It was uncanny. All the hard skin he peeled off his feet came off in the shape of Cyprus. He had six examples to show Dave. Helena had been grossed out when he raised the matter with her because as ever, she had rather missed the point. Didn't she think it was synchronicity that his skin came off in this shape while she was a Cypriot? Seriously, what were the odds? She'd gone out for the night and he stared at his dead skin. Perhaps it was a stupid idea. A sudden wave of embarrassed revulsion engulfed him and he swept the skin up and flushed it down the loo. Whatever was he thinking? He'd have to go with plan B, the asparagus, and the time his wee had smelled like he'd been eating asparagus when he hadn't touched the stuff, only to be served it later that evening at a friend's house. It was as if his body knew, had made a future prediction. Trouble was it was all anecdotal. Sceptics always threw the 'where's your evidence' accusation at such...