Once in a while, as the Spoof's top reviewer, I get handed something to review that makes the whole job worthwhile.
This month, I was asked to review the hottest technological product ever: the iPod Atto.
The iPod Nano is the slimmed down version of the iPod, which is a slimmed down version of the iPhone or iPad. Or conversely, the iPhone is a beefed up version of the iPod, which is a beefed up version of the iPod Nano. The iPod Atto is everything all of these marvellous inventions are, plus it is tiny.
When I say tiny, I mean minuscule.
I was quite excited when I received the pure brilliant white box with the Apple hologram on the lid. The box itself was about the size of a good thick book, the kind of book that you take on holiday but you know you won't finish in a week. A Dan Brown or one of the later Harry Potters. Although you wouldn't finish them for a completely different reason - they're rubbish.
With a flick of a tab, the box unfolded using clever origami, which is a nice technological trick in itself, and only served to whet my appetite further. There was the usual Apple box contents: A manual explaining how to open the box; a CD that would only run on an Apple Mac, a CD that would run on a PC, but would tie my PC to Apple for all eternity; a sachet of anti-humidity crystals with "Do Not Eat You Will DIE a Horrible Death If You Do" written in red on it; a list of things I should not do with the Atto, including not using it as a flotation device, and a poster that unfolded to the size of a family saloon with diagrams of the Atto showing its various functions annotated in every language but Mandarin Chinese and English, and the Atto itself.
It took several minutes to locate the Atto in the box. Going off one of the pictures on the fold out poster, I knew that it would be rectangular, but there was no sense of scale on the pictures, leading me to overlook the grain of rice sized technology sitting in a small dimple in the plastic packaging. I had mistaken it for some of the anti-humidity crystals that had leaked out of the sachet.
At the bottom of the box, after everything had been removed was a slab of smoky, vaguely black plastic with a USB cable. This was my Atto's connection to the outside world. I excitedly hooked the slab to my Apple Mac, and loaded the software. As usual, the software installed with a single click, choosing to replace most of the software I had downloaded with Apple versions I would have to pay for later, and changed the colour of the Mac from white to pink.
I spent twenty minutes looking for the Atto, that I had foolishly put down near the computer, but could no longer find it, it was underneath a chocolate biscuit. After eating the biscuit and then taking the crumb off the mat and replacing it with the Atto that I had thought it was, I had access to the Atto's innards. Swiftly, I loaded up a couple of albums without making a dent in the memory of the device. Holding the Atto to my ear, I was surrounded by a beautiful harmonic sound, of a similar quality to the Hi-Fi in my lounge. Holding it to my eye and the Atto projected straight onto my retina dazzling colours.
I was seriously impressed until I dropped it.
According to the literature, the Atto could be dropped from the top of the Empire State Building, and it would not be broken on landing. How they know this, I can't say, because I couldn't find it after dropping it four feet.
I'd love to have given the Atto five spoof stars for the quality of everything. However, I've got to pay for it now out of my wages, so it's only going to get one. I'm never complaining about the iPhone being too big again.