#oneaday Day 120: Communal Blogging II

Hello! I am in the pub with good friends celebrating my birthday. As a result, it seems like a good time to take the Communal Blogging approach, where everyone present gets to write a short paragraph. This also absolves me of responsibility for any drunken grammatical errors because they probably weren’t my fault. So there. Without further ado, here comes the first paragraph from someone who isn’t me.

Aren’t kittens awesome. I mean like cats in general to be honest, all fwuffeh and cute and slinky and tired and stretchy and shit. Like I said. Awesome.

Luke is being all kinds of mean on twitter. I think that Amy may destroy him at some point. Sometimes, I worry about Luke. And then sometimes I just don’t care.

So Luke just tried to steal Pete’s iPhone how rude!?? Honestly I had to resort to telling him off like one of my students, I’m not so sure that I can achieve the standard Q31 in a pub on a Saturday night!!

“What’s a lovely curry” said pete and Graham sneezed on Laura, in which she replied “you need to be wiped down” pete then jokingly laughed and called graham a “dirty boy” ..which he liked a little too much.

Thanks pete for a great night. Was also really nice to meet andi who I forgot I met before. Is good to see you happy. Ultimately it’s been fun to be around people who make me laugh and who are interesting. Happy 30th.

Absolutely splendid night with my mate pete-not entirely sure what should be written here, but I’ve had a few pints and honestly life is quite good! Great to see friends grow up, although not too much thankfully-and its nice to have a chat with new people-with a lowest common denominator (that’s you pete). Right, should stop- fact from tonight-9 out of 10 people have an iPhone…..if you believe tonight’s statistics…

Pete! What more needs to be said? You’re amazing. Good job!!

Well, here we are again. It’s a Saturday night on the whiskey. Curry has been done (full!) and gin has been given. Why are we here? For wholly celebratory purposes, of course. Unless you mean life, in which case I haven’t the foggiest, save to say it doesn’t involve a god of any sort that I know of. Music is probably the answer. That or inevitable death. Cheery, eh? Yep, that’ll be the whiskey talking…

Well done everyone. Thank you for your contributions. Good night!

#oneaday Day 113: Colonel Gaddafi’s Chicken

Very often, drunken conversations simply degenerate into “I love you, I do, you’re like my best friend and totally awesome and we should totally do this more often like, y’know?” And that’s fine, and to be expected.

But sometimes, if you’re with the right people, something magical happens. Fortuitously, the people I was attending the wedding with yesterday happen to be the right people for something entertaining to happen when discussing things.

We were sitting out in the garden of the wedding venue gazing up at the sky and getting frustrated at the security light that kept going off and coming on every few minutes if we sat too still and then made a sudden movement. Some shooting stars were making an appearance every few minutes and all in all, it was a thoroughly pleasant evening.

Long chats such as the group of us had are often called “setting the world to rights” but I’m not sure the vision of the world we ended up painting was in any way “right”. Here’s the most important things we came up with:

You can wish on bats as well as shooting stars, but bats would rather get on with doing their own thing than grant wishes.
It’s easy to Photoshop in a shooting star — in fact, you can do it in Paint.
Mishearing “spy satellite” as “spice satellite” leads everyone to the natural conclusion that there is a madman somewhere in the world planning to release a selection of herbs and spices into the atmosphere, let them burn up and effectively curry the world.
This didn’t sound like such a bad thing.
Because it was a secret blend of herbs and spices, “The Colonel” came up.
“The Colonel” was not intended to be a reference to Gaddafi, but the image of him cooking chicken and attempting to curry the world was too amusing to pass up.
Ergo, Colonel Gaddafi is now in charge of KFC.
Gaddafi would use cumin as his weapon of choice to release from his spice satellites — ground, not seeds, to allow for greater dispersal.
Gaddafi also uses bats as spies, and they report back on the wishes people are making.
The bats are somewhat embittered by this and just want to be left alone to get in people’s hair and stuff.
Coming soon to iPhone: Colonel Gaddafi’s Angry Bats.
The bar was shutting at midnight, so we should get another round in.

There was a twisted kind of logic to the things we discussed. Though it was more “twisted” than “logic”, really. Still, it gave us all a good giggle at the time, and that’s the important thing.

