Body parts

Our latest purchase from CEX of reference 1 is 52 episodes of a new-to-us series called Mad Men, as at reference 2, for the knock down price of £3.

A series which seems to feature a lot of seriously unpleasant males and some moderately unpleasant females. Plus a great deal of smoking and some evidence of the US predilection for the portrayal of body functions. But watchable for all that; a change from the collected BBC Jane Austen, another bargain we have been getting good value out of in recent weeks.

Then watching episode 8 yesterday, we were reminded of the custom of keeping or exchanging locks of hair of loved ones, a custom which I do not think is much kept up these days, at least not in this part of Surrey - until I remembered that I had two locks of my very own hair, one of which is snapped above. Perhaps I ought to get a heritage box to put it in?

Reference 1: https://uk.webuy.com/site/storeDetail/?branchId=3055.

Reference 2: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0804503/.

Plant tweet

The new daffodil bed might not be up to much in the daffodil department, but the tulips there seem to be breeding and coming up strong, and there are at least two fritillaries coming along.

A sprinkling of crocuses, some of which look very well when the sun brings them fully out. Flowers which, to my mind, are best admired as individuals, rather than in flocks.

We also have the first yellow celandines and the first pink camellias.

No daisies or dandelions as yet, but these have, to be fair, been exterminated over most of the garden.

Forensic anthropology

Last week to the Royal Institution to hear Dame Sue Black tell us about her work as a forensic anthropologist, which turns out to be code for someone who identifies bodies in circumstances where DNA does not do the job for you. A warm and attractive lady, a personality providing welcome balance to the rather gruesome nature of her work.

Lots of small birds on the edge of the roof of the second block of flats as one approaches the station from West Hill. Was is just the early evening social gathering or were they roosting for the night? Were they nesting up there? See reference 1 for a corvine example of this sort of thing.

Oddly, no aeroplanes to be seen from the platform, despite the clear view to the northern horizon.

Train quiet. And for once in a while they had two down escalators and one up, rather than the other way around, which meant that concourse area at Vauxhall was quiet too. While the Goat was busy, with people all over the pavement, some smoking. But a proper city pub with more or less instant service.

Snapped some no doubt expensive art in Albemarle Street. Not clear from the street whether the carefully cut stone (or whatever) and the rusty pipe were one work or two works.

Lecture theatre around two thirds full, with the young lady next to me having very neat handwriting and a taste for very small print on her telephone, far smaller than I could read with any comfort at any distance, while she could manage at an ordinary reading distance. But she did concede that she would probably have to turn the size up in the not too distant future.

Dame Black was a very good lecturer, and she started out by explaining that the body changes with time, with very little of it being original by the time that we die.

DNA had come on stream in the middle of her career, but did not make her obsolete. DNA was great when you had a sample and a suspect, you could just match the one to the other. But a sample only led you to a suspect in the case that you already had a record for this last, so there was still a big role for the more old-fashioned techniques, for example looking at the history of the skeleton, at the various damage it had taken during life.

She told us the grieving relatives were not very good at identifying dead bodies, with lots of false positives and lots of false negatives. You needed more to be sure, and that was where she came in. And while you could sometimes take DNA from both relatives and victims, when you had related victims, the DNA could not tell them apart. You needed more.

Race was not usually of much help. She used a classification of four races: Mongoloid (east Asia), Negroid (sub-Saharan Africa), Papuan (Pacific islands, large and small) and Caucasian (rest of the world). So in her usage Caucasian was a much larger group than I was expecting, one that told one little about, for example, skin colour. But Wikipedia suggests that this is a controversial area.

A big part of her job appeared to be identifying pedophiles from photographs of parts of their body, often arms. It seems that pedophiles like to take pictures of their activities, which means their arms against the body of the their victims: pictures from which maps of veins of the forearms can be extracted, maps which amount to a sort of low-grade fingerprint which can be matched with a suspect - which one might well have in the form of the owner of the laptop from which the picture was taken. But high enough grade so that around 80% of the cases she works on result in change of plea, which means that the grade is good enough.

Hands, faces and teeth were all helpful for identification, while I forget about the use of ears by the French police in Simenon's day and I did not think to ask.

Computers are getting good at a lot of this, which is our only real hope of pushing back the tide of pedophile pornography which seems to be all over the deep and dark parts of the Internet, introduced at references 2 and 3. To which my response is very much the same as that to all the layers of effectively secret ownership provided by tax havens: why would you do it if you were doing anything even faintly respectable? Why do we allow it? See also reference 4.

For the first time for a while, the centre escalator at Vauxhall had been turned off, so I was able to climb the 65 steps. Something I do not attempt at Green Park, where there are getting on for a hundred.

Several fours at the aeroplane game at Earlsfield, and I came within a whisker of a five, which might have been a first.

PS: in the course of the proceedings, I was reminded that heritage drawing packages were even more of a problem for records people than heritage word processing packages. In the latter case one can capture a good deal of the content with an image, but that is not good enough for an architectural or engineering drawing.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.com/2014/07/twit-log.html.

Reference 2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_web.

Reference 3: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_web.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/01/city-boys-episode-2.html.

Catholic Cruader

Another recent pick-me-up from Raynes Park. I don't think it is the first such so there must be a nest of Catholics using this particular station.

The magazine of the Crusade of Mary Immaculate, August/September 2011. Something to do with the Order of Friars Minor Conventual, while the editorial and printing part of the operation appears to be somewhere in Manchester.

The picture is of a church in Wexford.

A compendium of uplifting stories about saints and such, rounded out with crosswords, quizzes, letters from readers, private prayers, forms for making postal requests for professional prayers and various appeals for straightforward donations. I wonder if Anglicans produce anything like it?

I learn of St. Robert of Knaresborough, a famous religious of the 13th century. No proper record of his canonization. Of St. Maximilian Kolbe, starved then finished off by lethal injection at Auschwitz, getting on for eighty years ago now. Canonized by Pope John in 1982.

Reference 1: https://www.thegreyfriars.org/. 'We are the Friars Minor Conventual, Catholic men dedicated to living the Gospel of Jesus Christ in the spirit of St Francis of Assisi. We focus on the Gospel life, embraced by Saint Francis of Assisi, our Seraphic Father and founder. His light has been guiding us for eight centuries. We are spread throughout the world in service of the Gospel, living as pilgrims, preaching poverty and penance. In Great Britain and Ireland we are known as the Greyfriars, a name derived from the colour of our religious habit which was originally made from a greyish unbleached wool. Under the guidance of Mary Immaculate, Queen of our Franciscan family, we are commited to carrying the charism of St Francis to the ends of the Earth. We have a passionate will to imitate his spirit in modelling Christ perfectly in our hearts and in the lives of all'.

Coming on

Today's view, from the edge of the recreation ground of the flats featured at reference 1. Flats which we now know are to be known as 'Oak View'. One wonders why they did not go for 'Oak Heights', given that 'Heights' seems to be estate agent speak around here for upwardly pretentious. And the recreation ground does rise in their direction, so heights would not be that out of order.

