays, but a comedic genius. Therefore we should trust him and his judgement on
such scenarios. Because... he's a comedian. Everyone loves comedians. [/end lame attempt at excuse of adding
even more Douglas Adams into story]
Short extract from The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Chapter 10
``I'll tell you the story. Would you like to hear it?''
``Er ...''
``Many years ago this was a thriving, happy planet --- people, cities shops, a normal world. Except that
on the high streets of these cities there were slightly more shoe shops than one might have thought
necessary. And slowly, insidiously, the numbers of these shoe shops were increasing. It's a well known
economic phenomenon but tragic to see it in operation, for the more shoe shops there were, the more
shoes they had to make and the worse and more unwearable they became. And the worse they were to
wear, the more people had to buy to keep themselves shod, and the more the shops proliferated, until
the whole economy of the place passed what I believe is termed the Shoe Event Horizon, and it became
no longer economically possible to build anything other than shoe shops. Result --- collapse, ruin and
famine. Most of the population died out. Those few who had the right kind of genetic instability
mutated into birds --- you've seen one of them --- who cursed their feet, cursed the ground, and vowed
that none should walk on it again. Unhappy lot. Come, I must take you to the Vortex.''
And so this is what Kemen Yäve foresaw. The unnaturally high number of diving suit shops would force
Gondor to fall into ruin. And it would be her fault.
Technically, it would be the fault of the mindless cretins who followed the teachings of the Underwater
Basket-Weaving notepad without question. But their actions can be blamed on the idiocy of their genes and,
therefore, their relatives.
The scone leapt out of her hiding place and tore across the riverbank. She ignored the countless, joyous
people as they dived into the water and then emerged 20 minutes later with a wonderfully constructed basket. She
ignored the street peddlers that sold basket weaving materials, and the large stores that supplied high quality
diving suits -- the likes of which have not been seen anywhere else in Middle Earth.
However, the one thing she could not ignore was the area where baskets were discarded once their makers
had grown tired of looking at them and tweaking them to make them look just right. Within this area was a large
mound of baskets - no, an enormous mound that dominated the skyline and sunk the rest of Gondor into shadow.
Kemen Yäve ran even faster. She ran to the parade, where the Steward would be carried around on a
levitating chair and praised like a true king. The silly oaf.
The scone began to wave her miniscule arms around and shout at the Steward as he passed on his levitating
chair, (which was obviously not levitating but carried around on the backs of hunky men). She didn't know what
she was doing, but suspected it had something to do with getting the Stewards attention and then alerting him of
Gondor's inevitable fate.
"I have something to tell you! I must confess!" she yelled. "I wrote the book! I wrote about underwater
basket weaving! You can ask me any question about it, and I can answer it. But what's important is that you don't
pay anymore attention to my book! Please, listen to me! Gondor will fall if your continue to listen to the prophet!
For heavens sake, dammit, there is no prophet! I wrote the book! It's fake!"
The Steward passed her by a few feet and disappeared into the sunset, followed by his admirers, and also
several assassins.
"Well, that worked just swell," Kemen Yäve muttered, trudging back to her hiding place for another day of
gazing at the stupidity of Gondor.
However, although the Steward had not heard her, someone else had.
Kemen Yäve found herself scooped up into the cruel and firm hands of a poor beggar who lived on the
streets. He dropped her roughly on the floor, but then picked her up again when she attempted to escape.
"Let me go, you silly Gondorian git!" she yelled furiously.
"No no, wait a second." He seemed just as angry, but a lot bigger to boot, so the scone shut up. "You just
said you wrote the book of Underwater Basket-Weaving... Is this true?"
The scone nodded, and soon regretted it.
The beggar began to rant. "Those promises never came true! I found that notepad, and it never worked! You
lied to me. You LIED! YOU... ARE... A... LIAR...!!! I waited for so long, just waiting for my reward to come, but it
never did. I ignored my friends when they urged me to try out underwater basket weaving - I told them that I'd
stick it out and wait for my reward for giving the notepad to the Steward, and then I'd have no need for baskets.
