An overview of A I risks

Another of Mr Hagen's superb 'Frankly's'. This one is essential viewing, beautifully laced together with the story of Icarus. Informative, comprehensible, thought-provoking as ever. 

Extreme bodging

Like extreme sports but a lot less expensive and on the whole less dangerous. Probably doesn't have the cachet of pitching a tent on a sheer rock face, diving two hundred meters into an azure sea or base jumping from one New York skyscraper to another. But it is a challenge, and adrenaline pumping (a bit) when you can see the bodge taking shape.

Take our upstairs windows for example: the single glass panes only held in with the original panel pins and decades old lines of putty which had mainly turned to sand. We'd had an odd job guy round who had stared at the windows, eyebrows arched to their limit and had suggested he'd start with the shutters, but the resulting work was a lower grade bodge even than mine, so I decided I'd attempt the windows, even if it meant standing on a very high ladder to do part of the job.

Extreme bodging has its own special creativity, sort of experimental, like a good dose of improvised jazz - suppose I use this very excellent white wood filler instead of putty? Putty takes weeks to dry; this stuff takes two hours .  . yeah, sounds great. supposing it doesn't last as long? rubbish, of course it will . . . and this weird bent spatular, rather than the correct putty knife? yep, works well! Then the wielding of the masking tape - hate this bloody stuff as it always rips diagonally for no apparent reason - the extreme bodger must have a good eye and steady fingers too bend the tape around the wonky filler, leaving small bits of vacant glass that will fill with paint thus creating a fairly straight edge. Straight enough when viewed from the ground floor and squinting against the sunlight.

It's done. The windows certainly won't fall out, and I'll patch them a little each year like the ground floor ones that underwent the same treatment, and we saved about five thousand euros . . . - quote from PVC window persons. Yep, not good on the heat escaping situation but the old velvet curtains will keep out the worst of the cold. 

Early October

And certain things always come round . . .

My birthday for one, and this year, unlike many where I'm working, or Mark is away on a gig, it was very memorable. 

I got on a train in the early morning, headed for Bordeaux and met someone we follow on various platforms, and greatly appreciate. He bought me lunch and we chatted avidly for a couple of hours. I felt quite bereft when he had to go - a sudden rich encounter probably not to be repeated as he lives on another continent, but you never know. Afterwards I wandered about sketching as I do, slept soundly in my little B and B room and caught the train back early the next morning. Quite an extraordinary day which I will remember all details of, such are those memory forming times.

The other early October happening for us is the making of pomegranate jelly. Never bought ones! they have to be found just like all other fruit we turn into jam. We've been doing this now for about twenty-five years, ever since we moved into our French house in the South which had several 'grenadiers' clinging to a steep and dusty south facing slope in our garden. Each year the harvesting would happen; out would come the chopping board, hefty knife and rubber gloves, and I'd sit outside on the terrace splitting the fruit and scooping out the seeds. 

The yearly crime scene

Since moving Northwards we're still in a pomegranate possible zone although the trees are not common. Such happiness when I discovered a couple of grenadiers in someone's garden in a nearby town. They looked somewhat bemused (the people, not the pomegranate trees) when I asked if we could take some, but six years on, and we're still visiting the tree, making jam and taking the tree owner a pot to thank them.

Wembley? . . . Nah.

House concerts. Slipping back towards the time where most houses, however modest, had a piano in the parlour, and aunty Joan or someone would know how to thrash out a few tunes for a sing-a-long. 

Being fortunate enough to have inherited my wonderful godmother's grand piano, and even more fortunate to have found a house with an unusually ample salon to install it in; and even, even more fortunate to have a brilliant pianist to play the thing as part of the household, house concerts were an early idea when moving here.

This appears to be the future, to my mind anyway. Fuel is going to become expensive enough that people may seriously start considering whether driving two hours to stand within a heaving crowd to listen to live music is actually a fun thing to do. Pub bands, local theatre, pantomime, chamber groups, local choirs, and house concerts might be a better option, along with strengthening local community, and actually meeting your near and slightly further away neighbours.

We put on several concerts last year, one a month, mainly in the winter when most of the town's activity has quietened. Anyone looking for something outside of snuggling in front of Netflix could walk, cycle or drive to engage with some live music. 

On Friday, we started a new 'season' with an evening entitled "London - Past, Present and Future", including book reading from my novel Londonia set in 2072 and piano pieces written by Mark for the the audio book version, pieces by London composers from the time of the 1st World War, moving into the 60s and the 80s with a few iconic songs, and finally "Champagne Charlie" the main song from the 1944 Ealing comedy of the same name, with 'audience participation'!