Plenty of what I took to be Polish banter among the builders - which might be a bit intimidating for an English person seeking work there.

In which connection, I notice that in today's Guardian there is a full page advertisement trying to entice Polish people working in our health service to go and work in Gorlitz, a German town on the Lausitzer Neiße, the Neisse bit of the well known Oder-Neisse line. I think the idea is that you are still working in a rich country, while being a good deal nearer home that you could be in the UK.

PS: are rich Germans in Gorlitz buying up their ancestral lands across what is now the border? I seem to recall reading something of the sort.

Reference 1: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/new-flats.html.

Philharmonia

Last week to the Festival Hall to hear the Philharmonia a Bach orchestral suite (No.2), a Mozart piano concert (K.488) and a Mozart symphony (K.551). Philippe Herreweghe with the baton and Bertrand Chamayou with the ivories.

Started off the proceedings with an altercation at the barrier at Epsom station between a small lady civilian and a small herd of youths. She was giving them a serious dressing down for their behaviour towards the small lady ticket collector - who appeared to be on duty without any other staff within earshot. At least between them, they seemed to be winning on this occasion.

By the time we got off the train we had been joined what I took to be a small party of burly Russians, casually dressed. One of whom had a fearful looking scar, maybe four inches long running down the back of his head. I wondered what on earth could have inflicted such a wound, my first thought being a hatchet, but second thought being that a hatchet blow of that sort would probably be fatal.

Once again no seats or tables free for our picnic, so we camped out on a seat we found beside the entrance to the Skylon restaurant, closed for a private function, among various bits of restaurant furniture covered with white drapes. If it had been closed for my function, I would not have been two impressed by all the clutter.

We also got to see a Chinese VIP couple, possibly something to do with the Chinese booze company described as the principal international partner. See reference 1. As far as we could see from the stalls, they did not get given the royal box.

The conductor went in for a great deal of hand flapping during the Bach, which did not appear to be in time with the music, but presumably he and his orchestra - mainly strings - knew what he was doing. We also noticed that the little wooden platform that he stood on was dedicated to someone, perhaps to a long serving member of the hall crew on his retirement.

The pianist payed a lot of attention to the conductor, slightly awkward given where the conductor was standing and that the lid of the piano was open, rather than absent in the previous concert noticed at reference 2.

Hall more or less full. Middle of row H just about spot on. University of the third age outing from Liphook to our right. Not sure that I am quite old enough yet, but see reference 3. Long main bar oddly quiet at the interval, something we have noticed before, so perhaps classical music people are not, on the whole, boozers.

All very good, despite our lack of experience with symphonies - for which we got maybe a dozen non-string players. With the trumpets looking a bit odd to me, a bit big, although the programme does not say anything about them.

Trains slightly disturbed on the way home, but the train we eventually caught was intelligent enough to know how crowded each of the carriages was. Have they put sensors under every seat? Or do they rely on the guard to do an eyeball job?

Met a retiring soldier at Raynes Park who had just had his send off after 14 years service. He gave the impression that he was entering a whole new world, a world where he had a front door, curtains to buy and porridge to cook: he seemed quite young, so he had presumably spent his whole adult life so far in the army - so big changes ahead. But he did say that there had been plenty of courses about how to manage the change and that there was plenty of support available. We wish him well.

PS: the snap was taken in late afternoon light and Cortana seemed to struggle with the white letters on black ground. Something I have noticed before. Perhaps she has been tuned up on the more regular black letters on white ground. These particular fonts seem to be a problem too: perhaps I ought to alert the publicity department of the RFH to these nuances, to the needs of bloggers.

Reference 1: https://www.wuliangye.com.cn/zh/main/index.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/mainly-mozart.html.

Reference 3: https://www.u3a.org.uk/.

More Raynes Park

Having to leave the train at Raynes Park (see previous post) did have its upside in the form of some interesting books from the platform library.

Top right, a virago for BH, with 'Summer Will Show' from Sylvia Townsend Warner, a slightly risqué novel written in the 1930's and set in the 1840's.

The other three being the first and the last two volumes of a heritage medical encyclopaedia, 'The New Illustrated Medical and Health Encyclopaedia', unified family health library edition. The book was published by Odhams in 1966, apparently based on a US original, with some of the material dating back to the 1930's.

Intended for lay rather than professional use, it appears to be quite well written and includes some reasonably gory pictures, with the text appearing to have been written by a mixture of practising and academic doctors and edited by one Morris Fishbein MD. Perhaps in the US there are plenty of people who live at a good distance from the nearest doctor, so there is a stronger demand for this sort of thing than there might be here. They certainly seem to like more medical detail in their films than I care for.

In any event, a reminder of how much book illustration has come on in the intervening fifty years.

PS: it seems that Fishbein is now most remembered for his campaigns against chiropractors in particular and quacks in general, campaigns which got him into various kinds of hot water. According to his entry in Wikipedia: '... He was also notable due to his affinity for exposing quacks, notably the goat-gland surgeon John R. Brinkley, and campaigning for regulation of medical devices. His book Fads and Quackery in Healing, debunks homeopathy, osteopathy, chiropractic, Christian Science, radionics and other dubious medical practices...'.

More abbey

Back to the Abbey last week, making use of my associate's card. A card which is paid for by a very small number of visits and makes it reasonable to pay short visits when the place is not crowded, as is the case at this time of the year. A theory which has served us well at Wisley and Hampton Court over the years, paying plenty of visits of an hour or so which one might not think worthwhile if one was paying the full price of around £20 per head per visit.

Bright, warm day.

Started at the station with a near tweet of a redwing, near tweet because I was thoroughly confused by seeing it from slightly below, rather than slightly above - so pale undersides rather than dark oversides. And twenty feet or so away was too far without the trusty monocular. But a glimpse of the striped head almost convinced me.

And then we had the yew. First at home and then at Motspur Park, where bright sunlight illumination from the side made the bushes in question look as if they were covered in yellow flowers. Most odd until the brain clicked into gear and got the right viewing template online.

In-train entertainment provided by two small children with their telephones, telephones which seemed to be emitting slurping noises as part of some game or other. Slurping noises which accompanied me to Waterloo, but the appearance and body language of the lady in charge did not invite inquiry. Perhaps she was embarrassed.

In-festival-hall entertainment provided by a sea of buggies parked where we used to take our picnics and a sea of small children and their minders milling about, with all kinds of half term activities being laid on for them. I got the impression that most of the mothers came from the middle rather than the working classes - this despite there still being plenty of working class accommodation in the surrounding area. At least, I thought there was.

Took a Bullingdon from the small stand outside the festival hall, that is to say, Concert Hall Approach 1, South Bank and made it to Storey's Gate, Westminster in 10 minutes and 33 seconds. That is to say the stand outside what was perhaps the nearest public house to the Treasury, a place which I used to use occasionally.

