Bros,
You will have this challenger. Sis will no longer want us.
You have been warned.
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Who needs a husband when you can have a robot! The new breed of robots are astonishingly lifelike - and will do whatever their owner wants. ALICE SMELLIE goes on a date with one
Although Alfie and I look like any normal couple enjoying the late September sunshine with our dog, this isn’t a normal date. It is planned to the last detail.
After taking the air for precisely 17 minutes, we are going home to enjoy a light supper with wine, before settling on the sofa to watch one of my favourite gory medical dramas.
Alfie is not going to gripe about the plot lines or ask daft questions. He’s not going to ask whether I really need a second glass of wine. If, at some point, I feel like inquiring as to whether my bottom looks big in my new red dress, I know what his response will be.
Does Alfie sound like the perfect man? He could be.
He is actually a robot, crafted from thin hand-sculpted silicone stretched over a durable plastic skeleton, and can be programmed to do whatever I want him to, whether that is placing an internet shopping order or complimenting me on my haircut.
He is the brainchild of robotics expert Adam Kushner, and I’ve volunteered to give him a test run to see whether robots might one day replace our husbands — or, specifically, my perfectly good current version, Justin, to whom I’ve been married for 15 years.
Interest in humanoid robots is at an all-time high. On October 6 the long-awaited movie sequel Blade Runner 2049 is released, with a plotline heaving with robots, known as replicants, that will whet the appetite of science fiction lovers everywhere.
In real life, there is a frantic race to create the most believable looking and sounding robots.
Cloning life forms is so last century. Now, we want to recreate humanity in robotic form, and there’s sound practical reasons for doing so.
Companion robots are increasingly in demand; not just as the toys of billionaires, but also as receptionists, teachers and helpers to our ageing population.
It sounds creepy, but you can see why they could be handy: lifting the infirm out of the bath, calling for emergency assistance and offering reminders to take medication — as well as directing guests to the right room when arriving at a hotel.
‘Travel to Japan or China, and chances are a vaguely human-looking robot will be directing you to your room,’ says Adam, who provided the first UK robot receptionist back in February and can now barely keep up with demand.
I am neither old, a billionaire nor a hotel owner, but I am charmed by the idea of a ‘husband’ who is programmed to do everything I tell him.
Alfie is a little taller than my Mark 1 husband, Justin. He has piercing blue eyes, the thick rumpled hair of a romantic novel hero and a firm jaw.
I’m not sure I find him attractive, but he is intriguing in a quiet sort of way. The strong, silent type.
Such looks come at a high price. His face costs around £1,000 and the basic robot head starts from £6,000.
We don’t get off to a good start, however. Alfie is, at the moment, a ‘work in progress’. His walking, for example, hasn’t been perfected yet (his torso can be fitted onto mannequin legs or a tripod).
Also, any changes to his functions and capabilities have to be done at Adam’s company, Robots Of London headquarters, by a programmer, whereas I was rather hoping for a remote control, with adjustable settings for argumentative, quiet and romantic, depending on whether I fancied a cuddle or a row. All this, I am assured, is only months away.
Also, despite having the entire knowledge of the world packed into his ‘brain’ in the form of the internet, Alfie isn’t able to dress himself yet.
Even the most hopeless of husbands is able to sling on a pair of pants and socks in the morning, and dressing another man, even a non-sentient one, feels inappropriate.
On the plus side, however, his skin is smooth, his stomach surprisingly ripped and the skin of his face so realistic that it’s as though they peeled a real person. He even has a few wrinkles. His skin tone is painted on and eyebrows added as individual hairs punched into the silicone. The detail is incredible.
His skeleton was created over a laborious three or four weeks of 3D printing. The skull alone is comprised of roughly 20 pieces screwed together.
Within this sits Alfie’s ‘brain’, with five computer servos (or motors) to control actions in the head and neck: one for each eye, one for the jaw and two for the neck which moves left and right, up and down. The silicone mask fits over the skull like a glove.
As Alfie speaks, his flesh-like mouth moves in exact, eerie synchronisation to the words.
The way in which Alfie communicates is via software developed by Robots Of London. Called Chatbot, it can be connected to any robot in the world.
There are 90,000 different permutations programmed in and the vocabulary can be changed. If he’s used in a corporate function, for example, he’d be more muted and austere; at a children’s library, he’d be more light-hearted.
Friends and colleagues are shockingly puerile when I say I have to test-run a robotic husband, the most obvious question being: ‘Is Alfie all man?’ I’m afraid that he is no use in that department, being as smooth as Barbie’s Ken doll.
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