SORRY to spring this one on you chaps, but there really is no easy way to tell you the bad news.

They've created a talking washing machine.

'They' are the Electrolux Group and the monster they have created is the Zanussi-Electrolux Timeline ZWV1651S, also known as the VOICE Washing Machine.

Now I know that most of you are thinking: "I have absolutely no interest in washing machines and I have no evidence of the existence of one in my own household, apart from the Ironing Fairy who puts all my clothes neatly in my wardrobe."

Let's be honest here. Men are not built to deal with washing machines. Give us a stereo, a DVD player, a telly or a computer and we will gladly tinker about with them until they are entirely useless rather than simply malfunctioning.

But a washing machine is a different and more sinister thing.

My wife once shouted to me from upstairs, a procedure to test whether I might be doing something I should not be doing. Like relaxing.

"Turn the washing machine on to spin," she commanded.

I froze. The washing machine was her domain and my only involvement in its domestic life had been signing the credit card slip on its purchase.

Without wishing to sound like a feckless buffoon, I approached the washing machine.

I quickly ascertained that the machine did not push a button marked 'Spin.'

There were numbers. Lots of them, variously spaced out. Five minutes later and I was in the same mental state. In fact, my abject failure to understand the function of any of the 13 numbers ranged around the large knob on the machine was making my teeth itch.

So I turned it to number 10.

Don't ask me why, beyond the fact that it was the number Pele wore on his Brazilian shirt and is one of the regular numbers on my lottery ticket.

The machine started gurgling like The Swamp Thing and the drum containing the clothes started to slosh slowly around.

Then it stopped. And started again, making a noise like an Austin Allegro doing 60 miles per hour in reverse.

As I retreated back into the kitchen, I vaguely heard a voice from upstairs asking what the hell was going on.

Frankly, I had no idea what was going on, but I sensed I was in as much trouble as the washing machine.

Amazingly for our household, the instruction booklet was perched on a shelf just two feet away.

"Auf keinen Fall darf die Maschine mit der daruberliegenden Tischplatte oder benachbatern Mobeln verschraubt werden!"

This was not the helpful advice I wanted to hear, unless of course it was advising me to leave the house and retire to the nearest pub.

Now the VOICE - which isn't a speaking woman with an exasperated tone but a series of warning bleeps - means that next time I am asked to do something constructive with the thing, I will be expected to complete the task without dribbling like the village idiot.

Yes, of course I will darling...

First published: May 23