It seems inevitable that, with increasing automation in production, services and transport, the route to making money is to own the robots. This future seems destined to increase the perception of unfairness of the economy, since only a small number of people or organisations will eventually own "the means of production".
I consider myself a little ahead of the game in this respect; I at least understand the problem. I understand some of the underlying technologies. Sadly though I have acted too slowly. The opportunity to own the first robot within my means has already gone. I failed to mine Bitcoins.
Thursday, 30 November 2017
Friday, 20 October 2017
Spread
I have had occasion, some time of a morning, in the breakfast-lunch interval, to indulge in a little toast with spread. Over the last couple of weeks I have been enjoying toast and insect spit mixed with the floral emanations of plants and have found myself dipping the knife into the same jar of honey on different occasions.
One of my children is missing.
One of my children is missing.
Saturday, 30 September 2017
Seasons, on auto-repeat
My modern, illuminated (cheap) keyboard has finally gone beyond. It's developed a habit of bounce on the 'D' key, which any vi user will understand can be vexatious, especially on the second strike. From my stock of stuff that I haven't the heart to throw away has come a ps2 connected, Siemens-Nixdorf branded object that must be 18 years old and, doubtless, briefly spent time in a skip. I popped all the keys, cleaned with isopropyl alcohol (an operation almost guaranteed to remove the lettering from modern keyboards) and reassembled. It is a thing of beauty and I look forward to losing all the bad typing habits I've recently adopted from having a dodgy keyboard with poor feedback.
Plenty of time in front of the kitchen sink today to watch down the garden and observe the scene. A mob of blackbirds came through, uninterested in the remains of the apple crop, from which they've already had the best and easiest pickings. Today they came to trash my water garden plants. They pulled strands of re-hydrating sphagnum moss from a tray I intend for carnivorous marsh plants, knocked over a seed pot, turned over some lily leaves, picked a few twigs from a bucket of kindling I was collecting for a neighbour and squabbled the whole time. Also this morning, plenty of bluetits and starlings; a robin bobbing and a warbler. I don't know my warblers and this one was the usual sharp beak, eye stripe, grey/yellow with hints of green and, on this one, almost buff. Leaves are dropping quietly, the first few that are trying to avoid the rush later.
Two weeks ago the first tree crowns began to turn (ignoring the browning horse-chestnuts, which were earlier). One cold night and autumn's starting gun is fired. Heaths are damp, spiders are fattening. The ponies are going towards winter with full bellies this year after a warm summer that didn't suffer drought.
Plenty of time in front of the kitchen sink today to watch down the garden and observe the scene. A mob of blackbirds came through, uninterested in the remains of the apple crop, from which they've already had the best and easiest pickings. Today they came to trash my water garden plants. They pulled strands of re-hydrating sphagnum moss from a tray I intend for carnivorous marsh plants, knocked over a seed pot, turned over some lily leaves, picked a few twigs from a bucket of kindling I was collecting for a neighbour and squabbled the whole time. Also this morning, plenty of bluetits and starlings; a robin bobbing and a warbler. I don't know my warblers and this one was the usual sharp beak, eye stripe, grey/yellow with hints of green and, on this one, almost buff. Leaves are dropping quietly, the first few that are trying to avoid the rush later.
Two weeks ago the first tree crowns began to turn (ignoring the browning horse-chestnuts, which were earlier). One cold night and autumn's starting gun is fired. Heaths are damp, spiders are fattening. The ponies are going towards winter with full bellies this year after a warm summer that didn't suffer drought.
Monday, 25 September 2017
Sunday, 10 September 2017
Wind noise
Returning West yesterday we watched brooding rain clouds cross ahead of us from mainland to Island. Closer, these storms dropped stray rain on us and threw wind eddies and vortexes that tugged our sails and blew white horse foam across the sea's surface. Rain shrouded vessels in the path leaned heavily and the sky slowly darkened as our own shower arrived.
Large drops fell within the storm system; a contrast to the light spitting outside. Staring ahead, upwind, our faces were washed and the shock of cool rain as it entered our ears became common. In still calm seas the wind peaked, probably around 30 knots and then followed the waves, travelling more slowly than the wind. Another mile and peace returned. A washed sunshine began to warm us and with only the outgoing tide to counter, mooring was simple.
