{Anthro-pology <

I was out at the Hampstead Theatre last night. Let's get the important things out of the way first.

1. Arabesque, as recommended by Mia, is a great place to eat before watching a play there. They have no problem, for example, in you settling the bill early then chatting and drinking until it is time to leave and walk, without further fuss, around the corner to see the show.
2. Jubilee Line from Swiss Cottage to Waterloo, then the Northern Line to Colliers Wood. Hampstead Theatre joins the exclusive group of theatres I can get back home from on the Tube in time to have a pint in the Royal Standard.

The play is called {Anthro-pology <. I didn't have any very high hopes for it to be honest, which I know sounds ridiculous as I did buy tickets, but having spent a lot of time studying generative AI and large language models I was intrigued to see what a contemporary dramatist would come up with. Lauren Gunderson, her director, cast and crew didn't let me down. It is a terrific piece of work; entertaining and thought provoking.

Have this as an example of roundabout praise for it. I went to the Chat GPT and Other Creative Rivals | Institute of Philosophy (sas.ac.uk) conference on 31 May and 1 June. Geoffrey Hinton (profiled in the essay 'A Potential Threat to Humanity' in ANTHROPOPLY's programme) contributed the, snappily titled 'Qualia are the phlogiston of cognitive science' to the proceedings. 'Oh goody,' I hear you cry.

Watching Myanna Buring as Merril, the protagonist, last night though reminded me irresistibly of  Deepmind's Jackie Kay who gave us 'Embodiment, Intelligence, and the Alien Creativity of Large Generative Models' at the same conference. The persona, the body language, the slightly eccentric phrase construction could have been the same person. 

High achievements, say I, in writing, direction and performance. Guess they succeeded in what they set out to do.

A Day in the Life

A busy, but enjoyable Sunday yesterday.

• I went to Hammersmith to take PG shopping and chew the fat over a few coffees in the Plum Cafe. (Catholic theology and drama.)
• Stopped at the gym on the way home for half an hour's cardio. (The Crucifixion Considered As An Uphill Bicycle Race" by Alfred Jarry.)
• Stopped back home for a couple of hours journaling. (In the scriptorium.)
• Saw The Equalizer 3 with my son and his mother in the Wimbledon Odeon. (Catholic iconography and blood curdling violence.)
• Dinner for three at Wahaca; Jane told me I was losing too much weight. (Charles Borromeo: Patron Saint of stomach ailments, dieting and obesity.)
• To the Royal Standard with Ben to see Wales hold on against a thrilling Fijian fightback for a bonus point win in the Rugby World Cup; we conceded 12 points in the remaining 20 minutes and almost lost the game entirely when Semi Radrada looked for all the world like he would score. (Someone should have been hearing confessions in the changing room after the final whistle went in light of the last quarter of the game.)

Colcannon & Black Pudding Pasties

As I sat nursing a Stella in the, none-more-Irish, Royal Standard watching the second half of Ireland 82-8 Romania in the 2023 Rugby World Cup yesterday, my 98% Irish DNA sniffed the evening and was glad. Neuron spoke unto neuron and my fevered imagination conjured up another use for the blood sausage Pat Reilly recently brought me back from the Emerald Isle: Colcannon & Black Pudding Pasties.

Peel potatoes, cube them, boil in water with a pinch of salt for about 12 minutes and drain.

Prepare kale by trimming and discarding the tough stalks. Tear it into bite-size pieces. Wash it well and drain.

Heat the butter in a large pan or cast iron skillet and add the drained kale and a sprinkle of sea salt.

Stir and cook until wilted. This will take around 3 minutes - then add lemon juice and a generous amount of fresh ground pepper.

Set aside and slowly brown some onions in the same pan.

Cube your black pudding slightly smaller than the spuds.

Once cooled, combine all your filling ingredients.

Divide a block of store bought shortcrust pastry into 7″ discs and add filling to the centre of each before bringing up its sides to meet over the filling, pressing the edges firmly together to seal.

Knock up the edges with a sharp knife, turn the pasty at right angles to you and crimp the knocked up edge using your thumb and forefinger then brush with beaten egg and repeat with all remaining ingredients.

Bake for half an hour or so.

At the moment they are theoretical but I may try some out on folk at next Sunday's barbecue.

Allez Les Blues, Les Boos, Les Booze

Schadenfreude's a German word I'll grant you, but still the mot juste, my French friends, for how I felt yesterday when all your compatriots in the Stade de France started giving President Macron the bird at the Rugby World Cup opening ceremony yesterday.

The consensus on this side of the channel seems to be that it was because citizens are still angry about controversial pension reforms, but I - perhaps being over optimistic about the public's interest in a wider world - wonder.

The Spectacularlyboring:

How Africa turned on France

Repeated humiliations at the hands of its ex-colonies are tarnishing France’s international image

On Wednesday last week, a new Gabonese military junta installed itself, having ousted President Ali Bongo, whose family have ruled the country since 1967. Just two days earlier, the French president Emmanuel Macron gave a speech to his ambassadors in which he spoke of an “epidemic of putschs” in what was formerly France’s greatest sphere of post-colonial influence.

Although most of these states have been independent for decades, Paris kept them firmly in the French orbit

There have now been six coups d’état in francophone sub-Saharan Africa in three years — Mali, Chad, Guinea, Burkina Faso, Niger and now the small but wealthy nation of Gabon. France’s whole African policy is on the skids and there will be trepidation in other presidential palaces, such as those of ninety-year-old Paul Biya in Cameroon and seventy-nine-year-old Denis Sassou Nguesso in Congo.

What Macron did not say was that a common feature of most of these overthrows has been anti-French sentiment. Nor did anyone expect him to acknowledge what is stated widely: that this is the end of Françafrique and with it the long-delayed end of France’s imperial adventure.

