Tag: writing

More Than Just Fashion

This strikes me as being beyond the normal selection of freaky and nuts News stories.

Shoes are a part of life that we can’t do without. At least given the climatic conditions in our temperate region of the world. They are primarily put on to protect the feet from the cold and wet and any sharp objects that littler the ground. I found the BBC radio interview with the foot specialist Professor Anthony Redmond fascinating. Doctors Chris and Xand van Tulleken[1] make a point of finding interesting people to address the myths and realities of medical subjects.

Me being me, it’s impossible to mention the subject without reference to the HHGTTG[2]. Douglas Adams was attuned to people’s obsession with footwear. The Footwarriors, were robots specifically designed with poor fitting shoes so that they would limp. This meant that they couldn’t lay chase, much to the advantage of anyone who encountered them. The story of their makers the Dolmansaxlil Galactic Shoe Corporation is a classic.

[I guess Adams chose the name Dolman because it sounded right. it’s an ancient Anglo-Saxon name. Close to where I live, the Dolman’s were a wealthy English family who owned Shaw House[3] in the 17th Century. I’d recommend a visit.]

Improperly fitting footwear is a good a way of slowing down opponents. One sure way to hobble or cause discomfort to the wearer. The fictional purpose in the HHGTTG was as a marketing rouse. Bad shoes forced people to buy more shoes in the hope for better shoes, but they were always bad, by design.

Now, I don’t know if you can imagine it. Let’s say that Lucius Junius Brutus had poor fitting shoes, or sandals or whatever Romans wore. Would his approach to Julius Caesar have been thwarted and history have been written-up different? Would he have stumbled and failed to dispatch the dictator of the Roman empire? It’s a question.

Back to 21st century everyday tales. No fiction or intriguing historic figures. No wacky robots or corporate shenanigans. It’s reported that US President Trump likes shoes. Specific shiny shoes. So much so that he’s been giving them to colleagues[4]. Demanding that they wear them too.

I don’t think this is Fake News. Plenty of people in the world are obsessed with shoes. With her massive collection of pairs of shoes, this is the one thing people remember about Imelda Marcos[5]. Shoes can become the stuff of legend.

Corporate uniforms are not new either. The love of a conformal identity and the sense of unity that this superficially portrays. Having everyone in a team dress like robots is a way of stamping a leader’s authorly on a wayward group.

I started by writing that this development was freaky and nuts. I could be missing a vital part of a deep and detailed strategy here. It’s theorised by some management thinkers that the grit in the oyster is a key part of making change happen. So, why bother with grit. The same effect can be created by wearing shoes of the wrong size. An ill-fitting irritation. Could I be wrong?

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p0ncgb9j

[2] “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” a comedic science fiction series by Douglas Adams.

[3] https://www.westberkshireheritage.org/shaw-house

[4] https://www.wsj.com/style/fashion/trump-florsheim-shoes-tucker-carlson-jd-vance-bessent-448567ab

[5] First Lady of the Philippines for 21 years.

Spring Reflections: Communication

The season is one of mild rain and occasional storms. Seeds that have been lying dormant now get their chance to germinate. To enter the struggle for life as they compete with their surroundings. Leaves emerge, they twist and turn to channel the energy of the Sun. It’s Spring. A time for new beginnings. Longer days. Shorter nights.

UK Government Ministers are often their own worse enemies. These are smart people. Yes, I say that with no sense of irony. If they have fought their way up the greasy pole of a political career, they are not the numskulls that it’s soothing to think that they are. Well, there are naturally exceptions. God only knows why Liz Truss became Prime Minister of this great country.

Amongst the skills that are mandatory in the role of Minister, communications is surely one of them, if not the most important. Because if a Minister can’t communicate what they are doing the chances are that they will not be in a job for long. The cacophony of noise that pervades the everyday media will distort all but the clearest messages.

Let’s say there’s a 5-minute slot available on the national media to address a matter of public concern. There’s a massive pile of matters of public concern. It’s wise to stick to the ones that the individual has a modicum of knowledge about or at least has recently been briefed.

My instinct would be to us a tried and tested formula for public communications. It goes like this – tell them what you are going to say, tell them, and then tell them what you have told them. Doing this focused on one key point. Not wandering off onto tangential subjects and getting sidetracked. I know this is easier said than done. An interviewer, worth their salt, will want to extract as much new information as possible. They will be driven by the common journalist’s creed. The instinct that the greatest accolade is to get a “scoop.”

