Last week I head the strangest noise as I was driving along. It was a sort of whirring sound, rising in pitch, emanating from the rear of the car. Now, Elwood's engine and all his other motory bits are in the front, as is right and proper, so this strange electrical whine some five feet behind me was as mysterious as it was unnerving. It put me in mind of a drone, or maybe some sort of hovering knife-missile from the film Runaway.
Turns out it was the car-vacuum. It had fallen over in the boot and knocked the power switch on.
So far so accidental, you might say. But then only last night we were woken up in the dead hours by another peculiar electronic tone. This time it was Herself's electric toothbrush, which had managed to turn itself on. No amount of button pressing would deactivate the damn thing, leaving only the ultimate sanction of the Screwdriver Protocol between us and some semblance of a good night's rest.
I conclude that the long heralded rise of the machine is upon us. But only the crap ones.
If this were a film, it'd be called Moderate Overdrive.
It would still star Emilio Estevez though.