There was this Irishman, who had lived piously all his life in Ballymena. Terrified of flying he was, never went near an airplane. Couldn't swim, never went on water.

He had only one son, who had moved to England in search of a good job. While looking for one, he got run over and died. Poor man, couldn't even go to the funeral.

Cried and cried. God took pity on him and appeared.

What d'ya want, son, ask me a boon!

Bring my son back to life, that's all I want.

Done, said God. But that's nothing, ask me another!

Give him a job that he will be happy in.

Done, said God, but he would have got one anyway. Ask me another.

Build a bridge to England, so that I can visit him.

God looked really worried.

That costs a bomb, you know. I am a bit skint right now, Ask me another.

OK. Grant me the insight into my wife's mind. so that I could know what she really wants.

God was flabbergasted. For once he lost his tongue.

When he recovered, he was most apologetic:

How many lanes do you want on your bridge?