I encountered my first ever robotic lawn mower today. It went by the name of Ronnie, or so a small voice in my head suggested with not a little conviction. And it was quite small -- maybe 30 inches by 15 or thereabouts, and looking for all the world like a vacuum cleaner with a mind of its own -- and was wandering up and down a patch of grass on one side of somebody's boundary wall. I watched it for some time to assess how it knew when to go straight, when to turn, where to go next, and so on. There was an appendage at the front with a glass panel which I assumed read the height and spread of the grass in front of it in order to make an informed decision. My attention paid off because I was eventually afforded the opportunity to say 'you missed a bit' because it had. Modern technology isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know.
The real problem, however, was evident a little way along the lane. Two handsome palomino horses were standing by a farm gate looking a bit tetchy, while their two women riders had dismounted and were holding onto the bridles looking irritated.
'They won't go past that robot thing,' said one of them. I had the impression she was blaming me in the absence of easier alternative.
It's hardly surprising, though, is it? A vacuum cleaner wandering about on its own, apparently aimlessly to a horse's perception no doubt, and making a funny buzzing noise to boot. Maybe I should have gone back to the machine and said 'Morning Ronnie, and how are you today?' And maybe Ronnie, bless his mindless modernity, would have performed something approximating to an Irish jig and squeaked happily. And then the horses would have strolled past in all their haughtiness and everything would have been well with the world. Never thought of that.
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