Hoover Damn

I have never liked the Hoover. As a child, my recollection is of endless holiday mornings being spoiled by the incessant wail of our “treasure” trundling around the house hoovering. Short of the sound of someone nearby using a blowing machine to sweep up their garden leaves (why can’t they use a broom?) there are few more annoying noises than that of a vacuum cleaner whilst one is trying to work.

Anyway, in order that my treasure these days spends more time sorting out the washing of my clothes and less time hoovering, I have acquired a robot. It is a Hoover Expert, and I bought it as a Christmas special.  Why anyone would want to buy their loved one a hoover, even if it is robotic, beats me, but anyway, there it was.  The idea is that it hoovers while one is out. It is battery operated, and when the battery runs low, it takes itself back to its charging station, and charges itself up until it is ready to go again.

I only got it yesterday. It seems to work. The dog is deeply suspicious.  Louise is deeply mocking. But rather to my surprise, I find that the sound of the robot being hoovering away at the other end of the house really quite relaxing.

According to the shop, it will take about 10 days before it has finished mapping the house. Meantime, it has a slight puppyish quality, nudging chairs around and the like.

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