Tobias: Welcome fellow editors to the Literally Stories Autumn summit.
Diane: Where is my drink?
Tobias: Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t bring any alcohol.
Diane: Oh deary… I thought for sure there would be a few bottles of wine. And some for you guys as well.
Right! The story is done. A long stand in the pissing rain waiting for that bird. Fecking camera in the fecking phone pish. What twat thought of that? I bet it was some weirdo with an ear fetish!
OK now the easy bit…Oh fuck I do make myself laugh.
”Did you know that The Hobbit has 95022 words?”
“I didn’t. Now, watch your head. You’re taller than I thought. I mean, I’ve only seen your picture-“
“Yes, those are deliberately small. So this is your man cave?”
Nik skipped and yodeled his way to the brewing station. “Here! Look here. Now, wait, let me conduct a little presentation for you, my Swedish friend. Here, is where ale becomes Bale – that’s a Welsh football reference – here, is where a pond of swans becomes Swansea. But enough of my great Welsh puns, HERE, is where the best beer brews, buddy.”
Tobias sniffed and smiled, sniffed and smiled. By now, he was more dog-like than people-like. “So spin me the tail… I mean tale of the beer.”
”Sit down, my good friend, sit down.” Adam gave Tobias a stout. “There you go. Something imperial to take your mind off of things.”
“Thank you, kind sir. My mind has been racing, that’s for sure.” Tobias took a big enough sip for it to be called a chug, but he did it in such a gentlemanlike way it remained a sip. “Mind if I share with you what burdens me?”
“I’m all… wait -” Adam chugged a stout and slumped down. “Ears.”
“I’m a Swede, as you know, and therefore when I write English, prone to make mistakes. Some are because it’s a second language and some are genuine mistakes. Let’s start with the latter. Take for instance the word mistake. In Swedish a miss is always spelled with two S. Even when writing mistakes-”
“I’m sensing a pun here…”