What happens, if this morning is anything to go by, is a jumble of slogans come out in an almost involuntary way. The speed of speaking increases as the clock ticks away the precious minutes. Then phases, probably implanted by civil servants, pops out of the conversation. Jargon terms like, implied wholesale element, third party intermediaries, or qualifying financially disadvantaged customers. These will mystify the listener unless they have already read chapter and verse of the subject the Minister is talking about.

As the interview progresses then Ministers become parodies of themselves. I’m sure they walk away from their media interviews with the voices inside their heads saying, I should have stuck to the script. Why didn’t I – keep it simple.

There’s a resort to catch phrases that seems irresistible too. It’s one thing to say that a government is working at pace but what on earth does that mean? The alternative would be to be sitting on one’s backside waiting for something to happen.

There’s also the pretence that an action is taking place immediately. Fixes are happening now. I think most listeners are mature enough to know that doing things takes time and resources. So, being evasive about an action that will take place in April next year, as opposed to now, sounds shabbily. Switching to a defensive mode is never a clever way to win over supporters.

It’s Spring. A time for new beginnings. It should be a time to elevate people’s spirits. The prospect of summer and the shaking off a dull dark winter is reason enough to be optimistic. Someone needs to tell government.

Email Overload

So called snail-mail is in an inevitable decline. One day it will be necessary to explain the concept of an envelope, and what it’s for, to younger people. To write, with a handheld pen, place a piece of paper inside an adequately formed folded paper enclosure and sealing it. This may involve moistening a surface or removing a strip of paper. To take account of the costs associated with this procedure a small, preprinted paper stamp is attached to one corner of the enclosure. The enclosure must meet regulations to then be accepted by a carrier who will take it from a bright red box. This artifact, called a “letter” is then piled up with lots of others to eventually be sorted and directed towards a specified destination. If the process is successful, a recipient may then destroy the envelope and read the letter.

When spelt out like so, it’s no wonder that e-mail has taken over the world. After centuries of operation the popular paper-based means of communication is now a novelty. Classical mail hangs on mostly as a means of getting birthday cards, and other celebratory cards, from A to B.

Even ardent official users, like the taxman, a trying to entice us all to become paperless. Major banks are also exhibiting this aversion to paper. Often more for their convenience rather than ours as their administrative systems become exclusively digital.

There’s a universal aspect that’s shared by the old world and the new world. It’s one that’s almost impossible to shake off. Filter it as we may, the piling up of junk mail is as bad on the doorstep as it is in the in-box. Junk splits into a whole series of categories. Putting aside the malicious and criminal variety, there’s a mass of mail that’s devoted to sales and marketing. I’ve ranted about this bombardment before, even if it makes no difference. The likes of:

“We are always looking to improve your experience with us, and we invite you to give your feedback in this short survey.”

Breaking this e-mail request down, it proports to be to my advantage to spend time answering the sender’s questions. Obviously, it’s to the questioner’s advantage and not mine. To sweeten the pill there’s a chance to win a small prize. Probably with odds set at a billion to one.

If this experience was occasional and advantageous to me, complaining might not be the right way to go. Sadly, the reality is the stream of e-mails, from multiple services, gets so annoying that I wish these tedious e-mails were paper. Then at least my recycling bin would benefit.

My approach is to instantly delete these e-mails. I’m sure that I’m not alone in this one. Customer feedback can go and take a hike. Naturally, I want the coffee shop I regularly use and my main bank to improve their services. But if these organisations think this is the way to do it, I think they have a big hole in their thinking.

Yes, if quick enough, it’s possible to opt in or out of marketing communications but endless feedback surveys seem to be exempt. They are the confetti of the marketing world.

“How did we do?” Is ticking a box really going to provide an answer to that question? “Thanks for your time” Nice, but as insincere as an algorithm can be.

Some forward-thinking organisations may eventually eliminate junk mail. In time there must be a better way of interacting. It’s about time they hurried up.

Myth or Productivity Booster?

A four-day week. It’s true that there’s nothing magical about the conventional five-day week. It’s an invention of modern times. There are plenty of self-employed people who’d say there were working a seven-day week. So, is the claim made by Artificial Intelligence (AI) advocates merely a sales pitch or does it have any substance?

Much depends on how seriously we take this mythical word called “productivity”. I’ve put it like this because there’s a million and one ways of determining what needs to be done as opposed to what people want to do and, when things go wrong, are forced to do.