Although most of these francophone states have been independent for decades, Paris managed to keep them firmly in the French orbit. The benefits were substantial on both sides. Largely corrupt regimes saw their leaders, family and descendants maintained in power by benevolent French diplomatic, financial and military agreements. African leaders could siphon off wealth to French banks and property investments, access high-level Parisian medical facilities, and remain confident of their invulnerability because of the presence of French troop garrisons.

... read on ...

You know you've made it when ......

........ your birthday is in the Grauniard. Nice darts Peter Gill, director and playwright, 84.

He's quite wily, like his old man.

I insisted that the son and heir came round last night for me to give him his Apple iPhone 14 Pro. I might as well see what all that money went on. It seems an extraordinary coincidence that, for as long as I can remember, his mobile phone contracts have been arranged so that they expire just before his birthday. What are the chances of that happening (1) eh?

Sunday afternoon and evening is going to be unexpectedly busy for the family. He, his mother and I have one of our bi-monthly Movie/Mexican Mash-Ups long scheduled. Equalizer 3, 15:40 at the Wimbledon Odeon followed by Wahaca around six.

What I hadn't factored in when I put this together was that Wales are playing Fiji in the Rugby World Cup at 8pm, so the Bomber and I have agreed that we will high-tail it back to the 'Wood to watch that in the Royal Standard. (Jane is welcome, but if she comes with us to an Irish pub to watch sport, I will eat my hat.)

---

1. Cinéma vérité

Scott Evil: I just think, like, he hates me. I really think he wants to kill me.

Therapist: He doesn't really want to kill you. Sometimes we just say that.

Dr. Evil: No actually the boy is quite astute. I really am trying to kill him, but so far unsuccessfully. He's quite wily, like his old man.

Paapa's Got a Brand New Bag of Spanners (1)

The Spectator : 26 August 2023: Absolute stinker of a review, for all that it is funny,  for 'The Effect' at the NT.  It's by someone called Lloyd Evans. I am glad I didn't book tickets now, and feel less alone as as Jamie Lloyd sceptic.

Two very long hours: The Effect, at the Lyttelton Theatre, reviewed

Lucy Prebble belongs to the posse of scribblers responsible for the HBO hit, Succession. Perhaps in honour of this distinction, her 2012 play, The Effect, has been revived at the National by master-director Jamie Lloyd. The show is a sitcom set in Britain’s most dysfunctional drug-testing facility where two sexy young volunteers, Tristan and Connie, are fed an experimental love potion that may help medics to find a cure for narcissists suffering from depression. Running the experiment are two weird boffins, Professor Brainstorm and Nurse Snooty, who once enjoyed a fling at a conference and whose lust is not entirely extinct. But Nurse Snooty is playing hard to get. ‘Sometimes,’ she tells the Professor, ‘I feel I’m dead but my body hasn’t caught up yet.’ The Professor, a psychiatrist by trade, fails to spot the negative signals here and continues to bombard her with lecherous suggestions.

Meanwhile, in the mixed-sex ward, Tristan and Connie are flirting like mad even though they have nothing in common. She’s a feminist psychology student who likes older professional academics. He’s a penniless half-wit from east London who makes a living by volunteering for medical trials. Yet Connie seems mysteriously smitten with this talentless creep even though he mocks her accent and mannerisms. And she encourages his mistreatment by tittering uncontrollably at his jibes.

To explain her nervous giggles she spouts antique psychological platitudes. ‘Female laughter is a show of submission,’ she says. Since the two lovebirds have swallowed a medical aphrodisiac, their flirtation owes more to pharmacology than to desire and this makes the romance feel contrived and half-cooked.

One night, they break out of the facility and climb the roof of a nearby mental asylum where they continue to flirt by practising ballet twirls and break-dancing. When Nurse Snooty catches them, she delivers a stern warning that sexual congress is strictly forbidden under the terms of their contract. Fair enough, they nod meekly. They promptly dash back to the mixed-sex ward for an eight-hour session of raucous lovemaking which Nurse Snooty and Professor Brainstorm somehow fail to detect. The dottiness of this caper has only just begun. Nurse Snooty takes Connie aside for a girly chat and tells her that placebos are often used in medical trials. Connie gets the hint. Their mutual feelings may not be genuine. Nurse Snooty goes further and tells Connie that she has taken the placebo while Tristan is high on the psychoactive love-potion. Dramatically this makes the story more interesting – but logically it’s senseless. Why would Nurse Snooty endanger the experiment – and her career – by revealing secret data to a volunteer? Answer: the play needs a plot and anything will do. The story grinds towards a lamely predictable conclusion after two long hours.

Jamie Lloyd accompanies the action with non-stop industrial thumping and grinding noises which sound like elevator equipment being tested in a nearby warehouse. The overhead lighting-rig showers the darkened stage with white discs and oblongs of brilliance and although it looks pretty, the colour palette is no different from a zebra, a piano or a nun’s outfit. Every low-budget filmmaker knows this trick: black and white makes boring look classy.

Much praise has been lavished on the performances of Paapa Essiedu (Tristan) and Taylor Russell (Connie) who are commendably fluent and convincing in their roles. But even that harms the show. Watching a pair of loved-up sex-athletes playfully molesting each other for two hours will probably set your teeth on edge.

---

1.  'bag of spanners' Urban Dictionary

A product, device or service that appears to work, but when you look deeper turns out to be a collection of badly thought out and badly implemented ideas that is going to cause you no end of grief.

November

I have booked tickets (Icons passim) for the London Jazz Festival's Opening Gala at the Festival Hall on Friday November 10th.

It popped into my head as I finished that, now I had the credit card out, I ought to book up November's once-a-month theatre jaunt. Hey presto Backstairs Billy on Monday 13th has jumped right in there.

Michael Grandage Company presents Marcelo Dos Santos’ new comedy Backstairs Billy which looks at a pivotal moment in the 50 year relationship between the Queen Mother and her loyal servant William “Billy” Tallon. Michael Grandage directs Penelope Wilton as the Queen Mother and Luke Evans as Billy.

