As seen on TV: Who needs rain-sensing wipers?
It’s a brilliant little device: very powerful, not much bigger than a penny, and endlessly useful for retrieving small objects from under kitchen units or examining the wheelarches of old cars. Anything, really, that requires me to see in the dark. I wouldn’t be without it. The strange thing is, though, that until I had it, I never imagined I needed it. I’ve never had a pocket torch before and the integral light in the key of my old Porsche faded away into the eternal night long before I owned it. Yet now barely a day passes when I don’t find myself pushing through the agitated crowd thronging the scene of some traumatic incident bellowing: “Stand back! Everything’s going to be all right! I’ve got a torch!” Similarly, my dad recently donated his old stopwatch to me. This is something I remember from earliest childhood, when it lived in his jacket pocket and was used by him to time critical operations in factories. Now it’s in my pocket, my boiled eggs are perfect and so far I’ve spent
