Essay by Sam Wood
Lord of the Rings means nothing to me. I can live without it,
my precious. Who am I trying to kid? When I came out of the cinema
in December 2001 I knew I had been captured by its magic. My life
had changed. I had become a ringer.
- Lurking when I should be working.
- Meeting up with other ringers from different places to go and see the object of our obsession.
- Coughing at the mushroom scene to see if there are any other ringers in the audience and then laughing my pants off when I discover that there aren’t any.
- Setting up camp at the letterbox for the imminent arrival of my membership package, Cinefax magazine, mallorn leaf pin or other Lord of the Rings goodies.
- Making or buying clothes that might make me look just a little more like a hobbit.
- Sleeping, perchance to dream about nice little hobbitses.
- Listening to the soundtrack on my way to work imagining that I’m off on an adventure, quest type thing.
- Writing fan fiction and top ten lists.
- Learning to count to 200 so I can enter the essay competition, but most of all it means.
- Having fun.