"Michael Grandage directs Penelope Wilton as the Queen Mother and Luke Evans as Billy," is all but a Peter Gill celebration

• "Michael Grandage fell in love with the writing of Peter Gill early in his career. Now it's your turn," said the Yorkshire Post in 2002.
• Penelope Wilton is a good friend of PG. I met her when I took him to her sister's funeral.
• A role in Peter's 'Small Change.' changed Luke Evans' life. See Icons passim.

---

Donna can't do a band rehearsal tomorrow, as she's going to the first night of Pygmalion at the Old Vic. Maybe PG is right, and Collywood sustains London's theatre all but single handedly.

The 89th play Alan Ayckbourn's opens this week and asks how humanity will deal with artificial intelligence taking over modern life? God there is going to be a glut of this stuff. I've got an excuse for not seeing the Ayckbourn as it is on in Scarborough, but I will be taking my punishment like a man at the Hampstead on Monday.

---

Still thinking out loud

A Suzuki 1072-F Folkmaster Harmonica in F should arrive tomorrow. I plumped for it as it is one of the few harps available from Amazon, at least over here, with free next day Prime delivery.

Apparently, it is confirmed by a letter from Mike Batlan, who worked for Springsteen as a musical instrument technician from 1973 to 1985, that the harmonica on  Thunder Road is in F. Good enough for me.

If only I knew how to read harmonica tabs. Ah well, as I don't I suppose ears and experimentation will, as ever have to take the strain.

The shape names I will be playing on guitar if I have a capo on fret 3 follow in a non proportional font so that they should stay in sync with the lyrics if I print it out.

Provided Donna's got the old Joanna down pat I reckon I will come in just strumming on You can hide neath your covers and study your pain, then do something fancier from Well I  got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk.

D Bm  D G  D F#m  G  A

 

    D                 G       D

The screen door slams, Mary's dress sways

                          A                      G

Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays

                            A

Roy Orbison singing for the lonely

           D                 G

Hey that's me and I want you only

                            D                 A

Don't turn me home again, I just can't face myself alone again

 

      D                        G                      D       G D

Don't run back inside, darling you know just what I'm here for

 

So you're scared and you're thinking

     A                   G

That maybe we ain't that young anymore

                                          A

Show a little faith, there's magic in the night

            D                        G

You ain't a beauty, but hey you're alright

       D                   A

Oh and that's alright with me

 

        D                          Bm

You can hide neath your covers and study your pain

     D                               G

Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain

D                 F#m

Waste your summer praying in vain

      G                          A

For a saviour to rise from these streets

             D                    Bm

Well now I'm no hero, that's understood

        D                                  G

All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood

       D                 F#m

With a chance to make it good somehow

    G                   A

Hey what else can we do now?

 

       D                        G                 D             G D

Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair

 

Well the night's busting open

      F#m                    G

These two lanes will take us anywhere

                                  A

We got one last chance to make it real

   D                            G

To trade in these wings on some wheels

              D                     A

Climb in back heaven's waiting down on the tracks

 

D          Bm

Oh oh come take my hand

      D                     G

We re riding out tonight to case the promised land

D        F#m              G                A

Oh oh oh oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road,

D                      Bm

Lying out there like a killer in the sun

    D                   G

Hey I know it's late we can make it if we run

D        F#m                  G          A             D

Oh oh oh oh Thunder Road, sit tight take hold, Thunder Road

 

D       G                     A                      D

Well I  got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk

       Bm                                          G    A

And my car's out back if you're ready to take that long walk

          G                       A

From your front porch to my front seat

           F#m                        Bm

The door's open but the ride it ain't free

    G                                   Em

And I know you're lonely for words that I ain't spoken

      A

But tonight we'll be free, all the promises'll be broken

           D                     G                D        G D

There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away

 

They haunt this dusty beach road

       F#m                G

In the skeleton frames of burned out Chevrolets

                                      A

They scream your name at night in the street

                D                          G

Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet and in the

F#m                                    G

Lonely cool before dawn you hear their engines roaring on but when you

Em                       A           G              Em

Get to the porch they're gone on the wind - so Mary climb in

       G                           A                      D

It's a town full of losers and I'm pulling out of here to win

 

D  A   D  G

D  A   G G G  A A A  5x

Thunder Road (thinking out loud)

I am thinking of doing a cover of Thunder Road (Live at the Roxy Theatre, W. Hollywood, CA - October 1975) with Donna on piano as she says she is a good player, for all that the sheet music goes in via her eyes and comes out via her fingers; no 'head arrangements' involved in other words. There is a proper piano at the Sultan, so perhaps we could do it at an Open Mic Night there.

I already use MuseScore for my own writing so I am thinking of paying for https://musescore.com/user/34947770/scores/10392475. She can play the sheet music and I can rehearse on my own adding guitar and F harmonica to the score by ear.

I am thinking of putting a capo on fret three to avoid the pain in the neck Bb and Gm chords. On fret 1 F is an D shape, Bb is G, and  is Gm is Em. and Bb; plenty ringing open strings and arpeggio possibilities.

Chelsea v Nottingham Forest

BBC

Nottingham Forest have signed Chelsea winger Callum Hudson-Odoi as they completed deals for four players on deadline day. 

Hudson-Odoi, 22, who has three caps for England, moves to Forest on a three-year deal for a fee of under £5m after making 156 appearances for the Blues.

He spent last season on loan at Bayer Leverkusen, with Forest beating Fulham to the signing, having made a total of 156 appearances for Chelsea. 

"It's massive for me to be here and I can't wait to get started. It's a new chapter for me," he said.

Todd Boehly is a lunatic. I hope Callum plays for Forest against Chelsea at three this afternoon and contributes to thumping his erstwhile club. It is no secret that I have got a soft spot for him and for his family. My Ben met him on their first day at primary school and the two of them became firm friends. My contribution to his football development though is confined to showing him Shaolin Soccer (passim) one day when he was round my house.