Just starting to get busy at the Abbey when I got there at around 1130 and it took me perhaps 5 minutes to get in. My associate membership earning me a bright yellow wrist band to distinguish me from the hoi polloi. A wrist band which I failed to operate and had to settle for attaching it to my bicycle clips, by then hanging off the trusty brown bag (from Osprey, via TK Maxx).

My brisk tour of the Abbey started with the monuments of the north aisle. I noticed, for example, that the monument for C. J. Fox included what appeared to be a supplicant negro among the basal figures. Perhaps I should ask a trusty for the significance of same. Then we had the bell of HMS Verdun, responsible for bringing over the remains of our unknown warrior and one of I have no idea how many warships which served in both world wars. I remembered to find out that the chap who got the prime slot across the screen from Isaac Newton, was James Stanhope, the old Etonian who was Walpole's predecessor as PM. A contemporary of Newton who was born in France of good English stock. Also one of the stars of the recently Oscar'd film about Queen Anne. And I came across a tablet for John Ligonier, Baron of Ripley, the place where Eric Clapton was born. I suppose that Ligonier had a house in Ripley, given that he was certainly not born there, having been born in France. See reference 1 for our first visit to the place.

Another bent pillar by the West Door. See reference 2 for the first such.

It occurred to me that the gilt of the High Altar and the Rood Screen was a good match for the candelabra at Buckfast, the copy of the Aachen Barbarossaleuchter. Perhaps the Dean could organise some sort of swap, exchange or visit so that the candelabra could be seen in the setting that it deserves. See reference 3.

The last tablet that I especially noticed was a rather large and rather odd memorial tablet in the cloisters dedicated to the men and women of British race who served in Malaya prior to its independence in 1957. I don't think one would talk of the British race in such a context now.

I was pleased with my visit. Having been several times over the past few months, the place is starting to be like an old friend. I am starting to relax and no longer need to rush around taking in all the sights.

Pulled another Bullingdon to take me from Storey's Gate to Moor Street, Soho, a run of 13 minutes and 39 seconds. And from there to the cheese shop to stock up on Poacher. Plus a bit of Gubbeen to vary BH's diet of soft white from a plastic tub.

Then down Charing Cross Road I came across a splendid one inch map of the Thames, more than fifty years old and with about eight feet of it folding into a normal looking one incher. But £250 was too much for what would really be an amusement, rather than something we would get any real use out of.

Then into Star Gifts in Cranbourn Street (Star Souvenirs in September 2018 according to Street View) for a spare charger for my telephone. First off they tried to get me to part with £25 for a fancy one, but I settled on £15 for a cheap one. I think I was slightly swindled in the sense that the price was chosen to suit the customer, and the man in the shop judged what I would cough up without grumbling very nicely.

Then into Terroirs where I was lazy enough to order the same meal as I had had on the previous occasion. Drinks the same too. See reference 4. Meal enlivened with discussion of the proper time for baking an apple. BH does cooking apples stuffed with brick dates for about 40 minutes, while Terroirs does peeled eating apples unstuffed for about 400 minutes at a very low temperature. Perfectly eatable, but I did not think that the French version was an improvement on the English version.

On exit we noticed that the flag over the Zimbabwe High Commission was at half mast, so I popped in to find out. The lady there did not know and the personal assistant to the ambassador did not know either. She said that it was certainly nothing to do with Nelson Mandela, whom they respected but whom they would not honour in that way. I forget why I thought that it might have been anything to do with him, it being nowhere near the date of either birth or death. I did learn that she came from the half of Zimbabwe which did not click, but I forget which half that was, Ndebele or Shona. While the flag was probably just an accident with the chap raising the flag in the morning not securing it properly. I left with a glossy magazine advertising Zimbabwe as a holiday destination. Lots of waterfalls and large animals.

Back through the Festival Hall where the toddler fest was winding down and the face painters (in red and blue fancy dress) were packing up their paints.

To Waterloo to find the trains in a bit of a state. I got on a train to Dorking, but had to get off at Raynes Park as it was going to run the rest of the way non-stop, no good to me at all.

Reference 1: https://psmv2.blogspot.com/2015/05/a-surrey-church.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/01/abbey.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/10/canopy.html.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/cheese.html.

Steering lesson

I mentioned at reference 1 acquiring a new-to-me talking toy called an Upsy Daisy, which I now know to be one of the stars of a long running television programme.

Then today, a kind neighbour donated, quite by chance, an Upsy Daisy push along tricycle.

So it being warm and bright, with lots of dustbins still out on the pavement from the day's collection, it was clearly a good day for a steering lesson, with this snap taken about half way through. By the end of the lesson, we felt that our trainee understood steering fairly well, but was very easily distracted. Which meant that one needed to be ready for pole action.

Notice the attached Upsy Daisy up front. A foot of the rather larger, detached Upsy Daisy can just be seen in the pink plastic basket behind.

We closed the day with a bug hunt. Starting with the small compost bin (the brick one) at the end of the garden and then working our way through the various stones and flower pots on the way back to the house. Along the way we found the digging sticks noticed towards the end of reference 2, much better for bug hunting that half rotten twigs.

Reference 1: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/click-ncollect.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/11/painshill.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/03/breakfast-for-worker.html. The small compost bin. Here being emptied, presently very full.

Trolleys 228a and 228b

A pair of trolleys from the M&S foodhall, captured in a sunny part of the passage through to the station, but moved into the shade of the gymnasium for illustrative purposes. Causing some action from the automatic door.

Both from Wanzl, but not identical, as one had chain and coin dispenser while the other did not. While Wanzl themselves, starting from relatively humble beginnings, appear from reference 1 to be something of a conglomerate, providing all kinds of stuff for the retail sector.

Reference 1: https://www.wanzl.com/en_EN/.

Week eleven

It does not look as if the inflorescence is going to straighten out after all. And it was quite hard to snap earlier, with the bright morning sun adjacent, so this snap was taken late afternoon, when the sun had gone down around the other side of the house.

At least the florets are opening up in the approved manner.

Chair quite possibly Ercol from the early 1960's. A good chair in its time, but the joins between the legs and the seat are starting to work a little loose. Not sure that I could do a neat enough job of taking to pieces and putting back together again to make such a proceeding worthwhile.

PS: interested to find that Ercol furniture is named for one Lucian Ercolani, who came here from Italy as a ten year old, back in 1898. Not sure what his conscription status was during the first world war, bearing in mind that Italy was on our side for that one.

Reference 1: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucian_Ercolani.

Group search key: tfd.

Fake 61

A suburban fake, from the front of a house not that far from our own. A box, probably covering some bit of pipe or other, made of some kind of board, faked up as bricks. A practise I associate with people from Cyprus, although I believe that these particular people come from Spain.

