Observations from a Hill

I'm minded to be careful about talking politics tonight, as there will be much such chatter going about tomorrow evening, post-elections, anyway; so I'll ignore the subject entirely for the duration. I had a topic vaguely in the offing for this evening's little scribble, but frankly I can't bring it to mind: an all too familiar scenario these days, and one which I'm damned certain is not unique to yours truly. I'll pour another glass and ponder for a while on the matter silently, in like mind as my eighteenth century Herefordshire quaker ancestors. Although I don't suppose they would have used the wine bit of such pondering for a minute... Wine poured, horizon scanned for inspiration, but nope, it's gone; and no amount of mental prodding is going to retrieve that particular thought process any time soon enough for today's epistle to the ether, so a reflection on Levi's jeans it will have to be instead. When I was growing up and jeans were the mod...

I was thinking of adding a rider to last night's post on agentic AI, but I think I'll leave that till later, as I've been kind of thrown into a little fugue on things past, prompted partly by memories raised from my mental depths by this afternoon's visit to the newly re-opened Tryfan [the pub formerly known as The Llangollen, or more usually just The Llan in days past], a reformed "boozer" that appears to be open for business with the rather sensible - to my mind - attitude that you have to be actually open for people to come in and buy drink and food - radical, eh? - and at predictable hours of the day and evening. It's early days yet, but they've started the Spring/Summer season by declaring themselves properly open from noon till late, seven days. They are also serving decent real ales alongside the usual trendy gassy stuff, to boot. Long may it continue and spur on the competition to step up their game: let's get the High Street going again; B...

Again, thanks to the day's Financial Times for the spur that goaded the night's post from this tired old brain. A piece in 'Work & Careers' on agentic AI, defined by Wikipedia as:  '... [ In the context of  generative artificial intelligence ,] ...  AI agents  (also referred to as  compound AI systems  or  agentic AI ) are a class of  intelligent agents  distinguished by their ability to operate  autonomously  in complex environments. Agentic AI tools prioritize decision-making over content creation and do not require continuous oversight.',  points out that more companies are talking up this technology than are actually currently adopting it, with 'business leaders' [what a misnomer that term is] waffling on about strategies for its deployment and exploitation, despite little to zero experience of it; described in the article as akin to '...trying to teach your kid how to ride a bike, but you've never ridden one...' . Whic...

I'm indebted to this weekend's FT for the text snippet from 'Lunch With The FT' [interview in a Tokyo McDonalds with Chinese dissident commentator Li Ying] that gave me the title for tonight's post; which should absolutely be taken as in the imperative sense: as edict rather than desire. To my mind this directive sums up where we are in the advanced [?] capitalist ethos in which twenty-first century man-and-woman-kind finds itself; either at the hands of laissez faire arms-distance neo-liberals, as in "The West" or under the grip of the over-weaning controls of state capitalism such as obtains in modern day China; with all points in between pretty much just shades of the same. Pay, consume and move on with alacrity: you're taking up retail space.  Needs and desires shortened into data-compressible chunks as small as possible to serve the needs of The Great Stone-Eater itself [blog posts passim, and courtesy of the late Alex Harvey] in its quest for eve...

  Very lazy diary post tonight, as I'm totally frazzled for no real apparent reason. Leo's birthday supper this evening, so a family gathering here in Fairview Heights. Lots - and lots - of garlic in tonight's meal, so no fear of nocturnal vampire attacks, methinks! I'll leave it at that because I'm not five minutes away from crawling into my pit for the night...

Just watched a lovely encomium to Keith Floyd on YouTube this evening, which made us reflect on the very influence this bloke had on us - food wise - during the 1980s and 90s, a legacy that obtains to this day. I can't begin to count how many thousands of great meals that we and our friends cooked and shared with each other over those decades, but suffice it to say that Floyd's enthusiasms and flamboyance had a very big influence on us all and our cooking. One of the things that stand out about the man was that he was prepared to wing it and improvise, and often to - publicly - fail: jazz, mes enfants! - something that has always been dear to my heart. Very often you've just got to go with the moment and rely on native instinct come hell or high water. I once told my photographer cousin that I could operate a Sony broadcast quality Betacam camera for a video shoot for Toyota, only to get him to stop en route to the shoot so that I could rehearse what I'd only just read...

I wrote the other day about The Great Bishop's Castle Power Outage - actually it lasted little more than an hour, but brought the town to pretty much a standstill - which made me think: how much survival resilience do we actually have, here in the second quarter of the twenty-first century? Answer, practically none. As soon as the power goes down, pretty much every aspect of our lives goes down with it. Which is actually kind of worrying. We were subjected to a freak power outage in the mid-nineties, when we lived in Brynbella, down on the A5, on the outskirts of Bethesda, at Christmas. An ice-storm - a very rare phenomenon in the UK - had taken down every wooden power pole across the tops from Aber. We were amongst a very small number of properties that were still fed with electricity from this very old circuit across the mountain. Suffice to say, we were without power from Christmas Eve, through Christmas Day and beyond: we gave up and drove to the Midlands to stay with parents o...

