Here’s another length of writing based around mobile living. They are not meant to light up the literary world, but allow me to explore a few ideas. It was crowd sourced as you can see by the clips. I found this one a little tougher to get done – maybe being stuck at home with the character!
I’m very grateful as usual to everyone for their comments that made the story come together, it shows a lot about some of our attitudes to mobile ideas at home. Thanks also to Jerry at Kingswood Warren for additional notes.
…and yes I would like my own Fizzgig.
Alice’s mobile screams an alarm. It’s time to get up.
In sync with the device on her bedside table, the digital radio adds to the clamour with a music station, pounding loud morning chat and cheery tunes.
Of course none of this is actually that loud, but the cold and flu season has Alice in its grip and being ill and sensitive to these things, the audio assault seems particularly savage this morning.
“Stop,” she croaks.
Nothing happens. Her voice recognition software doesn’t recognise her tone through her throat infection and stuffed nose. She opens one eye, swipes the device from the bedside table and hits the snooze button. The silence is bliss. For a moment she recognises why head bangers do what they do – to experience the relief of stopping.
She sighs. Alice is under five day quarantine with Nuflu. It’s day two and the symptoms are breaking left and right. She wants to sleep on, but work from home beckons. Once up and washed, she might feel about ready to face another day at home.
She swings a leg out of the bed, something makes a clink, something else makes a swish and something switches off. Her foot is cold and wet. This doesn’t bode well. Her sleepy mind sharpens up and she sits up casting a volley of curses and coughs hard. Looking down she sees a water glass turned over, a laptop open and powered out. Not even seven am and she’s managed to put her laptop out of action and cover the carpet in water. She sneezes and grabs tissues to block her running nose.
With a snotty sigh she gets out of bed, moves the glass and towels down the carpet. As she lifts the computer it leaks more water onto the floor. It’s going to be a while before that thing dries out enough to try and find out if it will ever recover. She props it on its side, hoping more water will run out of it.
She sneezes again, coughs and shrugs on an out-sized dressing gown. Popping her mobile into one of the pockets and stepping into slippers, she acknowledges that today is not likely to be one of her best.
As she walks into the bathroom, the taps start to run hot water and she pops the plug in. The mobile device has triggered the sensors in the door for morning and it knows what she will be doing. Alice sits on the edge of the bath and checks in to various accounts online. Social network messages and email. There’s nothing too urgent. She shoots an email in to her team at work to let them know she’s alive but not coming in.
Alice squints at the screen of her mobile, no use talking to it at the moment. She swipes the page over from Work context to Home context and her device settings adjust to suit being out of the office.
Next on her home to do list is to check in with her GP. She switches on the mobile camera and adjusts the view to look back at her. It has a camera on each side, one for photos and the other for video calls and as a mirror of sorts. She pokes out her tongue. Yuk. She’s looking a bit grim. There are grey shadows under her eyes and her face is puffy from a rough night of troubled sleep.
She uploads a photo of herself and her tongue and steps onto the scales. The device collects the data of her current weight; still heavy enough to be healthy, so at least being sick has not changed her dangerously. She monitors her high temperature and taps the numbers into the device. Altogether she creates a health picture for today and sends the file back to her GP. She knows she will get a text back saying she needs to stay indoors, stay warm, eat well and drink plenty. But she keeps adding the data just in case anything comes up that might be out of the ordinary.
At the same time, her details are added to a crowd sourced database and network. Later on she will add a post and possibly some audio about symptoms and what to do whilst housebound. She’s comforted by knowing that the outbreak has a community to talk to, most people recover, it’s a matter of time though to try and slow down the speed of the Nuflu spread.
Having phaffed about in the bathroom for so long, her usual routine is shot. Usually she would be in the bath at the same time as the live radio headlines. She chooses a bulletin on demand and cues a lecture for 20 mins off the back of it to listen to whilst bathing. Might as well take her time on a day like today.
The mobile chimes softly alongside the lecture tape, bringing Alice around from her reverie. It’s time for Nuflu medication, “to be taken on time, every time to be most effective”. She gets out of the bath and wraps herself in towels, padding off to the kitchen and taking her pills.
In the bathroom the lecture ends and the mobile emits a short whining tone, it is now more than 20 feet away from her, the sensor recognises that she is not close and sends the audio cry to remind her not to leave it behind. She sighs, no pockets in a bath towel. The tone carries on while she checks her office to find the device bot.