#oneaday Day 103: I Hear the Ticking of a Clock

Certain things are just naturally irritating or set your teeth on edge. That horrible sound polystyrene packing makes when you take it out of a cardboard box. That accent chavs do when it’s clear they very much want to be black gangstas but instead are pasty, skinny white dudes from Portsmouth. The sight of the “roadworks ahead” sign on the motorway.

Or having several mechanical clocks in your room, all of which are slightly out of sync with each other.

It’s the kind of thing you tend not to notice until you either 1) suffer from insomnia and find yourself fixating on every tiny little sound or 2) have it pointed out to you and consequently find it impossible not to notice.

Regardless, it’s a little bit irritating. And sometimes not entirely understandable either, because surely a clock’s a clock and should tick at the same rate. But I had two clocks in my room that ticked unevenly and managed to somehow drift apart from one another, then slightly back in sync, then back out again. This is arguably beyond the laws of physics until I tell you that one of these two clocks has a minute hand which is affected by gravity and thus is not the most useful timepiece in existence when stood upright.

Needless to say, I removed the batteries from one of the two clocks (the not-terribly-useful one) and now have no trouble sleeping through the night.

Actually, that’s a complete lie. Mis-ticking clocks weren’t enough to keep me awake at night—my brain does an excellent job of that itself. But unevenly-ticking clocks are a genuine annoyance and a public menace that would surely be enough to drive lesser men to distraction and/or violent acts involving hammers.

Although if you live with it for a while, you eventually find yourself getting used to it, the semi-predictable rhythm of the misaligned clocks becoming something comfortable and familiar, the sign that you’re “home”. If you get to this stage, then suddenly upsetting the status quo by removing one of the clocks could completely throw off the balance of the universe and ruin everything in your life.

All right, it probably won’t ruin your life. But when you’re presented with something as familiar and regular as the ticking of a clock and suddenly that’s not there any more, it changes the whole feel of a room. What once had a comfortable familiarity about it becomes something altogether different—and this is where the context becomes important.

It’s particularly noticeable if, say, someone close to you has died, and they were in possession of ticking clocks—particularly misaligned ticking clocks. When that person’s gone and the sad business of dealing with their possessions comes up, taking the clocks away is like taking the “pulse” of their room away—it’s a sign that they’re finally gone, and that room is going to find a new purpose, a new future without them.

Of course, whatever songs like Grandfather’s Clock that we learn as children try and tell us, people dying doesn’t automatically stop clocks or anything—but those sounds that we hear and take for granted or get annoyed by every day? You’ll notice them as soon as they’re not there any more.

Hmm. That drifted in an altogether more melancholy direction than I intended. I’m very tired, so on that note, it’s off to bed with me!

Day 451

#oneaday Day 102: A Hundred and Two

I Googled the number 102. The results might surprise you. If you’re really bored and easily surprised.

The first page of results appears to be largely radio stations. Top hit for Googling 102 is Capital FM in Manchester, claiming to be Manchester’s Number 1 Hit Music Station and conveniently ignoring the fact that Manchester is not the capital of the UK.

The second result is the Wikipedia entry for the number 102. I wasn’t even aware Wikipedia had entries for individual numbers, but here it is—proof. Apparently 102 is special because it’s an abundant number, a semiperfect number (its mother must be so proud) and a sphenic number. It is also the sum of four consecutive prime numbers, the sum of Euler’s totient function, the third base 10 polydivisible number and a Harshad number. I do not know what any of those things mean and I’m sure that 98% of you don’t either.

Wikipedia also tells us that the number 102 is the emergency telephone number for police in Ukraine and Belarus, the emergency number for fire in Israel and the emergency telephone number for ambulance in parts of India. And, of course, everyone knows that the Empire State Building has 102 floors, right?

Having clicked on a few links on that Wikipedia page, I’m genuinely astonished that there does indeed seem to be an individual entry for every single number. At least, every single number in the immediate vicinity of 102. Isn’t the collected knowledge of the human race fascinating?

Well, actually, if you are the sort of person who despises maths, such as my 15-year old self (who regularly genuinely got angry at maths homework, despite the fact it was essentially inanimate and couldn’t fight back) you probably don’t find the fact that you can look up numbers on Wikipedia that interesting.

