I sigh with my lit­tle spy

Marlborough Express - The Saturday Express, Marlborough - - FRONT PAGE -

‘‘Miss Five adores the game but for me it is right up there with watch­ing grass grow, paint dry and pots that never boil.’’

I have spied with my lit­tle eye for al­most an hour and am ut­terly, com­pletely all I spied out.

In fact, at this point in time, I would rather poke my eyes out with a pointy stick than have to play for even one nanosec­ond longer.

Miss Five adores the game but for me it is right up there with watch­ing grass grow, paint dry and pots that never boil.

Don’t get my wrong, I’m de­lighted that she is able to ac­tu­ally get the let­ters right. I have suf­fered years of I Spy some­thing be­gin­ning with, for ex­am­ple, ‘‘D’’ only to dis­cover said ob­ject does not in fact start with a ‘‘D’’ or any let­ter in the nearby vicin­ity.

No, what I do not en­joy is the soul de­stroy­ing pre­tence that I don’t know what starts with a T when we are sur­rounded by trees and she has al­ready picked trees 20 times pre­vi­ously.

Or then there’s my par­tic­u­lar favourite of pick­ing an ob­ject we passed 5km down the road and is now nowhere in sight now.

‘‘I spy with my lit­tle eye, some- thing be­gin­ning with an­nounces Miss Five proudly.

No, it is not sky, steer­ing wheel, stereo or sun­roof. I won’t keep you in sus­pense. The some­thing be­gin­ning with S is in fact a "squashed hedge­hog!" S’’

Of course mo­ment.

Miss Five can­not be­lieve my stu­pid­ity and sits in her car seat smil­ing pity­ingly at her poor sim­ple­ton of a mother.

She is noth­ing if not mag­nani- it is. Fa­cepalm mous and tells me I can have a go. Oh, joy.

I am briefly tempted to choose some­thing tricky like homo sapien but, no, that would just be mean.

I cast my gaze wildly around, search­ing the land­scape for some­thing new.

The prob­lem is we are driv­ing down to Han­mer Springs and for the last 30km all we have seen are hills, grass, sky, trees and the oc­ca­sional bedrag­gled sheep.

I am fast los­ing the will to sit up, let alone look out the win­dow any longer.

‘‘This is the last time,’’ I tell her, for the fifth time. She nods but I’m not fooled.

‘‘I spy with my lit­tle eye, some­thing be­gin­ning with ... be­gin­ning with ... S.’’

‘‘Sheep!’’ she screams. I shake my head. ‘‘Sky!’’ she shouts. Nope. Her brows fur­rows and she looks at me sus­pi­ciously. ‘‘Seat!’’ she tries. She’s al­most right.

I was think­ing seat­belt. I was also won­der­ing about un­do­ing it and es­cap­ing from the car in a Mi­ami Vice- like move. I could just sit by the side of the road and rock gen­tly un­til help ar­rives.


I Spy has its mo­ments but it can also make an al­ready long car jour­ney feel like an eter­nity.

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