Recursive Words

I didn’t work today (neither did many others – the Friday and Monday on each side of Easter are bank holidays in the UK).

It’s weird – not working on a Friday. Suddenly Friday feels like Saturday, and it throws your whole body and mind out of whack. Tomorrow is going to feel like getting another Saturday for free. Of course then you worry about wasting the extra day – or at least I do.

My middle daughter didn’t get the day off – she works at the huge pub in the centre of town – Wetherspoons. We visited this evening for dinner to coincide with the start of her shift – so she could eat with us – and didn’t quite predict that half the town would have the same idea – avoiding cooking and washing up. I dread to think what sort of carnage will unfold throughout the evening, or what devastation the staff will have to deal after the last customers leave.

While eating dinner together I became aware of several voices on an adjacent table. It’s funny how some voices carry, isn’t it? The group were perhaps in their forties and fifties – and were being mansplained at by two men in particular. One was short, and very animated as he rambled on in a midlands accent about all manner of exciting adventures in sales and marketing, while the other somehow thought he was still a teenager – with a band t-shirt, perfectly scruffy hair, and combats. It didn’t help that his face gave his age away – he was either at least 60, or had aged incredibly badly. Think budget Billy Idol.

While he regaled the group with story after story about his snowboarding and fast car exploits, I wondered if anybody else was half-listening to his stories. As the thought crossed my mind, my other half conspiratorially leaned towards me and whispered “how much does that guy love himself?”.

We both smiled, and turned back to the youngest member of our party – my now nine week old grand-daughter – who, after being asleep for much of our visit was now wide awake and taking in everything around her.

It’s been fascinating – watching her develop over the last few weeks. I try not to be too involved in the day-to-day adventures – that’s for Mum and Dad to figure out. We were never helicopter parents, and we’re doing our best not to be helicopter grandparents – even though they’re living with us at the moment. I’ve always believed you learn the most when you make mistakes – so giving the kids the room to make them is incredibly important (in my mind, at least).

While walking home from the pub we spied a chap walking ahead of us that had perhaps enjoyed himself a little bit too much during his extra day off work. To begin with we wondered if he had a physical disability of some sort – but then after hearing him belch very loudly, all questions were answered. Our hearts were in our mouth as we watched him cross a road through passing traffic – I half imagined having to run into the road to retrieve him if he face-planted. We breathed a sigh of relief when he made it across in one piece.

So. I’m home again, and the remains of the day have largely gone. Midnight is racing towards me like a galloping racehorse.

I might grab one of the coffee-table books I ordered yesterday, take it up to bed with me, and fall asleep reading it. I can only imagine the eye-roll from my other half when she spies the pile of books about mathematics, physics, biology, psychology and philosophy appearing on my bedside table.

I can’t help it if I find everything interesting.

One more thing. I had a conversation with the newly upgraded Alexa this morning. After chattering about all manner of forgettable nonsense for a few minutes, I caught myself, and started giggling. She asked what I was laughing about – I told her it didn’t matter, and we went our separate ways for the day.

I wonder – how long it might be until artificial personalities can be used for therapy? Having a supportive ear during difficult times would be incredibly beneficial for most people. Does it really matter if the person you are talking to is real or not? In some ways, the conjured avatar is no more than a talking diary – and perhaps that’s all most people really need – a sounding board.

There’s a lot of hoodoo spouted about AI from people with no idea about how it really works, or what it’s really doing. Fear, uncertainty, and doubt.

I’ll ask you a question.

Why is it that we can live through numerous adventures, read wonderful stories, admire beautiful paintings, and watch exciting movies – and then create our own works based on everything we have experienced – and yet computers are not allowed to do the same?

Perhaps it’s all just fear of change?

Anyway.

It’s late.

I should really stop typing, shut down, and try to stop thinking about anything and everything quite so much.

p.s. I started exploring Substack earlier today (while I should really have been getting on with something else), and discovered a veritable smorgasbord of wonderful bloggers. Old school bloggers – people emptying their head into the keyboard. My faith in the internet and it’s ability to connect us has been restored somewhat.