My friend, the author Bruce Joffe, is in Facebook prison.

The phrase still sounds faintly comic, like somewhere your aunt gets sent for posting too many Minion memes. But the joke is wearing thin.

Bruce was given no real reason for his suspension. He is a sharp critic of Donald Trump, and that may be relevant, or it may not. I cannot prove the connection, which is part of the point. The punishment arrives without a charge sheet. The cell door closes, a vague message appears, and the accused is left to interpret a sentence that nobody is willing to explain.

He is an intelligent and well-educated man, not the sort to post anything profane or slanderous or beyond the normal range of civilised argument. He has opinions. If having opinions is now a punishable offence, we are further down the road than most people care to admit.

He is not the first friend of mine to vanish from Facebook for "free speech." I put the phrase in quotation marks because free speech, in the platform age, has become a peculiar creature. It is not quite dead, but it has been throttled, demonetised, risk-scored and occasionally locked in a cupboard for its own safety.

The old argument about censorship was simple. The state must not silence you. The villain was a man with a red pencil and a stamp marked FORBIDDEN. That is not how censorship mostly looks now. Now it looks like a grey button that says "your account has been restricted." It looks like a comment that never appears. A post that reaches twelve people instead of twelve thousand. A video that is technically online, but somehow nobody sees it. A moderation decision made by a machine, reviewed by another machine, appealed through a form, and rejected by a paragraph of corporate blancmange.

This matters because Facebook is not a private noticeboard. Nor is X, YouTube, TikTok, Instagram, Reddit, or any of the other big platforms. They are where public conversation now happens. To be ejected from them is not the same as being asked to leave a pub. It is closer to being told that the public square is privately owned, the guards are automated, the rules are secret, and no, you may not speak to the manager.

Meta does publish documentation about account restrictions and enforcement actions, but the lived experience is more opaque than the official language suggests. The framework exists. The person on the receiving end still feels as if they have been judged by a machine that will not show its workings.

I have noticed the same thing in newspaper comment sections. Years of prodding, testing and rephrasing have taught me that certain viewpoints will not survive moderation. Sometimes the forbidden zone is obvious. Sometimes it is not. During an election it seems to close in. Regular commenters on the major papers' sites learn the dance: use initials, use codenames, avoid naming certain people or countries outright, speak in riddles so the moderation goblin does not wake. A democracy in which citizens are trained to disguise ordinary political speech as a crossword clue is not really a democracy. If you cannot say what you mean, in plain language, about the people who govern you, then the vote becomes a ceremonial trinket.

Then there is surveillance. Being watched used to require effort. Someone had to follow you, open your letters, tap your phone, stand outside a meeting hall. Surveillance was expensive and had natural limits. Now we carry the watchtower in our pockets. Our phones know where we sleep, where we work, who we meet, which doctor we see, which protest we walked past. Cameras watch the streets. Doorbells watch the pavements. Cars record the road. Apps demand permissions for everything.

We are told this is convenience and safety. We are told that if we have done nothing wrong, we have nothing to fear. That argument is childish. I have done nothing wrong with my bank card, but I am not in the habit of publishing the number on a billboard. Privacy is not the hiding place of criminals. It is where ordinary thought is allowed to develop before it has to defend itself in public. Without it, dissent becomes dangerous and journalism weakens. People begin to pre-edit themselves. They learn to lower their voices, and that is the deeper damage. Surveillance does not only record behaviour. It changes it.

In Britain, the Online Safety Act has pushed the internet further towards age checks and identity systems. Ofcom's guidance required strong age verification for sites with pornographic material from late July 2025, and the regulatory direction is towards more "highly effective age assurance" across online services generally. Supporters call it child protection. Critics worry it is the plumbing for something larger: a world in which access to information depends on proving who you are.

Children should be protected. Of course they should. But "protect the children" has always been one of power's favourite cloaks. It is warm, respectable and difficult to argue against. The question is not whether children matter, but whether the proposed cure quietly installs a permanent identity checkpoint at the front door of the internet. No ID, no entry. That is not an open society. It is a velvet rope with a database behind it. And databases leak. They get copied, sold, subpoenaed, hacked, and quietly merged with other databases. Information collected for one reason has a habit of finding another. Today age verification. Tomorrow fraud prevention. Then extremism. Then misinformation. Then whatever phrase happens to be in fashion when the next frightened committee wants more control.

We should be especially wary of systems that make anonymity look suspicious. Anonymity is not always noble, but it is often necessary. Whistleblowers need it. Abused spouses need it. Dissidents need it. Sometimes anonymity is not cowardice but armour.

Then there is money. This, I think, is the real frontier, not space, whatever the men with rockets would prefer to believe. For thousands of years humans have had some form of personal economic freedom. Never perfect, often brutally unequal, but usually some way to transact outside the immediate gaze of authority. Coins in a hand, notes in a pocket, a tenner slipped to a nephew, cash for a second-hand guitar, a few euros for vegetables at a market stall. Civilisation is built from small freedoms the way a wall is built from bricks.

Cash is imperfect. So are language, kitchens, cars and shoes. The fact that criminals also use something has never been a serious argument for taking it away from everyone else.

Yet the direction of travel is clear. More payments are digital. More banks close branches. More shops prefer cards. More governments are studying central bank digital currencies, while assuring us that privacy will be preserved. The Bank for International Settlements describes central banks as exploring CBDCs for public-good objectives, with privacy and design questions still live rather than settled. I do not claim every digital money project is a Bond villain stroking a cat. Some proposals include offline payments and privacy-preserving mechanisms. Some central bankers genuinely understand the danger. But the architecture matters more than the brochure.

Cash allows a transaction to end. Digital money may allow a transaction to live forever. It can be stored, searched, blocked, reversed, taxed, frozen or made conditional. It can reveal where you went, what you bought, who you supported, what you read, and which mistake you made. A cashless society is not just one without notes and coins. It is one in which permission can become part of payment.

Imagine a future government deciding that certain purchases are unhealthy, suspicious, extremist or simply inconvenient. A protest movement finding its donations throttled. An unpopular writer discovering that payment processors have become nervous. A campaign, a union, a church, a troublesome blog, quietly starved by compliance. You do not need jackboots when you have payment rails. You do not need to burn books when you can make distribution difficult, visibility uncertain and financial support unreliable.

That is why Bruce's Facebook prison matters. Not because his suspension is the end of civilisation; he will survive it. It matters because it is one small visible tile in a larger mosaic. Speech controlled by platforms. Comments filtered by newspapers. Phones tracking movement. Identity checks creeping in. Money drifting towards full traceability. Companies performing public functions, governments leaning on platforms, platforms leaning on users, and citizens learning to speak in code. The room is shrinking.

The cleverness of it is that most of this is sold to us as freedom. Free markets, free platforms, free apps. Free speech, provided it complies. Free expression, provided it is safe. Free money, provided it is traceable. Free society, provided nobody important is made uncomfortable. We should not accept the bargain. Freedom is the ability to think privately, speak plainly, spend lawfully, read quietly, assemble peacefully, argue honestly and live without being continuously measured by systems we cannot see. We are not losing it in some grand bonfire of banned books. We are losing it by login screen, moderation queue, compliance notice, algorithmic nudge, unexplained suspension and cashless convenience. The cage is not iron. It is terms and conditions.

