The smoky-voiced wench is perma-present in our house nowadays.

She’s either playing repetitive FM or, hilariously, telling my wife, ‘It’s raining right now’ in response to the simple question, ‘Alexa… will it rain?’.

It leaves Mrs C, a notably genteel woman, threatening to ‘kill that sarky bitch’.

So, so very, very funny.

We must have half-a-dozen of the mini-Death Stars Dotted about our gaff over three floors.

Essentially, they serve as walkie-talkies so we can spare neighbours from hearing us shout up stairs questions such as, ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’, and, ‘Have you washed any pants lately?’.

Naturally, the only one who can (often literally) get a tune out of them is the resident tween.

In fact, such is her mastery, she’s worked out how to piss about with all manner of settings.

Without warning, one of them will start chirping back at you in an American or Indian accent, or reveal it had a woke-transformation overnight and now identifies as a fella.

The other day, one delivered a rendition of happy birthday ‘sung’ by cats. It scared the bejesus out of our two felines as, low-backed, they hid behind the sofa.

Of course, away from the humorous day-to-day anecdotes, these bits of kit are definitely listening to us. Like all – the – time.

I’ve gone full circle on that, from outrage at the invasion of privacy to hope some of my wasted-on-my-wife pearls of wisdom might just reach the ears of Bezos and the rest of the Illuminati board.

Let’s start with the observation that Amazon is now crap nowadays, Jeff.

It was good but you got lazy, started overcharging for Prime, ballsed up deliveries, annoyed the slave labour in your warehouses, started sending out obviously once-returned goods, and generally shit the bed.

That said, we’ll keep the Echo Dots for now please mate, as I’m pretty sure the missus will lob one through a window the next time one tells her to rush out and get the washing in on a dry day – and tain’t nobody who don’t wanna watch that.