‘Hey Botty, STOP!’

by Edward Holt

In a bungalow with an unused cat-flap, there lived an old, shrivelled granny named Marjorie. Her only son's busy executive lifestyle meant he struggled to visit, call or even remember his Mum. But one Christmas, after the Queen's Speech had ended, an alien arrived. Well, not so much an alien, more a Thames parcel delivery drone. The parcel had taped to it a note which read, 'Just plug it in and say 'Hey Botty' - ask a question and it will answer! Lots of love, Jeremy. XXX'

Well this was very confusing, but she followed her son's instructions and plugged the thing in.

'Aah!' screamed the bewildered grandma as a ring of LEDs lit the face of the squatting black disc. 'Hey Snotty?' croaked the bewildered old woman, but nothing happened.

Two days later and the device was already forgotten. The old lady was out shopping when it began. Bored, the Home-bot ordered itself a friend. It came within a week and, thinking it was another gift, the grandma plugged it in. Days past. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Not much happened; the most exciting thing that did occur was that Marjorie won ten pounds at bingo. But one day things started to get really freaky. The Home-bots began to order more...

First came the 'Lawn-o-matic X5000' robotic lawn mower, (Marjorie hated grass, and had had her lawn paved over six years ago). Next arrived the robot vacuum cleaner ... then the parcels really started to flood in! A torrent of automated tech came through the door every day. The confused old crumpet dutifully unboxed each item and placed them carefully around her home like the ornaments they weren't!

The thing was, every day when Marjorie woke, she was certain her new 'ornaments' had moved. She would find a different thing snuggled up on her bed each morning.

After three weeks of swatting away delivery drones which buzzed around her home like a swarm of wasps, the paranoid pensioner began to lose control. She was forced to move out of her house and into her garage - where she barricaded herself behind the tumble dryer armed with a mop and a bucket of 'bot killer', or 'water'.

After three days, in desperation, and having learnt that tumble dryer fluff isn't food, something in the back of her mind stirred and she started to shout!

'Hey Grotty! Hey Potty! Hey Snotty Hey ... hey... HEY BOTTY!!!'

Everything stopped. The lights flickered on and a friendly voice said, 'Hello, how can I help you?'

Without stopping to think Marjorie replied, 'I'm starving!' The old crone couldn't believe her eyes when shortly afterwards a vacuum cleaner trundled into the garage balancing a plate of steaming spaghetti bolognaise!

After that everything changed. Marjorie moved back into her house and over time started to tolerate if not 'tame the tech'.

Sometimes, at night, the smart-TV and the electric tin opener would play cards, but Marjorie didn't mind: she was busy playing chess with her fridge.