“Alexa, what’s the weather going to be like today?”
“Right now in London it’s 5 degrees Celsius with clear skies and sun. Today’s forecast is cloud with a chance of showers, with a high of 7 degrees and a low of 0 degrees.”
Her voice is mellifluous, already starting to put me a good mood for the day. I try another request.
“Alexa, what’s the population of Zambia?”
Her circular blue light whirrs round momentarily whilst she considers my question.
“According to the CIA World Fact Book, as of 2017 the population of Zambia is 16 million people.”
I change tack, trying to be a bit cool (though in reality I am well over a decade behind in my choice of music).
“Alexa. Play me something by the Fleet Foxes.”
“Shuffling songs by Fleet Foxes on Amazon Music,“ she responds then starts to play White Winter Hymnal.
I was following the…
I was following the…
“Alexa, finish.”
“Hm. I don’t know that.”
I was following the pack
All swallowed in their coats…
“Alexa, can you finish now please?”
“Sorry, I’m not sure.”
And I turned ‘round and there you go
And Michael you would fall…
“Alexa, I’ve had enough.”
Her blue light whirrs around again, starting to remind me of the red eye on evil Hal in 2001. She is listening to everything I say, perhaps even sending it back to some supercomputer in a remote corner of Nevada, profiling my behaviour to use against me in the future. Is she just pretending she doesn’t understand?
“You can send feedback through the App on your phone,” she says.
Finally, I figure out the magic word.
“Alexa, goodbye.”
“Talk to you later,” she replies and then switches herself off. Or at least I think she does. Maybe she is still silently processing the conversation in the kitchen.
The Amazon Echo was a Christmas present from my sister-in-law. Knowing that I have Parkinson’s, it was a well-intentioned gift, if a little misguided. Maybe in ten years’ time I might need to speak to a machine rather than use a keyboard or a remote control, but I’m not a cripple yet. Nevertheless, I very much appreciate my new toy and it could be useful for certain things. Though I note that Alexa doesn’t yet have access to the train departure board at the local station: that certainly would be helpful in the morning rush.
I got two other Christmas presents tenuously linked to my condition.
Firstly, a selection of whisky miniatures. Three varieties from The Balvenie no less. Clearly someone was reading my blog about single malts.
Secondly, the most useful gift of all: a long-handled shoehorn from Clara.
For years I’ve been struggling to put my work shoes on in the morning and this has only worsened with the Parkinson’s. So when Clara suggested that we only spend £20 on each other this year (saving our money for holidays later in the year), I didn’t hesitate in my request.
No more frustrated jamming of my sore fingers down the back of my shoes in the morning rush. No more shaking and cursing. No more tripping over. Now my shoes slip on effortlessly.
Clearly advanced technology has the power to be immensely beneficial to individuals and to society. The combination of complex data processing and computing power that sits behind Alexa’s soothing voice is a triumph of human achievement.
But sometimes it’s the simple things that make all the difference.
