A wizened old man, covered from head to foot in pots and pans, snoozes happily in a large leather-bound armchair in the corner. However, the strident words of the young interloper, awake him from his slumber and, with a metallic clatter, he sits up suddenly and holds a trumpet to his ear (or, rather, to the side of the saucepan covering his ear).
"Eh? Wha-!" he mutters through well-worn dentures.
But, seeing the enthusastic youngster, he smiles benevolently, recalling the exuberance of his own youth.
"Welcome to the Undying Lands Retirement Home for the morbidly-Tolkien obsessed," he chuckles.
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Do you mind? I'm busy doing the fishstick. It's a very delicate state of mind!
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