Wisley eight

Saturday a week ago our first visit to Wisley for around eight months, since that noticed at reference 1. As noted at that time, barely getting our money's worth at this rate.

Car park very busy at 1030 on a fine Saturday morning. The Nepalese car part attendants were out in force, seemingly working for an agency rather than for the gardens direct. Nepalese whom we have always assumed to be resettled army veterans.

A3 left in the snap above, which also shows that the various new works seem to have taken quite a chunk out of the gardens - and they are keen enough that at least some diggers were on the move on a Saturday. Perhaps the next step will be to consolidate the belt of trees at the bottom of car park 1 into the car park. In the meantime, the large greenhouse, otherwise a splendid place, is full of large Lego animals and rather mixed sculpture continues to decorate the gardens at large. What is the matter with us that we have this urge to throw money at arty types so that they can erect their stuff in our public spaces? A lot of it being pretty bad, leading one to wonder what on earth is inside their inflated egos.

The main event was to turn left out of the main entrance and take a swing over Battleston Hill to inspect the trees, shrubs and bulbs there.

Camellias, Daphne and Witch Hazel all coming along, with the first mentioned snapped above.

We noticed a number of dawn redwoods, aka metasequoias from China. Handsome trees, with a couple of good specimens at Hampton Court, outside the Tiltyard Café. At least two of those here having a good display of spring flowers around the base of the trunk. Also some handsome eucalypti and dogwoods, all notable for their attractive colouring. Also lots of other unusual trees.

The other end of the redwood snapped earlier.

Different variety? Plus snowdrops, hellebores, crocuses, daffodils (the ones in flower were mainly small), dwarf irises and winter aconites.

Camelia with witch hazel. Some of these last seemed to be very old, maybe forty years or more, which may be part of the explanation why the five year olds in our garden are still very small, say a couple of feet high and not much bush about them. But I also suspect that our grey soil does not agree with them.

A view of the trials field. Cover for something delicate in the foreground. A3 behind the trees left. Fine line of redwoods right. Very fine when one gets in among them.

The view from the shed, middle left in the previous snap.

Cabbage trials. Seems a pity to waste so much cabbage, but perhaps part of the trial is to see how well they stand. And nets have come on a bit since my father used to use recycled fishing nets made of black twine. Nets which I once knew how to mend.

In among the redwoods.

In among the grapes. Including lots of north European varieties, the names of which I recognised from north European wines. Like this one, briefly stocked at Terroirs. Slightly taken aback this morning to find that this particular fad dated from well over a year ago. See, for example, reference 1.

The weather station in among the apple trees - with the crystal ball on top of the brick pillar being a contraption for measuring something to do with sunlight.

A handsome, fan trained apple ('Sunset') behind the weather station. We must try to remember to go back when the tree is in fruit and see what it looks like then. Not a variety that I had heard of before but the people at reference 3 clearly know all about it.

An approach to wisteria growing which only works in the larger garden, that is to say, not in ours.

Light lunch in the form of tea, taken with one egg sandwich between the two of us. Much too crowded to go in for anything more complicated.

But altogether, a very satisfactory visit. Plenty of interest and colour, despite the time of year.

But reminded on exit, that this exit is reasonably dangerous, given the speed of the traffic on the A3 outside. Perhaps the proposed works on the nearby junction with the M25 will do something about it.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/08/wisley-nine.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/11/cheese-home-overseas.html.

Reference 3: https://www.orangepippin.com/varieties/apples/sunset.

Zestan flats

From time to time I comment on the affairs of one of our local developers, Zestan by name. People who think themselves a cut above your average speculative builder.

Here we have a small block of flats (Chase Road Apartments) they are putting up next to the railway line in Hook Road, opposite their previous development noticed at reference 1, visible here on the right. They do not look as fancy as those at references 2 and 3 (Oak View, phases 1 and 2), so perhaps this is fulfilling their affordable quota.

PS: I happened to read in the NYRB yesterday that affordable housing is as much a problem in parts of California - the example was Berkeley, across the bay from San Fransisco - as it is here. So being awash with both money and space does not necessarily solve the problem.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/03/sicilian-convenience.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/new-flats.html.

Reference 3: https://www.zestanltd.co.uk/.

Fake 60

Snapped yesterday, somewhere inside the restoration end of Hampton Court Palace, that is to say the east end, built after the restoration.

In a room in which maybe three of the walls were more or less covered in large tapestries, quite impressive even in their presently degraded state. Perhaps there is some oligarch out there who would pay to have replicas made? Ideally somewhere in this country, but I suppose that even an oligarch might draw the line at the expense involved and get it done in China. Or in his home country. Replicas which might be installed alternating months so that we could get a better idea of what the place would have looked like at the time they were first made. Perhaps go the whole hog and put fires in the grates and candles in the candelabra? Dressed up luvvies doing something Stuart or Georgian?

However, that is all beside the point, which is the door behind the gap between two of the panels, designed to be more or less invisible when shut.

Should we infer that the tapestries were not made to order, with a door hole properly let into the design? Rather bought up from some bankrupt merchant?

I associate to the doors in Claremont House, where not dissimilar fake doors were added to some of the rooms to preserve the desired, Palladian symmetry. No tapestries, no hole in the wall, just a door stuck onto the wall.

PS: I wonder if the Russians go in for replica tapestries in the various palaces that they have restored? Guessing, it seems quite likely, that there would have been tapestries at one time or another. But perhaps fashion dictated import from France, along with the language, so there never was a native tapestry tradition.

Group search key: hcb.

Click n'collect

Following the suggestion from Maigret, I have taken to a drop of Calvados of an evening if I don't fancy my usual white wine for some reason. For some other reason, I have got used to the stuff sold by our local Waitrose, from the people at reference 1. A touch expensive at £25 or so for a half litre bottle, but we can probably afford a small habit.

Then a couple of days ago the stuff had gone missing. The young man stocking up thought it had been delisted. More space needed for ready meals.

So back to the click-and-collect of the not very happy experience noticed at reference 2.

Yes, the stuff was still available online, so I buy two bottles, just to be on the safe side, using my PayPal account. In due course I get an email instructing me to report to customer services after 1430 on Saturday with reference number, photo id (unspecified) and bank card used for this transaction (not applicable).

So I turn up at around 1530 on the appointed day. No one at the customer service desk, although there one or two hard cases collecting their free coffees.

After a while, I collar a young lady who explains that I need to type my reference number in to the little machine on the service desktop. A step which I had completely forgotten about in the two months since the last occasion.

After a while, a parcel turns up, which I am prepared to take on trust, it being about the right size. But they are not going to take me on trust. Photo id please. So once again I proffer my senior citizen's identify card, issued by our fine local council. Oh no sir. That won't do at all. Driving license or passport. Oh no young lady, sezzaye. Your email didn't say anything about that. All ready, for once in a while, to pop off. The young lady in question was very young, almost certainly a Saturday girl, and decides that she is not paid to deal with people popping off at her. She settles on the face saving compromise of a very cursory inspection of my bank card, the one which was not used for the transaction in question. I leave with box, for some reason in rather a bad temper.