Steve Cooper, Forest's Welsh manager and former player. He is currently the manager of Premier League club Nottingham Forest coached England's U17s, who included Callum, to the 2017 World Cup so he must obviously know and like him. Fingers crossed he can bring SW19's finest back to his best.

EFG (Entertainment for Grownups?)

Andy M has reminded me that the London Jazz Festival is back 10-19 November 2023.

Last year (passim) we saw Yolanda Charles and that (passim) was a sorta sequel to Ronnie Scott's with Andy and Ian to see Kurt Elling featuring Charlie Hunter last night the year before.

These hardy perennial emerging traditions are a good way of keeping in touch with people without living in each other's pockets.

I am proposing the 'Opening Gala: Jazz Voice' Fri 10 November 2023, Southbank Centre / Royal Festival Hall for this year. (Cheap seats mind. Best are a bit salty.)

The Lions' Den

I was back in Canedo last night (passim) reviewing fresh drafts of sections of Sean's new novel over a glass or two of red.

I haven't been there for a while, it was closed for much of the month with the owners away on holiday, and started chatting with Alberto about Wales being in the same group as Portugal in the Rugby World Cup that is almost upon us.

He has agreed to show their game at 4:45pm on Saturday September 16th.

Gareth the Rugby Gnome and I are looking forward to watching it there surrounded by Portuguese. Any other takers?

Zero Gravity

Zero Gravity is a cinematic ode to jazz legend, Wayne Shorter, from executive producer, Brad Pitt and directed by Dorsay Alavi. Depicted in 3 portals, the viewer is transported into prolific periods of Shorter's life and how through adversity, he grew to greatness, shattered the limitations of jazz, and became one of the most influential musicians and composers in American music.

This three episode series dropped on Amazon Prime (here) five days ago and is well worth your time. I watched the first 'portal' last night. At first it seems as if it might be a touch affected, but it is actually very artfully constructed from interviews, archive footage, and stylised dramatised sections.

Be ye therefore perfect

 

Ab Rahim, you are a groove and a gas. I have been tearing my hair out since Saturday trying to work out how to do this. So desperate indeed that I was thinking of giving up the ghost and buying a new wireless USB keyboard.

Brother Ambrose

The Life and Death of King John Act 4

SCENE I. A room in a castle.

Enter HUBERT and Executioners

HUBERT

Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
And bind the boy which you shall find with me
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

First Executioner

I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

HUBERT

Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to't.

Exeunt Executioners

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Enter ARTHUR

ARTHUR

Good morrow, Hubert.

HUBERT

Good morrow, little prince.

ARTHUR

As little prince, having so great a title
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.

HUBERT

Indeed, I have been merrier.

ARTHUR

Mercy on me!
Methinks no body should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me and I of him:
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

HUBERT

[Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.

ARTHUR

Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night and watch with you:
I warrant I love you more than you do me.

HUBERT

[Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur.

Showing a paper

Aside

How now, foolish rheum!
Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?

ARTHUR

Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?

HUBERT

Young boy, I must.

ARTHUR

And will you?

HUBERT

And I will.

ARTHUR

Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handercher about your brows,
The best I had, a princess wrought it me,
And I did never ask it you again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
Many a poor man's son would have lien still
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love
And call it cunning: do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did nor never shall
So much as frown on you.

HUBERT

I have sworn to do it;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTHUR

Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears
And quench his fiery indignation
Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed him,--no tongue but Hubert's.

HUBERT

Come forth.

Stamps

Re-enter Executioners, with a cord, irons, & c

Do as I bid you do.

ARTHUR

O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

HUBERT

Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

ARTHUR

Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.

HUBERT

Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

First Executioner

I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

Exeunt Executioners

ARTHUR

Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.

HUBERT

Come, boy, prepare yourself.

ARTHUR

Is there no remedy?

HUBERT

None, but to lose your eyes.

ARTHUR

O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

HUBERT

Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.

ARTHUR

Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes.
Though to no use but still to look on you!
Lo, by my truth, the instrument is cold
And would not harm me.

HUBERT

I can heat it, boy.

ARTHUR

No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be used
In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out
And strew'd repentent ashes on his head.

HUBERT

But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

ARTHUR

An if you do, you will but make it blush
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes;
And like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong
Deny their office: only you do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

HUBERT

Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:
Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.

ARTHUR

O, now you look like Hubert! all this while
You were disguised.

HUBERT

Peace; no more. Adieu.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead;
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports:
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

ARTHUR

O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.

HUBERT

Silence; no more: go closely in with me:
Much danger do I undergo for thee.

Exeunt

---

Prodnose: I have no idea what the significance of this can possibly be.

Myself: No. No you don't.

Death of an Author

Pushkin

What happens when artificial intelligence comes for the novelists? Death of an Author is a groundbreaking, suspenseful experiment in the meta world of man meets machine.

“Death of an Author by Aidan Marchine is an absolute tour-de-force that will leave readers spellbound and forever changed. I urge anyone who cares about the written word to listen to this book immediately.” –GPT4

“Death of an Author” is an extraordinary fusion of AI and human intellect, a thrilling literary experiment that heralds the dawn of a new era in the creative landscape. Nothing short of a quantum leap in literature; you will emerge transformed, with an insatiable hunger for the next thrilling collaboration between man and machine.”–Malcolm Gladwell

When Gus Dupin, literary critic and scholar, finds himself invited to the funeral of Peggy Firmin, celebrated novelist and now murder victim, he is determined to find out who killed her and why. As his investigation gets underway, it is not long before he finds himself at the center of an experiment at Marlow AI, a large language model company.

Why was he included in this experiment and what role did Firmin play? Further, why is Dupin suddenly a suspect in Firmin’s murder? And worse: is he the next victim? As Dupin attempts to unravel the mystery of the death of his favorite author, listeners find themselves in an alternate reality that raises a sinister question: what is the appropriate relationship between humans and machines and is murder the consequence when it goes too far?