The small robotic harness on wheels seemed ridiculous to her when she was first presented with it a year ago. To make it more appealing her friend Archie had covered it in fake fur and put a collar with a name tag on it. “Fizzgig” like the ball of fluff in the kids’ movie. Though the furry cover is removable, it makes her smile and she keeps it on, refer to the assembled object when it has the phone in place by name, anthropomorphising tech.
Fizzgig’s set up has a small camera and sensor attached. Basically it follows at your heels. A good mic attached plugs into the mobile device allowing verbal instruction, so no pockets required. In a small way Alice tends to acknowledge it as company when she is at home, but would find the whole thing far too embarrassing to take outside.
She collects the phone from the bathroom, places it in Fizzgig’s cradle connecting the two and switches the whole thing on again. Fizzgig barks an MP3 of a small dog at her, she smiles to herself.
It barks again, a different tone – Archie programmed a translator into Fizzgig to translate the various tones from the mobile into a basic language of barks. Not for the first time Alice wonders how he finds the time to make these things work.
“What is it?” she asks Fizzgig as she dresses. The email is read to her – a video attachment and a message from Sally at work. Not related to business, a personal message.
“Video” states Alice, noting that being up and about has at least made her voice a little clearer.
The screen on her bedroom wall flickers into life and a You Tube video starts to stream. Without the femtocell in her hall, this would be a pain to look at, she’s glad she invested in the upgrade. The video streams. Sally has voiced over a bad impression of a Scottish nutritionist lady from the TV. The visuals are of the woman ritually inspecting someone’s stool as she does on her program to shock people into taking note of their own diet and health. It’s pretty grim. Sally’s giggling bad impression says, “Soooooo. Alice here is definitely not well, as we can see here in her pooooo”. Alice starts to laugh, it’s a bad mash up but the effect is cheering her.
The giggling stops and Sally’s voice reappears “Get well soon and come back to work! Things are the same as usual her, but we miiiiiiis youuuuuu!” The video stops.
Alice touches the screen and tells Fizzgig to show her email. She drops a line to Sally. “I can tell you are really busy at the studios then if you have time to record your own version of my health check. By the way, you want to run that back again, that’s not my poo at all, you should have recognised that or at least verified it first
I’ll be back before you know it, getting a bit of cabin fever, but I think the main symptoms are nearly done. Thanks for the video, it really cheered me up. Now go do some proper work!”
She sends it back to Sally and heads off to the kitchen to make some breakfast with Fizzgig right behind her.
As they enter the kitchen she tells Fizzgig to stream live music radio through the speakers and send a trigger to the kettle to turn it on. Looking into the fridge she sees that there’s not a lot in the way of food in there. Old ketchup, a dried out lime and half a carton of soya milk. She grabs the milk and looks at the fridge screen, it’s red with missing items on the list of her usual groceries.
While the kettle boils she touches the fridge screen to reorder various items to restock. Adding a few more to improve her liquid intake to get over the Nuflu and a few treats to make the time pass in the coming days. She arranges the delivery for the afternoon and Fizzgig barks an email. It’s likely to be the receipt for her order on auto reply. She ignores the bark and makes some coffee and toast.
Fizzgig follows Alice to the living room; the combination of sensors turns the TV on and automatically switches it to a news channel. Alice has set up Fizzgig to signal the TV for particular times of the day, unless she states otherwise.
Having heard the headlines on the radio, Alice tells Fizzgig to switch to analysis on a couple of stories that interest her. A court case for a millionaire’s divorce and some local updates on transport. She munches on toast and lets the TV bring her what she needs.
News and toast consumed, Alice calls Fizzgig closer within reach. One of the things she still loves about Archie’s design is the flip trigger to retrieve her mobile. She places a toe on a trigger next to one of its wheels and presses down. A spring in Fizzgig throws the mobile into the air, to about shoulder height on a standing adult. Pleased, Alice puts out her hand and catches the device easily. She smiles, small things make her happy like that.
She scrolls through the device to a home based to do list. It’s a little different to her work schedule with more domestic activity. One or two items have been tagged for both home and office so she can get some work done remotely. She emails an extract of a research paper to one colleague and lines up appointments for the following week with another, adjusting her calendar automatically.
