That’s inventive

That’s inventive That’s inventive

Barrie Hudson - Taking a sideways look at life

AS we told you in the Swindon Advertiser the other day, Sonia Boswell from Royal Wootton Bassett has patents pending on a zip device to prevent sleeping partners from nicking each other’s side of the duvet.

She will be celebrated by we who currently daren’t get into bed second for fear of being left shivering next to something resembling a Swiss roll with a person in the middle of it – a person who resolutely pretends to be asleep even if you happen to have an air horn handy and give ’em a blast.

I just wish there were more people with this spirit of invention, because then maybe we’d be relieved of those niggling problems that may be only minor but can still put a downer on one’s existence.

Perhaps somebody could come up with a special pet collar that lights up or sends a mobile phone message when the animal has a bout of flatulence. This would protect innocent people from false accusations, especially if the animal in question is in the habit of wandering into the living room while a gentlemen is present, giving vent to something unspeakable and immediately leaving.

No more would we have to protest our innocence as the wallpaper began to peel; no more would we have to protest in vain that we couldn’t be responsible for such a horror as we don’t even eat Pedigree Chum or Kit-e-Kat.

I’d also like to see a special device for one-upmanship against pretentious pseudo-hippies if you ever find yourself having to invite them into your home.

Perhaps they’re friends of friends tagging along to a party, say, or a grown-up sibling who’s married a pillock and adopted their attitudes.

I reckon the best bet would be an entirely random object that you could make up some completely nonsensicial use for.

Perhaps something made of painted bits of wire, feathers and beads. You could hang your socks there and claim it was invented by a lost South American tribe to appease the gods and cure verrucas.

Another innovation you don’t see in those catalogues sometimes slipped into the Sunday papers or the Radio Times is a Doorstep Charity Direct Debit Hassler Repeller.

Perhaps the device could be some form of handheld scanner that you passed over the logo of any collector who turned up at your house uninvited.

Then its screen would display the name and £175,000-plus salary of the charity’s chief executive, not to mention the multi-million pound fee paid to whichever agency sent some annoying middle class trustafarian twerp in a tabard to your home.

The machine might have a related function for dealing with religious doorstep callers.

A discreet button press would activate preloaded sounds on the stereo or computer in your living room, a track including human screams, the frantic bleating of a distressed goat, the sharpening of a bladed weapon and a spot of chanting about inviting the Evil One to materialise for a Brimstone Cup-a-Soup and a chat.

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