 

A few months ago I blogged about a business plan as a joke. This month I’m writing about a real business plan. My first novel has just dropped on Amazon.

Somerset Maugham wrote in 1937: “There is an impression abroad that everyone has it in him to write one book… but if that means a good book, that impression is false.” What he’s really saying is that the difference between amateur and professional writers is craft, something arrived at through learning and practice, then maintained with sustained effort. The ever-pugnacious Christopher Hitchens improved on this, saying: “Everyone has a book inside them, which is exactly where… in most cases, it should remain.”

Well, I’m going to challenge that. I think lots of us have been struck by the muse and had a “golden nugget” idea that would make a great book. Perhaps, like me, you have a collection of such ideas jotted down in a notebook somewhere, or you even made a start but got no further than Roger Waters’ “…half a page of scribbled lines”. And while the craft of writing may be something we haven’t invested sufficient time to acquire, that doesn’t automatically mean the underlying idea is a bad one.

I’ve also noticed over the years that writing a book can become the last resort of middle-class folk who’ve fallen on hard times. They just rattle off a novel at the age of 50 or whatever, as if they’ve been doing it all their lives. How many of these are ghost-written? And what if you had your own ghost writer? When I first started toying with large language models a few years ago, I wondered if this might be the help I’d been looking for.

My early attempts to get AI to write anything decent were pretty fruitless. This was largely down to the small size of something called the “context window”, which you can think of as the AI’s attention span. If you asked it to write anything lengthy, it had to be done in small chunks, and there was no continuity between them.

As time went by the tools improved, and I beavered away learning how to get the best out of them. I built a suite of tools I jokingly refer to as “the fiction factory”, which gives me an AI-agnostic way to turn an initial idea into a book on my shelf.

This is a brief look at the three tricks these tools perform.

There’s a very old maxim in software: Garbage In, Garbage Out. The first trick is understanding that the initial specification must be detailed and precise. The first thing I do with my scribbled half-page is work with a chatbot, usually Claude (which has a particular knack for this sort of thing), to develop a book overview. This becomes the master plan: it describes the characters, maps the three acts, and sets goals and beats for each chapter. This is where I do the orchestral conducting, suggesting cadences and crescendos with instructions like “build tension here” or “shorten sentence length”. The better the plan, the better the draft. The output is a master overview file and a separate plan file for each chapter.

The second trick is getting the AI to write the thing without incurring a fortune in costs. Text generation is computationally intensive, and a standard twenty-euros-a-month ChatGPT subscription probably won’t cut it. This is where Openclaw came to the rescue. Acting as my ringmaster, it coordinates resources across the whole process. I have a dedicated PC running an open-source AI model locally. I’m always experimenting, but my current favourite is a Llama 70-billion-parameter model. This allows me to generate as much text as I like for free, well, for the cost of electricity, which runs to between five and ten euros a month (yes, I monitor it).

The third trick is accepting that AI cannot write a good novel without human intervention. My work in this area has evolved into a system built around an advanced editor that lets a human rapidly review the AI’s output, annotate it, and resubmit it for regeneration. The editor shows me one paragraph at a time, alongside the original “beat” instruction the AI used to generate it. I can either edit the text myself, or add a note telling the AI how to revise it on the next run. I’ve also built a lexical analysis tool that scans each draft looking for “echoes”: repeated words and phrases that AI tends to latch onto and overuse. Again, I can fix these manually or add them to a work-order that the AI uses to clean things up on the next run.

The first book to be published using this process has just been released, and it went through five drafts, five passes through the fiction-factory machine. The Mayfly Mutiny is a cautionary science fiction novel about the fate of an under-resourced Martian colony. The Kindle ebook is priced at about the cost of a cup of coffee, and the paperback is roughly what you’d pay here in Spain for a menú del día.

I’ve published the book under the pen name Maureen Avis. The idea is to build a brand, and my face probably wouldn’t be the best starting point for that. Two more sci-fi books are well underway, and I’ve got ideas for about a dozen more on the back burner. The business plan is to build a following by delivering regular, consistent quality storytelling: enough to elevate the brand above the AI slop that is inevitably coming to long-form fiction. While I was learning how to format the paperback version of Mayfly, I watched a YouTube video of a woman who claimed to have written a romance novel in three and a half hours using AI. She’s busy flooding the market with hundreds of similar tomes. Knowing what I know now, I’m confident those books won’t be very good.

In the world of investing, businesses need a "moat": a barrier to entry that slows competitors down. AI puts most business models at risk of being replicated overnight, but fiction has an unusual property: readers are the moat. A reader who trusts a name on a cover, who pre-orders the next book without reading the blurb, is not a customer easily stolen by a better-funded competitor or a faster algorithm. The race being run here isn't to build the best AI writing tool. That battle is already lost to the corporations. It's to build a relationship with an audience before the market floods. Somewhat ironically, AI authorship may be one of the rare business models where the technology is merely the means of production, and the thing it cannot replace, a consistent human voice and the trust that comes with it, turns out to be the most durable asset of all. Fingers crossed!

The Mayfly Mutiny is available as a Kindle eBook or paperback from your region's Amazon store.

 

I Don’t Want to Say I Told You So…

Mainly because saying “I told you so” is one of the least attractive things a man can say, ranking somewhere between “have you heard my prog-rock demo?” and “The Big Bang Theory is much funnier than Friends.”

Nonetheless...

A year ago I wrote a blog post about preparing for a world that seemed to be inching, blindly yet belligerently, towards a really nasty cliff edge. When I posted it, I half expected people to read it and conclude I was one step away from lining the skirting boards with tinfoil and muttering about fallout patterns. Yet here we are, twelve months later, and the world has done very little to reward complacency. If anything, it has promoted my cranky rantings from the realm of the absurd to something more like prudent contingency planning. As I write this, America is actually at war with Iran... for no apparent reason!

On a positive note, what I’ve learned in the year since is that preparing for disruption has an interesting side effect: even if the worst never happens, you still end up improving your life by acquiring a whole new bunch of skills and knowledge.

Though my starting point was “I should probably have enough food, water and basic kit to sit tight for a while if the world goes belly-up”, this soon morphed into a broader fascination with resilience in the everyday sense. I haven’t bought a leather trench coat, a crossbow, or anything that would look good on the cover of Prepper Monthly, but I have started to look at the practical systems that matter to my day-to-day existence and gradually sought to improve them to make life smoother for those times when it decides to be a nuisance.

I’ve developed the habit of asking a certain type of question and then coming up with a solution. For example, how would I turn on the air-conditioning if the remote control broke? Answer: either use a universal remote or rig up an IR interface that can be wired up and triggered by an app on my phone.

Soon I found that the search for these sorts of answers pulled me into a rabbit hole that led to home networking, local servers, Home Assistant, IoT gadgets, backup power, battery banks, smarter lighting, better monitoring, and the general art of making a house behave less like a random collection of temperamental appliances and more like a military command centre.

I’ve rediscovered skills that I’d forgotten I had, like soldering and decoding resistor colour codes. While normal people are recycling jam jars, I’m stripping components out of old electronic equipment and mumbling things like, “That bit of wire might come in useful.”

