the story of Amis and how he became known as Amis the brute.

It should be put to the reader that Amis was at first known as Amis the Pointless. He was, as is evident, of little danger to anyone before this point and certainly not deserving of the title 'brute'.

Amis the Pointless was a sullen creature prone to bouts of weeping inconsolably at the vision of a crushed flower or a chess set that had not been set out correctly. He was even once found sobbing at the state of the country, but that's enough to make anyone sodden through, except that in Amis' case he was lamenting the lack of affordable housing for nomads.

Amis smoked, that's another thing you should know about him. As we all know now that does not make him a 'rebel' or look 'kool'. Except that Amis was born during the eighties, when men wearing mascara was considered cool, so smoking was picked up as a small distraction from the state of the country.

Not that Amis did much at this stage to improve the state of the country. In fact he was more an example of hypocrisy than we can be allowed to ignore. Amis was as much a reason for the country being shit, for the fact he did nothing to improve it. He was apathetic and in this day and age there is simultaneously no more prevalent and virulent a state of existence.

This however is the story of Amis and how he came to gain his newer title. How he came to be renamed.

Amis was in one of his moods of torment on the road between Meols and Hull, when he sighted a huge man walking toward him along the road. At first he thought the man was very close, because of his size in relation to the things behind him. But allowing a moment to gain perspective he was advised by his brain that the man was indeed still some way off and there was huge, but yet to be of threat. Which is, of course, the first thought of a pointless and brainless creature such as Past Amis. To consider anything larger than himself is a very distressing thing indeed. In fact, so often do they find dangers so daunting, that they attempt by any means whatever to rid their path of it, be that by running away, hiding, making them sign some form a declaration, or by employing a very large army of half-wits to dispose of the hazard on their behalf. Such is the lesson of history. Such is the state of the country.

Now it is that the large figure walking toward Amis is in fact Kevin the Tiny. Not a title that is in any sense reflective of his stature, but rather the only adjective that could accurately describe his brain. He had been studied, in his youth, and x‑rays and f‑rays confirmed that the size and shape of his brain is best likened to a teabag. The round traditional type that has been dunked a few times and then drained and placed on the side of the saucer. Puckered up and feeble looking.

The comparison goes further toward the truth. The f‑rays were more the decisive picture, showing his brain to have the same colour and even a very thin outer membrane, which the doctors hypothesised may be that through which Kevin's ideas might squeeze. Anyone who knows anything about tea-bags, or anything with a similar purpose, knows that the thin fabric lets out only the flavoured water that has swilled through and not the tea leaves themselves which remain within. As such it is the same with Kevin, only the most minuscule of thoughts can bypass this blockade layer. All the real substance of his mind remaining locked in the bag of his brain.

Who knows what grand theories might have played against the insides of Kevin the Tiny's eyes on seeing Amis the Pointless. The only thing we know is what a robin nearby heard slip from his lips. A single word. 'Friend.'

Amis' mind was agog with a reeling team of scenarios. Most of which ended with the idea that he might be cut up and eaten over a period of a days. Or however long it would take for such a monstrously huge man to eat him. Amis readied himself for a fight. The robin flew toward Amis and settled himself in a tree nearby to gauge his intentions. 'Fiend.' Amis muttered. The robin was not best pleased.

When they were only 200 yards apart Amis stopped in his tracks. Whether it was through fear, he would never admit. But we know that Kevin matched this action. Who knows why he did, other than that the outer wall of his teabag brain sanctioned the impulse to pass through and instruct the legs to cease their lumbered progress.

Amis was aghast. He was trapped in a stalemate by the giant whose name he did not know at the time. He thought about the state of the country and how such monstrous people are allowed to wander the footpaths of the land with impunity. Perhaps it was his subscription to the Everyday Moan that bred this ill‑reasoned leaning toward intolerance. It certainly can't have helped that he partook in the practice of reading the badly written wordy-bilge of such a ridiculous paper. It was headline after headline of 'Immigrants' this and ‘Royalty’ that. Moreover there was a flippant use of polls. Readers submitting their opinions on a given unsubstantiated fact and the results would be published the following day. As much as one can trust in the results and consider them a true reflection of the state of the nation.

Kevin grinds the toe of his shoe into the gravel path. Amis balls his fists. Amis walks forward and stops. Kevin does the same. Amis starts walking again. Kevin follows the action with the precision of a reflection.

The robin travels back and forth but doesn't hear another word uttered. All conversation now an internal process. Except for Kevin, who didn't have any thoughts.

It crossed Amis' mind that perhaps it might be best to walk across the field, rather than to carry on down the path and eventually meet whatever fate awaited him. There was a gap in the hedge to the right of him and he pushed his way through.

Coincidence permitted, in this strange case, that there were also a gap for Kevin into that very same field and he climbed on through, much to the horror of Amis. Kevin was mirroring him move for move. Repeating the action and even taking to running when Amis did, remaining parallel to him until he met the barrier of the next hedge. A hedge that was, for each, impassable.

The robin looked on in horror as Amis scanned the ground for some form of attrition. Seeing a tree branch he picked it up and, being the same thickness as a baseball bat and the same length as a golf club, he lifted it above his head and charged forward.

Kevin had no such luck in finding a suitable comparative prop to mimic Amis accurately and instead he simply took to running, charging down the length of the field.

What passes is the nearest approximation of the incident as described by a robin who, having been distracted momentarily by a worm, wasn't in the correct frame of mind of commit every action to memory.

Kevin and Amis reached each other, but Kevin, of his own accord, stopped. He stood there, towering over Amis and smiling a dumb but sincere smile. Amis, struck by this intense strangeness, turned on his heels and ran in the other direction and, on reaching the lower right corner of the field, curled into a ball.

Kevin was at this moment distracted, similar to the robin, by a passing bee and took to following it, soon disappearing over the edge of the horizon. No doubt off to the home of that singular bee and a waiting mob of non‑too‑welcoming and highly‑protective soldier bees.

Amis missed all this, quite in a world of misery and tears. He was crunched so tightly in a ball that he would have done well just to breathe. Upon unfurling Amis found no monster above him, nor giant near him, nor even a figure on the horizon. He picked himself up, brushed off the dirt that hadn't cemented itself (wetted by his tears) to his trousers and stood tall.

Still clutching the stick he walked cautiously toward the path and continued on his way. The robin settled on an upcoming fencepost and watched Amis passed tentatively.

Recovering his confidence in light of the deduction that the huge man (Kevin) was headed in a contrary direction to begin with - and had probably resumed his journey toward where Amis had come from - he himself continued on his way. As a last act to anoint this sure conclusion, a last sacrifice to mark the dissolution of his remaining fears, he hurled the large stick behind him. Unbeknown to Amis, striking the robin and it was this unfortunate soul who recounted the tale for the world. Insisting that Amis the Pointless should henceforth be referred to as Amis the brute, for a brute he was ‑ in thought as much as action.