A beaver is extremely productive. There’s an ingrained motivation to use what nature has provided to build a dam and a home. It’s non-stop. Come setbacks or successes this innovative creature keeps on going. It doesn’t watch the clock. Rarely discouraged.

I’m going to bring up a small paperback that cost 3 shillings and 6 pence when it was published. It’s one of those books that is both comedy and seriousness wrapped up in one. Parkinson’s law or the pursuit of progress is older than I am. It was first published in 1957.

The plot is simple but there are several messages. One for example, relates to the provision of resources. It goes something like this – if only we had a couple more staff and a state or the art information system we could double our efficiency. That’s contrasted by a view of past statistics that often shows a growth in staffing (or computing power) and roughly the same or even less being achieved. Why it’s suggested that AI will circumvent this nicety, I’m not sure. Speed and multiplication don’t always add up to building better projects or being more “productive”.

What a wonderful world it was going to be. The future now. I remember that clunky personal computer on my desk, in about 1996. The sounds of the dial-up modem connecting to the information superhighway of the day. The world wide web was so new we had to keep reminding ourselves of what the www stood for. Boxes of floppy disks replaced filing cabinets.

Here we are 30-years later and what do I find, or not find as the case may be? Tens of thousands of files generated by Apps on my smart phone, tablet and desktop. Whereas once I’d mastered constructing folders with logical names and placing documents exactly where I could find them in their latest version, now I’ve got an unfathomable messy clutter.

Have I become more “productive”? That entirely depends upon what is meant by that word. Decluttering digital information isn’t that much different from decluttering piles of paper on an over weighted office desk. Work expands to fill the time available for its completion. Where does a four-day week sit in that equation? Parkinson would likely say that whatever the length of the working week we’d fill it with activity. It’s almost transparent to the tools used whether they be paper based or applying the latest powerful computing capabilities.

Remember decades ago, we said; public services were going to be dramatically improved because we could be contacted by e-mail. Scrapping the paper in-tray was a day many people longed for. Files wouldn’t be delayed as they passed from office to office. Desk to desk. Or so it seemed. I don’t think we’ve stopped complaining about public services – have we?

There is one possible new element. If AI use means that humans abdicate from decision-making, then a new situation comes about. This needs to be a choice. Forcing humans out of the loop to chase the God of productivity is a dangerous pathway.

Lost Opportunities

It’s kind of odd. The wacky folk who still argue that the Brexit referendum was a good thing. For one or two well-heeled people that might be the case. It’s not the case for the overwhelming majority of British people. Maybe one issue is that it’s so difficult to get across the idea of lost opportunity. Benefits foregone because of choosing poorly.

It’s as if an ardent walker is faced with two paths. One is covered in glitter and hung with shiny streamers for the first mile only. The other is much the same as the path already traversed but it gets wide and smother after a couple of miles. One has minstrels singing patriotic and sentimental songs at its gateway. The other path has a well-meaning professor babbling on about solidarity, peace and progress. It’s the guidebook recommendation.

The destination of the first one is to circle around to get back where the walker started meantime having exhausted a lot of their provisions. For the second path there’s a whole new set of possibilities, yet unwritten. Companions are supportive and share their stories. Everyone is richer, both commercially and culturally.

The facts are that Brexit has made us poorer. In every way. It’s a pathway to nowhere, as we have found. After a decade it’s truly painful to tot-up the lost opportunities of the Brexit era. The financial numbers are huge but it’s not just about numbers. Now, the main issue is security. Developing a strong independent European defence against the global turmoil that’s ensuing.

Never a group to roll back and say – yes, you were right all along – those so deep in the Brexit ditch are pumping out propaganda much as they did in 2016. Cherished British food stuffs will need to be named using words last heard in a chemistry class. Hordes of criminal invaders will overrun our cities. They ask us to listen to apologists for climate change deniers.

Brexit is a deep fake. It’s not going to get any better. It’s going to get worse. Even if we wait 50-years, it’s not going to get any better. Certain right-wing commentators implore us to wait. To burden the generations that follow with perpetual decline.

One result of the current turmoil that is raging around the globe is the recognition that struck people with wisdom after the second world war. We have the capacity to choose between order and disorder. Anarchy has a massive cost. International rules are incredibly difficult to establish and maintain but it’s best that we try.

I know those who will counter this argument will count out the number of times the world’s institutions have failed since the late 1940s. However, that’s no-good an argument in of itself. Imagine getting to 2040. Going full circle in a century and arriving at a dystopian world of chaos where imperial racketeers terrorise billions of people. I think we can do a lot better than that if we are prepared to work for the common good.