Temper slightly improved by gleaning an abandoned, nearly new Upsy Daisy from a bollard in what is left of our market square. An important personage in the life of many a two year old girl.

On the way home, I wonder why Waitrose go through all this identification rigmarole for goods of such modest value. Is it really very likely that some bad person knew that I had made this purchase? Or had stolen my PayPal details in order to make a purchase of their own on my account? And gone to the bother of forging my identity card?

And what about the facts that my driving license does not have a photo and my passport is about to expire? Does that disqualify me from the world of click n'collect?

Perhaps Waitrose have fallen prey to some wandering management consultant who specialises in expensive security advice.

PS: in the course of all this, I discovered that the acronym 'VSOP', often applied to products of this sort from France, actually stands for 'very superior old pale'. Odd that the French, usually very touchy about anglicisms creeping into their language, should be so keen on this acronym. For the UK market only?

Reference 1: http://www.calvados-pere-magloire.com/mag/en/home.php.

Reference 2: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2018/12/wine-hunt.html.

Trivia

First, following reference 1, I have been wondering about the signs which have appeared in Epsom town centre telling us that building works will be carrying on for a further 44 weeks. What on earth are they doing? Then today we came across an article in the local freebie which told us nothing much at all about what these works were, beyond that they were taking place. All very suspicious.

So, luncheon completed, moved to visit the borough web site to learn that they are indeed taking getting on for a year to repave the market area, replant the trees that have been chopped down, plant some benches and a couple of statues. One of them, the Davison mentioned at reference 1, the other probably the particularly hideous bit of modern art, something to do with a horse, presently hiding around the back of the library. Plus a wash and brush up for the horse trough.

Not impressed. I had not been aware that the market area particularly needed repaving - compared, for example, with some of the pot holed stretches of road dotted about the borough - and all this lot would not have come anywhere near the top of my list. Who has been driving this forward and why?

Second, earlier in the day, I had been wondering about something else. Having forgotten to collect my prescription, yesterday evening I thought, without thinking about it that is, that a good way to remind me to collect it today would be to leave my shopping bag on the dining room table as an aide-memoire. Which worked, without my needing to think about it at all. So what was the mechanism?

I thought the first clue was that something was not where it ought to be, the sort of thing the brain is good at noticing. So why was it where it was? Hopefully that triggers a memory that I put it there in the hope of triggering another memory. Maybe, most of the time that is enough, and the brain's search engine comes up with the right answer.

Maybe, if that fails, the next step would be for the brain to wonder whether there was a connection between the memory item in question and the shopping bag. A shopping bag which would normally only be used for shopping in Epsom town centre. So what would I be shopping for? In desperation, the brain might even switch to conscious mode. Maybe, most of the rest of the time that is enough and the brain's search engine comes up with the right answer.

Third and last, I have been reading the Davies book at reference 3, first mentioned at reference 2. In among all kinds of interesting stuff about the workings of eukaryotic cells and the complicated chemicals inside them, I came across reference 4, an account of how an experimental biologist might go about mending a transistor radio. More seriously, a scientist's view of the world of fads introduced at reference 5. Very entertaining. First published in Russian in 2002.

PS: I think the apoptosis of the title of this paper is the important business of cells turning themselves off, committing suicide, rather than necrosis which is cells being killed off.

Reference 1: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/trough.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/paul-davies.html.

Reference 3: The demon in the machine – Paul Davies – 2019.

Reference 4: Can a Biologist Fix a Radio? – or, What I Learned while Studying Apoptosis – Y. Lazebnik – 2004.

Reference 5: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/an-archaeological-fad.html.

Sonatas

Last week to the Wigmore Hall hear Leon McCawley give us three Beethoven piano sonatas, Op.109, Op.110 and Op.111. Considering their central place in the repertoire, not things that seems to be done that often, at least we don't seem to get to them, with the last occasion being rather more than a year ago (reference 1) and with this very same programme, but from Igor Levit around eighteen months ago (reference 2). McCawley, seemingly, never.

The Levit concert was a gala occasion involving Radio 3, while on this occasion we had some of the trappings of live streaming first noticed at reference 3. But nothing at all on the Wigmore Hall website, so perhaps the pianist wanted a recording for his own use in his day job as a professor at a school of music.

But back on our journey in, instead of loud conversation from a neighbouring seat, we had a large gum chewer. Full on mastication all the way, from one of those gentlemen who manage to take up rather more space than they should. A large gentleman in every sense of the word. Clearly people who do this have no idea how bovine they look to people who do not.

Then on the tube we had opposite us a pretty and petite Asian girl in some sort of uniform, which could have been that of a carer. And a few seats down from her a large and rather battered old lady who could easily have been one of her patients. Very unfair world that such a pretty girl should wind tending to old people who are apt to be both bad to look at and bad to smell. But I suppose I should not tempt fate in that department.

Moon very high in the south again, weather mild and dry, so we were able to picnic on the solitary bench at the top left hand side of the square - which was just as well as the Bechstein Room turned out to be shut, presumably for patrons with a higher grade of membership than ourselves.

BH thought that MacCawley rather loud, while I thought the right hand half of the piano sounded a touch harsh. But very good just the same, and I was very much reminded of why these sonatas have the place in the repertoire that they do.

Tuner rushed on stage at the very start of the interval, while we rushed down to a crowded Cock & Lion.

We got a nice bit of Schumann by way of encore after Op.111. If you are going to have an encore, this one struck just the right note after the Beethoven.

A reasonably skilled busker, a middle aged man, on the violin somewhere in the region of John Lewis. A very loud band just outside one of the exits to the tube at Oxford Circus; as luck would have it not the exit we were about to enter.

Just managed to catch the 2143 from Vauxhall, which got us home around 2300. Quite late enough!

I was reminded during the course of the proceedings at how irritating Cortana can be when she tries to second-guess what I put into OneNote, not always giving up on my second attempt to put in whatever it is that she has taken exception to. I dare say there is some way to calm her down, but I have not yet got around to looking, despite the regular irritation.

While this afternoon, the snap of the programme above reminded me how distorting her lens is, with the two bold lines well off parallel.

PS: a late addition: the picnic was notable for BH taking a couple of chocolate brownies which had been left on our bench in their clear plastic lidded box. Most unlikely that they were anything other than as they had left the shop, but the first time I recall our grazing in this particular way.

Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/04/beethoven.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/06/ultimate.html. As it happens, another example of muddle arising from gaps or not between things.

Reference 3: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2018/12/quatuor-ebene.html.

Trolley 227

And another trolley from the passage through to the railway station, this one from M&S. A tray format trolley which seemed quite small.

Passed an older couple in the market place wheeling their M&S trolley, I thought the same format but slightly larger, in the other direction. Perhaps one for tomorrow?

