10.25am Gosh. Sheets. These are nice. Comparison to lying in ditch covered by meagre layer of dirty straw is v excellent (esp since small creatures try to live in toe hair). Straw covered days seeming indistinct. Did they happen, or was all bad dream inspired by eating M&S cream cake past sell-by-date?

Hmm. What is M&S anyway? Strange thought.

Immediate craving for pipe spoils sheet bound reverie. Cut to chase.

"Where am I? What is the time?"

"In the house of Elrond and it is ten o'clock in the morning."

Ahhhh. Have had bodily substances scared out of self. "Has no one ever suggested to you that creeping up on people who are sick is less than constructive?"

"Don't be absurd," said Gandalf in his usual affable way. "I didn't creep. I've been sitting here for three hours."

"Oh shut up. Do you have my pipe?"

"It's safe. And so are you, Which is really quite surprising after attacking the mightiest servant of the dark lord just because he didn't give 'nuff respect' to your shoes."

Eeeeeek. They know! How did they know? I told everyone that witch king had manipulated me with evil force of black breath.

"You have talked long in your sleep…"

Ohmygod. How embarrassing. What other dreadful things have I said? Does he know that….

"Strider was in here earlier. I told him you would be awake soon."

OK. So have to share irritating habit of Gandalf in appearing to read self's mind without definitely giving away that he has done so. Has been doing this for 17 years and was annoying after one. Of course, if G is not in fact reading minds then surely cannot be blamed for accidentally saying pertinent things, but will still throw soup over him if he does it again.

"Ms Bridget!"

Oh great. As if to compound fact that I have been stabbed, trampled, forced to sleep in ditches, got my nice shoes burned and been ignored by gorgeous ranger type, Sam is here. Have yet to work out point of Sam. When was young hobbit, thought that maybe having rugged gardener have crush on self would be cool, but this servile 'Ms Bridget' crap and constant forelock tugging is wearing a tad thin. In ideal world would have careful blend of Sam and Strider, in which Strider contributed looks, personality and dress sense, and Sam contributed dutiful obedience and longing. Hmm. Have probably hit on secret of romantic happiness. Wonder if ring could achieve such miracle?

Bloody thing would probably do it backwards on purpose. What's he saying?

"I've been so worried. I've hardly left your side all week!"

Ugh. So have been lying unconscious in sole company of handiman type with crush on self. Why not tell me have been left lying in a ditch with spiders crawling over body, would be less yucky.

"Um. Thanks. That's really nice." OK so am awful liar. Sue me. "Gandalf - am I allowed to get up?" Chances of escaping Sam are minimal if still bed-bound. Pleasepleaseplease….

Ooh. Good news (for once). Gandalf says Elrond is holding feast tonight. In my honour! Gosh - hope Strider will be impressed. As long as hasn't heard about moccasin-rage. Must find suitable guest of honour dress for this evening. Need immediate help from Merry and Pippin.

2pm.

Oh my god. Amazing thing has happened. Was nosing around Rivendell (note: beautiful surroundings but exclusive property prices) when bumped into small, wizened creature like walking raisin. Mumbled my apologies when the raisin looked up at me with a twinkly eye and said "Hullo Bridget my lass!" Raisin none other than long-lost Uncle Bilbo! Was overcome with joy and cried all over him until he got quite cross.

Seems he wandered around the lands for a bit, went back to the Lonely Mountain (sometimes feel such would be good description of self, esp when cream bun indulgence has been undergone) and then came to live in Rivendell (note: explanation of lack of cash in pantry - Bilbo invested all in quaint Rivendell semi). Has been here for years.

"Why didn't you write, you bastard!" Pleased as I was to see him, I could not for the life of me work out why he had not tried to let me know he was safe. For about two years I carried on tradition of celebrating his birthday as if alive, but then heard from Pippin that all men in Hobbiton thought I was bonkers for doing it so I stopped.

