Last night, I read up to chapter 9 of the Quenta Silmarillion (Of the Flight of the Nolor), about the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, the abandonment of Fingolfin at Araman, and the burning of the white ships of the Teleri.
I had no idea that elves could be such dicks.
Fëanor needs a clip around the ear. I blame the parents.
In other news, my country turns out to be unable to organise a perfectly simple democratic election. I assume this means we can now expect to be invaded by a “peacekeeping” force from the USA^H^H^HUnited Nations. Happy days.
Usually, election day in the UK is about choosing between the evil and the incompetent. This time, I can hardly tell which is which.
I notice in passing that while the Liberal Democrats have polled nearly a quarter of all votes cast, that’s only got them 52 of the 621 seats that have been declared at the time of writing — 8%. That can’t be right, can it?
(Don’t worry, I won’t be writing about politics again — I only bring it up because of the General Election. Once every five years seems about right.)