“I say, Jeeves,” I said, bounding into the room. “I have a perfectly fruity idea. A fellow at the Drones was telling me all about the internet of things. It’s ripping. We install it here at the flat and when you go off to do your annual shrimping down at thingummy beach, why, its almost like I will be having an cyber-valet.”
Jeeves did not skip gaily about the room. He was not exactly gruntled. If he did not technically give me the nolle prosequi, he came near as toucher.
“I venture to suggest, sir,” he said, “that you may be laboring under an misapprehension.” As he explained it, the dashed internet of things did not absolutely mix you a stiff brandy-and-s when it saw you drag in rather down in the dumpsish. It seems the jolly ol’ setup is rather more in the wheelhouse of ordering you laundry detergent if it overhears you talking about Soapy Sid, or conveying your private conversations to fellows in the Punjab so they can better tailor advertisements to the tastes of Sahib. Not to mention the hacker chappies, who sound rather like blighters.
“Jeeves,” I said magnanimously, raising my hand, “say no more about it. If it not absolutely awsomesauce, I will forswear it. Take it away and give it to the deserving poor.”