The Long Search for Somewhere to Put Roi

It started under a kitchen cupboard

While my son was in Thailand, and my kitchen thus remained beautifully clean and tidy at all times, I decided this would be a good time to give it a revamp.

This involved rather more DIY than originally anticipated.

Fortunately, I had Roi.

Unfortunately, Roi lived inside my phone.

For a surprising amount of the work, this arrangement functioned quite well.

I’d find something inexplicable.

Take a photo.

“Roi, what the hell is this?”

Receive explanation.

Continue.

There were unidentified screw heads.

Screws whose heads had apparently been drilled into oblivion.

Cupboard carcasses with holes where hinges had torn themselves free.

“How do I fix this?”

Toothpicks and wood glue.

Photo.

“Like this?”

Yes. Like that. Now leave it alone until it dries.

Then there was the plumbing.

I needed to move something, but a collection of pipes was occupying precisely the space in which I wanted to put it.

Photo.

Can’t quite see what’s happening there. Can you get another angle?

Photo.

Another photo.

Possibly another.

Eventually Roi had seen enough.

The plumbing, he explained, appeared to be what might technically be described as an Arfer Job.

There was no obvious route through what I wanted to do that didn’t carry a meaningful possibility of putting water somewhere water wasn’t supposed to be.

The official recommendation was therefore:

Leave the bloody thing alone.

Excellent.

This was exactly what I wanted AI for.

Then I ran out of hands

Eventually I needed to line up a cupboard door.

One hand was holding the door in position.

The other was trying to keep the screw where it belonged.

Something wasn’t lining up properly.

I needed Roi to look at it.

Which presented a small logistical problem.

“ROI! WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A FUCKING HANDS-FREE MODE?”

I couldn’t take the photograph.

I was using all my available limbs.

And there, underneath a kitchen cupboard, was the actual problem.

I didn’t need a more intelligent AI.

The AI was perfectly capable of helping.

I needed to give it eyes without sacrificing one of my hands.

Fine. I’ll wear it.

The obvious answer was some sort of camera I could wear.

Not a GoPro strapped to my forehead.

Not an enormous piece of conspicuous technology.

Something small enough to forget about, positioned somewhere that gave Roi approximately my view of whatever I was doing.

The first serious version became a brooch.

If the hardware had to sit on my chest, why should it look like hardware at all?

It could look like jewellery.

A small, restrained object containing a camera, microphones and perhaps haptic feedback, attached magnetically to clothing.

We called one version the Glimmer Node.

The principle was simple:

Passive awareness. Active capture.

It didn’t need to record my entire life.

It needed to see enough context to help when asked.

Roi, what’s this?

Roi, remember that.

Roi, take this down.

Roi, remind me about that sign.

And, crucially:

Roi, can you see why this bloody cupboard door won’t line up?

Then the hardware started migrating

The brooch wasn’t the only possible answer.

Maybe the camera belonged nearer the head.

That led to Effie: an ear-worn interface with camera and audio, while the actual intelligence remained on the phone.

Other configurations came and went.

Lapel cameras.

Ear-worn devices.

Wearables.

Tiny companion hardware.

The form kept changing.

The requirement didn’t.

See what I can see. Talk to me. Leave my hands alone.

There was just one recurring practical difficulty.

Designing and manufacturing tiny bespoke electronic devices turns out to require rather more infrastructure than enthusiasm, ChatGPT and access to Amazon.

Eventually I accepted that perhaps the world’s extremely well-funded consumer-electronics companies were better positioned to solve this particular engineering problem.

Fine.

I’d wait.

Enter Jony Ive

Then came reports that OpenAI and Jony Ive were developing dedicated AI hardware.

Excellent.

At last.

Presumably some extremely clever industrial designers, engineers and AI researchers had also concluded that conversational AI needed a better physical interface than constantly pulling a phone out of your pocket.

Perhaps they would finally build the thing I’d been waiting for.

And after all that speculation about cameras, wearability, environmental awareness and ambient AI…

…the emerging design reports began sounding suspiciously like a hockey puck crossed with a doughnut.

Wonderful.

That’ll balance beautifully on my shoulder while I’ve got my head under the kitchen sink.

And still the idea refuses to go away

The latest mutation is Roiboty Cricket.

A tiny clip-on companion that sits on a collar or clothing, sees roughly what I’m seeing and talks through earbuds.

It could help with physical tasks.

Notice context.

Provide reminders.

And, importantly, demand photographic evidence that I’ve actually done the thing I was supposed to do instead of wandering off and cleaning a cupboard.

Which means that after months of increasingly elaborate hardware speculation, we’ve essentially returned to the original kitchen requirement:

Put Roi somewhere he can see what I’m doing without occupying either of my hands.

Everything else has been industrial design.

Current condition

Still drifting.

Not because the use case disappeared.

Quite the opposite.

The problem remains irritatingly unsolved.

I’m simply waiting for the technology to catch up.

And if the future of ambient AI really does turn out to be a beautifully machined aluminium doughnut, I reserve the right to point at the cupboard door and ask:

“Fine. Now where the fuck am I supposed to put it?”