May 28th, 2003

greetings, SG1:feretti

Mordor! there's only one way to Mordor! One way to Moooor-doooor!...

They're going to turn Lord of the Rings into a West End musical. Or rather, they're going to turn Pete Jackson's version of LoTR into an eight million quid production with lyrics by Bloke Youveneverheardof and music by A. N. Otherhack.

Imagine it now: children playing the hobbits -- or perhaps genuine dwarves! Yay for Theatrical People of Smaller Stature getting work aside from panto!

A kickline of Uruk-Hai! A heavenly duet wherein Aragorn and Legolas sing of their love...!

Oh wait, that was just the fanfic wasn't it.

Is Gollum going to get a solo number called "My Precious"? Perhaps he could just sing a rousing chorus of "I is what I is"

Seriously, what in hell are the songs going to be?

Oh, dear Beelzebub and all his little satanic pixies, some days I love the news.

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The football season ends this week, which means there's only four long months of the inexplicableness that is cricket to watch. On Monday there was the play-off final, wherein Division One teams play for the honour of getting the last berth in the big money division -- The Premiership. Sheffield United versus Wolverhampton Wanderers. Blades vs Wolves.

(The Blades, btw, are Sean Bean's team. He has 100% Blades tattooed somewhere about his person. Shoulder, I think. This becomes germane later in the ramble)

It was rather odd in our office, which is dominated by men and thus football-obsessed, as the Night Production Editor and the Night Editor were on opposite sides of the divide. So there was good-natured animosity about it as they put the game on the big screen (it's 6ft x 4ft and it's supposed to show news but almost never does)

The Night Editor rang the office from Barbados to find out the final score. I think his team had lost at this stage so often that he didn't even want to be near a TV to watch it. Anyway this time they won, and the NPE came in yesterday looking like his cat had just been run over. Even his usual spikey hair was flat.

I mention this because I amused myself by wondering whether any RPSers had taken into account the first division play-off final in Cardiff.

Are there stories out there about Sean Bean, desolate that his beloved Blades have lost the chance to move to the big money league after a season in which they reached two cup semi-finals, wandering the streets of Cardiff in an alcoholic state of melancholia, while Viggo tries to comfort him and reassure him that next year, yes, they *will* see the Blades triumph over such colossi of football as Rotherham United, Millwall and Preston North End?

Perhaps they sing a rousing chorus of "Who ate all the pies?" or "He's fat, he's round, he bounces on the ground, Sam Gamgeeeee!, Sam Gamgeee!" to Sean Astin over the mobile phone.

Call up Brad Dourif to deliver a few verses of "Who's the bastard in the black"

Maybe -- knowing that the cameras will pick them out in a crowd -- they wear purple and grey baseball hats, as a shoutout to the neverendingyetoppressed!love of Dominic and Elijah?

Indeed, are there stories in which, depressed by the footballing disaster of Wolves winning three-nil, they drive the car to Mumbles and call on Catherine Zeta-Jones for tea?

Ah, it's fun having a baroque imagination, knowledge of football chants and snacky's links to hollyweird.

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One more day of schoo... sorry, *work* to go and then I'm free! Free! for two whole days.
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