The lonely exnographer

Let me begin with a little story, a Once Upon a Time... Perhaps one might like to call this a cautionary tale. But that would be to embrace a slippery oxymoron of control, coupled with a freedom. Better to make this a fairytale, and give the reader an active role in deciding what to call it...

Thus:

Once upon a time, in a land that was pleasantly warm and unpleasantly humid, it turned 1pm. A dwarf and a lynx (curious mix that) stared at each other across an shiny ocean, and realised that they could not communicate. To complicate this sorry state of affairs, Minnie Mouse tiptoed in (hoping for entertainment, one imagines, though it is hard to speak for the mind of such a seemingly-sweet, but rather tricky character). Finally, Mother Goose arrived, full of stories, if only one had asked her.

The lynx, preening, as lynx's are want to do, suggested a conversation of 20 minutes, no rules. Surely that was possible? However, the rather timid dwarf fled - to the sanctuary of next week, whereupon this tale might recommence.

The end.