Tag Archives: fiction

The Hobbit I Never Expected to Become

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Who is the fictional character you relate to the most?

There are quite a few fictional characters I’ve admired over the years.

Batman for his determination.

Samwise Gamgee for his loyalty.

Dave Lister from Red Dwarf because, despite the chaos around him, he somehow muddles through with humour intact.

But if I’m being asked which fictional character I actually relate to the most…

It has to be Bilbo Baggins.

Not because I dream of fighting dragons or stumbling across magical rings. In fact, given the choice, I’d much rather leave the dragon to someone considerably younger and fitter.

It’s because Bilbo never quite feels like he belongs in the adventure he’s been thrown into.

He’d rather be home.

Tea brewing.

Book in hand.

Knowing exactly where everything is.

That resonates with me more than I’d care to admit.

As an autistic man, I’ve often felt as though the world handed everyone else an instruction manual and that somehow mine got lost in the post. Social situations can be exhausting. Change isn’t always exciting. Crowds, noise and unpredictability can drain me long before anyone else notices there’s anything to be drained by. I’ve spent much of my life trying to understand rules that other people seem to absorb without even thinking about them.

And yet…

Like Bilbo, life has repeatedly nudged me out of my comfortable little hobbit hole.

Moving across the country.

Changing careers.

Standing in front of audiences.

Publishing poetry.

Talking openly about autism and mental health.

None of those things were part of some grand master plan. They simply became the next step along the path. Looking back, many of the moments that felt most uncomfortable at the time became the ones that shaped me the most.

What I also admire about Bilbo is that he isn’t driven by power.

He’s driven by curiosity.

Kindness.

Common sense.

He solves as many problems with compassion and wit as he does with courage.

Those are qualities I value far more than brute strength.

I also suspect we’d get on rather well over a meal.

Anyone capable of appreciating breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner and supper clearly has their priorities in order. In a world that insists on rushing everything, there’s something wonderfully comforting about someone who understands that conversations should never be hurried.

Perhaps that’s why Bilbo continues to endure as a character.

He reminds us that ordinary people are capable of extraordinary things without ever losing sight of who they are.

You don’t have to be fearless.

You don’t have to be the strongest person in the room.

Sometimes it’s enough simply to keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when every instinct is telling you to turn around and head home.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve realised that courage rarely looks like Hollywood tells us it should.

More often, it looks like showing up.

Being kind.

Admitting when you’re wrong.

Learning something new.

Writing another poem.

Helping another person.

Or simply choosing to keep going when life would give you every excuse not to.

Bilbo would probably say he was never really a hero.

I suspect that’s exactly why so many of us see one in him.

Stay safe,

BC

Ten Years of Words, Thoughts and a Journey I Never Expected

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Well, it turns out it’s my website’s birthday.

Ten years ago, I sat down and started building something from scratch. At the time, it was simply a place to put my thoughts, feelings and experiences into words — a way of making sense of the world around me after being diagnosed as Autistic. (Looking back it makes sense)

I don’t think, even in my wildest dreams, I could have imagined where that small beginning would lead me.

Ten years later, this little corner of the internet has become so much more than a website. It has become a place for connection, understanding and shared experiences. It has allowed me to tell my story, to open conversations, and to hopefully help others feel a little less alone on their own journeys.

When I first started writing, I had no idea who would read my words or where they would take me. I certainly never imagined that so many people would come along for the ride, follow my journey and offer their support along the way.

For that, I am truly grateful.

To everyone who has read a blog post, shared a story, sent a message, offered encouragement or simply taken the time to understand — thank you. Your support has meant more than you probably realise. Every interaction has been a reminder that sharing our experiences can create connections that we never expected.

Of course, there is one person who deserves a very special thank you: Mrs Bob.

Behind the scenes, she has been my constant support throughout this entire journey. She has written, proofread, made phone calls, helped shape my thoughts and, most importantly, been my neurotypical whisperer when I’ve needed someone to help translate my way of seeing the world.

She has worked tirelessly alongside me, often without recognition, and I honestly couldn’t have reached this point without her.

Looking back over these ten years, I realise this website has been a record of growth, discovery and acceptance. It has captured moments of frustration, joy, learning and everything in between.

The journey hasn’t always been straightforward, but it has always been mine.

So, on this tenth birthday, I’m not just celebrating a website. I’m celebrating the conversations started, the friendships made, the lessons learned and the incredible community that has grown around it.

Thank you for being part of my journey.

Here’s to the next chapter.

Bob

Stay safe

Bc

Ps here’s that first post I put out…

https://bob-christian.com/2016/07/31/hello/

A Seat at Bilbo’s Table

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If you could have dinner with any fictional character, who would it be?

I’d choose Bilbo Baggins.

Not because he’s the greatest hero in Middle-earth, but because I suspect dinner with Bilbo wouldn’t really be dinner at all. It would begin with breakfast, roll effortlessly into elevenses, pause for luncheon, continue with afternoon tea, become dinner somewhere around sunset, and conclude with supper long after everyone sensible had gone to bed.

And somehow, none of it would feel rushed.

There is something wonderfully appealing about people who understand that meals are about more than food. They’re about conversation, laughter, stories, and the gift of time shared with others. In a world that seems determined to make everything faster, Bilbo reminds us that some things are worth lingering over.

Of course, the stories would be extraordinary.