So for those people, back to Google it is.

Other radio stations that feature 102 include the stunningly boring-sounding “Town 102” from Ipswich, Wave 102 from Dundee (presumably not quite as good as Southampton’s Wave 103), Warwickshire’s saucy-sounding 102 Touch FM and Salisbury’s Spire FM 102.

Google also brings up the IMDb listing for 102 Dalmatians, which has 2 stars or a rating of 4.4 out of 10 from 7,812 users. Because it’s a movie and not a video game, we can assume that this means it is, in fact, slightly below average and not OMG CRAP. The title of that movie always struck me as incredibly dumb, however, because it should surely be “101 Dalmatians 2” if you are Disney and you are making an ill-advised sequel to your ill-advised live-action remake of your beloved animated movie. I guess they thought they were being clever. Perhaps they were.

Anyhow. I hope I’ve educated and informed you about the number 102. I promise I won’t stoop to finding out fascinating fact about a number ever again. Unless I get really stuck for ideas.

Day 450

#oneaday Day 92: Dream On

Discussing dreams is regarded by many as self-indulgent, but then so is blogging, so to the people who whinge and moan about everything I say “RASPBERRIES, GOOD SIR” and bare my bum at them. (Maybe not the bum bit.)

But anyway. Dreams. Weird, aren’t they? A statement that surely qualifies for the “Captain Obvious Award 2011”, yes, but it’s true — which is why it’s obvious, obviously. I have, however, come to the conclusion recently that the most vivid and bizarre dreams seem to come not during your big long sleep that you (hopefully) have throughout the whole night, but instead in those brief “snooze” periods you have between alarm clock harassment in the morning. Assuming you use an alarm clock. If not, it’s those brief snooze periods you have between waking up and deciding you can’t be arsed to get out of bed just yet.

Anyway. Regardless of when those brief snooze periods happen, that’s when your brain suddenly decides that the most interesting and/or fucked-up dreams really need to happen. Because, as everyone knows, the brain works best under pressure. Ask any student or journalist with a deadline coming up.

Take this morning. I woke on an airbed on my friend’s floor (I do know how I got there, I hasten to add) and considered getting up but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea because my phone battery had gone flat and I wasn’t wearing a watch. And this being the digital age, of course there were no clocks anywhere to be seen that weren’t on mobile phones or on TV-connected things that made noise and would wake up my sleeping companion (who was on a different air bed, I hasten to add, and sleeping off an enormous amount of alcohol that he had consumed over the course of the whole day in celebration of both digits of his age changing) so basically, I couldn’t tell if it was late enough to wake up in a suitably sociable manner. You get me? Good.

Now we’ve established that, I can explain; following the above, I established that it probably was too early to wake up, so I promptly fell asleep again. (Oddly enough, I find it enormously difficult to fall asleep at actual normal bedtime, but have absolutely no problem dropping off again in the morning. Somewhat frustrating and a little impractical.) My brain decided that this would be an appropriate time to imagine going to the fridge, taking out a 4-pint bottle of milk to take a refreshing cold swig from and discovering that it was actually full of egg-fried rice.

“Hmm, seems a bit ricey,” I said. The people in the kitchen at the time (whom I didn’t see) found this hilarious and we all had a good giggle about it. Then I woke up. Cool story bro.

If dreams are supposed to be some sort of “message”, then I have absolutely no idea whatsoever what that was trying to tell me. I drink too much milk? I really fancy a chinese? I’m going to die? I have no idea, but I guess it’s no weirder than the time I dreamed about navigating a field made entirely of strawberry mousse.

#oneaday Day 86: Defiant Destiny

If you’ve read any fantasy (or, to a lesser extent, science fiction) novels or played any RPGs (pen and paper or computer-based) you’ll be familiar with the concept of “Fate” or “Destiny”, whatever you want to call it. The idea that everything that happens is part of a string of events that are “supposed” to happen, things that are planned out, destined to come to pass with an eventual goal which isn’t necessarily completely clear.

It’s a spiritual, quasi-religious sort of concept, I guess, but despite not being a religious type in the slightest, I’m a bit of a believer in the idea.