I had a thought [shit happens, I know] this morning about chasing down some of the history surrounding our software development back in the '90s/00s: viz the VBase/InfinitImages days of yore. I then thought, why not chuck some questions at Claude AI and see what comes back? So, mindful of the fact that a carefully formed prompt or question posed to a LLM will elicit more sense than a stupid question, I simply stated the following: ' In the 1990s there was a Photoshop plugin called FotoPage which has disappeared from sale - can you research this for me? '. What followed was very interesting, as the AI came up with exactly correct details about both the product and our development of it, and found an archived, compressed version of one of the range on the Tucows archive. It correctly returned the chronology of the software's development, up to and including its year of demise. It then went on to accurately analyse the two principal technical reasons why the product(s) eve...

The late, oh, so great, Alex Harvey sang, or rather er habt sprechgesang gemacht '...another tree dies of shame...' on the 1975 Sensational Alex Harvey Band album, "Tomorrow Belongs To Me" in the song "The Tale of The Giant Stoneater". Like so much of the SAHBs output, the lyrical content and intent of the album's songs is so genuinely right on in the original meaning of the phrase - please don't use the term 'woke' in this context - and carries forward to the present day prescient warnings from over half a century ago: the radical shift to the right and neo-liberalism was a mere twelve/eighteen months in the future from the album's release. The environmental and political issues that have dogged us persistently since then are still as thorny and unresolved now as then. I picked up on a linguistic parallel to this today in a book review in this week's New Statesman. In Sophia Smith Galer's new book, "How To Kill a Language...

  Our recent stay in Clun and many visits to The White Horse Inn [blog posts passim] prompted me to ease myself back into my family tree researches after a break of over a year - or is it two? Tempus does fugit without due warning at my age. A realisation struck me about the apparent mobility of family members across the Marches, the Midlands and Wales back in the nineteenth century which, given their poverty, I'd always wondered about; when the penny dropped: the railways. Also, when you look at the map, all the areas of concern to my familial archaeology are within relatively short distances of each other, and connected by what was then a comprehensive rail network. Pictured is my latest little acquisition: a facsimile of Bradshaw's Guide of the 1860s, which I bought to try and flesh out some of the travel background of the time. Using this with some of the other books of railway history I have to hand, I hope to get a better flavour for the movements of people at the time in...

I realised today that I, for the first time in my life, had failed to keep up with current technology: specifically, AI. The move from from chat-based interfaces to multi-modal agentic models over the last few [months, to be honest] has taken me rather by surprise. I've always taken some pride in the fact that I can always [at least cursorily] keep up with things techno-logic-al, and I find for the first time in my life that I've been blind-sided by the breakneck speed of developments in AI and its deployment in real-world situations. I aim to catch up; even at my advanced age there is simply no excuse for laxity in these matters: current knowledge should not be the exclusive domain of the young, don't you know. Anyhow, I decided to dip my toes a little further into the - as yet - little-known waters of agentic AI, and posed a question that models my undergraduate thesis' inquiry [although my dissertation was a good deal longer in the end]: “I need a discursive essay of...

Still feeling a tad jaded and disoriented after our return from the short break in Shropshire last week; yesterday was a long day, and I started today after one of those fevered returns to sleep early this morning which evinced a dream from which I still haven't quite escaped the clutches. However, I opened this week's New Statesman just now to a review of Sebastian Mallaby's recently published book "The Infinity Machine: Demis Hassabis, Deepmind, and the Quest for Superintelligence" [Allen Lane, 480pp £30.00]; and interesting reading it makes, too. Asked by Mallaby if he thinks AI will 'be a bigger change than the Industrial Revolution', Hassabis likens AI more to that most radical human evocation of self and the realisation of such; the making of handprints on a cave wall, tens of thousands of years ago: the very first externalisation of our inner selves; the genesis of human culture and civilisation embodied in an abstraction of self in communication wi...

Just a diary post tonight as I've been on the move since the crack of sparrow's fart today and what with the drive home, unpacking, and generally coming down to earth here in Fairview Heights, I really can't bring any depth of thought or perspicacity of perception to the table tonight. We had a good journey back from Shropshire with wall to wall sunshine for the majority of it, save some mist before we left the vales for the main roads back home. When we started loading the car around 07:00 this morning, the temperature was just three degrees celsius, and the car was white over with frost. By the time we crossed the border into Cymru, however, the temperature had risen to a very balmy eighteen celsius. The rest of the day has been glorious, and the garden has started to make its voice heard in our absence: our Clematis arch has started producing blooms [pictured], and will look an absolute picture in the coming week or so. Much work to do in the garden, but the weather look...

