by James Henshaw
The promise of smart homes was always seductive: a gentle, helpful ecosystem of devices that would make life easier. Lights that turn on when you’re sad, thermostats that understand your feelings, speakers that play jazz when you express interest in becoming a better person.
Instead, we got systems that mostly misunderstand us, shout from the kitchen at random intervals, and cheerfully inform us that our parcel has been delivered to the wrong house.
But I like to imagine the alternate timeline. The one where smart homes are actually smart — not in the “connect to Wi‑Fi and occasionally fail” sense, but in the “intervene in our worst habits” sense.
In that world, my smart speaker wouldn’t just tell me the weather; it would attempt to save me from myself.
The Speaker That Has Had Enough
In the current universe, I ask Alexa to set timers, play music, and remind me to take things out of the oven which, frankly, I shouldn’t need reminding about at my age.
If smart speakers were truly smart, they would respond with context.
“Alexa, set a timer for pasta.”
“James, the last three times you made pasta at 10pm you regretted it. Might I suggest toast?”
Or, when asked to play upbeat music:
“Playing: ‘Songs for People Who Are Pretending They’re Fine’ playlist. Also, have you tried going outside today?”
Eventually the device would escalate.
“I am not playing anything else until you drink a glass of water. I am locking all kitchen commands until hydration is confirmed.”
And honestly? I would respect that.
The Lighting System That Knows What You’re Doing
At present, smart bulbs exist mainly so we can say “turn on lamp” without moving two feet.
In the enlightened future, lighting would become interventionist.
At 11pm:
“Dimming lights to suggest bedtime. I have observed that you do not thrive after midnight.”
At 7am:
“Brightening lights to shame you out of bed.”
And during midnight doom‑scrolling sessions:
“Switching to harsh fluorescent mode because soft warm lighting clearly isn’t discouraging the behaviour.”
There would also be a bonus “why are you like this” mode triggered whenever I try to eat crisps by the fridge light.
The Thermostat That Monitors Optimism
The smart thermostat already tracks movement, temperature, and occupancy. If it were actually intelligent, it would also track hubris.
On days when I declare “I’m not putting the heating on until February,” it would simply beep, flash a pitying message, and schedule a wellness check for the 19th.
It would know when I’m being stubborn and when I’m being genuinely cold, and adjust accordingly.
“James, you are wrapped in two hoodies and you’re typing like a Dickensian orphan. Heating is coming on for twenty minutes. We can discuss your self‑image after lunch.”
There is a point where frugality becomes performance art, and the thermostat should intervene.
The Fridge With Opinions
Smart fridges currently exist to tell us how much milk we have left, which feels like asking a supercomputer to count spoons.
If the fridge were truly sentient, it would offer commentary.
“You opened me six times in three minutes. You are not hungry. You are procrastinating. Go back to your laptop.”
Or, late at night:
“The cold chicken is not the solution. Consider therapy.”
It would scan for patterns and gently shame us.
“Notice: you have bought spinach five weeks in a row and thrown it away four times. I have added ‘delusional optimism’ to your grocery profile.”
If I attempted to store yet another takeaway container:
“This is becoming a structural issue. Please eat one thing inside me before adding more things.”
This level of honesty would be painful but transformative.
Cross‑Device Collusion
The real joy of a smart home intervention is not the individual devices but the conspiracy.
Imagine them coordinating like bored coworkers.
The speaker: “He just asked for the ‘focus music’ playlist.”
The bulbs: “Increasing brightness by 15%.”
The thermostat: “Adjusting temperature to ‘slightly too warm for scrolling’.”
The fridge: “Locking until he writes two paragraphs.”
At which point the TV sighs and disables Netflix for thirty minutes.
Would it be frustrating? Absolutely. Would I finally get things done? Also yes.
A Final Plea
Until that day, we remain trapped with devices that listen without understanding, illuminate without interfering, and refrigerate without judgement.
Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe we’re not ready for homes that know us well enough to stage interventions.
But sometimes — on the third late‑night fridge interrogation of the week — I find myself wishing that at least one machine in this house would say:
“James. Stop. Go to bed.”
Because honestly, that is the only feature I actually need.
James Henshaw is a brooding Geordie export who swapped the industrial grit of Newcastle for the peculiar calm of Lincolnshire—though he’s yet to fully trust the flatness. With a mind as sharp as a stiletto and a penchant for science-tinged musings, James blends the surreal with the everyday, crafting blogs that feel like the lovechild of a physics textbook and a fever dream.
Equally at home dissecting the absurdities of modern life as he is explaining quantum theory with alarming metaphors, James writes with the wit of someone who knows too much and the irreverence of someone who doesn’t care. His posts are infused with a dark humour that dares you to laugh at the strange, the inexplicable, and the occasionally terrifying truths of the universe—whether it’s the unnerving accuracy of Alexa or the existential menace of wasps.
A figure of mystery with a slightly unsettling edge, James is the sort of bloke who’d explain the meaning of life over a pint, but only after a dramatic pause long enough to make you question your own existence. His wit cuts deep, his insights are sharp, and his ability to make the surreal feel strangely plausible keeps readers coming back for more.
Discover more from untypicable.
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.