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There now follows a true story:

Once upon a time, in a forest not so far from here, a young man was going for a walk. His name was Cantus and he was an artist (of sorts) by trade.

He'd been walking all day and was feeling a little tired from the road so he decided to take a rest.

Looking around, his eyes fell on a small cottage nestling gently in the woods a short distance from the road. He decided to strike out for this hoping to find shelter, perhaps in some out building or on the leeward side of the building (as the wind was beginning to pick up).

As he approached the building it occurred to him that it was in fact vacant and, having only a vague understanding of property law, stepped inside.

The interior was modest, as you might expect from the interior of a small woodland cottage in a story such as this. Directly in front of him were half a dozen or so rough hewn chairs at a sturdy looking wooden table. Set on the table were more than several place settings. As if a small group of people, at some time in the past, breakfasted here but left without tidying up.

A thick layer of dust covered everything floor to ceiling. Rubbish was strewn around the room and there was a rather disturbing smell that i wouldn't like to try and describe as the mere thought of it makes me retch.

Being a tidy soul, young Cantus decided to do a spot of spring cleaning (although it was actually October). After a cursory search of the room revealed no cleaning products - not one mop, broom, duster or bucket for the putting of bleach therein - he decided to simply throw out all the mess and work from there.

A grubby, dusty and somewhat back breaking age passed before young Cantus finally felt he had reached a stage where he could sit down without contract some rare disease. So sit down he did.

Only to find that first chair was too soft. I can't sit there he thought, it's too comfy. Too long and I'll fall asleep and I'll never get all the rest of the rooms tidied (behind some particularly gruesome mire he had discovered several adjoining - and duly mucky - bedrooms, a kitchen and a really disgusting bathroom. In which he had found some really disturbing hairs cramming up the plughole. He hoped beyond hope that the previous occupants had had a dog or something. The Kitchen had been filled with bowl upon bowl of porridge and a book entitled 50 Really Simple Porridge Recipes).

Unfortunately for Cantus at this point 2 things happened. Firstly the owners of the cottage - 7 short men, with even shorter tempers, and their 3 pet bears - were drawing near.

And secondly, overwhelmed by the comfort of the first chair, Cantus fell asleep.

The door swung wide open and the owners, back from a week working in the diamond mine swaggered and staggered in.

"Hey, who's been sitting in my chair?" said one dwarf.

"Well it was quite blatantly that bloke there wasn't it," replied another.

"growr" said a bear.

"Shut up Bear." said a dwarf.

"Hey. Who's been messing with my stuff?" asked a third dwarf "My collection of tasteful etchings of playful nymphs and dryads is missing!"

"Your pile of obscene porn has gone too Doc."

"Who would've done such a thing?" asked a 5th dwarf

"Again I'm gonna plump for that guy there." said the second dwarf, who's name was Itchy.

"But why? Why would he do such a thing Itchy? Why?" Blubbed a dwarf who's name was Nancy.

"I think, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he did it because he is a git."

And so it came to pass that, after a brief discussion, peppered with much swearing from the dwarves and quite a lot of growling from the bears (what else would they do? Recite prose?) the dwarves killed Cantus and the bears ate him.

And they all lived happily ever after.....except one of the bears who went mad and thought he was a road sign.....

and 3 of the dwarves who perished in a car wreck after misinterpreting the Beware Bear sign at a railroad crossing.

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