"Dear Best Mate", he mailmerged in a genuinely personalised and caring manner, "do you have any games that you've shelved but that are largely about an evil old bat who, after death, comes back to haunt her well-meaning relatives? I've got some cash and I'd be well-pleased to pay for it to be published in Finland, as long as my name goes on it. All the best and that, see you soon, hope (insert name of footy team here) do well this season, Game Kid." He pressed Send and headed off to celebrate his nous.

Days later, following a Grade 'B" binge, only a single response looked back at him from his inbox. Its subject line filled him with joy, though: Resident Aunty. Reading over the spec of the game, Kid's smile widened to quarter-melonic proportions. It was perfect. He emailed back immediately - with four months and 30 days since Aunty Mandy had been laid to rest, he had to.

"There's only one problem," came the response, "the old bag who wrote it said that if anybody ever wanted to publish the game, they had to open this enclosed PGP-encrypted email. And we don't have the key.

"Oh, I think I do," he sighed once again.

"Dear Game Kid, don't be such a smart bastard in future. You are not allowed to publish Resident Aunty under your own name. Knowing that you've left this so late, please give the lovely boys at Future Gamer my fondest regards. PS: there are no marlin in Calabria and ostrich farms make bad investments. Lots of love, Mandy Kid."

"Bugger" said Game Kid, "foiled again. The fu..." But it was too late for remorse or invective.

This week's moral: Don't try to cheat dead relatives out of getting her own way. And Finnish gamers have their own quirky sense of fun, but that doesn't make them bad people.