Bilbo seemed rather stumped. "Write, Bridget? Me? The celebrated hobbit author with friends across middle-earth amongst all the races? What could I find to write about and who would I have sent it with?"

Had to admit that this was perfectly sound reasoning. "Are you coming to the feast, tonight?"

My beloved raisin flinched at very suggestion. "Goodness me, no. I'm far too old for that sort of thing!" This rather puzzled me. When I had last seen him, he had looked 51 (same age as me, though of course still look like overweight 33 year old), but only 17 years later he looks 120 odd (fittingly, as is such). "Yes," he nodded sadly. "All those years of being well-preserved - it soon ran out when I left you the ring. About a year after I gave it up, I suddenly found myself ageing visibly every day. Quite horrible, you know."

Ugh! Will look middle-aged! Will resemble some form of dried boron-rich fruit product. And they want me to destroy the ring?? They must be bonkers.

9pm.

"Bridget. You look marvellous!"

Yes. Someone said that to me. Even better, it was Strider! Have pulled out all stops tonight, wearing floor length black number designed to carefully conceal feet. One of the Elves suggested waxing, but had horrible vision of toes swelling up to size of tomatoes and thought better of it. Am convinced that feast in self's honour, looking as hot as a barbecued chilli is best (prob only) chance to impress Mr TDH (Tall Dark & Haggard).

I glowed at him.

"I must say you look nothing like the idiot Hobbit I saw lap-dancing at the Prancing Pony…"

"I was not lap-dancing!" Why was he spoiling the moment? But then is man, and have come to conclusion that men, while so often playing key part of moments, do not know they are happening. Which explains their transient nature, like a people created by a god that is unaware of them, who then sits down on them while drinking twelve pints of beer. Said moments therefore have similar survival rate of snowball in Mordor.

But he was still smiling. Other point is that we are willing to forgive men on the off chance that they will create another moment further down the line. The night is young.

9.20pm Goody. Food.

9.40pm Cream buns! Creeeeeeeeeeeam Buns! Weeeeeeeeeeeee!

9.42pm OK, steady on. Attempting to break world record of number of cream buns shoved into ones mouth will have low 'impress Strider' rating. Must somehow resist evil lure of cream bun.

9.43pm OK, moft sho eeshee to reshisht bunf. Nife fough.

9.50pm. Ahem. Anyway. Have managed to get seat opposite Strider. Have reluctantly come to conclusion that it better to be able to hover in his eye-line all night than it is to actually be able to speak to him. At least means that any moments created by smiles cannot easily be ruined. Mildly annoying, however, that Sam is sitting on his right and keeps thinking self is smiling at him.

More strange is that only empty seat at table is on Strider's left. Who isn't here?

12.00pm.

Right, that does it. Utter disaster. Calamity. Death and destruction. The worst has happened.

I do not, of course, refer to the enemy seizing the ring. I am referring to another woman.

Where did she come from? Everything was going well, and had reached 13 in special 'nice smile' count, when Elf Queen from Hell comes in. Even her ears were thin, for goodness sake. And Strider had broken the 13 smiles count with her within about 20 seconds. There she sat, staring dreamily at him from underneath those pre-plucked eyebrows Elves have, all bloody night. He didn't look at self again.

Let Sauron take over bloody world. Cannot make it worse.

2.30pm

Thought elves were supposed to be wise. Spend pleasant autumn months idling in last homely house. Wait for winter. Then set out on horrible journey up mountainside. Genius.

Have kept warm so far by smoking self to death (if was kipper would be v edible by now), and by huddling close to the faggots that Gandalf keeps throwing on the fire. Attempt on Caradhras now abandoned, and we are trying other way. Other way is very mysterious. Gandalf keeps pulling funny faces whenever it is mentioned. Strider keeps pulling his collars up about his face and looking moody, but since looking moody is Strider's raison d'etre am not particularly concerned. Rest of group have no idea what other way is and are on verge of kicking them to death to find out. Will join in happily and expunge Arwen-related angst at same time.

