Bombadil Publishing

I have stepped sideways from the International Office at Bombadil and into a role that didn't exist even a few months ago; that of "Creative Something-or-other" Because the position is so new that we're still waiting for the paint to dry on it, I don't have a title yet. So, following the example of a friend of mine who works for a major corporation in London as a statistician and, following a disagreement with Personnel, signs her emails "Chief Number-Cruncher," I shall be known as "The Oracle of Creativity" until our glorious leader Marianne notices and assigns me a slightly more sensible title.

I'm sure that you're all sick to death of hearing about Niklas's moon-mine shindig on Monday, so I shall cover it quickly. If you are up to speed with current events, you will know that I had special respnsibility for the carpark. This assignment was given on the basis that having driven a vehicular wreck from London to halfway down Africa (see It'll Be Fine, available on Amazon.com and all good bookshops) and therefore I knew about cars. So I set about clearing acres of shrubs, rocks, scrap metal and railway sleepers (with invaluable help from Mattias) in anticipation of Niklas's estimate of anything between 500 and 1000 cars that would be arriving. In reality, Swedes like bicycles and buses and most of them managed to arrive without the aid of a private motor vehicle. Of those who did arrive by car, half of them parked in some poor chap's front garden opposite the entrance to the moon-mine and the other half set about very politely ignoring my signs, marking tape and spray painted lines and parked wherever they pleased, in a particularly Scandinavian display of disdain for authority. This suited me just fine as it absolved me from all responsibility when something went wrong. As it happened, nothing did go wrong.

On the day, I had special responsibility for collecting the horse from the stable a couple of miles away (apparently I'm the only one with the correct licence to be able to tow the horse trailer behind the Bombadil bus). The horse was to be in charge of entertaining the children. So having first freed the handbrake on the trailer with the aid of a man with a big hammer and a lump of wood, we bundled the horse in and chucked it out again under the trees at the back of the mine. Apparently the horse was a bit miffed at this treatment and spent a while digging a hole in the ground, before going absolutely mad. Or maybe it had been watching too many westerns at the stable. Or perhaps it was just attempting to emulate its masters and wanted to mince around on two legs for a bit. Whatever the reason was, it was scaring the children (small and large alike) so we shoved it back into the trailer and returned it to the stables whereupon it recommenced its game of poker with the cat. Probably.

When we got back, all the fuses had blown and the inside of the mine building was as dark as a brown cow's insides. A bit of gaffer tape and chewing gum later and Mattias, the saviour of Bombadil Publishing, had the lights working again. I suppose my own personal claim to fame is now meeting (well, being in the same room as) Maria Aldrin, who is a relative of Buzz Aldrin. The last time I spoke to Niklas on the subject, he informed me that Maria had not volunteered to divulge exactly how close to the great man she was and Niklas, for his part, had politely neglected to ask. At any rate, it beats my previous best of walking into (quite literally) Trinny and Suzannah on Hammersmith Grove.

My kayak is coming on quite nicely, mainly thanks to Steinar's expertise.



Steinar is the one who actually looks like a kayak builder...



...I'm the one with the slightly Boy George shirt.



I'm aiming to get it into the water before it freezes over. (The kayak, not the shirt.)

/John