A short story I wrote about a recent drive into work, taking a slight diversion through Arborfield:
The Story About Man In The Village And The Duck In The Village And The Pond In The Village
I drove through a village, and I saw a man in the village, and the man in the village was chasing after a duck, and the duck ran away from the man in the village, and the man in the village ran even faster after the duck, and the man from the village slipped and fell head first into the duck pond, and the man's friends and all the ducks laughed and laughed and laughed, and I laughed and laughed and laughed as well, and then I realised that if I had filmed the man from the village chasing after the duck until he fell head first into the duck pond I could have got £250 from You've Been Framed, but I didn't have a camera because it's against the law to film things when you are driving, even men in villages falling head first into duck ponds, so I stopped laughing and drove to work and had a nice cup of tea.
THE END... or is it?
Post Script: I drove past the same pond the other morning. The ducks are gone. There are only chickens. I fear something may have happened