sex

We learn very little about hobbit sex from the hallowed tomes of Mr Tolkien; though naturally he drops subtle hints about their libidinous habits. For example Sam Gamgee clearly fancies Rosie, but it’s possible he fancies Frodo too.

If you’ve ever read Lord of the Rings you’ll know what I mean by this because Sam and Frodo’s relationship borders on the awkwardly homoerotic. They do a lot of hugging and ‘Oh please Mr Frodo, I’ll follow you everywhere’ smushy kind of stuff.

Hobbit sex is bound to be uncomfortable, what with Gandalf and gangs of dwarves popping around for tea and muffins at the drop of a (pointy wizard’s) hat. Imagine the poor little beggars, humping away like jack hammers on the kitchen table when suddenly:

**knock**

‘Ah, oh, AH… What was THAT?!’

‘Hush dear, it was nought but a knarly old willow branch a-tapping at the casement. Now lie back and think of the Brandywine.’

**KNOCK!**

‘No, I definitely heared a persistent BANGING on the front door, Merry.’

Suddenly the door bursts open and in strides Gandalf with a huge… entourage of dwarves from the northern-most mines of Dwarrowdelf.

‘Merry! Berry! My dear little nut brown sex-pots; please don’t stop on our account. I hope you’ve put the kettle on. Now, where are your muffins?’

The whole thing seems voyeuristic, and I blame wizard induced coitus interruptus for the scarcity of hobbits. Then we must consider their huge hairy feet and long dagger-like toenails. It’s hard to get it on when your bodily appendages are like Brillo-Pads. Spoils the moment. Friction burns. Localised wounds.

And what of Gollum? Don’t forget that before he claimed the ring (snigger) as his own, he was but a numble hobbity-type personage. Gollum is really the gimp of Tolkien’s pervy pantheon. He lives in a dark damp smelly place (his dungeon) has OCD and thrives on pain.

After all, he spent weeks in the torture chambers of Barad-dûr lapping it all up… Until (one suspects) he started to enjoy it, and crawled back for more whippings from the hand of Sauron.

Naturally this is why gimpy Gollum is single and unable to join Match.com like the rest of us oh-so-very normal people.

This winter was mild compared to the terrible Artic weather which ripped across the UK last year, and at last winter has yielded to glorious spring-shine, and the forecast is for five days of rock solid sun.

I used to think our national obsession with the weather was strange, but it really does affect our collective mood. During the darker months people seem to drag themselves around; their demeanour is much like orcs in Lord of the Rings, heading for the Black Lands with the idea of torturing some cute furry mammal with a rusty razor.. I suspect those people work in banks.

But when spring unpacks her lovely bags and moves in for a few weeks, things improve dramatically. Shorts are worn, revealing pale British legs the colour of Wensleydale cheese – and the spotty traumatised masses emerge from countless urban habitats wearing not many clothes and clutching bottles of cheap booze.

People smile. Some of them speak. ‘Hello, lovely day!’ And all because of the weather.

The hordes are headed for parks and town centres where they will sit around and wait for things to happen. The Fit squeeze into tight-fitting Lycra and parade sexy flesh through the streets, displaying their genetic superiority to all and sundry. The trick is to look as if you’re not on display. Wear huge headphones and a neutral expression. Boobs and bums bounce to the rhythm of countless iPods. Hair swishes. Sweat falls like salty rain onto the parched ground.

Spring unleashes thoughts of courtship and perhaps even love. I think human sexuality can be quite discreet at times, and shady corners harbour dusty ghosts. Lovers, whose hands move quietly over each other like secret shadows. Clouds part above them and mouths crush together as if to say, ‘Let’s perpetuate’.

‘Let us not pray – let us perpetuate.’

This is a theme carried throughout the whole of Nature. Birds sing more vehemently, the grass rustles with unknown battalions of creatures marching on their bellies. And all this to fuel a movement towards the great unknown we call ‘the future’. What is this mysterious future? I do not know, but its seeds are in the present, planted by you and me. Have an excellent spring. And remember to sow those seeds while you still can.