I'd have a life of sex, drugs, rock n' roll and chainsaws. But that won't ever happen now... I could have gone with
my friends! I could have made something out of my life! You ruined me, scone! You destroyed my future - and for
what? A book? A cult? Followers? The Steward's approval? I don't understand, and I don't want to!"
The beggar began banging his head on the wall while the scone backed away cautiously, marveling at how
events sort themselves out. When she was confidant that the beggar was in a world of his own, she set off at a run.
And was picked up by someone else.
"IT WAS YOU!!!!!" the deep voice of her new capturer echoed throughout Gondor.
Kemen Yäve sighed. She was getting awfully tired of this.
The frustrated scone looked up at the face of this new acquaintance, and realized who it was.
"Are you Gandalf?" she asked, peering at him with curiosity.
He appeared rather flustered and more than a little embarrassed at being recognized. "Well yes, now that
you mention it, I am." He beamed, but then remembered his agenda and set his face into a solid frown.
"The thing is, Kemen Yäve Ar Ruth Lhach, I have a bone to pick with you."
"A bone?"
"Yes. A bone."
"What kind of bone?"
"There is no bone - it was just an expression."
"An expressive bone?"
"No..." he sighed.
"Where can I get myself an expressive bone?"
"Listen!" the wizard snapped.
"Really?"
Gandalf put a hand to his forehead. "I'm going to have a stroke in a minute," he muttered.
"Please don't. We've only just met. And if you were to have a stroke I would believe I am cursed, seeing as
my last friend was mistaken for a donut and eaten by a bird, and my attempt to make this city a happy place has
resulted in the damnation of a beggar's whole life and the potential ruin of Gondor. Not to mention the fact that
just because I'm a scone they won't let me sing or talk to cats."
Gandalf sat down rather heavily.
"Right," he murmured distantly. "Let's start again." He plonked the scone down beside him on the bench
and fixed her with his most serious stare. Satisfied with the image he was conveying, he continued.
"I am not happy with what you have done to this city," he announced.
"Well I'm not surprised. To be honest, I'm not terribly pleased about it either. It didn't work out very well,
you see. I originally intended -"
"Shut up," Gandalf hissed.
"Okeday."
"Do you have any idea," he continued to hiss, "what the Steward of Gondor now spends his time doing?
When he should be running his city, when he should be trying to prevent it from ruin and famine, from loss of
honor? Do you know what he does instead?"
Kemen Yäve shook herself.
"He dives, and constructs baskets. Via weaving. Underwater."
The scone blinked.
"Yes."
"Yes?!" screeched Gandalf.
"Er... yes?" asked the scone hopefully.
"Don't you see what's wrong with this picture?" the wizard said, now positively spitting as well as hissing.
"Like I said: yes. The Steward should dedicate more of his time to improving his city. That's why I
introduced basket weaving in the first place - everyone's happier! Sure, they may be the stupidest and most easily
influenced people in the world, but at least, as far as they know, the city has improved. The only thing wrong with
this plan is the over-enthusiasm. It will result in economic disaster! The Steward needs to listen to me, because I
need to tell him about what will -"
"Oh, I think you've told him enough! Kemen Yäve, I must now go and sort out this mess before it gets out of
hand. I appreciate the fact that you understand the problem with Gondor and its leadership, but you will not be
forgiven yet - because you started this whole ruddy thing! Now, I am sending you to my friend, the highest of my
order. He should be able to keep you out of trouble while I convince the Steward that basket weaving will never
defeat the evil of Mordor!"
Before Kemen Yäve could protest or even offer information about the status of Mordor, having left there less
than 2 months ago, she was teleported out of the street and away from Gondor. Far away, right into the depths of
Isengard.