Satisfied that her work world will not collapse without her, she opens the browser on the device and throws the view to her TV screen. When she found out that she would be quarantined for five days, she decided to get involved with the Nuflu bloggers network. Between them they are logging symptoms, changes and medication tips with each other. They map their location to show where the outbreak is spreading and how it is being managed as well as tagging and adding articles from news outlets and government health statements. It’s a rich resource as well as being comforting that she is not the only one at home all day worrying about whether or not the “Keep calm and carry on” government statements are really true.
She logs in and reads a few updates. Someone else from work is also quarantined now. She takes a look at his profile, it’s not someone she really knows well and he has not added much to the data pile so she dismisses him for the moment. Her favourites have been updated; a woman in America has a very funny take on managing her quarantine. She’s had to quarantine her husband and children too, something they are not so happy about. Alice spends time reading the comic aspects and then formulates an update of her own.
She opens a page on her own account and adds her medical statistics – everyone is about the same, bored, high temperatures and generally a bit tired. Snotty noses and a bit of a cough. Basically manageable but not something that should be spread to high risk categories if it can be avoided. She adds that she has taken her medication and which one that is. The USA has chosen a different brand of medication to the UK and the comparison is a topic of hot debate on the NuFlu message boards.
She grabs a wireless keyboard from the drawer in her coffee table and attaches it wirelessly through her mobile. The TV shows her typing. She writes about food this time. Her tastes are dulled at the moment so she has been choosing strong flavours. She also writes about the grocery delivery later, wondering if she will have to get the delivery guy to push the digital signature unit through the letterbox and leave the bags on the doormat if she is not meant to mix with others. She notes that it might be a good idea to have an option for details on this when you order something so that delivery people are not likely to catch NuFlu.
It’s not poetry, but it’s an update and that’s been useful to her from other people. She considers adding an audio file the next morning to talk about her voice recognition software failing as her tone has deepened through illness. No point in doing it now that she’s warmed up a bit.
She publishes her post and has a brief browse around a few social networks and news sites. Her favourite TV show is being discontinued. That sucks. She reads a few messages from friends and says “hi” in return. She can feel an encroaching fidgety mood. She’s running out of things that really need to be done and getting into the time where she can do something of leisure. Naturally she wants to go out. She thinks about the TV show being cancelled, it reminds her that she still has some episodes on her server. She tells her mobile to call them up and then turns off its communication notifications for a while. If she has to veg’ then she’s going to do it completely.
Lost in a world of treachery and adventure, it takes a moment for the message alert to sink in. Alice looks with irritation at the bottom right hand corner of her TV screen, there are only three people who can override her ‘no comms’ wall when she has set it up, this one is her mother, blinking urgently on the screen, its a call. She tells the mobile to pause the program and reel back one minute then accepts the call.
“Alice dear, hello. What are you doing? It took you a while to pick up the ‘phone.”
“Calling to let you know that we’ll be away this Christmas if you were thinking of coming over.”
“Of course your father wanted to……”
Alice tunes out. Sometimes she wonders if she might just get the text highlights from her mother, it might make things easier. She takes the mobile away from her ear for a second to flick the control back to the keyboard and add subtitles to the TV show which she starts to play again.
Interestingly one of the characters is wearing a pair of boots she admires. She stops the playback and opens the search option in the program. She writes “boots” into the box and the screen highlights the character’s feet. She hits enter and the screen divides showing the show on one side and a shopping page online on the other.
“Hmmnnnn” She makes a non-committal yes or no sound at her mother on the phone who is still talking.
The boots are expensive. Maybe not for this month. She takes a quick look over various online catalogues for meat-space stores and some online shops then returns to the original site and bookmarks it. If she is still thinking about them next week maybe she will save up a little and treat herself.
“Hmmnnhummm” she mumbles at the phone.
“So?” asks her mother.
Alice bites her lip, attention now fully on the phone where she’s been caught not paying attention.
“Sure.” She gambles.
“That’s what I said,” says her mother and launches into another monologue. Alice rolls her eyes and sighs.
“So what are you doing?” asks her mother.
She’s a little more tuned in this time, having been caught out before.
“I’ve got NuFlu, I’m under house quarantine.”
“Well, you will flit about all the time. I hope you are eating properly. Are you eating properly?”