Into M&S to find that there seemed to be three sorts of trolley in the stack, two tray format and one trough format. A stack which was designed for two sorts rather than three. Perhaps M&S are in the throws of moving from one size to another. Something to keep an eye on.

Mixed relics

Getting on for ten days ago now, to Marshwood Vale. The same day as the attempted tweet of reference 1. With the geographical result, that I now know that Marshwood Vale is drained by the Char which comes out at Charmouth. Over the hill from Marshwood Vale and one has the rather larger Axe Valley which is drained by the Axe which comes out at Axmouth, or possibly Seaton if you are being picky. And then over the hill from the Axe Valley and one is in the still larger valley of the Parrett, which drains north rather than south, through the Somerset Levels, and out into Bridgewater Bay, in the Bristol Channel. With Crewkerne sitting on the watershed between the two.

First stop the Five Bells in Whitchurch Canonicorum. A friendly pub, containing a lot of dogs and some people who lived in or near the village. Altogether a proper pub, which also managed a respectable steak and kidney pudding.

Heritage view of church

Spot the difference

From there to the church, which turned out to be notable for being one of just two churches in the land (the other being Westminster Abbey) which contained a saintly relic, in this case that of Saint Wit alternatively Saint Candida, possibly a lady done to death, in company with the better attested Saint Boniface, by the Vikings on one of their raids. Bing offers various other theories. The church was around at the time of King Alfred, and went on to be given, along with a couple of others, to the clerk who attended the Conqueror's deathbed. It went on to become a large church attracting considerable numbers of pilgrims.

The relic

The house for the relic was not particularly fancy by the standards of some that I have seen overseas, in the lands of the Pope, but it did come with three healing holes. The idea was that you put the ailing part of the body in the hole, rather like you might put it in a scanner in a hospital, and the emanations from the relic would do the business. However, the present vicar does not appear to approve of this sort of thing and suggests you leave written requests in said holes, with paper and pencils being provided to that end.

The instructions

He did, however, allow a new statue of the saint to be placed in a niche at the bottom of the tower, just about visible if you click to enlarge the second of the two snaps above. A rather ugly new statue, very much in the tradition of ugly modern art in old churches and cathedrals.

The organ was the subject of a major overhaul, with the result that one could not get at the piano adjacent, noticed at reference 2. A piano which the book of the church claims is a Broadwood on loan. Perhaps that loan expired and they had to negotiate a new one. The book of the church also claims that the bells were cast in pits in the churchyard - with my thinking, clearly incorrect, that bell founding was a very tricky business, best carried out by specialist bell founders in specialised foundries. Like the one in Whitechapel, recently deceased. See references 3 and 4.

Nave, looking east

Unusual detailing

A lot of unusual detailing in the church, probably heavily rebuilt in the 19th century, which would repay a further visit.

From a small relic, to a large relic in the form of Pilsdon Pen, on top of the ridge between the Char and Axe valleys. An ancient hill fort, with ramparts, with an interior which would make a splendid picnic place in the summer. Unusually, while the National Trust has the fort, the Council have the small car park, with this last not having got around to the state of the art parking machines now being deployed by the National Trust. In fact, it was free, not bad for a major, if undeveloped, beauty spot.

Trig point

There was a strong, cold wind, so I thought it best not to climb the trig point for a selfie. Snapped here looking north.

Back to Broad Street, more or less empty apart from a large herring gull standing proud in the middle of it.

A little later, sandwiches in the bar of the Royal Lion, where we both had a fine log fire and a lady who came close to being a bag lady, getting the prices of what seemed like a very large number of drinks before settling for a lime soda or some such. Worth noticing that this bar had neither television nor music, a pleasant surprise these days.

Rounded out the proceedings with a visit to the Volunteer at the top of Broad Street. Not quite as grand, with their log fire being enclosed. And so far more economical.

Pit stop

The following day, on way home, we came across an unusual café, just before the A303 joins the M3. Petrol very expensive. Café tricked out more like a restaurant than a café, including a substantial and brand new toilet block. Staffed mainly by EU nationals, perhaps accommodated in the yellow huts left, while the owner gave the unfortunate appearance of someone who has spent a great deal of money on a new venture and who is now anxiously watching his till ticking over. But the teas were fine, and we will be back to see if he gets his nerve back!

Reference 1: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/attempted-tweet.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/piano-6.html.

Reference 3: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whitechapel_Bell_Foundry.

Reference 4: http://www.whitechapelbellfoundry.co.uk/.

An archaeological fad

Prompted by the magazine article at reference 1. Rather stronger meat than we are used to from the magazine put out by the DT on a Saturday.

The archaeology of interest here is that spanning the last ten thousand years before the birth of our Lord. Roughly the period of the Ancient Egyptian kingdoms, but in places far to the east of Egypt and well to the north east of Australia, in particular a country now called Vanuatu, once known as the New Hebrides. In particular an island called Efate, an island about the size of the Isle of Wight, but less than twenty degrees south of the equator to our more than fifty degrees north.

The fad of interest here is the development of techniques which can recover large chunks of genome from very old bones, say up to 10,000 years old. New techniques which involve enough scientific and statistical trickery to confine full understanding to the inner circle, to the high priests of the new fad. See for example reference 2, reporting work on 69 newly analysed ancient Europeans, with 25 others reported previously making up the numbers. New techniques which ought to complement the old techniques of assembly analysis (old pots being something of a favourite here) and linguistic analysis. Not to mention navigation, about which I have failed to find anything. How did these people manage the winds and the waves? Are some islands more accessible from the west than others? One might hope that we have moved on from the Kon-Tiki, but I have been able to turn anything up.

The archaeological story starts with the discovery of some very old bones, in the course of building a prawn farm near Teouma Bay, on the south coast of Efate, visible on the map if you click to enlarge.

The subject matter of this story is the spread of prehistoric peoples from the mainland of the far east into the far reaches of the Pacific. A southern route taken by a people, some of whom stopped off at Papua a very long time ago, and a northern route from China, through Taiwan – with there being a race angle here in that the southerners were darker than the northerners. With both routes working south and east through the chains of islands big and small, roughly as far as Vanuatu, followed by a daring leap into the unknown of the open ocean, taking them to Fiji, Tonga, Somoa and beyond. Leaving a trail of mixed Papuan and Asian genomes and a rather different trail of mixed Papuan and Asian languages. It seems that some places wound up with predominantly Papuan genomes but predominantly Asian languages, a winding up which has confused and sometimes upset the heritage industries of the places concerned. Even to the point of causing problems with celebratory postage stamps.

The human story seems to be that a group of energetic researchers, whom I shall call A, got very good at ancient genomes. They published widely read papers and attracted lots of people and lots of money.

But other small groups of researchers, whom I shall call B, found it hard to get any of these good things. Furthermore, B suspected A of getting preferential access to tier one journals like Nature. Dark talk even of abuse of the review process for such journals. Dark talk of traitors in the B camp sending artefacts and samples off to the A camp – where the B camp might be just that, a camp in some hot and sweaty part of the world.

