Taking the Bait....

My brother in France woke me up with a WhatsApp message at 6.00 this morning.

'I forgot my gushing licence!' he wrote.

'Interesting' I replied. 'Are you digging for oil?'

He's a man of few words, so all I got back from that was a '???'.

'You said you're gushing' I explained. 'I thought perhaps you were out there sinking an oil well.'

'Autocorrect! Gushing = fishing' he wrote. 'I forgot my permit. Do you know where it is?'

I thought about it for a moment - presumably he'd confused me with Mystic Meg. 'Kitchen drawer? Loo? Dog basket?'

'Dog basket? That's daft.'

'Whereas you in France, asking me in Edinburgh, to find your fishing permit, is entirely sensible?'

'Aah. You're not Maggie (his wife) are you' he wrote, 'you're Susan!'

'What gave it away?' I enquired. 'The completely different names? The fact we're not in the same country? My inability to locate your gushing licence?'

He sent a short reply. In capital letters. Twice.....

'THE SARCASM!'