15th June 2017 

I awoke with a burning urge to invent wood only to find out someone had beaten me to it.
        Following this unfortunate realisation, I bounded down my stairs just in time to catch the post that dropped through my letterbox before it landed on the fenced-off compound I’d shrunk down to miniature size the previous night. With me, their new god, having saved them from being crushed by my latest issue of satirical magazine Fact Punch, the tiny communists who occupied the compound burned a tea cosy in my honour.
        Later, after supper, I found that the communists had used their own clothing to spell out a message intended for me on the floor of their compound: “KILL US”.
        How I laughed. Oh, tiny communists, not before you prove you can arrange your own tiny pub quiz.