Not because Bilbo set out to become a hero.Quite the opposite. He was happiest in his comfortable hobbit hole with a full pantry and an empty diary. Yet when adventure came knocking—rather persistently, if I remember correctly—he chose to answer.

That’s one of the reasons I’ve always liked Bilbo. He wasn’t fearless. He wasn’t looking for glory. He simply discovered that courage isn’t the absence of comfort; it’s the willingness to leave comfort behind when something greater calls.

I imagine the stories would become less about dragons, dwarves, and treasure, and more about the people he met, the mistakes he made, the friendships he formed, and how unexpected journeys have a habit of changing us in ways we never anticipated.

Gandalf would undoubtedly make fascinating company, but I suspect I’d spend the whole evening trying to keep up with him. Bilbo, on the other hand, would probably refill my plate, pour another cup of tea, and quietly remind me that the most memorable evenings aren’t always the most dramatic.

Sometimes they’re simply spent around a table with good food, honest conversation, and someone who has learned that the greatest adventures often begin with an unexpected invitation.

I’d happily accept that invitation.

After all, there’s always time for one more cup of tea.

Stay safe

Bc

The Road Ahead Might Be Above Us

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What’s a piece of technology you’re convinced will exist in 20 years?

I know a lot of people immediately think of flying cars, and I have to admit, they’ve been promised for what feels like forever.

Every generation seems convinced they’re only a few years away. Yet somehow we’re still sitting in traffic, wondering why the person three cars ahead hasn’t noticed the light changed.

But I do think we’ll get there.

Not necessarily with everyone owning a flying car, though. If history has taught us anything, it’s that new technology usually starts off eye-wateringly expensive before slowly becoming normal.

What I can genuinely imagine is something a little different.

Driverless flying taxis.

Imagine standing outside your house, opening an app, and instead of a car pulling up at the kerb, a quiet electric aircraft lands on a designated pad nearby. You climb in, tell it where you’re going, and it simply… goes.

No steering wheel.

No traffic jams.

No arguing over who forgot to indicate.

Just computers doing what computers generally do best—following instructions.

The engineering doesn’t actually seem that far-fetched anymore. We already have autonomous vehicles being tested, drones capable of carrying significant loads, and electric aircraft making impressive progress. Put those technologies together, refine them over a couple of decades, and suddenly yesterday’s science fiction starts looking remarkably practical.

Of course, knowing my luck, the first time I stepped into one it would decide to update its software halfway through the journey.

“Please remain calm while FlightOS installs 7,483 important security updates…”

Maybe I’d wait for version two.

Still, I think this is one of those ideas that will eventually become so ordinary our grandchildren will struggle to understand why we spent hours crawling along motorways every Friday afternoon.

Just as we smile at the idea of people once believing the internet would never catch on, they’ll probably smile at us for thinking flying taxis sounded impossible.

The future has a funny habit of arriving one small step at a time.

Stay safe,

Bc

If 1984 Had a Sequel, We’d Already Be Living in It

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What’s a book you think deserves a sequel?

1984.

Not because George Orwell got it wrong.

Quite the opposite.

He got so much right that it’s almost unsettling to read today.

The genius of 1984 wasn’t really Big Brother. It wasn’t Room 101, the Thought Police, or even Winston Smith.

It was Orwell’s understanding that power doesn’t just control people.

It controls reality.

Back then, that meant burning books, rewriting newspapers, and dropping inconvenient facts into the Memory Hole.

Today?

I’m not convinced anyone would even bother.

Why erase history when you can simply personalise it?

Imagine an Orwell sequel set in the present day.

Every citizen has a different version of yesterday.

Not because the government rewrote it overnight, but because an algorithm quietly decided which version would keep you engaged.

Your neighbour remembers an event differently because their feed told a different story.

Your parents saw another version.

Your children never saw it at all.

History wouldn’t disappear.

It would fragment.

Truth would become localised.

Debatable.

Optional.

And that’s far more dangerous than censorship.

Because it’s difficult to fight lies when everyone is convinced they’re looking at the facts.

Big Brother would have changed too.

In Orwell’s world, oppression wore a face.

There were posters.

Slogans.

A dictator watching from every wall.

Today’s version wouldn’t need any of that.

Big Brother wouldn’t be a man.

It wouldn’t even be a government.

It would be a seamless partnership between corporations, artificial intelligence and state interests, quietly learning everything about us while insisting it’s all for our convenience.

No boots stamping on faces.

Just terms and conditions we never read.

No compulsory telescreens bolted to our walls.

We’d happily carry them ourselves.

We already do.

Tiny glowing rectangles that know where we are, what we’ve bought, who we talk to, how fast our heart beats, what keeps us awake at three in the morning, and which adverts are most likely to make us click “Buy Now.”

And we’d queue overnight to upgrade them.

The Thought Police wouldn’t arrest you for thinking the wrong thing.

They’d predict what you were likely to think before you knew yourself.

They’d know when you were lonely.

When you were angry.

When you were vulnerable.

Not to protect you.

To market to you.

To influence you.

To gently nudge your decisions until they felt like your own.

The cleverest form of control has never been force.

It’s persuasion disguised as freedom.

That’s what makes Orwell’s world feel less like fiction every year.

The scary part isn’t that 1984 might need a sequel.

It’s that, if Orwell were alive today, he might simply rename it…

2026.

Stay safe,

Bc