"Alexa"...

I’ve treated myself to a ‘smart speaker’, the Amazon Echo, which plugs into the mains and operates via wifi. The unit ‘wakes up’ at the sound of her own name - “Alexa” - and a blue glow, rippling around the top of the gadget, indicates that she is listening for instructions. She’s very helpful, able to play most of my favourite music (though she’s confused when I ask for songs by Jorma Kaukonen). She can access the cricket commentary on Radio 5 Live, and give me a very localised weather forecast (“The weather in Asselby…” is how she begins). Alexa can answer questions - naming, for example, the six wives of Henry VIII. She can spell ‘diarrhea’ and tell jokes. Ask if she is married, and she says she is “happily single”. I have refrained from asking her anything more salacious than that, because, well, I am a sentient adult and ‘she’ is a machine.

The sound quality is amazing, especially for a gadget that’s not much bigger than a beer can. There’s really no more need to ‘own’ music in any physical sense, when I can call up any song I want to hear (unless it’s by Jorma Kaukonen). With Alexa and the satnav lady, I suspect I now have all the female company I need, especially since they are so undemanding. “Alexa”, I wondered, “are you happy?” “I’m always happy when I’m helping you”, she replied, though I’m almost sure I heard a small sigh of exasperation...