Techno Addiction

My name is Keith and I am a techno addict. I have been as long as I can remember. I've considered developing some emotional maturity and realise that life is about living rather than having. But then it isn't entirely the having - it's the making it all work together.

I love it. We've got a house full of it. My wife and daughter can't move due to the wiring.

Just this evening I worked out how to make my iPhone play music through my PC using bluetooth. Anyone else would have just found a bit of wire and connected the two together. That'd be too easy for me. Where would be the fun in that? I mean I can take my iPhone up to 10 meters away from my PC and still play music through it's speakers. Hell, I can be in another room so I wouldn't even have to listen to the music I was playing. Stupid thing to get happy about.

Maybe I can move onto other devices. Could I get my toaster to play Judas Priest's "Living after Midnight"? Got to be worth a go, I'd have said. To be honest, I would be satisfied just to get the thing to make bread brown on both sides evenly and quickly. It has a dial on the side marked with numbers. Number 1: Make the bread vaguely warm to the touch; Number 2: Make one side of each slice slightly brown in the middle; Number 3: Put the fire to it. Cremate. Leave no trace of the bread. Send it to the ozone layer post haste. Thankfully it cannot be turned up to 11 - I've always assumed that would have been banned under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Amerdinerjad says Iran has no nuclear weapons, but they've got a toaster and they know how to use it.

I had reason earlier in the day to look up Bermuda Triangle mysteries. Sadly most are terribly easy to explain, but like always it set me thinking. Where exactly did my 500g bar of Dairy Milk go? [For those of you reading from the other side of the Atlantic that is a very big bar of very nice chocolate] One day it was in the 'fridge and the next it wasn't. Obviously I took statements from all present, although the celery was remaining suspiciously quiet. I took the cheese away for interrogation.

My keen mind discounted the obvious immediately. It hadn't been eaten by the dog. Dogs don't like Dairy Milk. 500g would clearly be too much and the poor animal would have a stomach ache. Dog's can't unwrap foil wrapping and that was gone too. The absolute clincher I felt was that we don't own a dog. Well, I don't think we do.

A few days later it reappeared, but had gone past it's best-before-end date. Mysterious chilly white portal to another time and place OR a grocery delivery - you make up your own mind.