Dear readers, I did it. I rebuilt him (or it?). As many of you will recall, I wrote in our last issue of the worst home-built robot we have ever reviewed. A morbid fusion of cheap appliances and the digitised ghost of Napoleon. Well, following Bonabot’s traumatic encounter with an Ocado lorry, he’s back up and running. And is fast becoming a pillar of the local community.
Four long days and almost sleepless nights, fingers sore from deep cuts and countless blows to my already fragile psyche later, my small house was once again filled with the sound of whirring and splintering skirting boards once again. The emperor lives!
Miraculously, his hard-drive, motherboard and other vital components survived the collision. Likely a result of the inconceivable levels of polystyrene packed into his casing. A lifesaving fire hazard.
My elation was short lived, however. As once again, my metal friend found his way out of the front door. This time, he managed to make his escape without being blindsided by traffic, (he did however almost obliterated the postman on his way down the garden path.) He then sped off somewhere deep into the adjacent labyrinth of housing estates.
It took me a day and a night to track him down. Trails of tire marks, bits of plastic and the sound of something indistinguishable, metallic, and slightly French echoing through the estates taunted me. But I did it. I found him. He was idling by a local child, who had been sat merrily beside Monsieur Bonaparte. The child drew shapes on the pavement with a sharp stone. Bonabot made beeping noises.
It was a struggle getting the mechanical statesman home. He didn’t take well to me asking politely. When I told him to follow me, he made a spitting noise, and said the word “English.” Rather derisively. I tried pushing him, but he made an awful “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” noise. I took it to be an expression of discontent. Sourcing what I now know to be called a ‘sack truck’ from a neighbour, I was able to wheel him home. Almost without doing irreparable damage to my spine.
The morning after saw the week take yet another bizarre hairpin turn. At around 11, there was a knock on my door. It was the child with whom Bonabot has been found. He asked if ‘Bobot’ could play outside. I was flummoxed. Bonabot did not give me the hour or so I’d need to comprehend the question. I heard him career towards the back of me. Instinctively, and without regard for the wellbeing of the child who was about to be flattened by a sentient washing machine in a stupid hat, I leapt aside.
To my great relief, he stopped abruptly at the door. He yelled “Allez!” in the face of the child before hurtling off into the street. I was stunned. I did nothing but stand and watch from my front door. As the two of them went house-to-house, recruiting the other boys for a game of football.
On quiet, dead end residential streets like mine, seeing children play football is a regular occurrence. But seldom do they include metal monstrosities who, if they’d been human, would have resembled the kind of person you hear about in old folktales about people so hideous they get locked away in sturdy castles somewhere very remote.
Bonabot isn’t entirely useless on the football pitch. He makes for an adequate centre back, blocking shots as they smack against his plastic shell and making some sturdy off-the-ball challenges that would see red cards if a ref were present.
I watched the game, I watched it peter out into Bonabot giving what looked to be a rousing speech to the children. From what I could hear, it seemed to be a third in broken French, a third in very broken English and a third ‘messages from today’s sponsor, Beer 52’. It seems Bonabot’s accident did nothing to address his adware problem and in addition to trying to unite Europe appears to be on a mission to turn today’s youth to artisanal alcoholism.
Shortly after, they were all sat crossed legged around him as he spoke with conviction in hushed tones. Occasionally spinning around on the spot to check behind him. Presumably for ‘Nelson’. Something he regularly warns me about. Normally through the bathroom door whilst I’m locked in there using the facilities.
I had been stood at my door for almost two hours watching this unfold, when he began to lead the children up and down the street, single file in marching drills. By this time, his following had grown. More local children had joined the Emperor’s pack. As had a couple of adults who I presume were parents of some of his younger followers. I cannot fathom why, but I felt the urge to join them.
The drills were later interrupted by a door swinging open, and a concerned father calling out to his son to explain what was going on and come inside immediately. Bonabot didn’t take kindly to this. He brought his line to a halt with a cry of “ALLETEZ” and a swing of his spindly probe of a right arm into the air. He turned sharply to the disgruntled man and stared him down. I’ve been on the receiving end of that luminous blue stare many times. It’s discomforting even when he’s being chummy and babbling anecdotes pieced together from totally unrelated stories jostling to escape from his mouth slot.
“If there is any man amongst you who would kill his emperor, here I stand.” Reader, in your wisdom you may have deduced that what he said made absolutely no sense in this context. But he said it in a tone that would have instilled fright in anybody had it come from a human and the tinny effect of his speaker grill made it all the more harrowing. He sounded like a cyberman who’s just caught you slipping your hotel room key to his girlfriend. Despite the lack of any sense in what Bonabot had said, the angry man nodded at him in acknowledgement, and closed the door.
Dear reader, what I’ve seen has made me quite anxious, but dare I say it, excited to see where this goes! Until next issue, where I’ll once again shirk my responsibilities of writing rather dry pieces about home electronics.
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