A wonderful, warm and sociable evening, where we got together with friends, neighbours and music school associates. It's not just the music and the theatre; it's the sharing of food, drinks and above all conversation. It is the future I think, another element in a system that must surely change to local inventiveness, sharing and appreciation of friends and colleagues talents.

Amongst other concerts for this season so far planned : jazz duo friends, opera from Tours, darkly atmospheric oud/bass guitar/modular synth outfit, a concert celebrating the centenary of Morton Feldman - (a favourite composer of Mark's); open mike events, and a celebration of "Fecos" - carnival music from Limoux where we used to live in the south, and a concert of our son and his girlfriend's duo... if I can persuade them.

                            Me reading through the verses of Champagne Charlie

                                                           One of the winter concerts

Very, very, very slow fashion

The tale of a 1980s Gaultier shirt.

The garment appeared in my life after I bought it a second hand clothes shop in Birmingham in about 1985, then it continued to feature in my wardrobe until last week, September 2026. I'd worn it a few times each summer but after more than forty years! maybe I'd grown used to it just hanging there and other garments had taken preference. So, I put it on Vinted and someone in Spain bought it. 

Made in France, re-sold in Birmingham, worn in the Uk and all over France, and now, new life in Spain.

Just goes to show, an originally, no doubt, expensive garment lives on, decades after anything Fast Fashion would have hit landfill. Vive second hand!

Update . . . didn't stay long in Spain as the woman complained that it was a bit old . . . Vintage with a very small price tag for a Gaultier shirt! Anyway, it was returned with no hard feelings on either side. 

I think it is a sign. It wants to return to me. In fact the main reason why I stopped wearing it was that there are no cuffs, and it's not possible to roll up the sleeves. I don't like feeling trapped in garments when it's hot. The solution - I will alter it with my weird needlework abilities, or perhaps my soon-visiting expert seamstress cousin will have a go at it. To be continued . . .

Things I know very little of

but, I'm trying to learn a bit about . . .

Anyone following this blog will know I am deeply sceptical of almost anything A I related, mainly as being involved in the art and music worlds it's terribly depressing to watch everything heading slop-wise, well, not everything, but far to much. Plus of course adding massive problems to our already overloaded planetary bio systems.

 

Following on from a few posts back where I posted an at-that-time recent video by someone who really knew their A I stuff, this is an up to date look at where we are at. And, if what he says is true . . . well, humankind sawing off the branch we are sitting on seems to be a 100 % understatement. 

It's a complex subject and I've watched this through twice to try and gain at least the basics. Great interview with some weirdly funny moments like where Conner states that in the last decades that the AI firms have domesticated the nerds - come in, free food, endless math, great wages, I paraphrase as I can't find the exact bit now.  

As someone trying to write a futurist novel set in 2093, imagining what happens next up until that point is beyond a challenge. Think I'll just leave a sort of blank and the reader can fill it in with their own ideas of apocalyptic events. There's a few to choose from . . .

Musical experiments and conclusion

Banjo, drum kit - both electronic and 'real', electric and acoustic guitar, bass guitar, piano, keyboards, violin, mandolin, mini-synthesisers made out of recycled electronic components...vibraphone (might have happened if it hadn't been a rather too expensive musical experiment). All virtually self-taught to an impressively high level. For his very first instrument, the banjo, we signed him up for some online tuition from The Bluegrass Academy in Louisiana.

Our son's musical pursuits have always been fascinating, but the guitar has been the phase that has extended into permanency. Personally I was very sad when the violin ceased to be played but I understood the constraints - the need for a good teacher which was not possible at the time, the fact that he had started rather late, at twenty-five rather than five, and trying to find a local Irish band to join in rural France wasn't happening.  

The guitar is always there, a quick tune, or not even and it's ready to go; perfect for composing, accompanying songs, or just noodling away on at a gathering or in the bedroom, compact, portable, and versatile.

When I met him yesterday there was talk of visiting the local guitar shop as he has been idly viewing a certain Gretsch model and was curious to see if it was in stock. I'm always up for a music shop trip so we went. It wasn't in stock but there was a very handsome and almost flashy orange and gold Gretsch which was not quite the one he wanted - possibly luckily as just under a thousand euros would have required some very serious justification . . . mind there's a fair amount of music related unused stuff that could be sold waiting in the garage or his old room should it become a reality.

I sat and watch him play with that parental joy that can only come from watching the fruition of a rather remarkable musical talent born of all the previous experimentation and development over the years. 

I suspect he'll be ringing for a chat fairly soon about whether it should be the orange one, the blue or the olive green . . .

The orange Gretch

Several years ago in his Bordeaux student digs with the old Epiphone that I found in a house clearance