Or perhaps it’s not Fate or Destiny. Perhaps it’s simply the fact that everyone makes choices in their lives, and those choices have consequences that can continue to affect things months, even years, down the line. Not only that, but one person’s choices can affect the lives of other people and the choices they make too. Without one simple little thing happening, things might be entirely different.

Take something as seemingly inconsequential as, say, joining Twitter. Without joining Twitter on whenever-it-was (a piece of information that I’m sure used to be easier to find out) there’s a ton of things that would never have happened. It’s entirely possible that the Squadron of Shame SquadCast wouldn’t have happened and that the small but tight-knit community that has grown around that over at the Squawkbox wouldn’t be what it is today. Without that happening, I might not have been spurred on to quit my job and try and “make it” writing—something which yes, I’m aware I still have some way to go on, but it is at least considerably further along than it once was. Without that happening, many of the events of the last year might not have happened, for better or worse. I might not have met a number of awesome people who have become very important to me (in very different ways to each other, I might add). And I might not be sitting here now wondering what the future holds in a positive, forward-looking manner rather than dreading it.

Of course, some may point out that some of the events in that sequence of things indirectly led to bad things happening, which means that without my joining Twitter in the first place I might be sitting in a very different place right now in an alternate timeline. But then that’s where the question of “Fate” or “Destiny” comes in. Perhaps that’s one key event that was “supposed” to happen in order to make all that other stuff come to pass. And even the bad stuff, in that case, happened for a reason to lead me on towards some sort of eventual future awesomeness that hasn’t quite happened yet but feels like it’s finally starting to get there.

You can really over-think things if you’re not careful. Live in the moment. Do what seems right. Tackle the consequences as they come. Life will throw you challenges and big, steaming lumps of shit along the way, but at some point, eventually, you’ll find yourself on the pathway to something that’s “right”, something where your eventual goal is clear, if far away.

Am I on that pathway yet? Couldn’t say. But I know that for the first time in a long while, I’m looking forward to finding out.

#oneaday Day 84: The Crossovers That Will Never Be

There’s a ton of untapped potential in the world of the crossover. Comics have been wise to this for a long time, with DC and Marvel in particular being highly aware of the fact that all their superheroes are running around disparate parts of the same world and might just bump into each other on occasion.

But what would happen if some of the more bizarre crossovers came to fruition? Well, let’s explore that, shall we?

Castlevania: Deep Space Nine

The most modern the series has got was with Soma Cruz, and even then it was still all bats and caves and swords and whatnot. Castlevania should go to space, and specifically to Deep Space Nine. Why? Because I had a dream about it so therefore it must be a good idea.

Benjamin Sisko discovers that as well as being the Emissary he is also a descendent of the Belmont clan and—horrors!—Dracula has found a way to harness the power of the Bajoran wormhole to summon forth the forces of Darkness into our reality. Fortunately, power of said wormhole also manages to summon Alucard, with little to no explanation as to why (this is Castlevania, you don’t ask silly questions like “why?”) who very carefully passes Sisko the Vampire Killer whip. Thus begins an exciting and thrilling co-operative adventure throughout the many decks of Deep Space Nine, culminating in a thrilling showdown with Dracula, who reprises his famous “What Is A Man?” speech in zero gravity.

Features narration by Patrick Stewart, as is the law for all new Castlevania games.

Dragon’s Den: Origins

The Archdemon is rising, and the world needs a hero. But heroes don’t just come out of nowhere. They need to be found.

Enter The Dragons: Peter Jones, Deborah Meaden, Theo Paphitis, Duncan Bannatyne and James Caan. A series of aspiring Heroes of Ferelden climb the stairs of destiny and pitch their ideas with which they believe they’ll be able to take down the Archdemon. Only by securing a Dragon’s investment in their expedition will they have a chance of success, otherwise they’ll be doomed to wandering the land in rusty chainmail using swords that fall apart as soon as you hit a log with them.

Superman: The Krypton Factor

A brand new gameshow featuring Superman attempting to overcome a variety of physical and mental challenges, all of which are laced with kryptonite. Will Superman survive this episode? Will he finally succumb to kryptonite’s influence? As the series finale, Superman has to defeat Gordon Burns in single combat, as it turns out that Burns, too, is also a superhero, but one who draws power from kryptonite instead of being weakened by it. WHO WILL PREVAIL?