There’s a few of words to cherish – the common good.

Life in the 22nd Century

It’s not an original thought but science, and its advancement, is like a venerable oak tree. Roots spread over a large area, are not seen, but are critical to the health of the whole tree. Branches expand as the tree grows. Branches divide, some branches fade and others gain ever more strength. A tree that lives as long as a civilisation, ever changing.

I put this view forward only to admit that there are flaws with this way of thinking. For a start, in the past, a branch of science may have been pursued in a pure manner. Accumulating ever more knowledge on a specific subject. Now, the branches of science have become far more intertwined. Complexity is a given.

This makes a futurologist job harder. It’s no good to dream along straight lines. To see progressive development as the most likely direction. In the past, there was mileage in projecting forward along a clear line of thinking. Take for example the opening up of the atomic world. Futurologist in the 1950s imagined a world of limitless energy. Inexhaustible sources of electrical power that would be cheep and available to all. For good or ill, the age of plenty didn’t happen. That doesn’t reduce the importance of fundamental discoveries. It cautions us in extrapolating from a simple beginning to a fantastic new world.

What will life in the 22nd Century be like? I can say with certainty that I will not see the year 3000. Well, that is unless the cryogenics of science fiction stories soon becomes reality.

One approach is to look back 75 years. Compare and contrast. Then look forward 75 years. That is factoring in an acceleration in discoveries and the exploitation. And as I’ve alluded above not being shy of growing complexity.

This is again an approach to be taken with a fair degree of caution. Back in the 1950s there was talk of electronic brains, as the computer emerged as a viable and useful machine. What was imagined then is now quite different. That use of the word “brain” isn’t common parlance. Instead, the advent of so-called artificial intelligence is becoming everyday language.

Another set of cautionary factors are trying to guess the branches of the tree that will decay and fall. What seems promising based on current technology only to be bypassed by discovery and innovation. Here I’m thinking that the building of massive power-hungry data farms may be a technological cul-de-sac. Vulnerable and hugely expensive physical infrastructure that’s out of date the minute it’s switched on.

Each of us has a brain that weighs a lot less than a room full of cabinets of conventional electronics. Nature manages vast amounts of data without a power station in tow.

In the year 3000, I maintain we will have a rich and rewarding intellectual life. It will be different in form, although the things that amuse and entertain us may not be so different. The themes of a Greek play are still likely to be echoed in the stories of the next millennia.

Artificial intelligence will be a junk yard term. The whole of the world of data communication and processing will be hidden under layers of obscuration. It’s possible that a form of agent will be overseeing the mechanisms for providing the services we demand. The great challenge for democracies will be how to ensure that agent works for the public good. Not so easy.

Aviation Insights

One shilling and seven pence, that’s what a copy of Flight magazine cost in 1960. Today, roughly that’s equivalent to £6. Which is not so far off the weekly cost of a typical printed magazine taken off-the-shelf in a newsagent. Now, Flight is a digital subscription[1] at £22 a month. We consume our News in a different way, but the overall price is not so different.

Spending money in charity shops always contributes to some good cause or another. Certainly, our British High Streets in 2026 are markedly transformed from that of 66 years ago. Fine, if I get hung up on that elegant number. It’s not a bingo call. It’s the number of times I’ve circled the Sun. Circled, that is, while safely attached to this rocky planet.

The young woman behind the counter was chatting to what must have been a regular when she looked up. I pointed an unregarded dusty box on the floor in the corner of the shop. “How much to you want for that box of old aviation magazines”. She looked slightly fazed. Nobody had even thought about pricing them let alone selling them. They had probably been donated as someone emptied the attic of their grandparents. Probably on the verge of going to the recycling bin.

Eventually, we settled on a modest price. She looked me up and down. I’m sure she thought that I was completely mad. That said, charity shop workers, volunteers, must face that colourful situation more than a couple of times a week. Even a day.

What struck me was the first inside page. The weekly editorial could have been written yesterday. It’s titled “Facing it” and reads thus:

“More than one great newspaper has given warning that our nation is living beyond its means – that our export prospects are poor, and that we are taking a commercial thrashing”.

“Bleak prospects for a people who have never had it so good, and one that promotes us to consider how the aircraft industry is facing up to cold reality.”

It went on to highlight that there had been few new aircraft at the Farnborough airshow of that year. It was an October publication[2]. There was a lot of talk about industry and Government cooperation but that this was not delivering.