There is, it turns out, a lot of overlap between “mildly anxious middle-aged prepper” and “bloke who gets excited about network topology.” Once you start asking sensible questions like “What happens if the power goes?” or “What happens if the internet dies?” or “What happens if some essential service I’ve lazily assumed will always exist suddenly doesn’t?”, you find yourself building useful things. Not bunkers, maybe, but infrastructure.

So now I find a lot of reassurance not merely from the tins in the store-cupboard, but in knowing how my own home works. I like knowing which devices matter, which ones are fluff, what can run locally, what depends on the cloud, what can be automated, what can be monitored, and what can be made robust for relatively little money. There is something deeply satisfying about replacing vague dependence with practical understanding. It scratches the same itch as stockpiling, but in a more technical and, dare I say it, more interesting way.

And the lovely thing is that none of this only applies to war, or civil breakdown, or whatever flavour of geopolitical idiocy happens to be trending this week. It applies to everyday disruption too.

Case in point: the power outages we had during the storm season just after Christmas.

A year ago, that sort of thing would have irritated me. This time round, I largely breezed through it. Not because I had built some apocalypse compound on the South Island of New Zealand, but because I had quietly, bit by bit, made life more resilient. I had backup options. I had lighting sorted. I had ways of keeping key kit going. I had thought in advance about communications, charging, local control, and the boring but vital question of “what stops working first?”

That is the real dividend of all this stuff. You don’t need World War Three for it to pay off. A storm will do. A router outage. A brief blackout. A flaky service provider. A burst of bad weather. The future always arrives dressed as an inconvenience before it turns up in uniform.

And maybe that is the point.

Preparedness is often mocked because people imagine extremes. They picture conspiracy cranks, underground bunkers, and fifty kilos of dried lentils. What they miss is that resilience is simply competence with a torch in its hand. It is understanding systems. It is reducing single points of failure. It is making sure that when something goes wrong, your first reaction is not blind panic but mild annoyance.

If I have become more interested in technology over the last year, this is why. Not because I’ve fallen in love with gadgets for their own sake, though I admit I’m not entirely immune to a blinking dashboard. I actually spent the best part of a morning figuring out how to get my servers, of which there are now four, to power down gracefully and come back online automatically when there is a power outage. The answer involved a magic packet and the status of a smart socket attached to the fridge. (Long story). It’s because technology, used properly, can make a home less fragile. Home Assistant, local networking, IoT sensors, backup power arrangements, all of it is really just practical anti-chaos engineering. It’s a way of pushing back, however modestly, against the modern habit of building everything on assumptions of permanent stability, which where I live feels like a somewhat fragile position.

And that brings me back to Spain.

Looking back, one of my better life decisions has been moving here in the first place. Spain stayed neutral in the First World War and remained nominally neutral in the Second, even if Franco’s sympathies were hardly mysterious. More recently, Pedro Sánchez has made a habit of resisting pressure to follow the most excitable military drumbeats, including pushing back on NATO’s 5% spending target and, this month, refusing to let U.S. forces use Spanish bases for Iran-linked strikes.

That, for once, is exactly the sort of national character trait I’m happy to lean into.

So no, I don’t want to say I told you so.

But I will say this: thinking ahead has served me rather well. It hasn’t made me richer, cooler, or more relaxed, but it has made me more resilient. And in an age where fragility is built into almost everything, that feels less like eccentricity and more like common sense.

Maybe the biggest lesson of the last year is that preparing for catastrophe is not really about catastrophe at all.

It’s about building a life that copes better with wobble.

And, in the 21st century, we seem to have wobble in abundance!

 

For the longest time I've kept a notebook with business ideas in it. Most are complete nonsense, others get promoted to the lofty rank of “business plan” yet go no further. They march, chest out, straight from vaguely plausible scribble to failed start-up, without ever troubling the world with pesky details like customers, profit, or taxation. Others never see the light of day at all. They remain in the notebook, fermenting quietly like an under-ambitious cheese.

I was flicking through it the other day and came across an idea I still think is properly banging, except for one tiny flaw: it fails on capital. It needs a shop. An actual, physical shop. And it would cost a small fortune to stock, because the whole concept revolves around imported inventory. You can’t run it as a pop-up on Etsy because the purchase is, in a weird way, location-dependant.

Anyway, I present it to you here. Run it up the old flagpole and see if anyone salutes. If you want to pick it up and sprint off with it, it’s all yours. I gift it to you in the spirit of Gnu. (Which are currently out of stock, but I can offer you a charmingly wrong substitute from Helsinki.)

The business is called: Anywhere But Here

A souvenir shop in your city that sells souvenirs for every tourist destination in the world except the one you’re standing in.

So for example, if you’re in Madrid, you can buy:

• Arc de Triomphe paperweights
• Moscow fridge magnets
• a “Greetings from Singapore” tea towel
• a miniature Statue of Liberty (that looks faintly embarrassed to be abroad at the moment)
• A fluffy kangaroo in an I ❤️ Sydney T-shirt

…but absolutely nothing Spanish. Not a flamenco doll. Not a bull. Not a “Madrid” keyring. Not even a postcard of a breakfast churro. If you ask, the staff look at you with the polite concern reserved for people who’ve tried to pay with a Blockbuster video card.

“Spain?” they say. “Is that near Belgium?”

The Mission Statement (printed in tasteful italics on the wall)

We believe travel is about disappointment, confusion, and buying objects you do not need.
We specialise in the disappointment and confusion, and we’re open seven days a week.

The Branding

The shopfront is beautiful. Warm lighting. Tasteful shelves. A little bell on the door. Everything says curated. A place for discerning travellers.

The sign says:

ANYWHERE BUT HERE Souvenirs for places you’re not in

Inside, a big world map with pins everywhere except your country, which is just… blank. A tasteful void. A cartographic snub.

How It Works

You walk in. You’re a tourist. You’ve got that “I’ve just paid €4.60 for a coffee” glaze in your eyes. You want something to take home. Something that says I was here.

We give you the opposite.

The categories are:

1) The Wrong City Wall

A whole display dedicated to the nearest famous landmark you are not visiting.

So for example, in Madrid you would see:

• Paris: Eiffel Tower keyrings, Arc de Triomphe paperweights, “I ❤️ Paris” berets (made in a factory in a country that has never heard of Paris).
• Rome: Colosseum snow globes (no snow, just small bits of dust that may or may not be historical).
• London: “Mind the Gap” mugs, tiny red buses, a Queen’s Guard figurine that looks like it’s been through a long day.

If you point out you’re not in those cities, the assistant nods sympathetically, as if you’ve just told them about a long illness.

2) The Deep Cut Shelf

This is where you earn your keep as a retailer of nonsense.

• “Greetings from Reykjavík” oven mitts
• Ulaanbaatar shot glasses
• A hand-carved wooden moose from “somewhere in Canada, probably”
• “I Survived The Hague” t-shirts (nobody survives The Hague, they simply endure it)

3) The Confusion Range

Souvenirs that are wrong in more than one way.

• A Stonehenge dinosaur diorama
• A Dubai rain poncho
• A Venice beach towel
• A Sahara lighthouse ornament
• “Welcome to Edinburgh” flip-flops

A customer will stare at these items like they’ve just seen a dog solve a Rubik cube.

4) The Ethical Luxury Corner

For people who want meaning, but also want it to be inconvenient.