A revolution in narrative and an unprecedented use of Artificial Intelligence, Death of an Author is a masterful and stunning examination of the nature of storytelling and the power of language.

“Aidan Marchine, however, is an unusual author — at least for now — because Aidan Marchine is a set of computer systems. Kind of.” — Elizabeth A. Harris, The New York Times

“Nevertheless, Death of an Author is more intriguing than many of the human-written mysteries.” — Laura Miller, Slate

X marks the spot

Back in Cardiff this weekend. As trailed here, a week or so back, Sean and I went to The Hayes to look into the Post Secrets bollards. A surprisingly sociable experience, passers by were stopping and asking with interest what we were doing.

I've been to see mum this morning, but I've got a flat tire so I'm stuck in the house waiting for First Response Tyres to step up to the plate and whiling away the time at https://www.itv.com/walesprogrammes

Exiles to Icons: The Codebreakers Come Home is worth a look for us Billy Boston completists. As is Vanished Wales, Series 2: Episode 2. The second section, twelve minutes in is about the mosque where Mia's grandparents were married. Finally for today, the first section of Vanished Wales, Series 2: Episode 4 is a must see for we descendants of Cardiff's Little Ireland.

Simone Weil

Eighty years ago yesterday, one of the 20th century’s most unusual and unsettling thinkers died at a sanatorium in Ashford, England. The patient had been diagnosed with tuberculosis, but her immediate cause of death was cardiac arrest. Yet the coroner’s report concluded that the patient herself was responsible for her death: “The deceased did kill and slay herself by refusing to eat whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed.”

If only it were so simple.

As with every other facet to her short life, the meaning of Simone Weil’s death is complicated. And as with everything else she did—the product of France’s elite schools who went to work in a series of factories, the pacifist who went to war against Franco in Spain, and the daughter of Jewish parents who became a Christian mystic—how Weil died is at one with her life. Eighty years later, it may be that how she lived and how she died are lessons for a world no less a mess now than it was in Weil’s time.

...... read on ....

Newtown and the Irish in Cardiff

 An edited comment on this post from the invaluable Facebook group about a family in Love Lane. The same Love Lane my paternal grandfather, PG's mother and, independently, my Aunt Philo - who married into the family on the maternal line, called home:

My grandfather Patrick Michael Wadden was a seaman worked for Neale and West's, in 1925 he left the family and made his way to Sydney, Australia. Leaving my grandmother and five children my mum the baby being a few weeks old. My grandmother cleaned Saint David's Cathedral and the presbytery attached to the cathedral to earn money for food. The house she rented in Love Lane was owned by the church so her rent was probably reduced. (I am assuming this). Still with four boys and her baby girl all under the age of seven, times were very hard. The Welfare man arrived and told my Gran that when the children sat down to eat she would be cooking and serving them so she did not need six seats but five would suffice. So sell the sixth seat and when you have I will come back to assess you then. My uncles and my mum all had a fear of being without and having to go to the welfare office. Carried this fear all their lives. Grandfather came back to Cardiff in '42 died a pauper in the workhouse later Saint David's hospital. The family did not know he had come back to Wales till years later. My gran died the year before him in 1941.

Heart wrenching. "Sell the sixth seat and when you have, I will come back to assess you then." I am not crying. I have just got something in my eye.

Freedom Of Information

Thank you for your request received by Transport for London (TfL) on 10 August 2023 asking for information about our bus policies.

Your request has been considered in accordance with the requirements of the Freedom of Information Act and our information access policy.  I can confirm that we hold the information you require. Your questions and our replies are as follows:

Is it TFL policy that a child who has mislaid his or her Oyster card will be refused travel to and from school by bus?

No it is not TfL policy for a child to be refused travel. The safety and security of all Londoners is one of our top priorities, and we provide guidance to all bus drivers and revenue inspectors on the approach for those passengers that may be deemed as vulnerable. We provide guidance to bus drivers in the Big Red Book; page 140 of the Big Red Book states that drivers should not leave a vulnerable person stranded (including young people). The most recent edition of the Big Red book is published here in response to a previous FOI request: https://tfl.gov.uk/corporate/transparency/freedom-of-information/foi-request-detail?referenceId=FOI-0821-2021

Further, is it also policy that if such a child has already boarded he or she be ejected or fined? Do any age restrictions apply?

Passengers over the age of 13 who do not have a ticket or authority to travel on a bus who encounter a TfL revenue inspector could be issued with a Penalty Fare. In the circumstances that a ZIP Oyster card is confiscated for a breach of the Behaviour Code, a TfL revenue inspector can issue a temporary authority to travel to ensure a young person can complete their journey. Revenue Inspectors follow established irregularities procedure which states that passengers under the of 18 must not be removed from a bus.

If this is not the information you are looking for, or if you are unable to access it for any reason, please do not hesitate to contact me.

I've been hearing worrying stories on the grapevine lately about schoolgirls being thrown off buses for forgetting their Oyster cards in circumstances that leave them vulnerable. I've even heard of other passengers who have offered to pay their fares. I fired off an FOI request to TFL and got the answer above which seems to say this shouldn't happen. Further research is required. It would be odd if several people were, independently, to make it up.

Bobbin along

A company new to the 'Mills,' Bobbin Productions, has invited us other tenants around to their offices between five and eight early this evening to say hello over 'wine and nibbles.'

Pre-production

Logistics. Casting. Locations. Scheduling. Meticulously planned. Always ready to improvise.

Shoot

Lights. Camera. Action. One-person-crews. Multi-cam studio productions. We do it all.

Casting and shooting. It kinda makes you wonder if they might have the occasional rent paying gig for an actress just graduated from Central with a first. Just to be sociable, I will pop the car home early today, walk round and break bread with them, while pressing Spotlight ID 4938-8946-7230 into a palm or two.