In Isengard waited a wizard who had earned his title well. He was extremely clever, even more cunning,
and within him he yielded the power to destruct a race, or grant it the fortune to live forever until time crumbled
unto itself. This wizard was Saruman the White, and as he sat on his chair, he was aware that Middle Earth knew
exactly who he was. Gandalf knew as well. Of course he did; he knew every ounce of the power Saruman had, and
he knew the terrible and great things he could do with it.
What Gandalf did not know was that, at that precise moment in time, Saruman the White was wearing a
yellow and black polka dot tie and tearing across Isengard on a bicycle.
*** This is an extract from http://sporkqueen.diaryland.com/010517_9.html If you would like to read more, please be my guest and follow the
link to the essay on this intriging subject. NOTE: I am fully aware that underwater basket-weaving involves snorkelling gear and water and all that, but
let's just assume that the residents of Middle Earth always conveniently carry around their own snorkel and swimming pool in a handy satchel.
Nice Trees... but what a bloody dull city.
Kemen Yäve skipped along the pathway. In fact, it was hardly a skip, and more of a frantic dash away from
the feet that pounded upon the ground around her. Nevertheless, she was in a joyous mood. So she pretended she
was skipping.
It had occurred to her that perhaps, to complete this image of being happy and carefree, she should sing.
However, this idea was shot down by the fact that she had had it drummed into her head that scones were not
expected to sing. She had come to this conclusion the second she arrived at Gondor, when she sang a short sonnet
about ferns, and quickly saw the shocked, fearful looks of people and various other beings trying to look like
people. The disapproval she sensed was further clarified by the attempts to kill her, via much stamping of feet,
throwing of moldy potatoes and shouts of "It's a singing scone: Kill it!"
So she shut up, silently wondering what scones were allowed to do. Kemen Yäve had no experience at
dealing with proper citizens of a city such as Gondor - in fact she had no experience at dealing with people of any
sort at all. Her only friend had been a blade of grass, who let her do whatever she wanted.
"Why can't these people be more like Lina," the scone muttered irritably.
After a little experimentation, she came to the verdict that scones were also not allowed to dance, perform
street magic, eat trees, tug at people's trouser legs/beards/nostrils, cannonball into mugs of beer, meditate publicly,
diss cats, announce 'My head is not a carrot', or attempt to speak Elvish.
Tired and worn out after hours of trying to carry out the above tasks without one assassination attempt per
passer-by, Kemen Yäve sat down to a skill she prided herself in. A skill that she was miraculously born with. It
was as though it had come straight from her creator, and had implanted itself into her unconscious mind...
*mystical music*
Underwater basket weaving.
The scone soon learned that underwater basket weaving was apparently also frowned upon when practiced
by scones.
This made her rather frustrated, and more than a little angry. "No wonder these people are so damn
unhappy - look! Look at them! Their faces are so droopy and sad. Idiots! Do something with your life! Take up a
hobby, do something that sustains your interest, and then teach other people how to do it! Everyone would be so
much more content with life... Grrr, why did I ever wish to enter such a dull, sorrow-ridden city?!"
Suddenly, Kemen Yäve had an idea.
She ended her speech, quickly apologized to the stray cat she had temporarily sought the attention of just for
the sake of having someone to rant to, and scuttled down the road to the stationary shop.
The scone deftly stole a pad of paper and some chalk, ran out of the shop and settled down beneath a nearby
tree, sheltered from the inquisitive faces of strangers and the feet of the less friendly strangers.
On the paper, she wrote this;
Underwater Basket-Weaving ***
Little of consequence has been written on the subject of underwater basket weaving. Thorough searches of
the world's most complete reference libraries turned up disappointingly few references to major publications,
scientific studies, archaeological expeditions, or even trivial haiku poetry on this significant craft.
It is for this reason that I consider this work a groundbreaking study, the first fully documented history of
an ancient skill released into the public consciousness. I am fully prepared for a skeptical reception, for few works of
this caliber are easily accepted. The information it contains blazes a new trail in anthropology, one that has been
carelessly neglected by scholars worldwide. ?
