“Eye spy with my little eye”, began fat Jim as we watched the buildings pass by on our way into London, “..something beginning with….”G”..”

“Girls?” I replied wishing the game was over already.

“No” came the answer of an excited child.

“Ginger biscuits?”

“No”

“Gravity?”

“No, and don’t think I didn’t see what you did there you smart arse, you have to actually SEE it, not it’s effect”

“So I can’t have ‘Geriatric Sex’ as my guess from looking at you?”

“Nope”

“Garden?”

“Nope”

“Gesture?” I say whilst giving Fat Jim the bird.

“No”

“I suppose I can’t have my guess by saying this is beginning to feel like a weekend break in Gomorrah?”

“Nope”

“OK, I give up”

“Ha! General Custer!”

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where is General Custer? Where the FUCK is General Custer? This is the 7:19 to London Paddington. There are no Injuns on board, and there definitely isn’t a General fucking Custer anywhere to be seen!”

“He was in a documentary on TV last night”

Is there a point at which an adult, who doesn’t understand the rules to a game played by five year-olds, can be viciously beaten without consequence? Who on Gods earth doesn’t know how to play eye-spy?

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