Total WipeOut HD Fury

A combination of futuristic racing and people falling in the water repeatedly, the twist is that the courses which the high-speed anti-grav racers and the people running around have to follow are the same, causing significant risk to life and limb for anyone hopping over those giant Super Mario mushrooms whilst the pack bears down on them at approximately 700mph. The winner is the team whose antigrav racer and panicking human both survive.

The Hairy Bikers in: Road Rash

The Hairy Bikers have had enough, and have decided to take on a gruesome, brutal world tour atop their throbbing motorbikes. Along the way, they smack the shit out of anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path, collect the meat from the smouldering corpses and cook it into a delicious recipe between each stage of their journey.

#oneaday Day 82: Mind. Blown.

It’s a really good thing that humans have the capacity to take things for granted. It’s not always the best thing to do, but occasionally, it’s quite fun to just step back (not literally, otherwise you’ll bump into that guy behind you and he’ll drop his fine china tea-set, making a horrible stain on the carpet and making him wonder whether or not he should ask you to pay for it because he’s actually quite anxious about talking to other people and doesn’t want to become acquainted with someone by yelling at them, but at the same time that tea-set was very expensive and belonged to his grandmother so he feels like he should at least say something so basically, don’t bump into him) and think about how awesome “things” are.

Take cars, for example, and by extension most means of motorised transportation. Most of us use some form of transport every single day and don’t give it a second thought. But think about it. You get into a car through a door, like a room. It has carpets and windows and furniture, like a room. But it moves. When you sit in a car, you’re in a room that moves. When you’re driving on the motorway, you’re sitting in a chair that’s going 90 70 miles per hour. That’s pretty amazing, right?

And the Internet. Particularly wireless Internet. Walk into pretty much any coffee shop and the Internet is in the air around you. You can’t see it, feel it, smell it, taste it, but turn on your iPhone (other smartphones and Wi-Fi compatible devices are available) and it’s there, allowing you to watch videos of cats at your convenience while you enjoy a half-caff skinny tall frappucino with extra coolwhip spoogebang sprinklywotsits and a slab of cake. Cat videos from thin air! Amazing.

Or the fact you’re reading this blog (which is amazing in itself) — I’m sitting here typing this in my makeshift study in Cambridgeshire while you could be sitting absolutely anywhere, even high in the sky on some airline services, reading this. Perhaps you’re in the future right now, scanning back through my past entries to get a better picture of who I am and whether I’m the sort of person who likes bludgeoning kittens to death (hint: I’m not… although that’s just the sort of thing someone who had a secret life bludgeoning kittens to death might say) — and you’re reading this. You’re in my brain, sucking up my soul. Stop it. But it’s still pretty amazing.

Of course, if you take all this to its natural conclusion, the fact that we’re here at all doing the things we do is pretty amazing, too. We are walking, talking lumps of chemical reactions that are reacting in such a way as to make us aware of our own existence and able to control our own destinies… or at least, so it seems, anyway. Chemical reactions who can write blog posts, talk to people who are 160 miles away, drink coffee and listen to music at the same time. Amazing.

I’ll stop now before my head explodes at the fact we’re on a big lump of rock hurtling through space that just happens to move in a nice elliptical orbit around a MASSIVE BURNING GLOB OF GAS and start taking everything for granted again.

#oneaday Day 81: Improv Theatre

[Preamble: We listen to stories when we’re kids because they have a soporific effect. There’s no reason why you should stop telling stories when you “grow up”, particularly if you enjoy improvising. This is a story I came up with on the fly at the request of a certain young lady who couldn’t sleep last night, given the stimulus words of “robots”, “clocks” and “cheesecake”. No preparation was involved, hence the total lack of structure and nonsensical, improvised nature of it. But I was quite pleased with the eventual result.]

There once was a robot. His name was Trundlebot, because he wasn’t very good at moving quickly on the wheels he had instead of feet. Trundlebot didn’t mind though, because he was a robot and didn’t know any better.

Trundlebot was the only robot employee at the Grognak clock factory, the first of his kind and something of an experiment for the factory owners. He was made from leftover clock parts and a few electronic gizmos that old Mr Grognak had ordered from the Internet against the express wishes of Mrs Grognak.

