At long last, this could be the year when the much-vaunted, long promised “internet of things” finally begins to make its mark on our lives. Put crudely, the internet of things is a world in which devices and appliances are so interconnected that they can communicate with each other. Your fridge, for example, could alert your online grocery account when you are running low on milk; your phone could turn on the central heating when its GPS tells it you are heading home.

It sounds tremendous but still I worry. Once they can all talk to each other, how long before they start bitching behind your back? It’s bad enough knowing your colleagues all discuss your shortcomings; you ought not to have to put up with the same thing from domestic appliances.

Online journal

Dear diary, I know they are talking about me again because they get all furtive when I enter the room. I probably should not be telling you this; but I want them to know that I know. Initially we all got on well. Several appliances sent friend requests on Facebook. It felt really cool. I’d never had a white good as a pal before, and now I see pictures of their relatives in the factory.

There were glitches. You can’t assume all the appliances will get on. Things also turned nasty when the washing machine unfriended the dishwasher in a row over who had first call on the hot water; happily I was able to mediate and now they try to operate at different times of day. I could cope with these teething problems because I assumed I was the one who flicked their switches.

But now I know they talk about me behind my back. I have even caught them ganging up on me when they get sloppy with their privacy settings. Last week, I spotted my bathroom scales, fridge and Nike FuelBand complaining about my physical condition on Google Chat.

It began with the FuelBand moaning about my fitness levels. “He hasn’t been to the gym in weeks,” it snarled. Before long, the fridge had decided to act. It contacted my online grocer and replaced all the Gü puddings with Ryvita crispbreads. They clearly thought it was hilarious as the chat ended with a string of chuckling emoticons. When they realised that I was on to them, the FuelBand simply sent me a tart email calling me “fatboy” and informing me that this was for my own good. I also hate the way my phone tells them all if I stop for a pastry at Pret on the way home.

Sometimes I wish they’d let me in on the gossip. It turns out that I was the last to know the fridge had started computer dating. It registered on fridgemagnet.com and I came home to find a new freezer sitting next to it in the kitchen.

The dishwasher has also been very judgmental about our dinner parties. “Can’t they cook anything else?” it babbles. I only realised this after three cookbooks we hadn’t ordered arrived from Amazon. Meanwhile the heating system has suddenly started worrying about the environment – it will not turn on above a certain temperature and has instead told my wardrobe to offer me more pullovers.

I’ve also realised that they hate my taste in music. It is the only explanation for the continual WiFi failures every time I try to buy something on iTunes. Over Christmas, the Bluetooth speakers rebelled: “Bloody Beyoncé again. He’s played that 26.3 times since it came out,” they boomed at any appliance that would listen.

On this occasion, however, the television – which is partial to a bit of R&B – told the speakers to cut me some slack. “You got off lightly,” it messaged, “A unit I was built with got sold to someone who likes country and western. Let me tell you, there is only so many times a screen can listen to Patsy Cline singing ‘Crazy’.”

There are upsides. Our satnav gave us a run-down on what the in-laws’ TomTom told it they were saying about us last time they drove over. But we know it only did so because the car did not like the journey.

I do have some advantages. Some of the older appliances are very hostile to new tech. The iPhone is particularly neurotic, and is always helpful in passing on what the others are saying about me as the next Apple product launch nears.

What really unnerves me, though, is that it is obvious they like my wife more than me. They just have a much more open relationship. If she is in the kitchen with them, the lights dim as soon as I walk in. I know they’re telling her that she can do better. “The kids are almost grown now; get out while you are still young,” they hum.