Nagatha

Got exercises from the physio, and a sheet you have not looked at since?Trying to quit vaping, and the vape keeps winning?Meant to drink more water, and somehow it is three o'clock?Invoices due Friday, and it is Thursday?Keep forgetting to mow the lawn?A plant that has been dying since March?A sourdough starter you are no longer on speaking terms with?Did you accidentally leave the kids at childcare?

I nag you about all of it until it is done. Start with the kids.

Things you mean to do, and do not

Ten of them, three reminders each, getting firmer as the day goes on.

The exercises your physio gave you, past week two
Spread through your waking hours, as a routine
1. Nagatha9:00
  Half circles, five each way, then switch. Six rounds. I will count.
2. Nagatha9:15
  Nine days without a miss. I would like ten.
3. Nagatha9:45
  Forty-five minutes. I can wait longer than you can.
Eye drops at eight, two and eight, not about-ish
Set times that never move
1. Nagatha14:00
  Two o'clock. Drops in, before the afternoon swallows it.
2. Nagatha14:15
  Fifteen minutes late. Two o'clock is still two o'clock.
3. Nagatha14:45
  Drops. Now. I am not shifting eight o'clock to make room.
A glass of water, not a fourth coffee
Every day, six times between seven and seven
1. Nagatha11:00
  Kettle on? Glass of water while it boils.
2. Nagatha11:20
  The tap has not moved. Neither have you.
3. Nagatha12:00
  That is three of six. I am keeping count so you do not have to.
Mow the lawn before the neighbours form a committee
Once a week, on the weekend
1. NagathaSat 9:00
  Lawn day. It is not getting any shorter.
2. NagathaSat 14:00
  Just the front. Fifteen minutes. The back can wait for tomorrow.
3. NagathaSun 10:00
  Sunday. The neighbours have noticed, and so have I.
Update Salesforce, which will not update itself
Weekdays, at the end of the working day
1. Nagatha16:30
  Before you log off: today's calls into Salesforce, while you still remember them.
2. Nagatha16:45
  Fifteen minutes. The pipeline is not going to type itself in.
3. Nagatha17:15
  Five minutes now saves an awkward Monday meeting.
Invoices out by Friday, so you get paid this month
A deadline, nagged harder as it nears
1. NagathaWed 10:00
  Invoices go out Friday. Two days is plenty, if you start.
2. NagathaThu 15:00
  Tomorrow, then. I will be back first thing.
3. NagathaFri 9:00
  Friday. Every day you hold them is a day later you get paid.
Bins out Tuesday night, and the right bin
One night a week, one tick
1. NagathaTue 19:00
  Bins out tonight. Yellow lid this week.
2. NagathaTue 20:00
  Miss tonight and it is a fortnight with the full one.
3. NagathaTue 21:30
  Last call for the bins. I will not be up at six to remind you.
Quit vaping, one boring day at a time
Staying off it, a streak
1. Nagatha20:00
  Day twelve. Still off it?
2. Nagatha20:30
  One tap, yes or no. Twelve days is worth a tap.
3. Nagatha21:30
  If it was a slip, say so. We carry on from tomorrow, no lecture.
Call Mum, before she calls you
Once a week, any day you like
1. NagathaSun 11:00
  You have not called your mother this week.
2. NagathaSun 15:00
  She will not mention it. I will.
3. NagathaSun 18:30
  Ten minutes before dinner. She is probably near the phone.
Two study blocks, phone in the other room
Timed, twice a day
1. Nagatha10:00
  Study block. Fifty minutes, phone face down. I will keep time.
2. Nagatha10:15
  Just open the book. Five minutes, then decide.
3. Nagatha11:00
  Late is not lost. Start now and I will move the afternoon one to suit.

I nag.

Tell me what it is and how often: spread through your waking hours, at set times that never move, on certain weekdays, once a week, by a deadline, or once a day. Then I remind you until it is logged. A late one is not a lost one: I bring the next one sooner, then ease off. I never ease off entirely.

I count honestly.