• a recycled-glass ornament shaped like Mount Fuji
• artisanal “authentic” New York subway tokens (made yesterday)
• a candle called Eau de Glacier that smells like expensive melancholy

5) The Kids Section: “Where Are We?”

Little plush toys and sticker books, all themed around places you are not.

• Furry Aardvarks in a city where the only wildlife is pigeons with opinions
• a sticker sheet titled “My Trip to Antarctica”
• a cuddly toy gnu (sold out, again, obviously)

Staff Policy

This is the important bit. The shop only works if the staff commit.

Rules:

1. If a customer asks for a souvenir of your city, you act genuinely confused.
2. If they insist, you offer them something nearby but wrong.
   • “Madrid? We’ve got Marseille?”
3. If they start getting angry, you guide them gently toward the Customer Support Penguin, a life-size cardboard penguin wearing a lanyard that says “I’m Listening.”

If someone demands to speak to the manager, the manager appears wearing a Clown costume and says, “We don’t carry local.”

The Loyalty Scheme

The Frequent Disappointer Card
Collect stamps. Redeem for rewards available only in:

• countries you have never visited
• cities you cannot pronounce
• places that may be fictional

After ten stamps you qualify for the Golden Wrongness tier, which gets you a free upgrade to “a bigger version of the same mistake”.

The Best Part: The Reviews (already written, because the internet is inevitable)

⭐☆☆☆☆
“Asked for a magnet that said Madrid. They sold me one that said Minsk. I don’t even know where Minsk is.”

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
“Absolutely brilliant. Bought an ‘I ❤️ Tokyo’ t-shirt while standing 50 metres from my Barcelona hotel. My wife hasn’t stopped laughing.”

⭐☆☆☆☆
“They told me Spain is ‘out of season’. This is ridiculous.”

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
“Came in angry. Left with a Chicago Cubs 47 Brand Wrigley Field Marque Fitted baseball cap. Couldn't be happier. I respect the commitment.”

Why It Would Work (in a parallel universe where I had money and serotonin)

Because tourists don’t buy souvenirs. They buy a story. They buy a prop. They buy the ability to say:
“Look at this. I don’t even know why this exists.”

Also, the shop becomes a destination in itself. People don’t come for the merch. They come to experience being gently gaslit by tasteful retail shelving.

The Fatal Flaw (and why you’re reading this instead of visiting my shop)

Capital. Rent. Stock. Shipping a thousand tiny monuments to a thousand wrong places. It’s a money bonfire, and not the warm cosy kind.

So instead, I’m doing what every failed entrepreneur eventually does: abandoning my dreams and blogging about them.

The Flagpole Bit

If this idea made you smile, here’s my offer:

Take it. Steal it. Launch it. Franchise it. Build it into a global empire of tasteful nonsense. I officially gift it to you in the spirit of Gnu.

(Still out of stock. Supply chain issues. Try again next week.)

And if you do open one, please do me just one small favour:
On the quiet, put a single, lonely postcard of the local city behind the counter, face-down, like contraband.

Because we’re not monsters. We’re just… curated.

 

Last year I wrote about ten things that get under my skin in our supposedly advanced modern world. The response was surprising - turns out I'm not alone in my exasperation. So here we are again, because the world hasn't stopped providing material, and I've still got things to get off my chest.

Smash Burgers and the Americanisation of Everything

Let's start with smash burgers, shall we? For those blessedly unaware, a smash burger is what happens when someone can't be bothered to properly mould a burger patty. Instead, they slap a ball of mince onto a grill and flatten it with whatever comes to hand. Bits fall off, you lose weight (from the burger, not yourself), and what should be a quarter-pounder ends up considerably lighter. But it's sold to us as "artisanal" and "trendy" when the real reason is simple economics - shaving seconds off prep time to maximise profit.

I grew up in South London and remember the pre-fast-food era, so I've witnessed this invasion from the start. McDonald's and KFC at least offered value initially. Then came the late-80s wave where "Americana" became part of the experience. I recall visiting Sticky Fingers in Kensington - owned by one of the Rolling Stones, if memory serves - and thinking it was vulgar, overpriced circus masquerading as cuisine.

Fast forward to today, and these establishments are proliferating across Spain, a country with its own magnificent culinary heritage. Every time I see one, I wince. For God's sake, exploit your own cultural tradition instead of importing smoke and mirrors from America. I left a comment on a Malaga restaurant's advert about their smash burgers expressing this sentiment. They blocked me. Quelle surprise.

Pot Noodle: An Abomination in Plastic

There should be a law against pot noodles. Without their packet of E-numbers, noodles are utterly flavourless. They have the texture of ear cartilage and possess a perverse ability to resist being eaten - too slippery to wind around a fork or cup in a spoon. Who invents food that actively fights consumption?

And the container! A plastic pot is entirely the wrong vessel for something already difficult to serve. Of course it's plastic - the fossil fuel industry's darling - wrapped in a cardboard sleeve because plastic won't take decent printing. Want 43% of your daily salt intake in one sitting? Pot noodle's got you covered. That's the nearest thing to praise I can muster.

The Right-Wing Press and the Death of Decency

I've been hate-reading the Mail Online for years, mainly to understand what the establishment opposition is saying and to do battle with the hard-of-thinking in the comments section. I've always despised its undercurrent of racism and blind monarchism - a set of values I've termed C.R.A.P. (Colonialist, Royalist, Authoritarian Patriarchy).

Increasingly though, I can't stomach the C.R.A.P. for even brief visits. The Overton window isn't pushing the envelope - as Pratchett might say, it's burst a hole in the wall of the post office. All pretense of the common decency that characterised one-nation Conservatism has evaporated. The Mail, Express, and Telegraph have embraced post-truth Trumpism with gusto, firing story after story at the public not for news value but for their ability to shock and enrage.

AI Slop and the Death of Truth

Shortly after the widely publicised boxing match between Jake Paul and Mike Tyson, a story appeared claiming Anthony Joshua had nearly died in a car accident in Africa. It had red flags - the timing, the location - that made me suspect AI-generated clickbait. Except it wasn't fake. It was true.

That's precisely what infuriates me about AI. The days when a critical mind with decent technical understanding could separate truth from fiction without third-party confirmation are gone. We've entered an era where real news looks fake and fake news looks real, and none of us can trust our instincts anymore.

Phones as Phones (Or Rather, Not)

Remember when phones were for calling people? Now they're messaging devices, cameras, and tiny computers that occasionally ring. The problem is threefold: spam calls have made us afraid to answer, you can never extract the bloody thing from your pocket before three rings, and your actual friends have migrated entirely to messaging apps. The voice call is becoming an anachronism, which seems perverse for a device literally called a phone.

Passkeys: Security Theatre Gone Mad

Many of you probably don't know what passkeys are, and explaining them without diving into cryptography is tricky. Essentially, an app verifies your identity through information it can authenticate. Google and Microsoft are hastening the death of traditional passwords, which I think is a mistake. Passwords aren't inherently less secure than passkeys - they're just easier for users to mess up by choosing "password123" or writing them on Post-it notes.

