Alan Cookman: All seeing eye delivers goods without unwise interference

I TAKE my hat off to the Chesterton takeaway proprietor who is embracing the miracle of satellite technology.

He is installing a Global Positioning System, enabling customers to track the progress of their curry 'from oven door to front door'.

They will thus be alerted to any hold-ups that might delay the arrival of their supper.

The owner of the same Indian takeaway is also using a webcam which will allow customers to watch their meal being cooked, although I fear this is not quite as revolutionary as the satellite tracking system.

In fact my very own kitchen has been under webcam surveillance for several months.

Some readers may find it intrusive, if not positively offensive, but I feel entitled to know what's going on in my own kitchen.

Like most working men, I expect my evening meal to be served at a reasonable hour, properly cooked and piping hot.

Unfortunately, modern wives cannot always be relied on to give their husbands' dinner their undivided attention.

It is not the little lady's fault, but a result of the practice of having a television set in every room in the house.

I lost count of the number of times that the events unfolding in some ghastly soap opera came between me and my pork chops and broad beans.

Sometimes I was driven to get out of my armchair and investigate, as often as not finding smoke rising from the grill and the better half engrossed in some trivial domestic upset in Australia.

The kitchen webcam, which takes in the cooker, sink and various worktops, was a brilliant move.

But I think the real stroke of genius was rigging up one of those ear-splitting klaxons which are sometimes used instead of starting pistols.

If I glance up from my newspaper and the image on the monitor tells me that vegetables are boiling over or the gravy's burning, I simply press the button that activates the klaxon positioned between the kettle and the toaster.

It's a horrendous noise, I must admit, but it does concentrate the mind wonderfully, and it saves me the bother of getting to my feet and walking through to the kitchen.

If I notice that she's nodded off while peeling the spuds or become transfixed by happenings in Ambridge, a quick blast from the klaxon quickly brings her to her senses.

Although this can be entertaining to witness, I have resisted the temptation to sound the alarm for amusement only.

It exists to ensure that my evening meal is given the priority it deserves, although it's true that we have lost two or three of the best dinner plates and the cat required treatment for shock when it got closer to the alarm than was good for it.

While the primary function of the webcam is to prevent TV taking the wife's mind off the job in hand, the klaxon also issues a timely warning if she looks like over-grilling a steak or under-seasoning a casserole.

One is therefore able to control the finer points of the preparation of one's meal from the comfort of one's armchair.

Surely this is preferable to violating one's partner's space by repeatedly popping in and out of the kitchen to make sure that she hasn't made gravy with coffee granules or basted the chicken with Dettol.

Accidents will happen, but the careless cook will wreak less damage when she is under the watchful eye of the kitchen webcam.