Ug. Merry is convinced that Boromir fancies me. Is specially horrid since have been picked up out of snow drifts by him several times today, and have had his face pressed into my bottom. Thought at time was heroic sacrifice, but Merry putting distressing thoughts in head. Apparently he keeps staring at me.

Hmm. How wind howls.

2.50pm

3pm

At least when Uncle Bilbo got lost in caverns had strange slimy thing to play riddle games with. Friends have all gone moody and quiet and am bored. Boromir keeps trying to get friendly and offering drink, which is all well and good, but Boz is as interesting as watching Battle of Greenfields re-enactment society annual punch up.

Moria is dull. Was promised Dwarves - got darkness, big holes in ground and the sound of someone hitting the ground with a fish, which won't go away. Am praying for something exciting to happen.

3.05pm

Oops.

Who ever is playing the drums, could they please try and inject a little rhythm into it? Some people have musical flair of cabbage.

Thank am in trouble. Gandalf is rushing around shutting doors, which either means a) there's a bit of a draft and it's setting off his lumbago, or b) there's a horde of evil scaly slant eyed ravenous Orcs outside, and we're about to get horribly murdered. Think scaly option more likely, though have often wondered what happens if you kick away Gandalf's staff.

Drums getting louder. Oh, and if listen carefully can just make out flute melody.

3.30pm

Ouch. Have been skewered like Wild Boar.

3.45pm

Omigod. Horrible shadowy fire wreathed giant thing. Think is ex-boyfriend. Gandalf is doing best to scare it away, but it looks like it means business.

"You cannot pass! I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Ainur! You cannot pass!"

The thing is just looking at him. Looks a bit surprised. "Yeah? What, you?"

"It is so!"

"But you're tiny!"

"Size isn't everything!" snaps Gandalf. Oh aye. You know what they say about men who say things like that, don't you. "You cannot enter here…"

If I'm right, that'd be the least of his problems….

"…Back from this place, or I shall plunge you into the abyss!"

Once again…

"Yeah? Sez you! Just get out of the way, you shrivelled old git, and let me at the others."

Gandalf raises his arms wide. "Never, flame of Udûn."

"Bloody hell, you're a dull old fart. Anyone ever tell you that. OK, let's fight, if that's what you want. I have to warn you, I am a Balrog, you know."

The wizard tuts. "I know, I know. For goodness' sake, do you think I'm an idiot? What do you think all that 'flame of Udûn' stuff was about?'"

The Balrog shrugs, which is very clever, since his shoulders are obscured by shadow. "I dunno. Thought you must have read it somewhere. Who are you then?"

"I am Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim."

The Balrog brightens. "Oh! The guy who does the cartoons?"

"No!"

"Oh. Never heard of you then."

"I've had just about enough of this. Go away or get your sword out, you shadowy goon."

"I thought you were better at the flame of Udûn type stuff, actually…"

"Right, that does it!"

Huddled up with rest of company as Gandalf and Balrog start fighting. Note that Balrog is cheating slightly as has whip as well as sword. But Gandalf is doing rather well.

Hurrah! Has cleverly collapsed stone bridge beneath Balrog's feet and plunged it into abyss as bravely predicted! Marvellous Gandalf. Run over to congratulate him.

"That was brilliant!"

Gandalf turns round in surprise, looses his footing on fractured rock, and falls off the remains of the bridge. "Why can't you just **** off, you stupid cow?" he cries out as his disappears into the gloom.

Strider rushes over. "Oh no! What happened?"

Omigod. What do I say? "um. He must have been exhausted by the fight and he fell. It's terrible."

Strider shook his head in shock. "This is awful. What did he say? I heard him shout something to you. What was his last command."

Panic grips me, but am always at best when attempting to avoid embarrassment. "He said, 'fly you fool'."

Well. He did. Sort of.