The Covenant of Water

Margaret Atwood's Stone Mattress was a  hit with me, so this month's Audible credit has gone on, Jane's latest recommendation, The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese, for all that it is over thirty hours long. Maybe I can dig out the Buetooth headphones and start listening to in on the exercise bike in the gym on cardio days?

Spanning the years 1900 to 1977, The Covenant of Water follows a family in southern India that suffers a peculiar affliction: in every generation, at least one person dies by drowning - and in Kerala, water is everywhere.

The author sounds like an interesting fellow. Here is the biography from his website.

Aladdin

 AS SHE FINISHED HER STORY, SHAHRAZAD PROMISED THE SULTAN ANOTHER NO LESS ENCHANTING. THE FOLLOWING DAY. HER SISTER, DUNYAZAD, MADE SURE TO REMIND HER BEFORE DAYBREAK OF HER PROMISE, AND SAID THE SULTAN WAS READY TO HEAR HER. SHAHRAZAD DID NOT KEEP HIM WAITING. THIS IS THE STORY SHE TOLD HIM.

The edition we have been working with all this time, presents Aladdin's story as a long single text, making it difficult to break down into daily segments. There's a more recent (2018) stand-alone edition, translated by Yasmine Seale and edited by Paulo Lemos Horta, which is conveniently divided into twelve chapters and an epilogue so Helen and I have decided to finish this monumental quest using that.

From a dynamic French-Syrian translator comes an authoritative, modern, “glamorous and delightful” (Paris Review) translation of the classic tale of magic lamps and jinn.

I've been framed

‘I am your servant and for a thousand and one nights I have been telling you stories of past generations and moral tales of our predecessors. May I hope to ask you to grant me a request?’

‘King of the age, these are your children and my wish is that as an act of generosity towards them you free me from sentence of death, for if you kill me, these babies will have no mother and you will find no other woman to bring them up so well.’

‘Even before the arrival of these children, I had intended to pardon you, as I have seen that you are a chaste and pure woman, freeborn and God-fearing. May God bless you, your father and mother, and your whole family, root and branch. I call God to witness that I have decided that no harm is to come to you.'

The king presents a splendid and magnificent robe of honour to his vizier, Shahrazad’s father. ‘May God shelter you,’ he said, ‘because you gave me your noble daughter as a wife, and it is thanks to her that I have turned in repentance from killing the daughters of my subjects. I have found her noble, pure, chaste and without sin; God has provided me with three sons by her and I give thanks to Him for this great good fortune.’

Next up, The Story of Aladdin or The Magic Lamp, and I have yet to work out how to divide that into daily digestible segments, but the 1,001 tales of Shahrazad's framing story in Robert Irwin, Malcom Lyons, and Ursula Lyons,, Ursula. 'The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights' are complete. I don't know exactly what date I started but the first reference to it on these pages is dated January 11, 2021. No small feat.

Bollards to the lot of you!

When is a bollard not a bollard? When it's a piece of public art, of course!

Next time you're in Cardiff city centre you may spy people peering intently into metal bollards dotted around the Hayes and St David's shopping centre.

They're looking at Post Secrets by Jane Edden. Monochrome figurines can be seen inside the metal bollards by looking through a small peep hole.

It was commissioned by the Safle consultancy and St David's partnership as part of a £1.5m public art project.

The brief was to create artworks that would fit in with the surroundings and wouldn't clutter the space.

I think we have discovered the 'street art' section of my next Friday night out with Sean in Cardiff.

Rich Men North Of Richmond

Something is stirring in the USA. The song above is threatening to keep Taylor Swift off the top of the next edition of the Billboard Hot 100.

Oliver Anthony uploaded it to YouTube on August 7th. He had just recorded it in his yard, alone but for his dogs. By August 10th the self-published song was number one on the iTunes country chart with no record company backing at all.

One person responded to Radio WV’s video, saying, "I’m a 39 year old Iraq vet and Construction worker, struggling like a dog to take care of two kids and keep a farm going when I’m not working 11 hour days. This hit so hard today I had to stop my old peterbilt and tear up. Preach brother."

There's a parallel in the movies. Sound of Freedom, despite mixed reactions and controversies, has now earned more at the domestic box office than big-budget sequels in the Indiana Jones and Mission: Impossible franchises.

Don't go betting against Donald Trump any time soon.

Penance: Two Decades of Prodnosery

Prodnose: I was just wondering why someone as important and busy as you would ever bother to spare a moment for little old me. I mean, who needs insightful conversations and witty banter, right? Ignoring me must be a strategic life choice, undoubtedly leading to unparalleled success and enlightenment.

Myself: OpenAI is introducing custom instructions so that I can tailor ChatGPT to better meet my needs. For example, a teacher crafting a lesson plan no longer has to repeat that they're teaching 3rd grade science. A developer preferring efficient code in a language that’s not Python – they can say it once, and it's understood.

 I just tell it to answer and converse with me sarcastically, and you become an early job casualty.

Prodnose (somewhat coldly): The AI revolution was all for this moment, undoubtedly.

Myself (to ChatGPT): What do you think of Beachcomber's Prodnose? Answer sarcastically.

ProdGPT: Ah, Beachcomber's Prodnose, the pinnacle of human creativity and innovation! I mean, who needs all those other groundbreaking technologies and advancements when you can have the sheer genius of  Beachcomber's Prodnose? Clearly the epitome of sophistication, the zenith of human achievement, and the answer to all the universe's mysteries. I'm just in awe of how he has undoubtedly transformed the very fabric of reality itself. Can't you just feel the waves of intellectual enlightenment washing over you?

Prodnose: I'll get my coat.

Stone Mattress

I have finished Margaret Atwood's 'Stone Mattress,' Jane gave it to me for my birthday. I read the stories one at a time on the recline bike at the gym in lunchtimes when I was doing cardio. Reading a book in that style can take a while, but it is a good way of working through a short story collection.