The Grognaks’ son, Jeremiah, who was five years old, was fascinated by Trundlebot, but Mr Grognak, still wary of the robot’s unproven track record, didn’t let him too close. But Jeremiah longed to see Trundlebot up close, to look at him, talk to him and see what sort of person he was.

Mr and Mrs Grognak indulged Jeremiah with fanciful tales of what Trundlebot used to get up to before he came to the Grognak clock factory, taking care not to disappoint Jeremiah with the sad truth that Trundlebot was an unthinking, unfeeling machine who knew nothing of human life.

But Jeremiah was unsatisfied with just stories. He wanted to know what made Trundlebot tick himself, so one chilly winter night, he wrapped himself up in the warmest clothes he could find, stole his way downstairs and crept out of the house door and into the grounds of the factory.

The chill wind battered his young face, but it wasn’t far to go. He crept across the courtyard to the front door of the main building and knowing that his father always left it unlocked due to the big iron gates outside, pushed it open slowly and carefully. It was dark inside, but the faint glow of the power-saving lights was enough for Jeremiah to see by. He heard the familiar ticking of the clocks as he walked through the corridors, looking around for what he desperately hoped would be his new robot friend.

He found his way to a door, which he recognised from the times his father had shown him around as the staff’s break room. It was eerily quiet inside, the ticking of the clocks outside a stark contrast to the gentle hum of the fridge that was the only sound in here.

Overcome with curiosity and not really knowing why, he reached for the fridge door and opened it. The bright light from within flooded out, and he shielded his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden change in ambience. The fridge was mostly bare, save for a single plate on the middle shelf which bore a cheesecake, topped with sticky sauce and sweet berries. Jeremiah reached for the plate, then paused for a moment. The cheesecake clearly belonged to someone, but it also clearly hadn’t been touched. Who would leave a delicious-looking cheesecake like that just lying around? He extended a finger and took off just a tiny blob of the sticky crimson sauce atop the cake, and licked his finger. It was as good as it looked, but he knew he shouldn’t touch any more.

He closed the fridge and was about to walk out, when he heard a clattering from outside the break room door. It sounded like someone was coming. Jeremiah didn’t know what to do. The only way out of the break room was through the door he’d come in by, and that was where the sounds were coming from. He looked around frantically and eventually opted to dive under a chair and hope whoever was coming wouldn’t see him. He heard the door open, and a ticking noise, along with what sounded like something being dragged along the floor.

Looking out from under the chair, he saw a familiar set of wheels. It was Trundlebot, but what was he up to?

The ticking robot trundled over to the fridge and jerkily extended one of its arms, yanking the door open rather forcefully. Jeremiah was fascinated. What on Earth was the silly little robot doing in the fridge? He heard the “clink” of metal on porcelain, and it was apparent that the robot was taking the cheesecake out of the fridge. Jeremiah heard the door shut again, and Trundlebot wheeled himself out, apparently oblivious to the young boy’s presence.

Jeremiah followed Trundlebot back through the factory corridors at a discreet distance, to the building’s front entrance and out into the courtyard. Across the courtyard, and into the Grognak household.

Jeremiah didn’t follow the robot in straight away, because he didn’t want to get caught. But after a moment, curiosity got the better of him and he crept in.

Inside, he was astonished to discover Trundlebot had not only set down the cheesecake in the middle of the dining table, but also set three places with plates, knives and forks.

“What are you doing?” said Jeremiah, unable to restrain his childish curiosity, and not even sure if the robot could understand him. The robot, apparently only now becoming aware of the child’s presence, paused for a moment and turned around on his wheels.

“One year since activation,” he said in a raspy metallic voice. “Operator Grognak efficient and kind operator. Protocol dictates giving of gift.”

Of course, thought Jeremiah. Trundlebot had been a part of their life for a year from tomorrow, and he wanted to celebrate.

“Did you make the cake?” asked Jeremiah.

“Affirmative,” said Trundlebot. “Internet recipe. Delia Smith.”

Jeremiah smiled at the robot. He was sure this would be a big surprise for his mother and father, and he looked forward to seeing their faces.

