FOWC

There were rumours stretching back as far as folk could remember, the strange faceless man, dressed in a black polo shirt and shorts who would appear when one gazed through the middle of a midsummer spiders web.

The man couldn’t speak, not at least words anyone could understand, it was almost as if he was a chuckle hound, possessed by the woodland demons, if there was such a thing. We managed to gain the confidence of the chap and over the months and years have gradually managed to domesticate him and we now call him our friend, and over the course of time have managed to decipher his language. He regards himself as the purveyor of woodland humour and bad puns, but sometimes we feel that maybe his language is of an ancient forgotten origin as most of the time the jokes seem to make no sense at all!