Am I imagining it or does nearly everyone of my generation that I meet these days want to moan? It makes me mindful of a 1960s London West End musical, ‘Fings Aint Wot They Used To Be’ by Lionel Bart, with the title song (taken up later by Max Bygraves) that goes on about Teds in drainpipe trousers and Debs in coffee houses. I have come to the conclusion each generation makes a point of creating new stuff for the oldies to complain about – maybe that’s half the fun.
On further investigation I discovered an American song with the same title which was written in 1942, so the sentiment is obviously nothing new. People have probably been moaning about change since the first cavewoman discovered that if she rubbed two boy scouts together she could make fire. Older folks go on about the speed of technology and not being able to keep up but I say bring it on. Nothing has made me happier of late than Robert the Robot!
As I write, Robert is chuntering backwards and forwards across my lawn, cutting it. I look out of my bedroom window and there he is making beautiful stripes on the neatest grass I have ever had. He makes my whole garden look cared for and tended all the time. It’s like having a permanently clean kitchen floor. Watching him working away gives me a pleasing lift of spirit and a happy grin.
Robert came about because my sons decided they’d had enough of cutting my lawns as well as their own and if they sold the ride-on (that we shared) and moved to houses with no lawns, we could afford to buy Robert. So I did.
Robert’s daily perambulations are transmitted by satellite to my eldest son’s mobile phone so he can monitor where he is and what he is doing. Should Robert be faced with an obstacle or fall into a rabbit hole, he sends Henry a text to tell him what has happened. ‘It is muddy and I need my screen cleaned’, or, ‘I am stuck – I cannot continue.’ So Henry sends me a text and I have to perform a rescue. Sometimes the poor thing can be found flailing frantically with one wheel whirling round helplessly and the other trying to manoeuvre him out of whatever he has fallen into. My heart lurches and I feel like I do when I rescue a limping hedgehog or a wounded bird. Though it is still the same after I have effected the rescue – never a word or a sign of thanks – Robert just toddles off and gets on with it.
Last week he appeared from behind a hedge and, un-noticed by me, ended up confronting a large bath towel I was hanging on the line. The first thing I was aware of was a grumpy, mechanical, growling sound at my feet which made me jump and step aside but Robert graciously backed up, changed his trajectory and continued on his way. I suspect he sent Henry an irate text to complain there had been an ‘object’ in his path and it wasn’t his fault his stripes weren’t perfect. I also suspect Henry is spending a considerable amount of his new found precious time on his mobile watching Robert’s movements. He takes great delight it popping in to tell me about them. “Look Mum, he avoided the branch that fell off that tree!” or, “Hey! Great! He got over the ramps we made for him so he could cross the drive.”
I was working in the garden yesterday evening. Dusk was coming on and the wind had died down. Everything was still, not a leaf was twitching as I walked towards what I call my ‘secret’ garden. I suddenly got that creepy feeling, I was NOT alone….. I froze and looked anxiously over my shoulder –and yes, there was Robert – bless his little cotton socks, trotting along behind me, doing his job, keeping my lawn tidy and neat.
At night he trundles over to a corner near the garage and tucks himself into his charging station which has a three foot post with a blue light on top. Sometimes, when I come home late and see it, I don’t feel so alone. I suppose I am going to have to put him in the garage in the wintertime. I will miss him then.
Oh yes, fings definitely aren’t wot they used to be but some new fings can be fun!
Felicity was born in Cheshire in England in 1941. At the age of five she was dragged, kicking and screaming, to Northern Ireland where she (later) married, had a family and has been living ever since. Among other things, she has been a secretary, a BBC Radio reporter, a veterinary assistant, director of a local Saleroom (Temple Auctions), obtained a degree in Fine and Applied Art at the University of Ulster and has recently published her debut novel, “Days of Wine and Wardrobes”.
She now lives near Lisburn with her cat, Wudi.
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