“Yeah, I just ordered from the grocers”
“Ok dear. Well, I can’t sit here all day chatting I’m afraid. Things to do as always. Drink plenty of fluids. Love you.”
“You too Mom” Alice stares into space. The call ends and she’s exhausted.
She sets an alarm on the mobile for an hour or so nap. She calls up a book that she has been reading on her usual commute to work and sets it to audio playback. A voice picks up the story where she left off reading and she sinks under distracted by the characters and their adventures.
An hour and a half later the alarm is ringing through its third snooze reset and Alice is attempting to uncrumple herself. The grocery delivery will arrive soon, she had better brush her teeth again and try to be awake. She takes the comms wall off her device and places it back into Fizzgig who barks. It follows her to the bathroom where she shuts the door on it. Something about a camera on a device makes her unwilling to take it into the loo to watch her pee.
She brushes her teeth and washes her face. A glance in the mirror shows a wild haired woman with tired eyes. Nothing to be done about it and she’s not inclined to try make up for a grocery delivery. Outside the bathroom door Fizzgig barks an email.
She opens the door and gets it to read to her whilst it follows her back into the kitchen. She’s hungry; at least NuFlu hasn’t taken her appetite. Fizzgig reports that a journalist has messaged her from the NuFlu network, would she be willing to do an interview about her quarantine and that he wants to ask her a few questions about the medication.
The doorbell rings. Food salvation has arrived. Hanging next to the door is a bag containing facemasks. The sort of thing people wear when they are sanding down a floor. She’s drawn happy smiley faces on them so as not to appear quite so threatening, though it’s possible they just make her look a bit mad. She opens the door and the delivery guy raises his eyebrows as he offers her the signature pad. She stamps on Fizzgig’s trigger and snatches up her mobile, she opens the commerce setting and sends a wireless signature to his machine via Bluetooth.
“NuFlu?” he asks.
She nods at him, trying to make her eyes smile so as not to seem quite so gross as an infection case.
He looks unimpressed. He pockets his sig pad. “I’ll leave those there then rather than adding to your fridge. I’d rather not go into a quarantine home if that’s ok.” He sets off down the stairs. Alice rolls her eyes and mouths rude things at his back. Naturally they cannot be seen through the smile on her mask. She understands that it’s not desirable to go into a NuFlu home, but she was hoping for a little more sympathy. She grabs the bags and closes the door with her foot.
She packs the fridge and cupboards with her groceries. The timer for her medication goes off on the mobile. As she goes to fetch Fizzgig from where she left it at the door, she ponders on what to eat. With not much in the way of working taste buds she is tied between ‘doesn’t matter’ and ‘don’t care’. Being idle at home is making her indecisive.
She remembers the call from the journalist and gets Fizzgig to dial his number while she gazes into the fridge and opens and closes cupboard doors, uninspired. The journalist tells her that there is some question about side effects with her medication. How does she feel? Well, she has NuFlu, so how can she tell? Vomiting and dizziness? No. She touches the screen on the fridge door, changes it from the list of contents to a news website that has an article about NuFlu medication. She scans it while the journalist asks more questions. Will she be able to do a quick interview? She’s not keen on appearing on web news whilst looking pasty and gross. Only a short clip, he says, one of many views from those who have NuFlu. Can she get to a web cam?
Alice’s mind returns to the wet laptop. No, no webcam. But she can do a video call on her phone. Or record something. The journalist agrees. He says he will email some questions, can she send over video in the next hour? She agrees. She finishes the call and flips the screen on the fridge, she tells it to note the contents of her grocery list and come up with something interesting to eat. Fizzgig follows her into the bathroom while she applies some make up, it’s not going to do much, but at this stage she hopes not to look too terrifying for TV. Fizzgig barks. That would be the questions arriving from the journalist.
She heads back to her office and clears a space so that it doesn’t look like a paper-bomb in the background. Taking care to have light in front of her and boosting the mic, she lifts the mobile from Fizzgig and sets it into a tripod cradle on her desk. She checks the frame and tests the sound, reading off the questions. In one miraculous take she shows her container of meds and talks about being at home. She adds that she cannot identify any bad side effects and mentions the NuFlu network too, hoping that more people will pay attention to the advice that is posted there. She sends the file to the journalist and goes to look at the fridge results. Lunch might be interesting after all.