There was a sudden “snark” sound, and a long strip of paper began to emerge from a slot on the front of Trundlebot. Jeremiah took hold of it as it came out, further and further. Eventually, the other end dropped from the slot and Jeremiah picked up the finished article.

It was a banner, printed in red and gold. “THANK YOU”, it said in large friendly letters. Trundlebot raised his arms and Jeremiah, sensing what the robot was thinking, carefully laid the banner across so it looked like he was holding it up.

“Gratitude for assistance,” said Trundlebot. “Now child-unit must engage sleep programme.” Jeremiah nodded, and crept up the stairs to bed.

The following morning, the Grognak family rose early and went down to breakfast. They were astonished to discover Trundlebot standing mutely in their living room, holding a large red and gold “THANK YOU” banner, and a delicious-looking cheesecake on the table.

“Oh my goodness!” said Mrs Grognak. “Did you do all this, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah peered at Trundlebot, who said nothing. He swore that one of the robot’s eyes blinked on and off briefly, and he smiled.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s Trundlebot’s birthday. So it’s only fair we celebrate it, even if he can’t, isn’t it?”

So they all ate cake and had a lovely breakfast. Trundlebot and Mr Grognak made their way back to the factory and started their day of work.

Jeremiah didn’t hear Trundlebot speak again, but he knew that the silly little robot was more than just old clock parts and mysterious electronics. He was alive, and that made Jeremiah very happy indeed.

The End.

#oneaday Day 79: MeatMaid

BRISTOL, MARCH 19 2011

Käselichliebewurst Produktionen GmbH, makers of the hugely successful line of Cock-Hands products, today announced a revolution in morningtime routine technology. The MeatMaid line of products promise to do for fry-ups what the famous Teasmaid did for morning drinks.

“We are very excited about the possibilities that MeatMaid offers the discerning professional fry-up connoisseur,” said Käselichliebewurst Produktionen’s Associate VP of Marketing for EMEA, Helmut Wringer. “We believe that the provision of timely fry-ups on an automated basis is a gap in the market which has remained unfilled for too long.”

The MeatMaid range of products will initially be launching in the UK with a lineup of three unique breakfast automation solutions to fit every budget and lifestyle.

MeatMaid Classic offers its users the unique opportunity to pre-prepare a fryup to be ready on schedule for their morning routine. Special compartments allow for the insertion of bacon, sausage, egg, tomato, mushroom and hash browns. Optional toaster, black pudding, juicer and hot drink attachments are available to customise the MeatMaid experience. Simply insert the ingredients the night before, set the timer for when you want your breakfast and MeatMaid Classic will take care of the rest, carefully cooking and preparing your fryup to be waiting for you beside your bed right on schedule. Available in 1, 2, 4 and House Full Of Guests-person models, starting from £250.

MeatMaid Express offers the perfect breakfast solution for busy professionals who don’t have the time to cook things. Simply insert one of the range of MeatMaid Express capsules, set the timer and MeatMaid Express will take care of the rest, carefully preparing the ingredients from the capsule into a full breakfast within 30 seconds. Perfect for the fry-up connoisseur on the go. Full English, Veggie Breakfast and Big Breakfast capsules will be available on launch, with additional options available in the coming months. Starting from £350, with packs of 7 capsules costing £5 each.

MeatMaid On The Go provides all the benefits of MeatMaid Express in a handy briefcase-sized device that you can take anywhere, with no need to plug in! Load up the stylish carrying case with MeatMaid On The Go capsules, press the button when you’re hungry and voila! An all-day breakfast on demand! Starting from £500. Packs of 5 capsules cost £5 each. Additional battery packs £89 each.

“We anticipate that MeatMaid will be a huge success, particularly in the United Kingdom,” said Wringer. “We’ve been using it in our own offices daily and everyone appreciates starting the day with a good breakfast.”

ABOUT KÄSELICHLIEBEWURST PRODUKTIONEN GMBH

Founded in 1999 by renowned German businessman Werner von Wellensittichschmerzen, this European company have consistently been on the cutting-edge of modern technology, always following their motto “Finding the answers to questions no-one is asking”. Past successes include the popular line of Cock-Hands products as well as the Socialite’s Friend range of customisable kebab-storage systems.