We stowed and tied, made fast and made tea. Just as we were ready to go another shower arrived and we closed the hatch, settled to wait it out and snoozed a little. We watched the peregrine put on a little display flight before motoring the tender back to the pontoon. When we made shore, the retreating rain was still on the South Eastern horizon, making a rainbow whose coloured stripes were cut in sections by bands of rain, looking like an ironic manicured eyebrow.
Dry to home, but the sky was becoming confused. Clouds seemed to stand on end. Tiered vistas of dark and light water vapour revealed ragged islands of blue. Some cloud appeared completely inverted, showing the mounds and crevices that are normally seen from the air. Fleeting flashes, seen from an eye's corner soon became to dominate the fading sun's brightness. Thunder rolls that sounded like the sky's fabric tearing lasted up to half a minute each. The core of the storm, a dark glowering mass, loomed from the West. Without atomic thunder events, timing the flashes was difficult and the results were stochastic. A mile, two miles, a mile and a half. A quarter mile! The note of the fridge motor changed, the Internet dropped out. Ten minutes later it was gone, just a deep grumble left to remind us and a clearing sky that, after another twenty minutes, was virtually empty. Pale blue with just a few remnants of cloud, like the trail of a distant steam train, miles gone.
Large drops fell within the storm system; a contrast to the light spitting outside. Staring ahead, upwind, our faces were washed and the shock of cool rain as it entered our ears became common. In still calm seas the wind peaked, probably around 30 knots and then followed the waves, travelling more slowly than the wind. Another mile and peace returned. A washed sunshine began to warm us and with only the outgoing tide to counter, mooring was simple.
We stowed and tied, made fast and made tea. Just as we were ready to go another shower arrived and we closed the hatch, settled to wait it out and snoozed a little. We watched the peregrine put on a little display flight before motoring the tender back to the pontoon. When we made shore, the retreating rain was still on the South Eastern horizon, making a rainbow whose coloured stripes were cut in sections by bands of rain, looking like an ironic manicured eyebrow.
Dry to home, but the sky was becoming confused. Clouds seemed to stand on end. Tiered vistas of dark and light water vapour revealed ragged islands of blue. Some cloud appeared completely inverted, showing the mounds and crevices that are normally seen from the air. Fleeting flashes, seen from an eye's corner soon became to dominate the fading sun's brightness. Thunder rolls that sounded like the sky's fabric tearing lasted up to half a minute each. The core of the storm, a dark glowering mass, loomed from the West. Without atomic thunder events, timing the flashes was difficult and the results were stochastic. A mile, two miles, a mile and a half. A quarter mile! The note of the fridge motor changed, the Internet dropped out. Ten minutes later it was gone, just a deep grumble left to remind us and a clearing sky that, after another twenty minutes, was virtually empty. Pale blue with just a few remnants of cloud, like the trail of a distant steam train, miles gone.
Sunday, 20 August 2017
Road noise
My target of arriving at my destination with the car registering over 50mpg has been more difficult to achieve lately, due to making fewer journeys of sufficient length to overcome warm-up time. But, today I was on a roll.
Monday, 10 July 2017
Brown is the new brown
The switch from meadow browns to gatekeepers was about half a week ago now. Yesterday I visited the Island and saw all manner of butterflies; lots of marbled whites, some ringlets and one I haven't identified yet.
Saturday, as I trudged around the garden in the heat I seemed to be herding insects wherever I went. Grasshoppers in the front garden, bees along the drive and, by the buddleias behind the house, butterflies. Mostly, in this corner, there are peacocks, with a few tortoiseshell (and meadow browns and gatekeepers). Red admirals visit occasionally.
As I passed the buddleias this morning there was a rapid and strong flighted butterfly that moved so quickly I could hardly make out its colour. It's July (check), Wimbledon tennis is on the telly (check) and we have had some warm Southerly breezes (check) - must be a painted lady. This turned out to be the case when the insect finally settled in sight.
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