Observations from a Hill

It's gratifying to know sometimes that there are other people in the world that agree with one's intuitions on the future of society, and in addition add a depth of research, knowledge and erudition that cements those intuitions into a concrete basis for actual progress to potentially happen, given the right circumstances. Paul Mason, writing in last week's special AI edition of The New World, is one such person; calling out the AI 'revolution' as potentially precisely that: a revolution, but not one that the tech bro's and billionaire owners of the technology would either recognise or wish for. He posits the notion that within the bounding constraints of traditional capitalism and the adversarial zero-sum politics that we still insist in engaging with, AI will eventually crush its makers economically, as more and more workers [particularly middle-class, white collar workers - a trend already pushing more people into effective poverty] are edged out of work into...

I ventured out to The Bull in Bethesda for the first time in over a week, my rhino-viral indisposition having rendered the prospect hitherto less than attractive on several fronts. Anyhow, venture forth into the rain I did. On a rather more sober note, I was met at the pub with news from Chris that a mutual friend and well-known and loved local lad, Gareth Williams, had died at the rather too young age of sixty-one, having been ill and under treatment for some time. Gareth Taxi, or Cochin as he was more widely known [he was a redhead in his youth], was a well-liked and respected member of our community, who we first got to know when he was a teenager back in the early 1980s. He was then a member of the Welsh language rock/punk band Proffwyd, playing in the then nascent and soon to burgeon Welsh rock scene of the time. As time went on and music took the back seat, he eventually took the reins of his late parent's taxi and funeral directors businesses, working in both until very rece...

Further to my post of the other night, the Zenith pocket watch [pictured] that John repaired for me - I thank you for that good favour, mate - would seem from its movement's serial number to date from 1914, making it not only 111 years old, but coincident with the onset of WWI and the death of my cousin Tom Rudge in France that year. The fact that the watch's case is of Birmingham manufacture by A.L. Dennison is kind of pleasantly circular in itself. I bought the timepiece in a charity shop [long gone now] in Menai Bridge some twenty-odd years ago for ten pounds, non-working and with a broken glass crystal, but I wanted it because it was a Zenith, a manufacture I respect, and because it's simply a beautiful watch. I had a chap in Bishop's Castle, Shropshire, fix it up initially, but it stopped running again last year or the year before, so I gave it to John to have a go at it, and here we are: running again and considering the age of the thing, keeping good time. Old do...

Pictured, Yr Elen, from above Mynydd Llandegai late this morning, just before the squall that was already forming over the Eryri massif obscured the Carneddau in grey cloud and rain: a promising start that was already thwarted by the time we had reached the other side of Deiniolen, heading for Ynys Môn and lunch. The Bull in Biwmaris proved an unworkable option as it was rammed, and they don't do bar-food on Sundays when full. So a quick pint later, we decided to decamp to The Gazelle again for a Sunday roast and a glass of wine. After a mercifully light shop at Waitrose in Porthaethwy, we hied for home and the curiosity of a long-distance topical quiz via John's phone with friends in Scotland for an hour. Just a snack for supper, followed by a good two or three hours jangle, and Fairview Heights is settling down for the night: not exactly rock & roll, but there you go: we are all now, shall we say, a tad advanced in years, and so quite naturally averse to staying up till d...

Still full of cold, but it's now abating somewhat, which is a good job as we've got John [pictured the old Zenith pocket watch of mine that he's just fixed up for me] staying for a few days, and we also had our monthly lunch club today at The Gazelle in Menai Bridge, at erm, sort of tea-time-ish. Apparently this time of eating [ca 17:00-18:00] is becoming de rigueur amongst the younger generations here in the UK, who all seem to go to bed at the sort of times which in my youth would have been well into the start of my evening/early morning socialising: nine or even as early as eight o'clock at night. So the trend now is to eat out effectively in the late afternoon, in order to ensure that digestion doesn't interfere with getting off to sleep. To someone of my generation, this just seems frankly bizarre, but there you go. 

Feeling utterly drained and downright grumpy right now ["what's changed?" some might say] and I must emphasise that this is not the infamous and entirely spurious 'man-flu', but simply an ordinary, straightforward head cold. I'd forgotten [it is a very long time since the last one] just how bloody miserable the middle three days of the Common Cold [pictured, the culprit - a rhinovirus] really are. When I was young they were such a frequent occurrence we just took them on the chin and blithely infected everyone else around us. Whatever; this old bugger, whilst not out of commission - it takes a lot more than this - is in pretty much full-on 'can't be arsed mode' tonight. So I'll bid you nos da, and have another glass of wine. Normal service will be resumed as and when...