One gets the impression that A did not pay enough attention to the well established but old fashioned techniques and technology favoured by B. What they could do with genomes with machines meant that they did not have to bother with the graft of dusting mud of bits of pot or careful study of the large number of languages floating about in this part of the world. But maybe they went too far.

It seems that the politics of academe are every bit as bad as those of offices everywhere. Not a soft option at all. We have lost something in moving away from the days when academics could just potter away without regard to ratings or fundings and there are downsides to research having become so competitive.

I am reminded of the story my GP told me about the fads for promising new treatments. They carry everyone with them for a while, then go into a period of excess, eventually falling back to a more measured application. And other stories about how first AIDs research and then climate change research hogged the limelight. One had to give one’s research proposal the then fashionable spin to get a hearing. And about how some statisticians of my generation thought that shovelling lots of data into the shiny new statistical packages on computers, which were then becoming available, absolved them from actually looking at the data.

PS: reference 1 is what I have read, only having glanced at the large amount of material which can be reached from there, with references 2 and 3 being a sample thereof. All more or less open access.

Reference 1: Is ancient DNA research revealing new truths – or falling into old traps? – Gideon Lewis-Kraus, New York Times Magazine – 2019.

Reference 2: Massive migration from the steppe is a source for Indo-European languages in Europe - Wolfgang Haak, David Reich and others – 2015.

Reference 3: Language continuity despite population replacement in Remote Oceania - Cosimo Posth, Kathrin Nägele, Adam Powell and others – 2018.

Trolley 226

This Sainsbury's trolley was captured by the footbridge running between the bottom of West Street and the Southern Gas Network's Surrey depot at the junction of Roy Richmond Way and Blenheim Road, on the Longmead Estate. Wheel lock present but not deployed.

Notice also the couple of substantial plastic bags containing what looks like street litter. Perhaps an oversight by the van driver attached to a council litter picking team.

The brown bag contains, inter alia, a bottle of Gewürztraminer from Cave de Turkheim from Waitrose, to make a change from our usual house wine, Sauvignon Blanc from Villa Maria from Majestic. About the same price, and as it turned out, it did make a pleasant change. Also a type of wine of which we were drinking a fair bit a few years ago. First mentioned with haggis at reference 1, but the words there suggest that it was not the first time. On the other hand the distribution of search hits in the archive folder, organised by month, does suggest that 2014 was a good year for consumption of the stuff.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-film-of-restaurant.html.

Reference 2: https://www.cave-turckheim.com. Inspection suggests they also do Sylvaners and fancy Gewürztraminers. Something else to be tried. The only niggle is that the bottles and labels here are not the same as those that appear in Waitrose. Does Waitrose take a special brew of some sort, customised for the English supermarket?

A media story

Prompted by reference 1, a piece in Friday’s Guardian, about a bit of computer software that might soon be able, with very little in the way of clues, to write plausible news items, even whole newspaper articles. Plausible in the sense that they are written in proper, readable English and that they are a cunning mixture of fact and fiction, with the fact derived from reading vast amounts of stuff knocking around on the Internet. A bit of software with an Elon Musk flavour, the chap with the big mouth who invented PayPal, who is behind Tesla and who likes space ships. A bit of software which is actually written an outfit called OpenAI, a not-for-profit foundation with worthy aims and a lot of money, some of it from Amazon and Microsoft. See reference 2.

In what follows we neglect the entertainment functions of the media and concentrate on their news functions. We neglect sport, which sits on the fence, but we do allow the rather irresponsible dressing up of  entertainment as news.

A story

Suppose we are reading a story A in website B (perhaps Facebook), filed by C (perhaps a journalist claiming allegiance to a well known newspaper).

A goes something like:

Opening remarks by C.

According to D (perhaps some think tanker),

E (perhaps Teresa Corbyn) says that,

F1

F2

F3

etc

F23

Concluding G (perhaps that we should renationalise the coal mines before they are all flooded out).

Closing remarks by C.

The point of the story might be to promote the conclusion G, to rubbish the conclusion G or something else altogether. G might be incidental. Perhaps the real point is to rubbish Teresa. Perhaps to make C sound well informed and important. Perhaps something which is nothing to do with the ostensible subject of the story, perhaps to advertise product H, mentioned seemingly incidentally in the story, perhaps advertised next to the story.

We understand that stories in newspapers or on websites are not usually organised in quite this way, but we do believe that they often amount to something along these lines and the present pretence serves to make the point developed below that the apparently logical organisation of these stories is misleading, is indeed a pretence.

The actors and their objectives

Thinking about the point of the story leads on to the more general point that the various actors in this story – B, C, D and E – all have different objectives and motivations.

B may only care about the number of advertising revenue generating clicks and have no interest in the actual content. If rubbish and worse generates clicks, fine so long as it is not illegal. Never mind about the spirit of the law or the public good.

One might think that the filer C has lead responsibility for the content. Does one know and trust him? Does one know anything about him at all? What about the use of pseudonyms? Do respectable papers like the Guardian allow their journalists to fly under false colours?

In any event, the way that A is put together means that C has plenty of scope to dump any blame going on D or E. No responsibility here, thank you very much.

We might know something about D and E, we may know and trust them, but they may know nothing about story A, not recognise it at all. Words might have been put into their mouths. On the other hand, either one of them might have given C the benefit of a private briefing, for undeclared reasons of their own.

In the olden days things were much simpler, and many of us gave our allegiance to a newspaper. We trusted what we read in it, particularly if the piece in question was by a journalist we knew, at least in print. Both newspaper and journalist were respectable and it was unlikely that they would collude in the production of a lie. They might have their slant, but they would draw back from outright lying or misrepresentation. Indeed, in those days, newspapers used to reproduce chunks of the debates in our Houses of Parliament, on a daily basis, rather than dishing out heavily edited dollops, third or fourth hand. But we should not overdo the good old days: there have always been bad newspapers and irresponsible newspaper owners.

The rules of a story

Each of the twenty three F’s above is either the statement of a fact or the deduction of a fact, using a rule of inference, from the facts which have gone before. An example of applying a rule of inference to a couple of facts might be ‘Amazon supplies half the books sold in Scotland. There has been a serious fire in their one and only warehouse up there. Therefore Scotland is going to be short of books for a few weeks’. We are supposed to be happy to go along with the facts which are stated. Perhaps we knew about them already, perhaps their truth is self-evident or perhaps we are prepared to take them on trust from this reliable source. And we are supposed to be happy with the application of rules of inference to those facts, happy that those rules have not been abused. The whole thing hangs nicely together and drives us to the conclusion G. Not sheep to the slaughter at all; rather sensible and knowledgeable voters being put in the picture.

A sequence which has the structure, the appearance of a proof in mathematics, with the important proviso that the whole thing is much looser and takes a lot more on trust.