“And now that the industry is needed, as it has never been needed before, it will not be found unready or unwilling.”

But the lament was about the failings of the Government of the time, and there being no room for complacency. This was 4-years after the Suez Crisis.

Today, we have an increased security threat, much as arose in the Cold War days. Industry and Government cooperation needs to be a lot more than fervent aspirations. We seem to be in the same phase of formulating strategies rather than implementing actions.

Don’t let me paint a picture of gloom and doom. What this Flight magazine had is great stories of British technical innovation. Electronics and control systems were advancing rapidly. Automatic landing systems were being pioneered. Technology applied improved aircraft performance and aviation safety significantly. In fact, in numerous areas Britain was not only leading, but guiding the world.

[1] https://www.flightglobal.com/subscribe

[2] Flight Number 2691 Volume 78.

Generational Differences

I believe the Scottish word for it is – Dreich. With that spelling it almost sounds German. I’d pronounce it as dreek. What this means is the weather is dull, damp, gloomy, and miserable. Overcast, wintery, with intermittent drizzle and rain never seeming to give up. Couldn’t be a better word to describe it – Dreich.

That was yesterday. There’s a good chance that today will be the same. Not unusual for February. That said, the cumulative impact is that the ground water is rising and the rivers are topped right up to the brim. That rock hard, dusty, tinder dry summer of last year is as if it was a million years ago. What water shortage?

Outside the bird life is flourishing in these damp conditions. I saw a large white Egret was doing a morning stroll oblivious to the drizzle. Up top a tall dead tree a Cormorant was surveying its territory. Ducks are playfully buzzing around the river’s edge. The Canadian Geese are doing what they do every day. Foraging for anything of interest.

It does not good to complain about this uninspiring weather. Although it’s a cultural phenomenon, the weather is the biggest sources of small talk in this country. “You’re not made of sugar, get out there and do something”. I maybe miss remembering these parental words. It’s clear that mulling around indoors and constantly whining isn’t a good formula for mental health.

Add to the gloom and despondency the daily dose of British politics. So many of us had hoped that replacing one group of deafening incompetent politicians with a duller set would mean that stuff gets done. The boring, but necessary, tasks of governing would be accomplished without endless calamities. Faint hope.

For lunch, to escape the incessant rain, I sat down in a coffee shop. The place was busy. Everyone coming in to get out of the rain. Shaking off umbrellas and drying out raincoats. I had to look around to find a comfortable place to sit. Near the entrance. Next to me were an older couple and their granddaughter. It’s impossible not to earwig in such situations. We exchanged a couple of polite smiles.

Here I recount what fascinated me about the generational gap. The young girl didn’t put her mobile phone down once, in so far as I could see. It was clear from the conversation that she was not allowed to use her mobile at school. Phones were confiscated. If my observation indicates anything, it’s that banning phones just mean more mobile phone use when the opportunity presents itself.

Politics reared its head in their conversation. The granddaughter was monosyllabic about the subject. Maybe it was one she studies at school. She carried on scrolling. Unsolicited grandfatherly advice came across the table. To paraphrase – You should watch that man Jacob Rees-Mogg on GB News. He speaks very good English. He makes a lot of sense. The young girl carried on scrolling.

Oh brother! There’s a generational gap summary in a couple of rainy-day minutes.

I had one grandfather on my mum’s side. On my dad’s side my grandfather died relatively young. Both were West Country farmers. The grandfatherly advice I got was more to do with hard work. Not so much to do with politics. That is except for amusement about the hippies that turned up at the village of Pilton every year. That became the Glastonbury festival. Given that my grandfather had experience of the First World War, that must have been quite a contrast.

Influences on Well-Being

How life has changed. In the time of black and white TV I remember watching Jack Hargreaves[1] wibbling on about a lost countryside. A romantic world of idyllic landscapes. Rolling English hills and green hedges. His series “Out of Town” played for a generation. To his credit he did focus on people and the way they lived their lives as much as the scenic backdrops.

He’s cheerily derogatory about the urban environment. Although he does take on the sentimentality that people have towards the countryside. In ways he’s a latter-day green campaigner. With a past century traditional style. 

This memory is sparked by me thinking about colds and flu. Winters accompaniments. Changeable January weather torments us in one way and in another gives us a tempting glimmer of the spring to come. It really is wet wet wet.

