Diable, on s’arrête!

Some time ago, on this page, I think I mentioned E M Forster’s short story ‘The Machine Stops’ . It’s a good story, and horribly prophetic. It’s about a society where individuals live alone inside their sealed pods and where their every need is met by the ‘Machine’. The only communication they have with others is via electronic means and there is no personal contact whatsoever. These individuals have never seen the natural light of day. Then one day, the machine stops. One of the most disturbing elements of this change for these pallid, machine-dependent creatures was not only that their physical requirements were no longer being met, but that the continual electronic 'hum' from the machine that had controlled their lives from birth, also ceased. The ensuing silence was loud enough to drive them almost mad.

Such a scenario was experienced by ourselves only yesterday. Facebook began to misbehave and on a few occasions, crashed completely. What were we to do? Almost immediately, panic set in amongst the population; people began clawing at the walls and tearing out their hair. How would any of us survive? In E M Forster’s story, a few determined individuals decided not to accept their impending death and instead, made their way into the air-conditioning ducts and forced their way into the open air where there, on the hillside, they met up with other creatures who were remarkably like themselves. A forbidding encounter indeed. We should try it ourselves, perhaps.

Tonight I am attending an exclusive soirée in the woods. It promises to be a impressive affair – Sarah’s two assistants, Jeremy & Raoul, will be serving canapés and champagne wearing only tutus and straw hats. After that, they will change into gold spandex leotards before performing the cabaret which will feature, I am told, a stunning display of Chinese acrobatics. We will also finally meet Sarah’s husband. For yes, none of us knew before this week that Sarah was married, at the age of seventeen, to a dashing and handsome Russian prince. Apparently, on the honeymoon night, and before the marriage was consummated, Prince Igor Nikolayevich Piffenhov became so traumatised by Sarah’s beauty that he was rendered immediately, and dangerously, insane. For both his own protection, and for the protection of society at large, Sarah has been obliged to keep him chained to the wall in an attic room of Davenport Towers ever since (well, that’s her explanation for it anyway). We are promised a glimpse of him tonight. Can't wait.

I’m currently listening to an item on Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour in which a group of people are sitting around soberly discussing the difference between the clitoris and the vagina. Hmm, morning coffee anyone?