We’d been looking forward to the mast season for weeks now; Fred had been out pretty much all day and night protecting the precious nuts from the predations of the local animals, especially the wild pigs that roamed the area. They were a bugger for eating every one of them up before us if we weren’t careful! My name’s Gloria, Fred is my man (weren’t married but nobody in our village cares about that) and we’re out today to collect as much of this treasure as we can before it gets dark. We’ll roast ‘em soon. Gets rid of the bitterness.
AI version of the story; Val pointed out how American-centric this looked. An idealised version of the English landscape as seen through a Yank lens.
Prompt:
