Observations from a Hill

Still feeling a tad jaded and disoriented after our return from the short break in Shropshire last week; yesterday was a long day, and I started today after one of those fevered returns to sleep early this morning which evinced a dream from which I still haven't quite escaped the clutches. However, I opened this week's New Statesman just now to a review of Sebastian Mallaby's recently published book "The Infinity Machine: Demis Hassabis, Deepmind, and the Quest for Superintelligence" [Allen Lane, 480pp £30.00]; and interesting reading it makes, too. Asked by Mallaby if he thinks AI will 'be a bigger change than the Industrial Revolution', Hassabis likens AI more to that most radical human evocation of self and the realisation of such; the making of handprints on a cave wall, tens of thousands of years ago: the very first externalisation of our inner selves; the genesis of human culture and civilisation embodied in an abstraction of self in communication wi...

Just a diary post tonight as I've been on the move since the crack of sparrow's fart today and what with the drive home, unpacking, and generally coming down to earth here in Fairview Heights, I really can't bring any depth of thought or perspicacity of perception to the table tonight. We had a good journey back from Shropshire with wall to wall sunshine for the majority of it, save some mist before we left the vales for the main roads back home. When we started loading the car around 07:00 this morning, the temperature was just three degrees celsius, and the car was white over with frost. By the time we crossed the border into Cymru, however, the temperature had risen to a very balmy eighteen celsius. The rest of the day has been glorious, and the garden has started to make its voice heard in our absence: our Clematis arch has started producing blooms [pictured], and will look an absolute picture in the coming week or so. Much work to do in the garden, but the weather look...

' Clunton and Clunbury, Clungunford and Clun, Are the quietest places Under the sun...' :  A. E. Houseman's much loved poem "A Shropshire Lad" sums up the rather laid back nature of the small Marcher town of Clun in South Shropshire to a tee: it's quiet, all right, and there's no denying the fact. In fact, on some days of the week there is seldom a soul to be seen on the streets. Occasionally, there is a flurry of infeasibly large vehicles passing through Market Square, both commercial artics [sem i- s for our American cousins] and agricultural vehicles, monster EVs and Harley Davidson's in convoy. In fact, on reflection, the place is quite often somewhat less than quiet, these days, vacillating between these two states of quietude and clamour. One thing that is definitely quiet in these times is the river Clun [pictured, from on the old bridge that connects the two halves of town], that flows through the heart of this ancient settlement, overlooked b...

We went over to Bishop's Castle this morning with the intention of getting a bit of food shopping done and maybe grabbing a sausage baguette and coffee from the The Happy Bap, an excellent little eatery specialising in rather fine sandwiches; only to find the entire High Street shut down by an unexpected and very localised power outage. The only two places able to trade - [no electricity, no lighting, no Epos to take payment: all food chillers and freezer cabinets would have to be closed off to conserve low temperatures] -  were Rosie's vintage clothes and curios shop [she takes only cash and the sunshine was providing ample light], and the local filling station, which I assume was either functioning on back-up generators, or fed from a different circuit [unlikely] to the rest of the High Street. A hapless queue was forming at the door of the Cooperative, waiting for the [electric] doors to open, to no avail. Apparently no advance warning was issued, so one can only assume that...

Today we drove over to Leominster for a mooch around the many antique shops there. As I've mentioned before, my Southall family has ties to Leominster as well as Bishop's Frome, with a possible connection to the large Quaker presence in the area going back some two or three centuries: Leominster is a major meeting place, and the Southall name is writ large in Quaker records concerning Herefordshire families. I've yet to confirm the connection, but it seems to me from records I've seen that it is likely there. We bought an excellent sandwich from a little deli in the centre of town, and sat in the square in the sun to eat it, before walking down to look at the Priory, not far from the square [interior, pictured]. From there we picked up the car and drove to Leintwardine for a drink at The Lion, a place we've eaten at several time before [recommended]. As we were leaving, I realised that I'd left my day-sack on the bench where we'd eaten lunch, which contained...

Despite watching the Mandelson debate live on TV - during which there were more ill-formed questions than logical, and where only a couple of them actually got close to getting to the nub of the issue - I've arrived at a point in the evening, Mastermind and University Challenge grand finals behind me, a belly full of steak pie and halfway though a bottle of Malbec, where I really can't be arsed with trying to synthesise my thoughts on the so-called scandal playing out in government at present. Suffice to say I have some strong opinions on the subject, but I'll leave them for another day, as, to be frank, I'm fashed. What I will say is that we had a good day out to Ludlow, followed by a pint of Clun Pale over the papers at The White Horse, when we got back to Clun this afternoon. So, snooker on the box, snacks, and finishing my wine are my present priorities, and so I bid you nos da!