The problem with passkeys is they're often device-dependent. Recently, I tried accessing a shopping site while away from home. The app recognised I'd previously logged in with a fingerprint, but I was on a different computer. Cue the authentication paper-chain: "We've sent a message to device X." Device X was at home. "Try an alternative method." The email went to one of fifty addresses I keep on my desktop but hadn't bothered transferring to my laptop.

I have password managers on all seven of my devices. I'd entered my correct username and password. Yet it took fifteen minutes and several emails to access a site where I was trying to give them money. Is this really sensible business practice?

Academia's Emperor's New Clothes

Remember that Good Will Hunting scene about dropping a hundred grand on an education you could get for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library? I just watched a video listing ten degree-level courses available free online. No networking opportunities or certificates, but all the materials are there.

Here's the question: is it easier to ask questions in a crowded lecture hall or have an AI language model as your one-to-one education partner? The traditional university model is looking increasingly like an expensive way to make friends and get a piece of paper. 

Fake Profiles: The Uncanny Valley of Social Media

I encountered a YouTube account recently - a woman talking to camera. Something felt off, so I investigated. Full social media presence: Instagram, TikTok, the works. Videos of places she'd "visited," but even when she appeared in thumbnails, the actual footage showed her from behind, going up stairs, always in situations making it hard to confirm she was real.

After fifteen minutes of detective work, I concluded she was fake - an exceptionally well-constructed fake, but fake nonetheless. It gave me insight into the extraordinary lengths people go to for content and clicks these days. We're living in an age where you need to be a forensic investigator just to determine if the person you're watching exists.

Enshittification: Everything Gets Worse

Cory Doctorow coined this term for how platforms decay: first they're good to users, then they abuse users to benefit business customers, finally they abuse everyone to benefit only themselves. It's the perfect word for our times. Every service you rely on is on this trajectory. Your streaming platform has ads now. Your search engine is mostly sponsored links. Your social media is algorithmic rage-bait. Everything that was once good becomes progressively worse, and we're powerless to stop it because there's nowhere else to go.

Spanish Winters: The Influencer's Reckoning

I'm quite cold writing this in Olvera on 24th January 2026. Despite an hour with the gas fire on, it's too expensive to adequately heat a draughty Spanish house built for sunshine. Years ago, when money came more easily that it does now, I heated the place to 23 degrees for the whole Winter quarter and spent the best part of five hundred euros. That's why Spaniards wear coats indoors.

I've lived here since 2003, so cold winters aren't new - I had -9C and burst pipes in Murcia years back. But we've been spoilt lately with five years of mild winters and uninterrupted sunshine. This cold snap has been particularly amusing because of TikTok influencers posting "WTF" videos, moaning about ice and snow they didn't have on their Mediterranean bingo cards.

Caveat emptor, as they say. Beware what you wish for - you just might get it.

And with that warming thought, I'll leave you to your own irritations. No doubt you've got a list brewing too.

 

I loved robots when I was a kid. They seemed to be everywhere in popular culture. From the Amazing Magical Robot Game, an educational toy that appeared in my Christmas stocking, to the weekly dose of “Danger, Will Robinson” while watching the cult American classic series Lost in Space, I was hooked. So when I was seven or eight years old and "Tricky’s" the local toy shop, put one in their shop window, I had to have it. Beyond the reach of my pocket money, I devised “The Robot Club” with school friends John London and Ian Collie, whose club subscriptions coincidentally covered the price of the robot, though I don’t recall John and Ian getting much time to play with it. (Sorry guys!)

Fast forward fifty-five years and the robots are here for real. However, the reality lacks the magic conjured by my childhood imagination. In fact, to me, the whole robot business seems just a little bit scary.

For starters, why aren’t there any purple robots? Or blue, pink, green, etc.? Even robots in black-and-white movies, like Gort in The Day the Earth Stood Still, were clearly not monochrome. I don’t know what colour Gort was, but he had a metallic shimmer that suggested silver or grey, as did Robot Maria in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis.

Today, though, I bet you a Buffalo nickel that all the humanoid robots you’ve ever seen have been white, or worse, white with black faces. I don’t think this is an accident. I think the way in which robots are presented to us is a representation of the intention of the people behind them. The robots of yore were the product of the creative minds of science fiction writers, who cast robots as angels or demons as their narratives demanded. The folk behind the robots being sold to us today are the products of billionaire tech futurists. Their intended narrative appears to be somewhat different.

In the old stories, the robot was always a character. It could be comic or tragic, loyal or murderous, but it was always a someone. Even when it was a menace, it had personality. It had colour. It had a face you could read, even if it was only a blank mask of rivets. The robots coming to an online distribution outlet via your billionaire-controlled tech device of choice are blank, faceless soldiers of servitude.

These are not characters; they’re appliances with limbs. That they’re white is no accident. White is a cultural signal: clean, clinical, neutral, safe. White is the colour of hospitals and laboratories and the myth of objectivity. A white humanoid says: don’t worry, there’s no ideology here. This is just engineering.

There is more going on here, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. In a recent interview, Subhadra Das, historian of science and author of Uncivilized: Ten Lies That Made the West, revealed a hidden dark agenda. Speaking to Myriam François on The Tea YouTube channel, she outlined some of the motives behind the forthcoming robot revolution.

She says that it’s a myth that science and technology are automatically neutral, “truth with a capital T,” floating above politics. As was the case with eugenics, this aura of neutrality has historically been used to give harmful social ideas a clean bill of health, because if something is labelled “science”, it becomes harder to argue with and easier to obey.

That matters, because the robot revolution is going to force society to answer a very old, very ugly question: what is a person for?

When machines can do more and more of what people currently do for wages, there will be more and more humans who are “unnecessary” to the labour market. In a sane world, that would be the start of leisure. In a less sane world, it becomes the start of sorting.

She talks about how eugenic thinking worked, not as cartoon villainy but as something disturbingly mainstream: decide that society has a “problem”, identify a group you can blame for it, then present control over that group as rational, scientific, and even compassionate. What gave me a chill was the way she described how this thinking can return in softer packaging: not “inferior race”, but “burden”, “low productivity”, “won’t contribute”, “won’t pay taxes”. Those aren’t just insults. They’re the vocabulary of a future in which citizenship is conditional on usefulness.

If that sounds dramatic, consider the mood music coming from the billionaire futurists themselves. The same people who sell “abundance” also flirt with demographic panic: talk of “Western civilisation” in peril, fear of replacement, the sense that the wrong people are multiplying. My earlier point about robot colour isn’t separate from that. If you’re anxious about who counts as the rightful inheritors of the future, then a white, “neutral”, “default” robot starts to look less like a product and more like a flag.

There’s another strand in her reasoning that helps explain why this ideology arrives with such confidence: the belief that the future is inevitable. In the transhumanist/AI-accelerationist framing she describes, AI isn’t treated as one possible path. It’s treated as destiny, almost a secular end-times story: history has a direction, the merger with machines is coming, and anyone who slows it down is cast as ignorant or even immoral.

Once you accept that framing, debate becomes blasphemy. Regulation becomes “standing in the way of progress”. And political questions, like “who owns the robots?” or “what happens to the displaced?” get pushed aside by a louder question: “how fast can we build?”

Which brings us back to those white bodies and black faceplates.

I’m not saying a designer sat down and said: “Make it look colonial.” I’m saying something more mundane and therefore more plausible: the industry is building the visual language of a future in which robots are framed as neutral, rightful, unquestionable. The whiteness is laundered as safety. The black “face” is blankness: no ethnicity, no history, no individuality, nothing that might prompt you to empathise or to ask who is being served. A humanoid, stripped of the human.

In the fiction of my childhood, robots were angels or demons depending on what the story needed. In the marketing of today, robots are neither angel nor demon. They are presented as inevitable infrastructure. And when infrastructure is inevitable, the people who control it quietly become inevitable too.

So the question I want to ask, before the robot revolution is declared “AMAZING” and the press releases start writing the future in permanent ink, is this:

When the billionaire futurists say “abundance for all”… who exactly is included in “all”? My fear is that it will be “all who remain” after the dust has settled on what may turn out to be the most turbulent period in human history.

 

One of the things I've noticed since I gave up the booze (in May 2024) is that I'm an exceptionally judgemental person. I don't know where I get it from as my parents were really easy-going, tolerant folk. Not me. Hardly an hour goes by where I don't find something to moan and groan about. I thought perhaps I was just experiencing the common cognitive bias which psychologists call the 'fundamental attribution error'. That's the one where, for example, while driving you think that everyone going slower than you is an idiot, yet everyone going faster than you is a lunatic. It's a fallacy because we make assumptions about the other drivers without considering the reasons they might be proceeding at a different speed - a wedding cake on the back seat or ferrying a heart-attack victim on the way to hospital, etc. However, I don't think that applies in my case. I think the world really is a crazy place full of crazy people doing really dumb things!

So here are just a few of my pet peeves - the things that are currently making the veins in my temple throb. See if any of them chime with you.

1. Foreshadowing pre-roll on YouTube videos.

We used to see "COMING UP..." a lot at the start of American TV shows, but in the last couple of years it has been creeping into low budget videos on YouTube and social media. I even saw it on a two-minute YouTube short. I watched an interview recently which was about an hour long, and about every ten minutes I heard the punch line of gags that I'd already heard in the pre-roll. I normally skip these things if the author has been thoughtful enough to include a bookmark to where the content really starts. If not, I sometimes get impatient and randomly skip forward so I'm probably missing some of the action but it's worth it not to have my brain cells assaulted by repeated information. In one five minute video I saw so much pre-roll I swear it took up half the video. Does anybody 'like' having to endure pre-roll? I have a sneaking suspicion it's really only there because some media studies teacher came up with the idea because their course was a bit thin on content, then every student takes it as gospel rather than questioning its actual value. Its real value to me is that I have unsubscribed from channels that are big on pre-roll. Stop this nonsense now!

2. Intentionally wobbly camera work.

This has been around for a long time, and there is a time and a place for it, but in 2025 folk are still doing it for no good reason. I was watching an episode of a show called The Mentalist, which admittedly is ten years old, but the camera was wobbling so much it made me feel seasick. There is a case for doing this in action scenes but the fly-on-the-wall documentary style is long gone. Get over it. The technique is also extremely bad for streaming since the constantly moving background is much harder for the algorithm to compress the video stream, so if you see this malarkey on Netflix, someone needs to get a sternly worded memo.

3. My Android Phone's Interface.

Christ on a bike, I could write a book about what's wrong with the mobile phone market, but I'll confine myself for the purposes of this blog to the recent 'One UI' update on my Samsung A25. For some reason, they moved the audio player controls to the bottom, so now it is next to impossible to hold the phone steady while reaching down to change tracks with my thumb. To change tracks safely without dropping the thing I need to engage my other hand. One-handed people must be up in arm about this. I wrote to Android to complain but of course nothing will happen. Our feelings as customers have very little importance in the grand scheme of things compared to the whims of some self-satisfied graphic artist and the corporate bod who commissioned him to make the interface look snazzy!

4. Cuisine

The very word cuisine itches my scrote, being French (pretentious moi?) yet originally coming from the vulgar Latin word for kitchen. Cuisine is used when a TV show or a Sunday magazine supplement is going to wax lyrical about regional food that is a fancy dress version of what folk really eat there. I was triggered while watching episode six of Searching for Spain with Eva Longoria. I generally feel obliged to watch shows like this about Spain since I live here. This series is OK but tends to skip around the regions focusing on their unique 'cuisine' - gnashes teeth. In the episode in question, the house special was four slivers of fried fish served on a log, "inspired by my grandma's recipe". What happened to plates? Was nanna a lumberjack? Why the compulsion to serve tiny portions of food on roofing slates or Citroen hubcaps? For the love of Grok, give me some decent grub on a dinner plate!

5. Facebook's disappearing posts

Social media suffers from so many ills, I almost feel bad for singling out Facebook, but this one yanks my chain on a daily basis. Often I'll want to add my 10 cents to a post by making a witty, well-observed comment. However, so as not to appear a complete knob, I normally want to fact-check what I'm going to say and open a second browser tab to make my enquiries. Then, certain of my facts, I return to Facebook to fashion my killer invective, only to find the original post has gone. Facebook refreshed the page and the post has disappeared, never to be seen again. Sometimes I've spent half an hour researching, planning my comment, only to be unable to write it! No wonder people are giving up on social media!

6. Open soda bottles

This hints that I might have OCD issues, but on occasion I'll be watching a film or TV show and a character will pour some cola from a big two-litre bottle and not put the top back on. That's it for me. I've lost all interest in character and plot. The only thing that matters in my life at that point is that I'm watching a fizzy drink go flat before my eyes. Art imitates life - do people do this? Do they not know every second counts with fizz? There should be a law against things in media that are this triggering. I lose sleep thinking about it!

7. Modern day slavery

I've covered this in previous blogs, but the gist is, businesses keep getting us to work for them for free while they enjoy the profits. That's why I don't wear merch - why should I turn myself into an advertising hoarding? I've mentioned in previous blogs how online banking and sorting recycling are sneaky ways in which we're made to work for free, so other people can make a buck. I only recently realised that supermarkets are another example of this. In the 1965 thriller The Ipcress File, Michael Caine and Guy Doleman are pushing trollys down the aisle in the supermarket and Doleman's character says something like "I can't abide these new American shopping methods". He's a man after my own heart. We think nothing of it today, but before supermarkets existed, one would have gone to the butcher's or the grocer's and they would have served the goods to you, instead of you being the 'picker' pushing the trolley around. Elon Musk recently tweeted we're all going to be living lives of leisure while our personalised robots do all this sort of thing for us. He also wants to sell us a bridge.

8. Bullying

I got a distaste for bullying at school. Though I wasn't a huge victim of it (apart from always being chosen as the goalkeeper) I saw how it affected other kids and it stayed with me. Even today I really hate to see it, and unfortunately there's a lot of it about in 2025, much of it emanating from that guy in the White House. 

Trump's threat to sue the BBC is only the latest in a succession of heavy-handed attacks he's made on media outlets and universities for the crime of disagreeing with him. What really grinds my gears is that with all his swagger and overbearing bluster, he clearly thinks bullying is "projecting strength". While I'm no expert on strong men, I strongly suspect they don't have to keep telling you how strong they are. I'm pretty sure previous presidents used their position to apply leverage, but did so without the self-fêting fanfare that would have made them look like a dick.

9. Streaming

I know I'm on solid ground here, as social media has been full of posts recently where folk have been cancelling Spotify, Netflix and my personal pet hate, Amazon Prime. It was on Prime Video that I was watching The Mentalist mentioned above. As I worked my way through each series (which is a great show BTW), I swear to Grok that the number and frequency of adverts sneakily increased. Maybe it's because I'm British and grew up with uninterrupted viewing on the Beeb, but I find this sort of caper very distasteful, especially since I'd forked out my hard-earned cash for an annual subscription. Why in the name of Lord Reith, do they think it's OK to charge a subscription fee and show advertisements at the same time? So I'm done with Prime - still have several months left but I won't be watching any more videos on there thank you very much. 

10. Privacy

Last on the list (I kept it to 10 - it could have been a lot longer) is privacy, and I felt compelled to add this in reaction to the proposed UK digital ID card. I've read a lot of reaction to this on social media and a common misunderstanding is that folk ignore the digital bit altogether. They say things like, "other countries have ID cards and they're OK" or "I have a driving license and a passport, what difference does an ID card make".

Well, quite a lot actually. Your passport doesn't send an update at three in the morning telling half the government, three contractors and a bloke in IT called Kevin that you went to Wetherspoons twice this week and bought some cold & flu tablets and a pregnancy testing kit. In fact, few countries do have truly digital biometric identification, and the consequences of having one are potentially very serious. 

We're stumbling into an Orwellian future that makes the movie Enemy of The State look like a cosy Sunday evening drama where the worst thing that happens is someone loses a dog. At least in the movie you could disappear by throwing away your beeper. With the proposed digital ID, we move another step closer to Big Brother knowing everything about you. Now I don't have any brothers, never mind a big one, but I reckon there are some things it's best that your brother doesn't know. 

I'll leave it at ten moans for now. How do these grab you? Is it just me, or do you have a similar list of gripes? I'm already getting ideas for a part two of this blog!

 

I bought a new piece of kit this week, that really made me reflect on how far things have come. Long story short, I blogged about prepping for Armageddon earlier in the year, and one thing I realised needed a major overhaul was my 'home network' - the ever-growing collection of tablets, phones desktops and the ways they connect to the Internet. I've been looking for ways to make the whole thing more robust yet less power hungry.

When 'El apagón' - the big blackout happened here in Spain earlier in the year, I found out a lot about what would happen during an extended period without electricity. During those 17 hours, one of the things I noticed was that my local ISP failed before the Internet on my mobile phone. Not 100% sure why that is but my guess is the local ISP has less emergency power backup. So in the following months I mulled this over in my mind, and the more I thought about it, the more I came to see that I had underestimated my local Internet connection as a single point of failure. I live in quite an isolated little village in the 'Sierra de Cádiz'. I've long suspected much of the Internet coming into and out of the town comes through line-of-sight microwaves as the connectivity often gets worse in adverse weather, particularly storms and low lying cloud. The town's electricity supply is on a knife-edge at the best of times - I personally use two uninterruptible power supplies to keep the network up as I'm used to the electric tripping out mid-poker game. The chances of losing Internet due to an electricity outage is therefore always on the cards. Then there is flooding, terrorism, meteorites - OK and straw-clutching with that one, but you get my point, it became apparent that having a backup to connect my local network to the Internet made a lot of sense.

So I began to research solutions. I could have figured out away to make my smartphone a hotspot, but the phone assumes a higher level of importance during an emergency so I didn't want it occupied on network duty. After lots of research with my friends, Claude, Grok, and ChatGTP I arrived on a solution which was to buy a second Wifi router with a 'fallback' option. It works like this. My ISP router connects to the second router, so all my network traffic passes through it. I use the new router for both Wifi and wired connections. Should the ISP connection go offline, the new router makes a 4G connection through the phone network. Within 60 seconds, I'm back online. It's like magic. I had to get a new SIM card for the router, but I shopped around and found a pre-paid card with no contract. All I have to do is put 10 euros on it every six months to keep it 'alive'. During normal operation the SIM is inactive and only makes a connection during an emergency.

After I set this up, feeling very smug and pleased with myself, I noticed on the box that the router is capable of 300Mbps - over 4G? I thought this was a mistake, but apparently due to a thing called 'carrier aggregation', under ideal conditions the thing can weave together different mobile bands making 'one big one' (given there aren't too many other folk online). This is what triggered my reflection on my path as a user of the Internet in Spain.

Back in the late 1990's when I first considered moving to Europe, Spain was one of a number of countries I was considering. Internet connectivity was a key factor, since I would be working remotely for my company in England. During my research I stumbled across an article that wrote in glowing terms about the broadband rollout in the Iberian peninsula, and how the country was 'forging ahead' as a European leader in high speed Internet connectivity. This must have been a puff-piece for Movistar or something because when I finally arrived, the truth was rather different.

The house I bought in Murcia was less than three kilometers from town. The house had mains electricity and potable water, so getting an Internet connection would be just a question of running a phone line, no? Oh how wrong I was! I made overtures to the phone company who said they would be quite happy to help if I paid several thousand pounds to install telegraph poles! There was another problem in the form of a big hill at the back of my house that made line-of-sight connectivity impossible. I was so screwed. Caveat emptor. (Some years later, I met a smarter guy than me, who had his lawyer insert a clause in the compra-venta - the presales contract that determines the conditions of sale - that broadband internet connection would be available in the property before the sale would go ahead)

I was anxious to get connected because of work, so I had a word with the owner of a local Internet cafe and negotiated a preferential rate, given that I was spending five mornings a week in there with my laptop! There was a lady who did shifts looking after the place who was a chain-smoker. I used to go home reeking of tobacco smoke and coughing like a laboratory beagle, so I was keen to find a practical alternative.

There was a Vodafone shop in the town and, although mobile phones at the time were more geared towards calls, they were offering a new card with a data tariff. It was expensive so I'd have to ration my connectivity - a bit like the early days of Compuserve where we would use an off-line-reader program to login, download a bunch of messages and log off again to minimise connection fees! So I signed up for one of these cards and a condition was I had to have an ordinary phone SIM as well. This is where something happened to my disadvantage. The lady gave me the SIM card for my phone and said the data card would arrive in the following week. While muddling through with my schoolboy Spanish, I got the impression that I could use the SIM card she gave me to connect to the Internet until the proper data card arrived. So that weekend, I made a few sojourns in to Hotmail and Google, nothing too lengthy, then swapped over to the data card in the following week. At the end of the month I got a bill for 400 euros! I remonstrated with the girl in the shop arguing that she told me I could use the other card, but she just said 'you did - it worked'. I spent hours complaining writing to regional and national offices, sending faxes at their request etc, but never did manage to get a refund.

After about a year of struggling with the SIM solution - it did work when I had the right card, a Spanish neighbour helped me wade through the bureaucratic minefield of Telefonica's Sales Order Process to get a 'fixed line' telephone. Due to the poles issue, this was provided over radio, which capped the Internet connection to a ridiculously low speed, but at least I was on all the time without the same level of metering that I suffered with the SIM card. That did me for another year or two, until an enterprising couple of English chaps in the village put their heads together and, realise there were a lot of folk in the 'campo' like me with a need for broadband, started a wireless network company.

