Me and My Dictator

Happy New Year! I hope it’s not too late to wish all my dear readers and followers much success and happiness in 2019. Indeed I have not posted since 2018. Those of you who follow me on social media may know that on December 30 I slipped, fell and broke my wrist. My right wrist. For a right-handed writer/keyboard wielder, this was a minor disaster. I say minor because, thanks to my amazing orthopaedic surgeon, I am healing quite well.

So, I spent New Year’s Eve lying in a hospital bed, listening to distant fireworks and other sounds of revelry in a post-surgery haze. The nurses at Andrews Memorial Hospital were sweet and attentive. When I was in some pain, one of them had the wonderful idea of injecting a somewhat stronger painkiller. After a period of happy dreams, I fell into a deep sleep. No wonder people get addicted to this stuff.

One thing I learned more about during my recovery period (apart from patience, which I have in limited supply) was the versatility of my iPhone. While lounging on my bed and resting my arm, I discovered the voice feature, which I have never tried before but may well use again, even with two hands. I call it my Dictator.

It is likely that you all know about this, but the Dictator was a revelation for me. As I speak to my phone, soundwaves jiggle up and down and the dictator types for me. However, it does have its idiosyncrasies.

For example, and perhaps not surprisingly, it is often challenged by names. Minister of Health Christopher Tufton is much in the news these days. Whenever I have mentioned his name in a social media message, my Dictator has changed it to “Christopher Tough Times.” Perhaps appropriate for the minister, who is busy rebuffing numerous attacks from the Opposition People’s National Party on several fronts. My Dictator even once called itself a “dick,” which I think is rather rude. I certainly never called it that.

Actually, I think my dictator is not an “it,” but a male. His language is at times rather coarse. When in doubt, he turns to a four-letter word. I don’t know who he thinks I am… More than once, he has transcribed the word “air” as “ass.” I am a “bird” lover, and my dictator always translates this word as “butt.” There, it just did it again! Then I used the word “nibble” once. Of course, with my Dictator’s dirty mind, that became “nipple.” Such vulgarity!

Meanwhile, I think it’s fair to say that I have established a good working relationship with my Dictator. Which is more than can be said for the Democrats and the aspiring dictator to the north, Mr Trump.

By the way, this entire blog post has been dictated. My Dictator and I gwaan good.