Well fed and medicated, Alice returns to the couch to read. So far with spare time on her hands she has read all of her relevant papers and articles from work. Maybe a novel. Her server contains many books, so she lifts her mobile from Fizzgig and browses her collection. A short story should keep her in line rather than sending her to sleep. Before she settles, she notes that the flat seems warm and uses the mobile to log into her environmental monitors. She turns the heating down a little in the hope that she will cool off whilst sitting still.
Half an hour and half a short story later, Alice is concerned. She’s broken into a fever and has abandoned her reading to research issues on the NuFlu message boards. It appears that she is not the only one to be sweating with NuFlu. The recommendation on the network is to check in with the GP and get a nurse over.
She takes her temperature, a snapshot of her face in the stark bathroom light and sends it to the GP tagged as urgent. There are rumours on the message boards that this may be related to adverse reactions to the medication she is taking. She tries not to panic and decides not to post until she gets some professional advice.
A text message returns from the GP. A nurse is heading over to check her out. There’s a contact number for the nurse and some ID. Alice can feel herself sinking under. Woosy and unstable she sinks into the sofa, this is not good. She pulls herself together enough to look at the number for the nurse. She sends the bar codes for her door to the nurse’s mobile and promptly faints.
The nurse has been sent access codes to the apartment block and the details of the patient. He has brought the appropriate kit based on files already shared with the medicloud. He is licensed to access personal information of a medical nature.
He finds Alice in the living room, passed out on the couch. Her mobile is beeping like an alarm clock. He turns the sounds off, pulls a NuFlu mask over his face and attempts to rouse her.
“Alice? Alice?” he’s repeating her name.
She appears to be coming around. He checks a thermometer on his mobile, the room is very warm and is likely to have been for some time. He takes her temperature directly and adds the details to her file. From his bag he collects a bottle of sterile water and rehydration salts.
“Alice? Drink this.” He passes the solution to her. “You fainted.”
She sips at the solution and grimaces, expecting water but tasting the salts.
“I fainted, ok. Is it the medication?”
“But the message boards say..”
“The message boards are useful to a point, they also spread a lot of panic. It’s double edged on there,” he glances at her TV monitor and frowns. “Could do with an update as to why people are passing out to avoid that sort of thing.”
Alice still feels fuzzy, but makes a note to herself to post something later.
“So, what’s happening to me?” She sips at the water and winces. It’s salty and sweet.
The nurse nods at her glass, “Rehydration salts. You fainted because it was too hot in here and you’re not hydrating. You need to drink more water.”
Alice feels silly, she knew this, but didn’t take her own advice, or that of her mother. She sips at the solution.
“Can I access your home medical card?” asks the nurse.
Alice nods, and gives him the key to access her home server and further routing through her femtocell to collect more data faster.
“Okay, looks as though it’s just a peak today.” The nurse is reading her home data on his mobile. “I’m going to leave you with some video advice cards. Also more that you might want to do at home so that you feel better.” He uploads to her server via her femtocell. It’s only accessible to those who have permissions from Alice. The key she has sent to him is time sensitive and although it should run out and although the nurse is a registered home visitor, she will also sell a kill message to wipe the key when he has left. Just in case. The medical access key can only see her health files at home and her environmental control stats for her flat. Then nurse searches his cloud files for the right advice clips, pulls them in and stores them on her server. She can browse them at her leisure. A reminder goes to her mobile so that she won’t forget to take a look.
Finally after asking a few more questions and ticking a few boxes on his mobile to save back to the GP files, he wishes Alice well and lets himself out.
Feeling a bit shocked and restless now, Alice turns to the message boards and picks a thread about fainting and medication. She sends a kill note to the nurse’s mobile, erasing the bar codes for her door as a precaution. Generally they should do it automatically, but she has never been sure about this. She turns her phone camera to herself and live streams an explanation about what just happened to the message boards. The video live streams onto the boards and she can see herself over her mobile enacting the same thing a second or so delayed. The she can see the viewer numbers going up and hopes that this might help a few people out so they don’t panic.
She turns it off for now – mildly irritated by the constant updating. She checks her laptop – no longer dripping water, but unlikely to start so she turns it over near a radiator, hoping that this might help.
