By Barry O'Farrell
“What’s this then?” My old Uncle, who is alert to punctuation and tenses, and has been known to tell the odd tale himself, shows me page three of the first draft of my new story. There is a row of seven digits in the middle of a sentence.
“Most likely the handiwork of my cat.”
“I didn’t know your cat could type. Shouldn’t be surprised though; I once owned a dog that could play chess.”
“You owned a dog that could play chess,” I repeat incredulously.
“He wasn’t much good at it though. I could beat him two out of three.”
Pow! Good one.