Beep beep beep
I've an idea for a new product. It's like the alarm that protects my flat against intruders, but with some additions. You will be able to programme it so it checks that when you set the alarm, all the things you mean to bring with you out of the house are on you - keys, wallet, phone etc. It would save me a lot of time and grief, and the planet come to think of it, seeing as much petrol is wasted driving back from work/school/whatever to your home to retrieve missing items.
This morning, for example, I remembered to bring my phone and lunch box to work. But it happened at the expense of my gym bag and remembering to take out the rubbish.
My father will agree with me that the adult mind can only carry three, perhaps four things in it. Add another item and one of the first will fall out. This state of affairs will guarantee the success of my product, and I will get swiss scientists at the institute of Cosmoceutics in Basel to back me up on this one.
Speaking of lunch box, what I remembered to bring this morning was less that and more 'lunch bowl'. In it, I transported soup. You might think it foolish to drive down a steep hill with a bowl of tomato soup in the passenger seat wrapped only by a Pick'N'Pay bag - and you'd be right! Faster than you can say 'ketchup' there was not so much a bowl of soup as a bag of soup in my car, splashing around threatening to flood everything. The whole scene took on something of the absurd, and I remember thinking that this is exactly how accidents happen as I tried to right the upturned ember.
Another difficulty I am facing today (see, I'm procrastinating - I must be on deadline) is how to shake off Victorian prose for Guardian-speak. I'm writing a profile about this HIV scientist in Durban, and have to check myself from describing her as 'casting her gaze langorously after the tall, handsome stranger over by the water cooler'. You see, I was reading Jane Eyre into the small hours last night and these things always rub off on you. Damn. Or Deuce, as Mr Rochester would have had it. At least there are no insane spouses locked up in my attic. Or is there????
Yours, &cetera, &cetera
This morning, for example, I remembered to bring my phone and lunch box to work. But it happened at the expense of my gym bag and remembering to take out the rubbish.
My father will agree with me that the adult mind can only carry three, perhaps four things in it. Add another item and one of the first will fall out. This state of affairs will guarantee the success of my product, and I will get swiss scientists at the institute of Cosmoceutics in Basel to back me up on this one.
Speaking of lunch box, what I remembered to bring this morning was less that and more 'lunch bowl'. In it, I transported soup. You might think it foolish to drive down a steep hill with a bowl of tomato soup in the passenger seat wrapped only by a Pick'N'Pay bag - and you'd be right! Faster than you can say 'ketchup' there was not so much a bowl of soup as a bag of soup in my car, splashing around threatening to flood everything. The whole scene took on something of the absurd, and I remember thinking that this is exactly how accidents happen as I tried to right the upturned ember.
Another difficulty I am facing today (see, I'm procrastinating - I must be on deadline) is how to shake off Victorian prose for Guardian-speak. I'm writing a profile about this HIV scientist in Durban, and have to check myself from describing her as 'casting her gaze langorously after the tall, handsome stranger over by the water cooler'. You see, I was reading Jane Eyre into the small hours last night and these things always rub off on you. Damn. Or Deuce, as Mr Rochester would have had it. At least there are no insane spouses locked up in my attic. Or is there????
Yours, &cetera, &cetera
posted by Linda at 10:06
1 Comments:
3 is the maximum number, 55 years of experience cannot be denied.
Take care, Dad
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