So an example of a statement in such a proof might be something nice and simple like: ‘Teresa Corbyn is a liar’. Which might mean that Teresa lies all the time, although the strongest version ‘everything she says is a lie’ is rather unlikely. It might mean that she has been caught saying things which turned out after the event to be untrue, not necessarily the same thing as lying in the ordinary sense of the word. It might mean that the reporter believes that Teresa is lying on this particular occasion, about this particular fact. It might mean no more than the reporter just wants to dent our trust in Teresa, without offering any particular reason. It might also be the case that the attribution is unfair, that Teresa never uttered this particular fact, at least not in the way suggested by the report. All in all a long way from a statement like ‘the triangle ABC is congruent to the triangle DEF’.

Another example of a story might go along the following lines. There has been a murder of a young child in some town in the heart of England. Various statements about what a lovely child and what a lovely place. Various statements about the gruesome murder. Various statements about the grieving family. Various statements about the bad past life of the perpetrator. Question: why should we spend our hard-earned money on the perpetrator? Conclusion: jail too good for him. String him up!

The filer of such a story may well not care one way or the other. The murder is just a vehicle for a bit of purple prose to keep his readers entertained for a few moments. The story works by cranking up our anger. The question then makes an implicit appeal to the rule that says that we should not reward bad behaviour. The conclusion is then the only alternative. Which also has the merit of appeasing the anger, settling the blood-debt vicariously. A story which pays scant attention to the rules set out above; a story which is not much of an argument, never mind a proof.

The western, liberal ideal is that we read stories which are self sufficient. We know about and believe the facts, we can follow the rules of inference. The story stands up and we agree with the conclusion. It does not matter how many layers of journalist and commentator the story and has come through and whether or not we trust them. The story stands up of itself.

Part of this is the national statistical institutes run by most countries. Institutes which produce facts which can be relied on; which can be included in arguments without much comment.

By way of comparison, we also have the framework provided by laws. We don’t have to worry about whether the law is right or not, someone we trust has already done that: we can just stick to the laws while going about our daily business.

The difficulty is that most of the facts in arguments about public affairs are as tangled as the liar fact above. And the inferential links between them are tangled too, often more or less non-existent as in the murder story above. Which means that what we have, despite appearances, is nothing much like a proof in mathematics and while we might feel that an argument was plausible, we would not go so far as to say that it was true or false. We are much more likely, or at least we should be much more likely, to say that the argument is plausible, even very plausible. We then want to back that up by our assessment of the source. How much trust can we put in that?

And we are prepared to believe a plausible story from a trustworthy source.

The present case

In the present case we have the possibility that computers are writing the stuff that we read in the papers or on the Internet. With the article in the Guardian suggesting that this might include all kinds of plausible, but invented, quotes from all kinds of more or less respectable and trustworthy people.

Now while the writers of this particular software may have decided not to release it for the time being, they are not going to stop it. The genie is very much out of the bottle and we have to learn to live with it - it being a substantial increase in the number of fake stories floating around on the Internet.

Without giving the matter the time and energy it deserves, my thought is that part at least of the answer lies in promoting three ideas. First, we must give up on the idea that we are in any position to check up on most of the stories that we read: we have to take them largely on trust, trust which needs to be built and maintained. Second, that if we want real news rather than garbage, we have got to be prepared to pay for it. The primary product of the newsagent must be news, not advertising revenue generating clicks. Third and last, that we should be buying our news from a respectable source. Respectable includes having visible governance and finance, having track record and having visible journalists. The journalists might use pseudonyms, but they must be real people whom we can get hold of and interrogate, should need arise. We must know enough about them for it to be reasonable to take them on trust. And speaking for myself, I never cared for the practise of giving criminals a platform in newspapers – thinking here of one particular criminal who was once writing regular pieces for the New Statesman. A criminal, even an apparently reformed criminal, might be a source of useful information, but is not a person in whom I would care to put my trust.

It is true that Wikipedia, partly because their (unpaid) editors do not want unpleasant emails about their work for Wikipedia cluttering up their personal email accounts, allows those editors to be anonymous, certainly as far as the public is concerned. We have to put our faith in the Wikipedia system being able to weed out the bad apples. But for matters of public policy, I do not think that that is good enough. If you want to pronounce, for example on the legalisation of recreational drugs, you have to have a name and you have to have an existence which can be checked out. Stories, despite the western liberal aspiration mentioned above, are not self sufficient and we need to be able to put trust in the story teller.

I note also that Wikipedia articles usually come with references, many of which can be taken up over the Internet. This is fine for relatively serious study, but not to fine for items in newspapers or floating around on social media, where you are not usually going to take the trouble to take up references, even supposing there were any. Stories are supposed to be self contained.

Conclusions

I do not think that this particular genie can be kept in the bottle, at least not for very long, short of going down the authoritarian road of, for example, the Chinese, with their state control of the media.

Instead, we have to try to move towards a world of information and chatter which remains available to all, but which also contains responsible and respectable players in whom we can put our trust, when need arises. Which, to coin a phrase, might manage to square the circle.

Part of this has to be educating the public at large, getting the public to understand that there is no free lunch, here or elsewhere. And part of this has to be government prodding, to get these responsible and respectable players into place; players which are likely to be of the same sort of size as our present Guardian and Economist, rather than the size of the likes of Google and Facebook. Or, government failing, do we have to look to some billionaire to put some of his billions into some appropriate trust?

I close by noting first, that respectable players might well come to include respectable computers. There might well come to be computer programs which we trust to assess the facts better than we could assess themselves ourselves. Rather as we already have medical computer programs which can, in their field of expertise, do better than most real doctors. And second, that though we might knock reason and reasoning, it is what we have, it is an important part of what has made us what we are. It is a more reliable compass through life than emotion, bluster and intuition, so let’s make the most of it.

PS: today’s (print edition) Guardian has a front page headline about the need to do something about the digital gangsters operating Facebook. The people at the Guardian have clearly worked out that we need a break from our diet of Brexit. But see reference 4.

References

Reference 1: Big brother is reading you: why AI text generator may be too dangerous to release - Alex Hern, The Guardian - 2019.

Reference 2: https://openai.com/. But the Wikipedia article about them might be a better place to start.

Reference 3: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/mercier-sperber-review.html. Where we talk about a book which talks about reasoning. In this context, a useful reminder that the reasons we give for things are often very feeble and that our thinking is often warped by undeclared biases and prejudices.

Reference 4: Disinformation and ‘fake news’: Final Report - House of Commons: Digital, Culture, Media and Sport Committee – 2019. HC 1791. 109 pages of pdf text, 51 conclusions and recommendations, handily listed at the end. How much of it will I ever get to read? What little I have read so far, suggests that the committee wants to address the supply side of the question, for example by beating up Facebook. Which is useful, which helps, but which, to my mind, needs to be supplemented by more work on the demand side, on educating the public.