A GADGET arrived in our household last week that’s beginning to fill me with dread.
The Quarter Master has a new toy. He is now the proud owner of a smart meter.
Just when I thought I’d sensed a slight relaxation on energy monitoring, I fear a renewed doubling down on dockets.
This morning I was informed that that my shower had cost 18 of your finest new pence and that, in all, we’d consumed four of the Queen’s pounds in a 24-hour period the previous day (he does so like the 24-hour clock when he’s planning his daily manoeuvres).
His enthusiasm for this clock-watching is, of course, admirable. But in these early days of smartness, only the gas readings have kicked in.
This bodes ill for when he can also keep his well trained eye on the leccy.
As well as dockets tb.VXi that require to be submitted for teabags, I fear a whole new level of bureaucracy for the boiling of the kettle.
As for the kit and caboodle with which I ply my trade, I shudder to think how that’s going to play when the smart meter reveals all.
Perhaps we could rig up some sort of dynamo mechanism so that if I type really fast, sufficient energy can be harnessed to power my laptop and the internet.
Come to think of it, the QM has been tinkering away in The Shed these past couple of days, so maybe there is a prototype in the offing.
As for docket gf.XXiii that must be activated three weeks in advance for the turning on of the gas fire in the Home Office, I fear I’ve had it and more star jumps, burpees and a balaclava will be the order of the day.
Perhaps I could request a visit to the Surplus Store for some of the fetching thermal regulation-issue long johns the QM is so fond of sporting.
Meanwhile, his enthusiasm for pulses and root vegetables continues unabated.
Admittedly, the green lentil, carrot and turnip stew was most tasty – not to mention warming. But by day four, it had become just a little tired. Stiff upper, lip though, and all that. Possibly tinged with blue.
Talking of upper lips, the QM appears to be deploying a new tactic to keep himself warm under his balaclava. He hasn’t yet shaved this year.
Is this a new look with which he’s experimenting, having run out of wax with which to coiffe the ends of his moustache?
Or perhaps he’s stock-piling his Gillette G3s in case of emergencies and he has to be on parade. I’m not sure, but his designer stubble is more George V than George Michael.
Anyway, must dash. My candle is beginning to sputter and the gong has just sounded in the mess hall. I understand it’s yellow lentils, carrot and turnip tonight … cooked over a very low peep.
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