Welcome, dear readers, to what would seem to be the late April Fool's edition of About Town, a.k.a. Gondolin Gone Bonkers. (Many thanks to my colleague Charisma for leaving Inside Gondolin in a huff! Competing publications, keep an eye on your office coffee supplies.) Next thing you know, the skies will be filled with winged bacon and Prince Maeglin will run the place. Please don't exile me.
There are many things about the House of the Heavenly Arch that puzzle me (How do they get stone to sparkle like that? Do Archers plan color schemes for their weddings or do they just vomit Skittles and call it a day?) but the latest on the street is truly bizarre: Who hasn't spied Lord Egalmoth out and about lately (not to mention vividly), always with the same lucky lady? (Talk about bananas. They don't, though, or at least not within earshot.) Word has it the lovely lass in question used to tote a bit more below the belt. "Used to". Sure, my lord. I refer you to the shoes. Do mix it up from time to time, though. I've a single daughter and your rake's reputation is at stake.
Spotted last Friday was Lord Penlodh, being picked up by his new Pillar of the community after a stint in the drunk tank. Granted, this in itself is only a shocker if you've been living under the Rock. But how will my lofty lord's Houses rise above the scandal of all this newfound responsibility? Those in the know suggest the stunning Second (I didn't look like that before I had the one kid, let alone three) and her Tower counterpart will whip those Houses into respectable shape. Has anyone warned Lord Penlodh? Or is it the whip he likes? He did pay for it, after all.
Prying eyes tell me Lord Tuor is still cranky and impatient, and I'm boggled he's held out this long. Very noble, your lordship, but you already have a kid. Have you forgotten how? I suggest two or three viewings of the amateur video, A Fluid Sin. There's been much debate about the identity of the bendy blonde, anyway, so feel free to extrapolate. Please don't exile me. (Speaking of light treason, Confidential to L.Y.—No, there doesn't have to be any truth to ugly gossip for me to write about it in Flowery detail. But it's more fun if there is! Apropos of nothing at all, really, where's our favorite Harpsilord been? Still recovering from his hipcheck/clipwreck in New Haven?)
Paul from Paulie Wanna Cracker (send free goodies c/o Cleo Tomlinson, Inside Gondolin, 21 Market St.) writes in to tell us he saw Lady Duilien yukking it up with the Fountain second-in-command and a mystery man, and that she likes to be called "sir". To that I say "used to". Show Paul your rack, my lady, and he'll call you whatever you want.
But the rubbernecker moment of the week comes courtesy of yours truly, when I looked out my window this morning to see that someone [Ed. note: That's Hélène's work, no question.] managed to blow up Lord Ecthelion (okay, so he does swing that way) and splatter him all over some billboards. I'm sure those marketing wizards think they're being cleverly cryptic but my sources tell me my lord will soon be making long-overdue beautiful music in the privacy of my own home/bathtub. Yours, too! I checked my email to find that at least one insightful reader had the same idea: I don't think that insert is too small for a proper centerfold. And would you believe I was a pinup myself, back in the day? -T. Torthingwon (not her real name). I don't think she was talking about a CD insert and no, I wouldn't believe it, but not to worry, T. We were all thinking it. ❧