“...After 400 yards, you’ll be driven up the freaking wall”

My girlfriend was bought a SatNav phone for Christmas, and unsurprisingly has been itching to use it at every opportunity since. Accordingly, therefore, when we tootled out on a shopping excursion today, the trusty device was pressed into action. I was yet to learn what a domineering and forceful nagger this device was. Reminiscent of an overbearing and officious back-seat-driver, riding with such a device is an insufferable cross between a driving instructor from hell and a 1950s housewife.

Before we’d even driven out of the car park, it was barking out orders. And erroneous ones at that. In true Sergeant-Major fashion, it snarled its opening instruction: “turn right and then sharp right onto ....”.

Therein lay the first problem . “But we’re going left, aren’t we,”? I queried.  Trying to quickly comprehend the logic in operation, I suggested, “so we just do the opposite of each direction, yeah”? Well, apparently it wasn’t as simple as that. After the opening salvo, I bitched back at the jumped-up device, grumbling at its repetitive reminders, grating voice and haughty attitude.

But I jest, faithful reader. The SatNav phone is, in all honestly, an excellent bit of kit and a worthy cockpit addition for the speed-camera warnings alone. To be fair, though, it did get us horribly lost at one point, adding time to our journey and mud to the car. Still, I’m assured that was more attributable to user-error rather than a satellite being out of kilter.

In conclusion, I don’t mind being dictated to by a phone, I just wish it’d sometimes ease back on the reminders and soften its tone, that’s all. After all, who wants to be bitched at by a phone – isn’t driving a hotbed for potential arguments and stress anyway?