It was a windy autumn evening when the little men of that Hobbit re-enactment play in my back garden - gnomes, not dwarves - hurdled up in front of my fire place, suggested to shave off their beards. 'If you do, your life will never be the same', I remarked. 'We have to be ready for stubble love - yours, or worldwide', they mumbled. 'Besides, you keep staring at that man', they groaned. 'Old Rich', I said with a warm, golden voice. 'May he travel safe. He is on an adventure.'
** Image obtained through RAnet, TFB added a warm, golden touch **