She continued to write, and soon had pretty much the entire, fascinating history of underwater basket
weaving documented within one notepad. The scone then wrote the following words on the cover:
WHOMEVER PRESENTS THIS NOTEPAD TO THE STEWARD OF GONDOR SHALL FROM THEN ON
PROCEED TO LIVE A LIFE CONSISTING ENTIRELY OF SEX, DRUGS, ROCK N' ROLL AND
CHAINSAWS. CHAINSAWS COMPLIMENTARY; THE REST ARE ONLY APPLICABLE IN THE EVENT
THAT THE TASK IS FULFILLED. GO GET 'EM, TIGER. GROWL.
Smirking, she threw the notepad into the thick of the Gondorian crowd and lay back to watch the scene
unfold. She didn't have to wait long; within a few minutes a cry of wonder emerged from the crowd.
"A message... a message from the prophet!"
Kemen Yäve said 'Pfft', rolled her jam blob eyes, and quickly piled them back onto herself when they
abruptly rolled off the side of her body.
Another cry rang out, sounding even more stupid and baffled than the first.
"Could it be...? Yes, it could! It is most definitely a message from a prophet!"
Everyone gasped.
The scone turned away and waddled lazily up the road, while the crowd behind her continued to yell and
shout with delight as they read the notepad filled with words from the supposed Prophet of Underwater Basket-
Weaving. She even ignored the excited humans when they proceeded to worship the notepad, and sacrifice
turnips, sheep and small children in its honor.
And still the scone waddled. "Silly cults," she murmured. "This is just like Monty Python."
She grinned a manic grin that would have made Lina proud.
Over the next few weeks, rather visible changes took place in Gondor. The number of convenience stores fell
to make way for stores that sold specialty materials - materials that, not surprisingly, were required for
underwater basket weaving. Shops sold diving suits. Citizens trained themselves in the art of holding their breath
underwater, to encourage production of the best baskets possible. Gondor gave up chess. Row upon row of men
and women alike could now be seen out on the riverbank, diving in and out, making basket after basket.
This enthusiasm was, of course, influenced by the Steward of Gondor himself, who had also taken up the
hobby, as a replacement for stamp collecting.
Kemen Yäve silently watched the city reform itself. Although proud of her apparent success, she could not
help but think how stupid these people were. How easily they could be influenced. Gondor was obviously not
under strong leadership if its people would change their city's century-old way of life just because some idiot
found a notebook full of crap and thought it came from some God who was so obviously (to anyone but a
Gondorian) also full of crap.
But what Kemen Yäve was mostly frustrated about was the fact that these people had no idea why they were
making countless baskets in the first place. To be honest, the scone didn't have much of an idea either.
So she continued to observe from a secluded place along the riverbank, but not too near it. There wasn't
much else to do. It was because of her constant watch and immunity to the underwater basket weaving addiction
that she foresaw a potential economic disaster before any of the brainwashed Gondorians could.
Douglas Adams perhaps best describes this kind of economic disaster. The man is not an ecologist or
whatever they're called nowadays, but a comedic genius. Therefore we should trust him and his judgement on
such scenarios. Because... he's a comedian. Everyone loves comedians. [/end lame attempt at excuse of adding
even more Douglas Adams into story]
Short extract from The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Chapter 10
``I'll tell you the story. Would you like to hear it?''
``Er ...''
``Many years ago this was a thriving, happy planet --- people, cities shops, a normal world. Except that
on the high streets of these cities there were slightly more shoe shops than one might have thought
necessary. And slowly, insidiously, the numbers of these shoe shops were increasing. It's a well known
economic phenomenon but tragic to see it in operation, for the more shoe shops there were, the more
shoes they had to make and the worse and more unwearable they became. And the worse they were to
wear, the more people had to buy to keep themselves shod, and the more the shops proliferated, until
the whole economy of the place passed what I believe is termed the Shoe Event Horizon, and it became
no longer economically possible to build anything other than shoe shops. Result --- collapse, ruin and
famine. Most of the population died out. Those few who had the right kind of genetic instability
mutated into birds --- you've seen one of them --- who cursed their feet, cursed the ground, and vowed
that none should walk on it again. Unhappy lot. Come, I must take you to the Vortex.''
