Oh Google, what have you done?

Down in the bowels of the Google acne factory, where the lenses in the spectacles are as thick as the piles of dandruff growing on the hunched shoulders of the adenoidal data monkeys, something has gone seriously awry.

If you are familiar with Gmail, you’ll be aware that due to a combination of spy satellites, clever algorithms and tiny secret cameras implanted in our foreheads while we’re asleep, They Always Know What You Are Doing.

If your message contains the word ‘holiday’, for example, ads for Benidorm and Florida pop up. Mention ‘jelly’ or ‘blancmange’ and you get pictures of Nick Clegg. Type ‘One Direction’ and you’ll be offered counselling, treatments for the deaf and an awful lot of money off a sniper rifle.

But who knows what in the name of the holy Intel Dual Core processor I was talking about when they tried to tempt me with this rare object of desire:

The Dual Chamber Cow Waterbed.

A triple pig hot tub, yes. A quadruple sheep duvet, without question. A quintuple ocelot combination electric blanket and alarm clock – every home should have one.

But this? So, so many questions.

‘Dual chamber’ suggests double occupancy. But ‘waterbed’ has connotations of  black satin sheets, lava lamps, cheesy funk, a twinkly disco ball and at least a passing chance of chlamydia.

So is this a lurve chamber for moo-cows who swim in the lady lake? Wearers of sensible hooves? Cud munchers, if you will?

Or is it a wobbly aquatic mattress for the rarely-seen Dual Chamber Cow? A new genetic variation on the traditional four-stomached model, this one decants its digestive product into pair of handy receptacles: one for full fat milk and one for semi-skimmed, southerners for the use of. Look out for the up-and-coming Muller Lite breed which creates thin sugary yoghurt and not-quite-jam in equal proportion.

(Comes complete with a unique peel-back udder.)

I just don’t know because, quite frankly, I didn’t dare find out. There are, admittedly, things in my search history that would make Russell Brand blench (never go night-surfing on Aldi sherry and cheesy Wotsits) but even I draw the line somewhere.

Even so, I live in occasional fear that one day the bouncy bovine boudoir item will rear its watery head once again. And this time, will I be strong enough to resist its clicky lure?

Damn you, Google. Damn you to hell.

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