THE I-SPY GAME

It's a silly game, really: I see with my little eye something that might be there, but isn't"

The holiday coach complete with fifty passengers bobbed along the country lane and came, as holiday coaches sometimes do, upon a complete halt in the flow of traffic. Nothing was on the move. Occasionally the driver managed to inch forwards, but it was only ever an inch. Any idea of moving more than an inch was out of the question.

Gabriel Clunk was gazing out of the window. He was bored, and when he was bored his mind performed somersaults and he had flashes of inspiration. He turned to Miranda Clunk, his wife, some say long-suffering, others say rather simple minded, who had her eyes closed with the kind of determination that would keep them shut whatever he said.

“I have an idea for a game to pass the time,” he murmured.

“Not your I-spy with my little eye something that could be there bur isn't?” she asked, her voice tinged with expectation and near-despair.

“You know it?” he asked, surprised.

She shook her head, eyes still shut, the picture of absolute misery because she guessed what might be coming.

“Well, it's better than just sitting here doing nothing,” he said with a bright smile. “I'll start if you like.”

“If you must,” she sighed.

“Then I will! I spy with my little eye something beginning with … s … that isn't there but could be,” he grinned.

“Sheep,” she said. “You did that one last year and the year before, and it's always sheep.”

“It's not sheep then,” he gurgled, trying to stand up in his seat in order to see better.

“What is it, then?”

“Have another guess.”

“Shepherd,” she muttered.

“No! Not shepherd either. It's a spaceship!”

“There are no spaceships in Yorkshire,” she told him. “Spaceships are in space, not in Yorkshire. There are only traffic jams in Yorkshire.”

“But there is! Listen: I spy with my little eye something beginning with F!”

“That isn't there but could be? You missed that bit out!”

“No I didn't, because it is there. It's a flying saucer, and it's sitting in that field not above ten yards away from where I'm sitting!”

“Is it flying? I wouldn't mind a saucer if it was really flying,” she said.

“No. It's sitting there like a regular parked flying saucer … why don't you look?”

“I'm tired, my eyes are shut and I can't be bothered to open them,” she told him. “If I'm looking for things that aren't there then I hardly need my eyes to be open, do I?”

“You might miss something important. I say! Look at that! I see with my little I something beginning with A!”

“Apple-tree,” she muttered. “You did that one last year as well.”

“No! Not apple tree! Not apple tree at all! It's an alien! I real live three-eyed alien with a condom over his head and look! He's pissing! He's pissing against the rear wheel of his flying saucer! And whoever saw piss quite that colour?”

“You're mad,” she muttered, grumpily. “I've always known you were mad and here's the proof! And if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times �" I don't like the P word. If he's urinating say urinating, there's a good husband!”

“Now he's waving it at us! He's got the biggest … organ … I've ever seen, and he's waving it at us!”

“Shut up.”

“And he's coming this way! Yes, he's coming this way with his willy in his hand and a condom on his head! I've never seen anything like it! An alien with a smile on his face and a condom on his head and … and … and...”

“His willy in his hand?” helped Miranda Clunk.

“And the driver's opening the door for him! Yes, he is, and the alien's coming on board. Oh mercy me! I can't be the only person seeing this, can I?” He looked around, and apparently he was the only one seeing it. All the rest of the passengers were slouched in their seats and dozing or doing crossword puzzles or gazing at electronic tablets which were playing films.

“He's coming this way!” hissed Gabriel. “Look! And he's still got that condom over his head and his willy in his hand... I wish I had one like that! Not that colour, maybe, but look at the size of it!”

Silence from Mrs Clunk. She was resting her eyes and nothing her husband could say would stop her even though secretly she might have wished her husband was a little better endowed in the willy region.

“He's come straight up to me, right where I'm sitting … Miranda, I'm scared. But it's not actually his willy, it's some kind of microphone that looks like a willy and he wants me to hold it. Tell him, love, tell him I'm only playing I-Spy.”

Silence.

Then a new voice, a bit like a comedy parrot, intoned “Take me to your leader...” and Gabriel Clunk passed out.

“Just shut up,” hissed Miranda Clunk.

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[Peter Rogerson]

I devised the game "I spy with my little eye something that could be there, but isn't" but sad to say I've had no takers during the many coach holidays we've enjoyed...