Gnomes – Poteen 6

The first indication that something was amiss in nomeland was the smell. It was emanating from somewhere in the vicinity of the compost heaps and, at first, the nomes put it down to the normal stupidity of the biggers. Time passed and the stench got worse, but even then nobody would have done any more than move upwind of it if Cheezer, Chiggees and Oisin hadn’t moved their winter tent to completely block the way behind heap one.
“I reckon they’m trying to make booze, and failing,” Granny opined.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?”
“Nope. That’s the fail.”

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