Returning to the couch with a cup of tea and an extra glass of water, Alice is still feeling restless but not in the mood to the ever shifting boards. She sends a micro payment out on a search set up on her mobile, it returns the news she is interested in – global headlines, local headlines and a few entertainment snippets. She considers paying more to dip deeper into the life of a golfer but changes her mind, it’s likely to be on TV later. She scans her email – nothing of particular consequence appears to be happening for now.
The evening is drawing in, she uses her mobile to adjust the lighting in the room and turns on the TV. She checks to see what’s on.
Using her mobile as a remote for streamed television she plays back last week’s talent competition show. She’s already seen it and it’s resting on her server, but the next episode will be on later so she’s taking a reminder. She splits the screen and browses online for something to cook for dinner. She sets the timer on her mobile to remind her to watch the next episode and at the same time sets the PTV to record for her, just in case she feels too shoddy to watch.
It’s time to eat again. Although Alice has perused the world’s most exciting recipes online as well as having stocked up, she’s in no mood for cookery. She checks her handset to run through local take out food. Pizza sounds like good comfort food. She sends payment and her order.
She puts her mobile back into Fizzgig’s dock and heads to the kitchen to wash up and prepare a plate for her pizza. She tells Fizzgig to tune into some streamed radio and flicks through genres until she finds something suitably calm to fit with her mood. Remembering the journalist she redirects Fizzgig to find the news on the last hour to see if she made it into a bulletin.
Alice has not made the headlines, US political decisions in the Middle East in relation to some UK politician have shifted the agenda. She’s mail the journalist later and see if it went out so she can listen back. She gets Fizzgig to flip her back to the radio, but hankers for more familiar and comforting sounds, she retunes him to choose from her music library on her server. She tries to sing along, but in her current croaky state she is soon exhausted.
The chime of the doorbell never sounded so sweet. The pizza has arrived. She dons her mask and opens the door. The delivery guy is sympathetic and sends a voucher to her mobile for her next purchase. As she shuts the door she checks this on her screen and sends a tip code back to the driver for being nice and being on time. The pizza feels hot.
With plate and kitchen towel, a soft drink and her pizza, Alice settles in right on time to watch her favourite talent show; Gymnastic Comedians on Ice. After a day at home feeling a little disconnected from regular people, this will give her a chance to hook up with her friends as they bitch and comment on the participants and judges.
She grabs the mobile from Fizzgig and uses it as a remote. She calls up her twitter list for the show via a hashtag search and transfers an already fast moving river of comments to run down the side of her view screen. She then turns to her personal stream of replies and posts a note that she is settled to watch, excited to see who will be voted out. A couple of her friends send a greeting and hope that she is coping with being ill. One tells her that her favourite is bound to be knocked out in this round because it’s a rubbish act. Their comments are added to the main stream via their hashtags but it moves too quickly for her to find them, better to screen via her mobile while the action is on.
The trials and tribulations of the show carry on. Some think the judges are biased, others comment that some of the contestants are not so funny or limber on the ice. Alice throws herself into the argument with gusto, cheering on her favourite act and debating ice techniques with her friends. It’s fast and fun and engaging. The performances come to an end and it’s time to vote. Alice has almost changed her mind about her vote this time, nearly convinced by some valid critical points made by anther tweeter she doesn’t know. She adds her to her friends list for the next show as she makes really good points and links out to research on the topic which is good for the ad breaks.
Alice has registered her twitter account with the program for the duration of the series, so her profile is available to others who also register. These people can vote, their actions and origins checked to try and avoid gaming the results. Alice makes her choice and goes to do the washing up. She’s placed the mobile back into Fizzgig and he turns on the radio as they enter the kitchen having learned her home habits during the day.
Her mobile sounds a soft alarm. Time for more medication. She’s feeling pretty tired after a strange day and all of the excitement of the TV show. She sets her PTV to record the results so she can pick them up in the morning and decides to head to bed.
Alice checks the laptop. No leaking and no steam, she is reluctant still to plug it into anything. She takes out the battery, it’s dry. Time to give it a whirl. The button says click. The laptop says nothing. Yawning now, she recognises this is a task for tomorrow. Both she and the laptop will do well for a night’s rest.
After a registered amount of time, the TV and lights in the living room acknowledge her being away and power down. She climbs into bed, taking the mobile from Fizzgig and tells the unit to power off for the night. Alice has one last scan of her email and then picks out a radio play to stream her to sleep. A timer turns the play off after 45 minutes and Alice is asleep.