SZR Feelings.

Dorothy and James now happily possess an MOT for another year. They and I become understandable nervous about their yearly check up. James’s psychosomatic stress for example brought on speedo failure a week before it and Dorothy though outwardly fit and healthy shed a CV joint boot clip. It’s all yet another subtle example of the arrogance of the human race in believing only we have feelings. Not so. Everything responds to fatigue and age in a similar way and to loving care and attention. My Yamaha SZR though never christened with a name goes merrily to hers and passes every time, a product no doubt of our love for each other. Being born in 1997 she’s now fifteen, which means next year after rowing with Mothermouse I’ll be able to flounce out with, “Screw you I’m spending the weekend with a sixteen year old!” Well I’ll enjoy it, until that is, she goes off and has under age sex with a sun bed. And ‘Sun-Dried-Tomato’, Woodseats premier tanning salon, will find three bulbs have blown for no apparent reason. No, everything has feelings. My ancient 28” Sony Trinitron for example, the size of a table and four chairs, is struggling on like a cantankerous ninety year old in a care home knowing that to show any slight infirmity will end in the crematorium. And if these inanimate mechanicals emote in these ways think of plants and animals. They’re brimming with emotions once we notice them. Our cat Domino for example is Dimitar Berbatov, slow, deliberate yet with a deep yearning for love that makes him mark his territory with smelly pee. Domino that is not Dimitar. So it’s true, we’re all in the tender arms of our loving recycler, destined to strut and shuffle this mortal coil till our on/off switch goes faulty.