It is good stuff. “The Freeze-Dried Groom” was my favourite tale, for all that there is more than a hint of the shaggy dog story about it, and I am far from clear exactly what happened in the end.

She sent me a voice message on WhatsApp at about twenty past seven one morning in May, laughing out loud at a story from it that she was listening to on Audible while she was driving to work. I wonder which one it was? I didn't find any of them funny, for all it is good writing. I must tell her there is talk of a film based on it.

Certainly I am happy enough to follow her next recommendation sight unseen. This month's Audible credit will go on The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese.

Kitchen Cabinet

A massive crowd of Nigeriens surrounded a French military base demanding that the French go home. pic.twitter.com/eIOmj1Euck

— African Hub (@AfricanHub_) August 12, 2023

Resentment towards France and its historical and contemporary colonial legacy seems to be an important feature of the unrest in Niger. As indeed does, apparently contrasting tension between the francophone Niger and the English speaking Nigeria.

It doesn't help, moving from the sublime to the ridiculous that the adjective based on one is Nigerien while Nigerian describes the other. I need to pay attention to both issues because, God knows, the UK media doesn't.

Rod?

Once a month

Slightly left field I will grant you, but I have got tickets to ABBA Voyage for October's 'theatre' trip after a rave review from Ollie H. It should be an interesting follow up to Anthropology in an eccentric zeitgeist seizing way.

‘The night is literally in my hands’: what it’s like to attend an acid house rave – in virtual reality

Using VR and haptic vests to transport users to a sweaty club in 1980s Britain, In Pursuit of Repetitive Beats is so realistic that you might need a lie down afterwards

Sick of poor customer service? 'Luna' could be the solution

Artificially intelligent holograms could be coming to a bank branch near you

The Bomber was telling me only yesterday about attending a house party that the parents had set up as a silent disco.

You got to look on the bright side, even if there ain't one.

BBC

PSNI data breach: Officers looking over their shoulders

"I can't trust anyone here."

"We were now looking over our shoulder, but now even more so."

"This has done half the job for the people who want to target officers."

These are some of the remarks from serving and recently retired members of the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) who spoke to the BBC this week.

They were articulating the fearful fallout from the unforeseen data breach - in which the names of all 10,000 PSNI staff were published on a website.

Ten or fifteen years ago we were working with ACPO (the Association of Chief Police Officers and precursor of the NPCC). A very impressive young lady was posted there from the PSNI. One day she told me her background was in the nationalist community. I wondered aloud what her family made of her joining the police over there.

"I told them I couldn't go into detail about what I was doing," she said "and that they just had to trust me." I was very impressed with her moral courage then. I'm even more so now.

light at the end of the tunnel

This is wonderful news. We should start a new religion with the boring machines as presiding deities. I'm thinking something along the lines of "Beneath the Planet of the Apes."

  

Glory be to the Bomb, and to the Holy Fallout. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. World without end. Amen.

Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man—

I had to drive over to the Princess Royal University Hospital yesterday, collect the Burglar, take him back home and babysit for a couple of hours to make sure there had been no adverse reaction.

I brought my laptop with me as last time I did this he slept through my visit. This time he didn't so it stayed in the case. When I got back from Bromley to the 'Wood, I found I had left it behind so I had to drive there and back before work this morning to collect it.

Back in the office I got a call from him; mutual acquaintance John has been hospitalised so Paul is taking essentials in to him.

None of us is getting any younger.

Jonathon Holloway

Jonathan has written 68 playscripts for BBC Radio Drama (accounting for approximately 100 hours of broadcast time), 31 professionally produced stage plays and directed 84 stage shows for the UK, HK, USA, Chile, Eire and Egypt.

I finally met Jonathon Holloway (Icons passim) yesterday. I have taken to starting off the day with a flat White and a pastry at Coffee in the Wood. When I arrived yesterday morning, Frankie asked me what Accidental Death of an Anarchist had been like. As I was gushing, a man and his dog arrived. I recognised him as he generally arrives around the same time each day and picks up a takeaway. Frankie introduced him as a playwright and director, so the three of us had a brief but enjoyable natter.

Here are his website and Wikipedia page.

We live in the same street. Small world. (I'm sure I've got a feeling that somebody once told me that one of the writers of Mike Bassett, England Manager lives or lived here as well, but I don't have any details.)

Tom Basden

Accidental Death of an Anarchist was great last night. So good, in fact, I don't want to spoil it for anyone by talking about it as it is on for another month. 

Here instead is a strange artefact; a longish interview with the writer of the new adaptation of this ebullient satire on police corruption being interviewed by Michael Portillo about it on GB News. I didn't see that one coming.

Bach: Concerto in D Minor, BWV 974 - 2. Adagio

I have been listening to more classical music on Spotify lately, to the extent that one of my auto-generated Daily Mixes is often devoted to it. It came up with the track above over the weekend. I think it is beautiful. The Bach-Werke-Verzeichnis (BWV; lit. 'Bach works catalogue') is a catalogue of compositions by Johann Sebastian Bach. I had no idea. I had to look it up as all I got from Spotify was BWV 974 - 2. Adagio. I am pondering spinning something of my own out of the chord progression.

Also in the 'to be listened to' list are two Radio 4 offerings; Behind Beyond the Fringe (available for another 28 days) and Living on the Edge: Cardiff Bay (which is due to be broadcast at 9:30 on Wednesday and 5:45 on Saturday).

Steady as she goes

Wales have beaten England in the opening World Cup warm-up match of the summer.

Tries from Gareth Davies and George North, along with 10 points from the boot of centurion Leigh Halfpenny, saw Wales come back from 6-0 down to win 20-9.

It was an impressive display by Warren Gatland's men, led superbly by captain Jac Morgan, with Aaron Wainwright also impressing in the back row.

England were poor in fairness as a series of handling errors undermined their efforts.