And so this is what Kemen Yäve foresaw. The unnaturally high number of diving suit shops would force
Gondor to fall into ruin. And it would be her fault.
Technically, it would be the fault of the mindless cretins who followed the teachings of the Underwater
Basket-Weaving notepad without question. But their actions can be blamed on the idiocy of their genes and,
therefore, their relatives.
The scone leapt out of her hiding place and tore across the riverbank. She ignored the countless, joyous
people as they dived into the water and then emerged 20 minutes later with a wonderfully constructed basket. She
ignored the street peddlers that sold basket weaving materials, and the large stores that supplied high quality
diving suits -- the likes of which have not been seen anywhere else in Middle Earth.
However, the one thing she could not ignore was the area where baskets were discarded once their makers
had grown tired of looking at them and tweaking them to make them look just right. Within this area was a large
mound of baskets - no, an enormous mound that dominated the skyline and sunk the rest of Gondor into shadow.
Kemen Yäve ran even faster. She ran to the parade, where the Steward would be carried around on a
levitating chair and praised like a true king. The silly oaf.
The scone began to wave her miniscule arms around and shout at the Steward as he passed on his levitating
chair, (which was obviously not levitating but carried around on the backs of hunky men). She didn't know what
she was doing, but suspected it had something to do with getting the Stewards attention and then alerting him of
Gondor's inevitable fate.
"I have something to tell you! I must confess!" she yelled. "I wrote the book! I wrote about underwater
basket weaving! You can ask me any question about it, and I can answer it. But what's important is that you don't
pay anymore attention to my book! Please, listen to me! Gondor will fall if your continue to listen to the prophet!
For heavens sake, dammit, there is no prophet! I wrote the book! It's fake!"
The Steward passed her by a few feet and disappeared into the sunset, followed by his admirers, and also
several assassins.
"Well, that worked just swell," Kemen Yäve muttered, trudging back to her hiding place for another day of
gazing at the stupidity of Gondor.
However, although the Steward had not heard her, someone else had.
Kemen Yäve found herself scooped up into the cruel and firm hands of a poor beggar who lived on the
streets. He dropped her roughly on the floor, but then picked her up again when she attempted to escape.
"Let me go, you silly Gondorian git!" she yelled furiously.
"No no, wait a second." He seemed just as angry, but a lot bigger to boot, so the scone shut up. "You just
said you wrote the book of Underwater Basket-Weaving... Is this true?"
The scone nodded, and soon regretted it.
The beggar began to rant. "Those promises never came true! I found that notepad, and it never worked! You
lied to me. You LIED! YOU... ARE... A... LIAR...!!! I waited for so long, just waiting for my reward to come, but it
never did. I ignored my friends when they urged me to try out underwater basket weaving - I told them that I'd
stick it out and wait for my reward for giving the notepad to the Steward, and then I'd have no need for baskets.
I'd have a life of sex, drugs, rock n' roll and chainsaws. But that won't ever happen now... I could have gone with
my friends! I could have made something out of my life! You ruined me, scone! You destroyed my future - and for
what? A book? A cult? Followers? The Steward's approval? I don't understand, and I don't want to!"
The beggar began banging his head on the wall while the scone backed away cautiously, marveling at how
events sort themselves out. When she was confidant that the beggar was in a world of his own, she set off at a run.
And was picked up by someone else.
"IT WAS YOU!!!!!" the deep voice of her new capturer echoed throughout Gondor.
Kemen Yäve sighed. She was getting awfully tired of this.
The frustrated scone looked up at the face of this new acquaintance, and realized who it was.
