Yesterday evening, as I was sitting in my evening chair enjoying the day’s paper with a glass of stout upon the occasional table beside me, I became aware that a large robotic panda piloted by a small panda who sat inside its head had crashed through my drawing-room wall.
“I say,” hallooed the small panda, its voice amplified through the harsh metallic robotic speaking grille, “can you tell me the way to the Edgebaston Road?”
Well, as it happens the tobacconist’s where I purchase the paper lies upon the Edgebaston road, and as such I make a daily constitutional there. I informed the panda of this, and gave directions, whereupon it thanked me and withdrew.
At length it returned.
“Dreadfully sorry about the mess,” it said, surveying the damage through its optic photo-sensors.
I glanced around. “Yes,” I remarked, “it will be a bit of a bother.”
“No matter,” replied the panda as it left once more, “I’ll send a man around. Soon have it looking like a new pin.”
And that was that.
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