At the end of our Jolly Jaunt yesterday (see previous Daily Blog) the Youngest of the Darling Daughters and I repaired to my house where I was keen to enlist her support in my Latest Technological Purchase.
First of all, however, we had to work out where and how to fill up her car with screen wash, given that the windscreen was all smeary and she would have a long journey home later that evening. Obviously I am positively
the worst person to ask about anything concerning Car Mechanics but I tried to be helpful. Which is probably why my daughter decided it might be altogether a better idea to phone her Other Half for advice. I hasten to add that, had she been driving her own
car, she would not have had a problem but she wasn't. Similarly, had she been accompanied by granddaughter Hazel Bagel, who (I boast, proudly) passed her driving test just before Christmas, we could have asked her, as this kind of valuable information is part
of the test these days.
After that little exercise, it was my turn to ask for help when I introduced the Youngest of the Darling Daughters to my Misfit. Yes, it really is called that, I can only think it has
been manufactured in a foreign land where the word "misfit" means something altogether more positive.
My Misfit is a kind of poor man's Fitbit. Parsimonious pensioner that I am, there was no way I was paying
out over a hundred pounds for a device which would never stop nagging me about my Bad Habits. When, however, I saw the little red box peeping out from the Bargain Box in the local chemist while waiting for my prescription to be dispensed, I was intrigued enough
to explore further. When I found out it was discounted to a mere £17, I found myself seriously contemplating a purchase. I decided I would wait until my prescription was ready and, if nobody else had nabbed it by then, I would make the Misfit my own.
Several people did pick up the little red box, turn it over in inquisitive hands, before replacing it in the Bargain Box having presumably Found It Wanting. This only served to make me desire it all the more - like when you go to choose a puppy and find yourself
carrying home the runt of the litter because you feel an all-encompassing surge of sympathy towards it.
My Misfit and I stopped off at the café on the way home. I am well-known in this establishment
even though I only ever buy a cup of coffee (£1.50) to drink while reading the Daily Mirror. Or maybe that is why I am well-known? Anyway I ordered my coffee and opened the box to discover a plastic bracelet and a small red disc inside. Plus a list of
instructions in five different languages and a reassuring note informing me that my new Best Friend Forever complied with the essential requirements and other relevant provisions of Directive 1999 / 5 / EC. Phew, what a relief!
I had a little bit of trouble working out which app I needed to download but my daughter sorted me out in no time at all. We were both mostly fascinated, it is true, by the sleep tracking function, which says a lot about our Attitude to Getting Fit.
I was charmed to discover that I could email Progress reports and promised my daughter regular updates. Whether she wanted them or not.
After she had left for home (having clambered up into the loft for me
to replace the Christmas tree and other decorations) I emailed her to report that, according to a misguidedly cheerful Misfit, I had achieved a new personal record by scoring 56 points out of a possible 1000. "Lol!" was her quick response. Or, as the Duracell
Bunny, aka Young Morgan, would be quick to exclaim: "Are you kidding me?!"
Early this morning my daughter texted me to ask how I had slept. I knew, immediately, that she wanted Chapter and Verse According
to Misfit. At first I thought I had somehow failed to activate the necessary function - then suddenly up it popped. I had enjoyed 5 hours 31 minutes of "restful sleep", and 3 hours 24 minutes of "light sleep" which I interpret as snoozing. I had also been
awake for 7 minutes which I presume is the time it takes me to cross the landing to the loo and back when I need to answer a Call of Nature. Fascinating! Or, possibly, not.
I think, on this basis, you may
prefer not to ask me, in future, if I have had a good night because, thanks to Misfit, you will get the full - boring - story.
In hours and minutes, don't you know?