In The First Sceptic, an age old argument is re-enacted by a piece of fluff and some chub who sits at home knitting. Never have two finer minds met.
Really though, this is exactly what I’d be scared any future children of mine were like (don’t worry, I’m not pregnant). The birth certificate would never be enough for them in case I’d forged it, and the DNA test would have been taken by a dishonest doctor that I’d paid off. He might not even be a doctor; he could just be a dentist. Then they’d kill me in my sleep and steal my identity because they never truly believed they had one of their own. Kids, eh?
But The First Sceptic. It’s short and I think it rushes past like a strong wind, but that’s what you’re getting. An easily digestible nugget of words. It’s a shame I’m publishing this at almost 10pm because really it’s breakfast reading. It’s what should be printed across from the crossword in a newspaper. I don’t have a crossword or newspaper though, but I can get you some cereal if it helps.