• The Sunday sunrise shone shyly across the sloping settlement of Theshire. Billy poked his rotund face from the hole in the ground, clammy hands clutching his cloth case of coins, and smiled. He emerged from the hole which served as a front-door – which, in reality, was more of an up-door – strapped the sack to his belt loop, and set out to start the day.
    Billy Bobbins was an esteemed member of the people of whom most un-affectionately referred to as ‘Nobbits’ (or, in some circles, Nobs). Nobbits were stout, plump and extremely conservative, trapped in the stubborn traditions and technologically-impaired lifestyle of simpler times. They were rustic and rural, and knew very little of the world past their farms and fields. They had no king and no leader; a Nobbit’s social standing was determined by the size of his crop. Billy Bobbins of Nob End possessed a carrot such that it was the envy of every Nobbit for miles.
    As such, the greying Mr Bobbins was greeted with a respectful tip of the hat and a polite rumble from everybody he passed. Often, Billy believed he spotted a glint of malice and contempt in the eyes that barely could be seen past the culprits’ ridiculously wide-brimmed hats, thus Billy had opted to distance himself from the rest of his fellow farmers.
    That is, unless it were a Sunday.
    Nobbits lived for Sundays, for that was the one day of the week in which they had the opportunity to freely snoop among the possessions of their rivals, and have a good gossip and a gasp at their expense. Sundays were, of course, market day.
    In the centre of Theshire, a vast field had been cleared, and it was to that field that the Nobbits from far and wide brought their ‘hand-me-downs’, their ‘pass-me-ups’, and their ‘you-really-should-have-thrown-me-aways’, in hopes of trading them for coin and cattle. Those that had previously sold off their unwanted nick-nacks brought whole herds of livestock, hoping to refurnish their burrows with all sorts of useless clutter.
    Billy was a rare exception. This rather industrious Nobbit had mastered the art of buying low and selling high, swindling his rivals out of the best livestock and produce, and now owned nigh on half of Theshire. Ever since, the wealthy Nob graced the markets with his presence simply in order to observe the chaos from upon his high horse (or, in this case, his high pony – Nobbits were notoriously short), and to allow himself an amused smirk as the lesser Nobbits bustled, bristled and bickered endlessly.
    The sequence Billy observed was this: the Nobbits would be swept along, stall-to-stall, at a snail’s pace, until one of them spotted an item he or she deemed desirable. Upon noticing this interest, the Nobs in the direct vicinity would suddenly (out of spite) decide that the object in question should, in fact, belong to them, and would shout at the poor vendor and each other, furiously waving coins and chickens in the air, each trying to outdo the other. When a satisfactory offer had been reached, the vendor would chase off the unsuccessful applicants with pebbles, rotten eggs, and other equally pungent missiles, and after a lot of cries of disgust, would be left with the buyer. They would then enter a heated haggling session for the next half an hour. Poultry and prize exchange hands, a muttered thanks, and the winner struts off to make another attempt elsewhere. At the end of the day, the Nobbits would return home, laden with the items they had fought for so tirelessly. Upon arriving, they would look at all they had bought and realise they did not, in fact, need those things after all, and would box them away ready to sell next Sunday.
    As for Billy, he had all the livestock and crops he needed. His burrow was lavishly decorated with the finest junk in all of Nobbolk, so at market he would use his well-earned coin to buy building materials. By the time he was 80, he had expanded his burrow into a warren – a mansion by Nobbit standards – and left his 50 grandchildren a rather hefty inheritance. With this inheritance, his descendents flourished and established the first mining company.
    And so, the rural race of the Nobbits entered into the industrial era, polluted Little Earth, and eventually brought about a level of pollution-induced climate change from which no race could or would ever recover.