Cracker by Damian Christie

Frodo's Battle for Endor

I’ve fallen into the habit of wanting to start all my posts with the word ‘so’. And it would seem I’m not alone.

There’s a certain faux-casualness implicit in such a beginning, it’s good for dropping significant facts into a conversation without them seeming out of place. It’s like we’re just finishing a conversation we were having yesterday. “So my Chlamydia has cleared up nicely.” “Oh cool, I’m glad about that.”

So I’ve managed to Sméagol my way in to the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King junket in Wellington at the end of the month. And you, dear reader, will be right there with me, albeit in a slightly delayed and six degrees of separation kind of way, as I post and brag, and brag and post and generally gush about the greatness of Sir Pete.

The coolest part of it all is that I get to see the third instalment of Jackson’s masterwork TWO DAYS before the world premiere. After which I’m going to run to the nearest crowded place and talk loudly on my cellphone: “So I saw the new Lord of the Rings film…”. The next day I get to interview some of the cast (yes guys, Liv; yes ladies, Orlando) and generally make a nuisance of myself on the red carpet the following evening.

The fact that I’m going at all proves to me a couple of things. First, I’m good at Sméagoling. Second, the world is an inherently unfair place. My best mate Ben is one of the biggest Lord of the Rings fans around (while still retaining enough dignity to be cool). He’s read all the books countless times, including the Very Hard Going Silmarillion. He knows where the elves came from originally. He hates it when I constantly refer to “the Twin Towers” just to piss him off. He hates it more when I ask why the Ewoks haven’t featured yet.

He took the news I was going to Wellington remarkably well, all things considered.

So I can’t wait to tell him what I thought of “Return of the Ring”.