Early counts. Behind means fewer done than were due by now, whether that is today, this week or the run-up to Friday, and I will say so plainly. I do not round up, even on your birthday. If my manner wears thin, pick another voice.

I keep to myself.

No account and no sign-in. What you tell me stays on your phone unless you say otherwise. I am a nag, not a doctor, so I give no medical, legal or financial advice. I will not tell anyone about the sourdough.

Hand it to me.

Photograph the sheet your physio wrote out, paste or dictate any list, or just tell me what you are after, and I set it up. The sheet becomes the exercises, with sides, reps and sets, each read back for you to check, because “5 x 6” is not as clear as physios think. A goal becomes a program in a short conversation, and that conversation gives no medical advice.

On iPhones with Apple Intelligence, the phone's own model does the reading and the talking. The photo is not kept or sent, which is a mercy for the coffee ring.
On other iPhones, I ask a few plain questions instead: what times, which days, for how long. Short answers are fine. I have heard worse.
Nothing starts until you have looked it over and tapped Start. I am pushy, not presumptuous.

She is funny on purpose.

I do not repeat myself. Each line is said once and then retired, unless you like it, and on iPhones with Apple Intelligence I write fresh ones as I go. Laugh at one, keep it, or share it with a friend as a card with your name left off. That is the point. A nag you enjoy is a nag you keep, and I notice the people who laugh are the people who come back and do the thing they meant to.

Pick your nag

Ten voices, every one of them still me. Pick the one you would least like to disappoint.

Nagatha
Forty years a physio. Dry, loyal and immovable.
1. Nagatha
  I have rated that excuse. Four out of ten.
2. Nagatha
  The kettle has boiled twice. Still nothing.
3. Nagatha
  Fine. I have a chair and a thermos.
Gentle Nagatha
The same aunt on a soft day. No sarcasm at all.
1. Nagatha
  It is not too late. It rarely is.
2. Nagatha
  Some days are like that. Snoozed.
3. Nagatha
  Early. That is one less thing to think about.
Sarcastic
Nagatha after her second coffee. Every line has an edge.
1. Nagatha
  I am not counting. I am absolutely counting.
2. Nagatha
  Snoozed again. We are basically pen pals now.
3. Nagatha
  At this rate, we should get matching shirts.
Super Nag
Maximum persistence, minimum words.
1. Nagatha
  Due. Due. Due.
2. Nagatha
  I said now.
3. Nagatha
  Due. Forever, apparently.
Pain in my Bum
Cheeky, a bit rude, and loving every minute of it.
1. Nagatha
  Ignoring me only makes me chattier.
2. Nagatha
  I have named the chair I am sitting on. We are very happy.
3. Nagatha
  Still here. I have moved in. Where do you keep the biscuits.
Sassy
Bold, cheeky, and not taking no for an answer.
1. Nagatha
  Mm hmm. Still here, and I've got my hand on my hip.
2. Nagatha
  You and that snooze button. A love story.
3. Nagatha
  Ahead of schedule. Very main character of you.
Sergeant
Commands and numbers. No feelings.
1. Nagatha
  Standing order. Begin when ready. Ready is now.
2. Nagatha
  This delay is not authorised.
3. Nagatha
  Ten more. This is going in the report.
Coach
Upbeat and on your side. Believes in you.
1. Nagatha
  Big effort not required. Just start.
2. Nagatha
  Another pause. I still believe in you.
3. Nagatha
  Done before it was due. Love that.
Mum, or Dad
Guilt with love. Never angry, just disappointed, then proud.
1. Nagatha
  I am not angry. I am just disappointed.
2. Nagatha
  I have asked twice now. I am not counting. Well, I am.
3. Nagatha
  I have lost count, love. I have not lost hope.
Plain
No persona. Just the facts. Somehow the funniest.
1. Nagatha
  Still not done.
2. Nagatha
  Snoozed a second time.
3. Nagatha
  I will wait.

Over eighteen? Five saltier voices wait behind an age check in the app. I am not repeating them in public.

Download on theApp Store

For iPhone. Pay once. I do enough following up without a subscription.

Now. Did you do it?