' Clunton and Clunbury, Clungunford and Clun, Are the quietest places Under the sun...' :  A. E. Houseman's much loved poem "A Shropshire Lad" sums up the rather laid back nature of the small Marcher town of Clun in South Shropshire to a tee: it's quiet, all right, and there's no denying the fact. In fact, on some days of the week there is seldom a soul to be seen on the streets. Occasionally, there is a flurry of infeasibly large vehicles passing through Market Square, both commercial artics [sem i- s for our American cousins] and agricultural vehicles, monster EVs and Harley Davidson's in convoy. In fact, on reflection, the place is quite often somewhat less than quiet, these days, vacillating between these two states of quietude and clamour. One thing that is definitely quiet in these times is the river Clun [pictured, from on the old bridge that connects the two halves of town], that flows through the heart of this ancient settlement, overlooked b...

We went over to Bishop's Castle this morning with the intention of getting a bit of food shopping done and maybe grabbing a sausage baguette and coffee from the The Happy Bap, an excellent little eatery specialising in rather fine sandwiches; only to find the entire High Street shut down by an unexpected and very localised power outage. The only two places able to trade - [no electricity, no lighting, no Epos to take payment: all food chillers and freezer cabinets would have to be closed off to conserve low temperatures] -  were Rosie's vintage clothes and curios shop [she takes only cash and the sunshine was providing ample light], and the local filling station, which I assume was either functioning on back-up generators, or fed from a different circuit [unlikely] to the rest of the High Street. A hapless queue was forming at the door of the Cooperative, waiting for the [electric] doors to open, to no avail. Apparently no advance warning was issued, so one can only assume that...

Today we drove over to Leominster for a mooch around the many antique shops there. As I've mentioned before, my Southall family has ties to Leominster as well as Bishop's Frome, with a possible connection to the large Quaker presence in the area going back some two or three centuries: Leominster is a major meeting place, and the Southall name is writ large in Quaker records concerning Herefordshire families. I've yet to confirm the connection, but it seems to me from records I've seen that it is likely there. We bought an excellent sandwich from a little deli in the centre of town, and sat in the square in the sun to eat it, before walking down to look at the Priory, not far from the square [interior, pictured]. From there we picked up the car and drove to Leintwardine for a drink at The Lion, a place we've eaten at several time before [recommended]. As we were leaving, I realised that I'd left my day-sack on the bench where we'd eaten lunch, which contained...

Despite watching the Mandelson debate live on TV - during which there were more ill-formed questions than logical, and where only a couple of them actually got close to getting to the nub of the issue - I've arrived at a point in the evening, Mastermind and University Challenge grand finals behind me, a belly full of steak pie and halfway though a bottle of Malbec, where I really can't be arsed with trying to synthesise my thoughts on the so-called scandal playing out in government at present. Suffice to say I have some strong opinions on the subject, but I'll leave them for another day, as, to be frank, I'm fashed. What I will say is that we had a good day out to Ludlow, followed by a pint of Clun Pale over the papers at The White Horse, when we got back to Clun this afternoon. So, snooker on the box, snacks, and finishing my wine are my present priorities, and so I bid you nos da!

We went over to Acton Burnell Castle today: we've visited the place before [blog posts passim], but our companions had never been to the place, and we fancied another trot over there, anyway. After a wander around the castle ruins and taking in the sight of some of the magnificent trees there, we decamped to the adjacent St. Mary's Church, a grade one listed building dating back to the late thirteenth century, which was unmolested and unmodified until the late nineteenth century when some renovation was necessary and some minor additions were made, including the addition of the small, Victorian tower. For the most part, however, the place wears its Medieval origins on its sleeve and it is all the better for it. Pictured, original Medieval tiling around seventeenth century headstones in the floor of the north transept. A lovely and peaceful place for those with or without Christian faith, it speaks mostly of human history with all of its manifest oppressions and freedoms, wealth...

Day two of our break down here in South Shropshire. Spent a couple of hours in Church Stretton scanning the charity shops and the antiques emporium that are our usual stamping ground there. Back to Clun and out for an early evening meal at The White Horse [blog posts passim], where I had a very creditable chicken curry with boiled rice and naan bread [double carbs, I know] and a couple of pints of their home-brewed and inestimable Clun Pale Ale [also blog posts passim]. Jack was on top form as mine host, and who features in my top four or five landlords - probably, no, actually occupying the top spot of my top five - it has been my pleasure to have been served good ale and banter by in my over fifty years of drinking in the more traditional ale houses of these lands. I also rank The White Horse as close as it's possible to get to the absolute ideal public house, something George Orwell could only fantasise about with his fictional alehouse 'The Moon Under Water' in his 1946...

Here we are again in Clun for a few days break, and the sun has broken through the gloom and precipitation, with blue skies and a slight breeze; albeit starting to chill down a bit this evening. Pictured the Hospital Gardens around the corner, the old almshouses, which I've mentioned before in these despatches. The last time we were here was at the tail end of last summer, when hot weather had given way to autumn winds and rain, and the place looked more blasted heath than cottage garden. Spring bulbs are blooming everywhere and the place has been nicely tidied up after the winter ravages. Anyhow, we're off to The White Horse [blog posts passim] soon for a couple of pints and hopefully a live band. Keep you posted...