Freedom

I was listening to my favourite Youtube person this morning - excellent channel, beautifully named, The Functional Melancholic. His slow, thoughtful content covering philosophy, political madness, cosmic dread and staring into the void at 3am, all delivered under a great collection of hats and with subtle absurdist humour never fails to inspire, and always leaves me feeling that I have been reminded of what is important in life.

This morning's offering was on freedom, and was as ever thought-provoking and strangely uplifting - for me anyway. 

So my takeaway was a reminder on what real freedom is, and how often it is something quiet and unremarkable, such as choosing to not pick up the phone and scroll during a spare moment but to lose oneself in the narrative of a novel, or to gain real, lasting information from reading something informative - and fascinating about the natural world/philosophy/history/whatever . . . from a book. I remember stuff I take the time to ingest via a page, rather than a quick Google glance. 

Of course Google et al has many uses and is invaluable for: 'shit, a flat tyre - quick, Google Renault Kangoo info on spare tyres/jacks etc' - as we don't even know where the spare is on our car. Or, map apps are great for when you are utterly lost in the middle of Paris and late for a meeting, but consulting an actual paper map, realising where you are on the world's crust and then working out the desired route is another crucial aspect of freedom, and brain nurturing. 

Like my grandmother was fond of saying, a little bit of what you fancy does you good - if you can restrict the internet content to 'a little bit'. Have the freedom and practised mind to be able to use it when you want or need but also to have the skill - and it possibly is now a skill - to be able to say, ok, enough of that, and pick up the book/paintbrush/instrument/knitting needles/welding iron/bike helmet/join a friend for a walk, or a game of chess; cook something experimental that doesn't require ChatGPT to give you all the steps.

Oh, yes. A1. I'm aware that Google is hyper old fashioned now, but that's probably where I'll stop. 

Having access to info on absolutely everything from: when was custard first invented to why is our dog afraid of balloons? to why would anyone think that living on Mars was remotely possible or desirable? is really quite enough, thanks. 

My current utterly absorbing read. Fall into another world, nothing but the slight sound of paper pages turning, and your imagination decorating the author's scenes.

What would happen if . . .

This morning I read a Guardian article where the columnist had tried NOT using Google for a week.
Of an age where he could recall life when phone numbers were mostly stored in his head and libraries were the go-to place for more generally unknown information, it made interesting reading. Especially the point that he finds it almost impossible to concentrate on anything for longer than a couple of minutes before something else occurs in his mind and a new search is started.
Of course I had to then look up - on Google what would happen if the Internet really crashed - the main premise of my post-apocalyptic novel.
I didn't actually get very far as after typing in 'what would happen if' I was fascinated to see the top searches appeared to be:

If everyone went vegan - I was pleasantly surprised by this one

If you didn't sleep

If Facebook was turned off . . . What, and what, what? That is more than worrying - 3rd question?

If the moon disappeared

If humans disappeared

If you hired two private detectives to follow each other . . . er, didn't expect that.

If America left Europe to fend for itself. Mm.

  rediff.com

Then lots more major concerns that humans might consider: what if the sun stopped spinning, what if the Earth stopped spinning, what if there was no moon, what if it really is made of cheese (not really) etc.
And a more in-depth one: What would happen if the sun suddenly became a black hole without changing its mass . . . think we could probably imagine what would happen.
And just for fun, and that I should be doing a job I want to put off, I just tapped in:
Supposing that, and the 3rd answer (the first two were to do with missing trains) and found:

Supposing that the rat weights follow a roughly normal model.

Enough Google for now, I think.

Rats, chipboard and turkeys

I'm getting better at French but still, and possibly always will have to, consult online translation - or a dictionary/verb tables - but it's oh, so easy with Uncle Google ready for one's every key-tap.
But the process, if not observed closely enough, is fraught with howlers-waiting-to-happen.
This morning's was concerning a translation of a few phrases concerning rat-extermination. Having read about all alternative methods including getting a cat (not possible in this case) vinegar and black pepper, owl feathers (mm, not the easiest thing to procure,) bay leaves, onions, moth balls, scattered pictures of Nigel Farage's facial expressions, etc, and the situation being urgent, I decided it would have to be a company that do nothing else other than rub out rats. When sending an email about this to our builder friend I used translate and nearly sent him:
'I will be sending a company that fabricates rats to the property.' Useful!

 

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                        The things people will knit ...


Over breakfast this morning Mark told me his latest translation stupidity. 'Carcassonne Agglo,' appeared as the 'chipboard box of Carcassonne'.

Here's a good one - thanks, The Local site - Fabricated in a turkey (Dinde being turkey in French).

Building No 61

Continuing my sub blog on largely over-looked architectural wonderments . . .



I happened upon this fine brick and corrugated iron specimen in a small Costa Brava village on our last foray down to Cerbère, Port Bou and the mysterious mountainous areas of thereabouts.
I rather wanted it to be the new Google Headquarters of Catalonia, but the appearance of a pair of gold-sprayed shoes during our hike-let around the area suggested it to be the local carnival workshop - unless golden shoes are statutory wear for Google employees.