Hello, World.

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This is not a very good page. I am doing things that will make it look better. In the mean time you can read my new and occasionally updated blog, as linked above.

I know, I will tell you a joke.

There was once a man and he went into a bar, presumably so that he could responsibly drink good beer. This is set before the smoking ban so he may have had a smoke while he was doing so. He may not though, as I don't know if he smoked or not. Once at the bar and sipping a pint of Old Speckled Hen, he noticed a man sitting next to him.

"You're Irish, aren't you?" He said (first man, not the second one who may or may not be Irish)

"Yes I am!" Replied the second man who we now know is Irish. "How did you know? Was it the accent that gave it away? Or the 'I love Ireland and am also Irish' t-shirt that I am wearing. Perhaps you think I look like a leprechaun? Please tell me for I cannot wait to find out."

"None of those" the first man said "(although they are quite big hints now that I come to think of it). The reason is: I am psychic"

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"I don't believe you." The Irishman said. "I suspect that you may even be taking the piss."

At this, the first man, whose name we shortly discover to be Paul, looks quite upset.

"I'm telling the truth, I say! I can read the mind, I can search the soul and I can tell a man's heart. Or a woman's for that matter, which is always useful. My name is Paul, by the way."

"I'm Jack" the Irishman said, it being rude not to introduce yourself once someone else has made the effort. "And I still don't believe you."

"I'm insulted." Paul said. "And after such lovely words, too. Let me tell you of my family history.

"My mother worked in a chicken drumstick factory in Yorkshire when she discovered she had the gift. As each drumstick passed by her on the production line, she saw little glimpses of the chicken's past life. This mainly involved food or other chickens, the life of a chicken not being especially interesting. However, she persevered. One day, a person further up the line lost their finger in one of the machines, and the mangled, batter covered thing ended up in front of her. Thinking it was merely an undersized drumstick, she gazed at the finger and was shocked to see flashes of the man's life. Quick as a flash she grabbed the finger from the line and put it in her pocket, to practice on later.

"Over the next few weeks, she learned the details of that man's life and developed something of a crush on him. Talking with him in the staff canteen over the next few months, she impressed him with her knowledge of Barnsley FC and they eventually got married. I was born a little later and my mother taught me her secrets. And there we have it."

Jack paused to allow this to sink in. "That is quite possibly the biggest load of shite I have ever heard. Why did you even tell me this? It doesn't prove anything other than the fact you are a fucking nutcase."

"But it did allow me to finish my pint." Said Paul, doing just that. "And for the price of another one, I'll prove it to you."

"Go on then." Jack sighed. "I'll buy your pint, but this had better be pretty damn spectacular."

"Excellent!" Said Paul, and pulled a small jar out of his pocket. "Put your finger in here."

Jack looked at it.

"Batter." Paul admitted. "Doesn't seem to work otherwise."

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