by Mel George

“What are we going to do about The Pygmy Giant, then?”

“… What did you just call me?”

“What?”

“Look, I’m not fat you know, I’m having a baby!”

“What? No! The Pygmy Giant – you know, that webzine we used to edit. You know, the one with all the submissions, don’t you remember? Some of them would make you laugh, some you’d hastily chuck, some would make you scratch your head, and some would transport you on a sudden tsunami of emotion, delight, admiration – you’d read eight hundred words and look up seeing the world differently. Remember how we loved reading those words from unsung British geniuses and sharing them with the world? Don’t you remember that feeling when you found a nugget of pure prose gold in the deep mine of the inbox?”

“Oh – the inbox. Yeah, I remember. Did we ever reach zero unread messages?”

“Not since 2008, I don’t think.”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“Well, I can’t remember the last time I had time to sit down and have that beautiful inbox experience. But in my heart, I love TPG! What does this mean?!”

“Calm down, isn’t it obvious? It means that Life happened to us. New jobs, new routines, weddings and babies…”

“You mean we’re not the editors we once were.”

“Well no, we’re much less competent.”

“Thanks. You’re right, though. Do you think… do you think this is the end for TPG?!”

“Hey now, don’t cry. Have a rusk.”

“No… No, I think… we should just reassess it all after this crazy summer is over. D’you think the writers and readers will mind if we take yet another break?”

“Maybe, but they can do our jobs, move house, organise a wedding and give birth for us if they don’t like it. Ahh, I’ve made you smile again.”

“Yeah. Thanks, man. But what about all the stuff still waiting for a reply in the inbox? We’ll have to leave it there languishing for months.”

“Well, why don’t we ask those writers nicely to give up on those submissions and send them elsewhere for now, and make a totally fresh start in September?”

“With zero unread messages?”

“With zero unread messages.”

“That sounds like some kind of dream. You think they’ll stay subscribed and listen out for our eventual return?”

“I’m sure they will. Now shut up so I can have a nap.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I have to stop talking about writing and go and have a ‘hair rehearsal’ anyway. So it’s come to this.”