Ain’t technology great? And something about fags. 

Technology eh? Great innit? I’ve always been an early adopter of tech. Enquiring mind, see? Since that time I accidentally on purpose pressed a button inside a fridge in a holiday home stocked with holiday grub when I was 8 and defrosted the fucking fridge (we holidayed in Southerness, because it had a pub. Sandyhills was a few miles up the road but we never holidayed there, because it didn’t have a pub. I actually didn’t know Sandyhills existed until I was 18. I was protected from its healthy pub-free, smoke-free outdoor family pursuits environment by being huckled, unfettered by the modern lifesaving nonsense that is the seatbelt (remember Jimmy Savile telling us to Clunk Click Every Trip? Yeah…right. What was he REALLY SAYING?  I suspect if you played that public information film backwards it would be like that urban myth about playing a Led Zep (was it that?) LP backwards and hearing some Satan worshiping message) to Southerness in the back of a smoke-filled car with the windaes up for a week every July: 

 “Daaaaad! I can’t breathe!” 

“Shut up and read yer Twinkle”

The smoke from my dad’s chain-smoked Capstan Full Strength settled like a gloomy cloud (probably representative of my mother’s wrath for whatever one of the myriad things my dad did that irked her) in the back of the car and served as a smoke-screen for the signs reading “SANDYHILLS THIS WAY” and “SANDYHILLS – AN ACTUAL PLACE WHICH EXISTS AND ISN’T LIKE FOR EXAMPLE NARNIA” and “SANDYHILLS – THERE’S NAE PUB – JUST FRESH AIR AND HEALTHY OUTDOOR PURSUITS FOR SMUG NORMAL FAMILIES WITH DADS WHO DON’T SMOKE IN THE CAR WITH THE WINDAES UP”. I’m not saying I didn’t ENJOY these summer holidays – we were pretty much feral for a week and lived on lurid orange Velveeta cheese sandwiches. 

I’ve gone off-piste, haven’t i? Have I brackets that need closing? Can’t be arsed to check. I’m lying in bed letting my body weight in Thai Green Curry settle. Thai Green Curry, Maltesers, Sons of Anarchy on the Netflix and Tucker nicking pants from the washing basket and parading them through the living room like trophies. Living the dream, man. Living. Thuh. Dream. 

The reason I started talking about the greatness of technology is lost in the Capstan Full Strength mist of blog time. I think it was meant to be about Siri, so let’s just carry on down that road, shall we? 

My esteemed colleague, let’s call him, oh I don’t know, for the sake of respecting his privacy, McNabb, has discovered Siri. This textual exchange occurred last night. McNabb, if that is indeed his real name, and indeed, presumably for reasons best known to his parentals, is indeed actually his actual name, makes me laugh daily. He’s unconsciously bloody hilarious. This is the man who, on wooing his now wife, explained that they couldn’t see each other one weekend due to his being on a covert military mission. He was, in actual fact, ten pin bowling in Leamington Spa with the Territorial Army. The nearest the workshy fop has been to active service is nicking post-its from the office stationery cupboard. 

Interestingly, McNabb has an Aga but doesn’t like to talk about it much. Ahem. Anyway this text exchange occurred last night: (unsolicited I might add – I’d been rather busy with a jar of Nutella and a spoon for about an hour. 

The blue bits are mine. Is was ostensibly a discussion about scones. Siri doesn’t know scone. Poor Siri. Missing out on a Marchbanks scone. You’ll also detect a slight note of irritation creeping in on my part, before I decide, oh fuck it, I’ll try Siri too. 

That was the first batch. You’ll see I was ignoring it. Then, this…

I succumbed to the lure of the cheese scone. I could almost hear its sweet siren Lurpakky song, beckoning…

Then I started getting disgruntled. I was kind of saying “right you’ve got my scone order, my work here is done”. Undeterred, and possibly drunk, he ploughed on…

Again, my irritation rears its ugly head. I used his name to get his attention. He was having none of it…so, on the basis of “if you can’t beat them to death with a blunt object, you might as well join them, I fired up Siri…

And so it ended. I got my cheese scorn in the end for fox sake, so it all worked out fine in the end. Thank you Siri. Thank you technology. 

In an interesting postscript to this nonsense, and entirely unconnected, I’ve watched SIX weddings this week. Another four tomorrow. Looking forward to being let loose on actual people. Meanwhile I need to practice. If you’d like to role play a faux wedding, let me know. I’m sure it’s not legal unless you sign something in blood. Just saying the words doesn’t magically make you married. It’s not like looking in the mirror and saying Candyman three times. I wouldn’t test that theory though.