Swedens smallest farm

Johnny had a farm, and he was proud of it. It wasent big, but he liked it. Well, he thought he would like it, he had not been on it jet.
Johnny was from the big city in USA. New York, to be presicly, the big apple. He had newer liked it. And now, his uncle had died, and he was the luckiest man in the world.
It was not because his uncle had died, he had newer met the unfortunate baster, in fact, he had newer even known that he had an uncle at all.
This morning he was dancing down the street, singing and smiling.
"Hello", his secretary sayed to him, when he came in the door.
"You look really happy to day".
"Yes, I am, my uncle have died".
"Oh, I give you my condolenses".
"No need to do that, I did not know him. And do you know what? He was a farmer, and now I am a farmer".
"You, a farmer? that will newer go".
"What? Do you not think I would manage it? It do not matter what you think, I am leaving tomorrow. I am going to Sweden".
"Sweden? Where is that, or shuld i as, what is that?"
"I think it is one small contry, or something i Europe".

Chapter 2

Finally. Five hours later the plane had landed in Sweden. The first thing he herd was this straingh language everyone spoke. After another couple of hours in a smal black taxi. All of those in America was yellow.

There it was, a little almost collapsing thing. He couldent even describe it. Never before in his entire lifetime he had seen suths a small house, or such a small barn. He hardly deard to tutch anything, afraid the whole thing might collaps. Carefully he opened the door, witch probably had been red, some 15 years ago. He was glad when he came inside. It all seemed much less ramshackled there than outside.

Next day he desided, without even consider it, to by a cow. He had totaly forgot that the house needed a total renovation. Now he was thursty, and he wanted some fresh cool milk for his new chocolate biscutes, bought at the airport. So, he had to get a cow, if not he would probably die of thirst. At lest thats what he thought.

Marte Kronborg Johnsen

Chapter 3

He admired the beatiful cow outside the window, eating grass and waiving her long tale trying to hit the irritating flyes. His cup og milk was filled and the pack og biscutes opened. "This is just wonderfull", he said to himself. He opened one of the cupboards and... oh the door fell out. "Well wath would I use a cupboard door for anyway", Johnny thought. - Things fell out and got damaged all the time, but he just did not care. Eider he did not think about it, or he made up a reason not to need what was broken. All he could think about now was his cow, milk and biscutes. Actually he had found a name for his lovely cow, and he was very pleased with himself because of it. The name was Biscymilk, named after Johnnys father: Jack Biscymilk. Jack had switshed his name since he loved biscutes and milk, and so did Johnny. His full name was Johnny Doggybone which was a very popular name at this time.

Every day Johnny stood up at 5 o`clock to milk Biscymilk. After that he went in for breakfast right after he had collected the mail. He was very proud of his life, which mostly went the same. After his morning ritual he went a trip for exactly 2 minutes. Never any longer, than he would only get tired, and that was something he did not wish to happen.

One monday morning he listened to the weather message on his scraping radio. "Tonight the weather in Sweden will be cold and windy, most plases without to bad weather, but some few plases it will be storm and extremely cold...

Marte Kronborg Johnsen