There was a robot hoover from the far orient
Resplendent in his gold coat; he was magnificent
His skin shone with the lustre of a thousand suns
He was mighty, he was lovely, he was the beautiful one
His name was Jurgen; he got down to his job
Scranning here and cleaning up a shitload of crap
He was triumphant, a true kitchen god
Though he couldn’t do the carpets cause he wasn’t that good
But he tried so hard with exuberant glee
A manic kind of insect, like a drunken, coked bee
He’d clang around in circles and would confuse himself
In the same place in the kitchen by the slow cooker shelf
Where he’d get stuck, and I’d pull him back out
And he’d flash his light at me, a thank you from the heart
And after he’d been with me for a month and a week
He stopped. Came straight toward me – and began to speak.
He said: Who, who,
Who are you my friend?
Are you a hoover too? I don’t understand.
Where’s your dustbox?
Can you tell me
Where does the world all go when you’re not looking at me?
I said Jurgen
Jurgen my boy
Yo daddy loves to see you eating dirt from the floor
You were born to
Born to bring joy
Let me empty out your tummy so you can scran some more
I turned his power off; he didn’t feel a thing.
I emptied out his dustbox and noticed the string
Wrapped around his brushes, so immediately
Did some surgery and cut him totally free
And back on he came, and he burbled along
Making happy little noises as he had a big chomp.
Then he turned round toward me and struggled along
Slowing down all the while. Something seemed to be wrong.
He said Daddy
I love you
But I’m feeling kinda tired and I want to sleep now
And Daddy
Please don’t cry
But where do hoovers go when, when, well, when we die?
I said Jurgen
Nobody knows
Not for sure, that’s the truth, where your earthly soul goes
But, my Jurgen
Jurgen it’s true
If I live a thousand years I will never forget you.
Jurgen beeped. I’d never heard that before.
He turned in one last circle. Light flashed wanly. And poor
Jurgen, he went silent and stopped.
For the final time the hoover turned himself off.
It was lovely, I guess, in the saddest of ways
To think of how the hoover had brightened my days.
And I cradled that shell, the gold tarnished and scratched.
He looked so tiny. He’d gone. I cried. His time had passed.
Hours later, my wife came back home from work.
I was still on the floor, holding Jurgen. I looked
Up at her, red-eyed. No words came out: I was lost.
She tutted at me, disappeared to the recycling box
And came back with the package Jurgen had come in.
She shook her head at me, rolled her eyes, with a grin
Rummaged around in the dense packaging
Came up with an electric cord which she plugged in
She said: Joseph
You silly sod
You should have looked harder. I said: he’s gone, my wife
She prised Jurgen
Out of my hands
And put the cord in his side: a miracle! Jurgen revived!
There was a robot hoover from the far orient
Resplendent in his gold coat; he was magnificent
His skin shone with the lustre of a thousand suns
He was mighty, he was lovely, he was the beautiful one
He was Jurgen
Jurgen our lad
He’s the best hoover buddy that I’ve ever had
He said Daddy
Life can be hard
So plug me in, you dickhead, so that I can recharge.
He was Jurgen
Jurgen our lad
He’s the best hoover buddy that I’ve ever had
He was Jurgen
Jurgen our lad
He’s the best hoover buddy that I’ve ever had
He’s the best hoover buddy that I’ve ever had
He’s the best hoover buddy that I’ve ever had
He’s the best hoover buddy that I’ve ever had
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