"Are you Gandalf?" she asked, peering at him with curiosity.
He appeared rather flustered and more than a little embarrassed at being recognized. "Well yes, now that
you mention it, I am." He beamed, but then remembered his agenda and set his face into a solid frown.
"The thing is, Kemen Yäve Ar Ruth Lhach, I have a bone to pick with you."
"A bone?"
"Yes. A bone."
"What kind of bone?"
"There is no bone - it was just an expression."
"An expressive bone?"
"No..." he sighed.
"Where can I get myself an expressive bone?"
"Listen!" the wizard snapped.
"Really?"
Gandalf put a hand to his forehead. "I'm going to have a stroke in a minute," he muttered.
"Please don't. We've only just met. And if you were to have a stroke I would believe I am cursed, seeing as
my last friend was mistaken for a donut and eaten by a bird, and my attempt to make this city a happy place has
resulted in the damnation of a beggar's whole life and the potential ruin of Gondor. Not to mention the fact that
just because I'm a scone they won't let me sing or talk to cats."
Gandalf sat down rather heavily.
"Right," he murmured distantly. "Let's start again." He plonked the scone down beside him on the bench
and fixed her with his most serious stare. Satisfied with the image he was conveying, he continued.
"I am not happy with what you have done to this city," he announced.
"Well I'm not surprised. To be honest, I'm not terribly pleased about it either. It didn't work out very well,
you see. I originally intended -"
"Shut up," Gandalf hissed.
"Okeday."
"Do you have any idea," he continued to hiss, "what the Steward of Gondor now spends his time doing?
When he should be running his city, when he should be trying to prevent it from ruin and famine, from loss of
honor? Do you know what he does instead?"
Kemen Yäve shook herself.
"He dives, and constructs baskets. Via weaving. Underwater."
The scone blinked.
"Yes."
"Yes?!" screeched Gandalf.
"Er... yes?" asked the scone hopefully.
"Don't you see what's wrong with this picture?" the wizard said, now positively spitting as well as hissing.
"Like I said: yes. The Steward should dedicate more of his time to improving his city. That's why I
introduced basket weaving in the first place - everyone's happier! Sure, they may be the stupidest and most easily
influenced people in the world, but at least, as far as they know, the city has improved. The only thing wrong with
this plan is the over-enthusiasm. It will result in economic disaster! The Steward needs to listen to me, because I
need to tell him about what will -"
"Oh, I think you've told him enough! Kemen Yäve, I must now go and sort out this mess before it gets out of
hand. I appreciate the fact that you understand the problem with Gondor and its leadership, but you will not be
forgiven yet - because you started this whole ruddy thing! Now, I am sending you to my friend, the highest of my
order. He should be able to keep you out of trouble while I convince the Steward that basket weaving will never
defeat the evil of Mordor!"
Before Kemen Yäve could protest or even offer information about the status of Mordor, having left there less
than 2 months ago, she was teleported out of the street and away from Gondor. Far away, right into the depths of
Isengard.
In Isengard waited a wizard who had earned his title well. He was extremely clever, even more cunning,
and within him he yielded the power to destruct a race, or grant it the fortune to live forever until time crumbled
unto itself. This wizard was Saruman the White, and as he sat on his chair, he was aware that Middle Earth knew
exactly who he was. Gandalf knew as well. Of course he did; he knew every ounce of the power Saruman had, and
he knew the terrible and great things he could do with it.
What Gandalf did not know was that, at that precise moment in time, Saruman the White was wearing a
yellow and black polka dot tie and tearing across Isengard on a bicycle.
*** This is an extract from http://sporkqueen.diaryland.com/010517_9.html If you would like to read more, please be my guest and follow the
link to the essay on this intriging subject. NOTE: I am fully aware that underwater basket-weaving involves snorkelling gear and water and all that, but
let's just assume that the residents of Middle Earth always conveniently carry around their own snorkel and swimming pool in a handy satchel.