Hey Google

I am attempting to build a relationship with Google.

Google is a bloke who lives in our new television. He is supposed to be very clever.

Indeed, he is clever, in a rather autistic sort of way. I saved myself a lot of faffing about this afternoon just by asking Google-in-the-television what three hundred and fifty grams was in real weights. Google explained knowledgeably that it was twelve point three something something ounces, for which I was grateful, but after that he carried on rabbiting in an undertone for ages, the way you do if you have got Asperger’s syndrome and have not noticed that nobody is listening any more.

He is very helpful in all sorts of ways, although not at things like ironing, which is disappointing. I can tell him to play me some Christmas carols and he will, although he has some trouble with The Best Christmas Album In The World Ever. Also he gets a bit carried away when I tell him to turn the volume up. It is a good thing not to be standing next to him at that moment otherwise you will have burst eardrums. He has similar problems with turning things down, and I discovered the other day that Winchester Cathedral Choir had been singing in a whisper almost all day after I got cross with Google and bellowed at him that it was too bloody loud, again.

He does not like being yelled at, and reminds me, patronisingly, that he is doing his best and that I should be patient. If he had not been so expensive I think it is likely that by now I would have thrown something at him in an irritated moment.

I do not think that we are in any danger of artificial intelligence taking over the planet yet.

I wanted to know about converting grams to ounces because of a tiresome modern recipe on the internet. I was making naan bread. I have had a day of cooking things. Also I have collected the satsumas that have fallen off the tree in the conservatory and stuck them full of cloves. They are drying on the stove, making the living room smell seasonally bright.

I explained to Mark that in medieval times people used to carry them around and sniff them, to stop themselves from catching plague from bad air. Mark said that he expected it would very probably still work, and that if I put one on a string around my neck he would give me a ninety nine point nine percent guarantee that I would not die of bat flu.

I can hear Mark downstairs shouting crossly at Google as I write, and indeed as I wrote those very words my ears were assaulted by Google’s deafening choice of seasonal melodies. Mark says that Google is supposed to learn things, but so far he is even slower than the dog, partly, I imagine, because nobody ever chucks their boots at Google.

It is rather splendid to be so very close to the season of goodwill now, and I am looking forward to feeling some. Apparently Boris is going to telephone some people randomly, on Christmas Day, as a surprise.

I think it would be very much better if it wasn’t me.

I was the recipient of some rather magnificent goodwill today, however, because my parents have given us the splendid Christmas present of forking out a huge wad of cash into Gordonstoun’s overstuffed coffers for Oliver’s school fees.

I sat in bed with a cup of coffee and felt my worries evaporating into grateful happiness, like alcohol when you try and distil your own Christmas spirits on the stove with a kettle.

This is easier than you might think, although the results are a bit questionable. You attach a copper pipe to the spout of the kettle and keep wrapping cold wet rags around it. We made dandelion and rhubarb schnapps like that once, and although I would not exactly have described it as delicious, as long as you did not mind your lips going numb and your eyes watering it was really quite drinkable. Well, sort of drinkable. Actually it just evaporated once it got into your mouth, but we didn’t go blind or die, so it was all right.

Anyway, my day was massively cheered, not least because next term is their skiing term, which is going to cost yet another packet.

We have been saved at the eleventh hour.

We are going to have an untroubled Christmas.

Have a picture of some Christmas present manufacture.