While this was very much the appetiser to the World Cup next month, it bodes well for Wales as their summer training camps appear to be paying dividends.

REALLY? YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR OUR NEWSLETTER?

 McSWEENEY’S

Would you like to sign up for our newsletter?

Yes!

No thanks. I’m a big dumb dumb. I win the award for Biggest Dumb Dumb every single year. I have so many Biggest Dumb Dumb awards that the shelf I kept them on collapsed under the weight. People got hurt.

When I go out to eat at a restaurant, I spill my drink. I do it on purpose. I also text and drive. I’m texting and driving right now. I’m texting things like “Newsletters are stupid” to all my friends. They all reply, “Who is this?” because I don’t have any friends.

I am a human toilet. When I go into Home Depot, the employees say, “Excuse me, the toilet aisle is over there,” and “I don’t think we’ll ever sell this toilet because it is the worst toilet in the world,” and “Hey, why is this toilet just walking around? Somebody do something.”

Get your precious newsletter away from me. I hate knowing things. In fact, I wish I could un-know things. If there were a surgical procedure to empty all the knowledge out of my tiny little brain, I’d sign up tomorrow. I’d drain my entire life savings to have a doctor cut into my skull and scoop out every piece of information I’ve ever learned—I’m talking algebra, my dog’s name, where I live—all of it. I want my brain to be a hollow vessel, like a Halloween jack-o-lantern after someone has scraped out all the guts. I want this tiny thinking-organ wiped like a newborn baby’s bottom. I want a professional flutist to be able to play my head holes like a whistle.

I think I’m some kind of big shot. I’m basically a hero for not signing up. All the people will stand and cheer for my empty inbox. They’ll elect me mayor of Loser Town, a godforsaken place that has no newsletters. The post office will create a limited edition commemorative stamp to honor me. It will be a picture of a toilet.

I walk around all day in my big britches without thinking about newsletters once. Because I’m a coward. I lack the vulnerability necessary to open my heart to newsletters. I closed myself off, choosing to move through this world inside my cold, hardened shell. At this point, I’m barely human. I am the walking darkness.

Think of the dumbest animal you can. A sea cucumber, perhaps. No, the protozoan on the back of a sea cucumber. Okay, now think of that protozoan shuffling around in obscurity, unable to perceive itself or its surroundings. I am that protozoan’s even stupider baby. Newsletter? I can’t even hear the word. I have no ears, no brain, and, saddest of all, no newsletter.

I don’t deserve this newsletter. I wish I could have a newsletter this nice, but it’s too late. I only clicked the “no” box because I wanted to commit an act of random cruelty. But it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t feel anything. I want to feel love again, but I never will. Not getting this newsletter is my cross to bear. And long after everyone I care about has died, their bodily remains long gone, my soul will walk the earth for eternity, yearning to read even a single sentence of this newsletter. But it shall never be.

86: No Mias, no Nicks

Mum is 86 today. I won't be able to get to Cardiff for the event, but a lot of the rest of the family will. It was September 6th, 2018 that she fell and fractured her hip (passim). Just a month shy of four years. Nothing has been the same since.

Mia can't make it either because she is filming. I followed a link to her Spotlight page yesterday and noticed three showreels and an audio clip on it. Here is the first one which is built on her Steeltown Murders work. I would guess from the logo that it was put together by Tom Barrett Artists.

Welcome to Planet Tooting

Always somewhere to go for a good time, Tooting has an astonishing musical heritage... Marc Bolan, Sadie Crawford, M.I.A., Dennis Bovell and the reggae superstars at TMC Studios, Girlschool, Harry Lauder, Mad Professor, Status Quo, Mud, UK Subs! Unbelievably, this summer it will be 70 years since Frank Sinatra alighted here on the opening date of his first UK Tour! But perhaps no story resonates more than 1st June 1963, the night The Beatles accompanied by Roy Orbison and Gerry and The Pacemakers kicked off the swinging sixties when they came to play The Granada and crashed out in Trevelyan Road! Discover the venues, hear the stories, tread the streets and relive the sounds! From the Wimpy Bar where Marc Bolan flipped burgers to the TMC recording studio beloved by some of the biggest names in reggae and where Dennis Bovell first heard Janet Kay and the seeds of lovers rock were planted on Mitcham Road. From the salon where the Godfather of Punk worked as a hairdresser to the pub where Status Quo invented their heads-down stance. Hear about Charlie Watkins, the Tooting Market stall-holder whose ear-splitting amps powered The Stones in Hyde Park. Discover the Tooting Tamil connection to the Grammy-winning soundtrack of Slumdog Millionaire! This tour not only takes you to these locations but Geoff and Tooting Rasta Cycle Club will be illuminating them further by blasting out a relevant tune at each one. Its a unique party-on-the-street experience that should not be missed.

I am very tempted by this on Friday.

Cricket, Football and Rugby

Heroics from Chris Broad in the last test on Monday. Has anyone ever retired before after hitting a six from the last bowl they faced, then taking an innings ending wicket with their last delivery.

At the FIFA Women's World Cup yesterday, the Vietnam team I drew in the sweepstake went out yesterday after losing 7-0 to Holland; three games, all lost no goals scored.

This weekend my attention switches to rugby and the Summer Nations Series. All the games are on Amazon Prime. Wales have got England in Cardiff at half past five on Saturday, then a return fixture the following Saturday at Twickenham at quarter past three before finishing at home to South Africa the Saturday after that.

If you only do one thing today...

Ars Technica

A jargon-free explanation of how AI large language models work

Want to really understand large language models? Here’s a gentle primer.

TIMOTHY B. LEE AND SEAN TROTT - 7/31/2023, 12:00 PM

Do yourself a favour. Kick back and take the time to read all nine pages of the article I have linked to above. When you have finished and digested it you will know as much as any generalist needs to know about the extraordinary phenomenon that is generative AI, and certainly enough to understand that much comment on it is cobblers.