Ground water has risen to form shallow pools in the swamy field out back. This is much to the liking of the geese and a lone heron. The river Lambourn hasn’t yet bust its banks but that can’t be far off. Cloudy today with more rain on the way.

I’m fortunate in being in relatively good health. I’ve had my bout of winter blues. Now, I’m noticing the slightly shorter shadows when the sun shines. Everything is sodden. Hints of the season changing are out there. It’s the blubs that are trusting upwards from the soggy soil.

What do I attribute my good health to? I wouldn’t put it down to heathy living although the maximum of all things in moderation does appeal. In part, maybe it’s because I grew up in the world that Jack Hargraves documented. On a west country farm were muck and mud were plentiful at this time of year. Deep soggy and unavoidable.

I don’t know if youthful the exposure to muck and mud has a lifetime benefit. It certainly seems to be one theory that is put around. The idea that a person’s immune system learns about all the nasties that are encountered. It then adapts and knows how to fight off the worst of them.

My, and my brothers, inoculation consisted of a wheelbarrow, a pitchfork and a mountain of manure. Shifting this delightful stuff from farm sheds was mostly a manual task in the 1960s. Now, it’s a case of jumping on a Bobcat[2] or JCB and driving up and down until the job is done.

Solid stone-built farm buildings, like our cart shed were never intended for the use that my parents put them to. Keeping cattle indoors during the winter months. Layers of straw and muck accumulated their bedding grew in hight. By the time it was dry enough to let the cattle out into the surrounding fields their bedding was almost as deep as I was tall.

That’s how we earned our pocket money. A wheelbarrow, pitchforks and hundreds of trips backwards and forwards shifting muck. Creating a big pile in the farmyard. Then that got loaded into a muck spreader. The most organic fertiliser that can be spread on the land.

This memory is sparked. Looking at a cliff like face of compressed muck that went back for what seemed like miles. Digging away at it endlessly. Wheelbarrow load after load. A Sisyphean task, where only dogged persistence would pay off. No wonder I was a healthy young man.

[1] https://youtu.be/4e_jfU9eTSI

[2] https://www.bobcat.com/na/en

Dreams

Dreams are weird. For a start I often wake-up knowing that I’ve had a dream only to ponder on what it was about. It’s as if an erase function was pressed the moment the sunlight starts to beam through the curtains. As if my mobile’s alarm triggers a mental dustbin to empty.

Now, if I do wake-up from a dream in the night, I try to remember to scribble a note. Naturally, that’s merely a case of putting down a couple of words, not a full-page story. Interestingly that note can be surprisingly useful in restoring a glimpse of what I was dreaming.

I’m not going to get into the interpretation of dreams[1]. I don’t think they are a kind of prophecy. Literature is full of that notion. To me it must be that complex jumble of stimulus that has accumulated slowly being sorted, either filed or discarded. That’s not an analogy with a conventional computer. I think we have a powerful desire to take masses of information and make sense of it. That means wrapping a story around a lot of disparate stuff.

Dreams are weird. That’s because they have parts that make everyday sense and parts that live purely in the imagination. Boundaries and simple cause and effect don’t have to conform to waking reality. Imaginary worlds can be way of the charts.

Here’s goes. Fragments of what I remember go like so. It’s a clean room, like in a large semiconductor manufacture. White coats and white walls. Workbenches and sophisticated equipment laboratory style. Serious looking people.

Groups in different rooms. Could be in entirely different places. All working on making some kind of super chip [Have I been reading too many articles on quantum computing and alike?]. Could be a scene from a classic 007 movie where the villain invited their competitors to their secret hidden laboratory.

The last image was curious. A group of scientific people standing around staring intensely at a device (chip) sitting on a bench knowing that its performance has beaten all the opposition. Left the competition in the dust. Lots of questions being asked. This was not a hostile or nightmarish dream. This solid grey device looked like the base of a ceramic butter dish.

Even stranger the heatsink that rose up from the structure was shaped as a miniature model of the Roman forum[2] in Rome. It was as if the designers were so cocky they wanted to play a joke on their competitors. Me being one of them.

I don’t think there’s much mileage in sensemaking of this morning recollection. A dream about an imaginary future happening isn’t a kind of prediction. Perhaps it’s a chunking together fiction, facts and fantasy. However, it’s possible that some kind of breakthrough technology is sitting on a cleanroom bench somewhere. Where are the modern-day oracles when we need them.

[1] https://www.freud.org.uk/schools/resources/the-interpretation-of-dreams/

[2] https://www.rome.net/roman-forum