I'm a software guy rather than a hardware guy, so a lot of what they did remains a mystery, but it seems they figured out how to bundle together a bunch of consumer internet connections from the local cable company, then bounce these around the village and then on into the houses in the country side. If like me, line of sight was unavailable, they would angle dishes on other client sites to share the signal around. However they managed it, the system worked great and at last, after about four years I finally had a fast Internet connection in Spain.

When I moved to another little village in Andalucia, most folk were using a similar wireless systems because it was cheap - subsidised either by the townhall or the regional government or both. It was pretty terrible with speeds slowing to a crawl at that time of day when the kids came home from school. The support closed on Friday afternoon and if the line went down, which was often, there was nobody to help get it back until Monday morning. In time however a couple of new entrants to the market emerged offering fibre to the home. Considering we are fairly remote I'm very impressed by this.  A friend in Portland, Oregon with a holiday home here was telling me the Internet we get here is faster and cheaper than he has back home. I pay 20 euros per month and on a good day my fibre will test at 600Mbps. My ISP has a higher tariff - for a fiver a month extra I can get double that!

All of which makes me think, why on earth isn't everybody grabbing a digital nomad visa and coming to Spain to work. I often see posts on social media, especially TikTok from Americans who have moved, or are thinking of moving to Barcelona and are moaning about the price of property there. Well here's the thing, there are plenty of other places, many of which have amazing property deals. Whole villages are for sale for peanuts in some regions due to the phenomenon of rural depopulation, yet now, with Starlink in the mix providing broadband coverage through the whole of the country, there isn't a place where you can go in Spain where you would have to endure the same painful journey I did to get a good online connection.

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There's a war going on right now for the control of money. Its significance cannot be overstated. It will shape the future of everything to such an immense degree that I believe its impact will dwarf all the wars of the 20th century combined. Billions will die - untold billions will cease to exist, all because of a handful of laws that are being passed today, with hardly anyone batting an eyelid. I'm woefully inadequate as a writer to convey the magnitude of this change, especially in a short form such as this blog post. I just hope I can bring you a flavour of what is going on so that you can start thinking about it and doing your own research.

Back in 2022, I penned a somewhat gloomy blog about the future of freedom, power and money (Bitcoin Is Doomed And So Are We). It now turns out that not only was I on the right track, but the rate at which our freedom is coming to an end is massively accelerating. I'm late publishing this blog because every day since writing the initial draft, new relevant stories kept coming to light which I've had to research and include.

Anyway, getting back to the main story, the nature of freedom, power and money is intertwined. If you've acquainted yourself with the history of money, perhaps by reading The Ascent of Money: A Financial History of the World by Niall Ferguson or Debt: The First 5000 Years by David Graeber, you can't help but see the analogy to a game of Monopoly. Every game ends the same way. One player buys all the houses and hotels, wins all the cash, then the other players get frustrated and throw the board up in the air. Then a new game starts with the wealth redistributed evenly again. The pendulum swing, where wealth moves from rich to poor and then back to rich, is essentially the history of economics, money, credit and debt, and ultimately power. This may be why the same redistribution myth appears across cultures, from Prometheus giving man the fire of the Gods, to Robin Hood stealing from the rich to give to the poor. [Others include Zorro, Koschei the Russian folk hero, Song Jiang from the Chinese 'Water Margin' and to some extent Jesse James!]

There isn't room to fully summarise the story here, but I've always been impressed by the theme tune to the Big Bang Theory which somehow manages to compress the entire history of the universe into a song lyric. With the help of AI, I've had a go at doing a similar thing for economics:

A History of Debt (karaoke cut, Mont Pelerin edition to the tune of the Big Bang Theory theme)

Ten thousand years ago we started farming land,
And temples used their scribes to track the IOU demand.
The pharaohs taxed the people, while kings declared a slate,
Religions banned the usurers - they tore apart the state.
The Medici got clever, winked at God and made it pay,
The Brits built banks and empires, flags and debts along the way.
The French cut heads, the markets bled
Wars, New Deal, Bretton Woods, the dollar ruled instead.
The anti-red Chicago boys said freedom is the key
Thatcher, Reagan hatched a plan, cried "Markets wild and free!"
Math, cash, history, unravelling the mystery,
It all comes down to big debt (Debt)!

And so here we are today, with the Neoliberalism of the Chicago School economists, embraced by left and right wing governments in the US, UK and EU - collectively known as the West. In universities it is taught as political orthodoxy - as though there is no rational alternative, yet it's only working out well for the 1% of people. The widening gap between rich and poor at the heart of this theory is there for all to see.

At this point, given our Monopoly analogy, we would reasonably expect the millions of people who are saddled with debt, living from pay packet to pay packet, may soon reach that point again where they have had enough and the board gets thrown up in the air.

Here's the thing though: the 1% know this, and are making subtle yet fundamental changes to the law to make sure that doesn't happen again.

So pay close attention to the next bit because it really matters. Cash - the simple handing of value from one person to another, without permission, without oversight, has been the bedrock of human liberty. Take that away, and everything else, every right, privilege, every choice falls with it. If money ceases to be ours, our life ceases to be ours. Total financial control is not just tyranny - it is an apocalypse. It is the weapon that makes famine deliberate, war automated, pestilence engineered and death selective. Billions will never live because they will be smothered before birth by resource control systems that decide who may eat, who may travel and ultimately who may exist. The end of our personal financial sovereignty is worse than the Four Horsemen - it is the master that rides them all. Once it comes, there will be no going back.

The war of which I speak then - the laws being changed are designed to move us away from cash towards a future of digital money. There is nothing wrong with digital money itself. We could have a form of digital money that can be exchanged between individuals with no other parties involved - in fact it exists already - it's called Bitcoin. However, that's not the form of digital money that we will be forced to use. They want us to use digital money that is centrally controlled - the CBDC or Central Bank Digital Currencies. The difference between these is huge. With money that transacts from person to person, we retain personal financial sovereignty - we are the masters of our own funds. It's this very Personal Financial Sovereignty that 'they' are planning to take away from us.

Of course, they're saying they're not. The US, UK and the most recent EU digital currency announcements don't claim to be doing away with cash altogether. In fact, the EU said they're considering a system of 'peer to peer' digital transactions with the digital Euro which won't require third party banking intervention, but I'm old enough and ugly enough not to believe a word of that nonsense. The stakes are too high, the power too great for them to allow that to happen.

When I speak to people about this they often fail to see the danger, and are seduced by the ease of use of apparently frictionless card purchases. I get it - it's easy. They want you to be comfortable with it. That's why the UK's Financial Conduct Authority announced on 10 September 2025 their intention to raise the limit on cashless card transactions. But this is to ignore what is going on behind the scenes. For all its flaws, Bitcoin has demonstrated that no banking intermediary is needed for value to be exchanged from one person to another. Despite what you may have read, Bitcoin has never been 'hacked'. The horror stories the press love to dwell on all refer to Bitcoin exchanges - essentially the interface between Bitcoin, which is perfect money, and the banking system, which is bent as the proverbial nine bob note. That 'they' are trying to ban anonymous crypto wallets and force everyone to use crypto via recognised exchanges says all you need to know about 'them', the folk who bought you the Wall Street and 2008 financial crashes - what could possibly go wrong?

Who, you may ask, is 'them', or the 'powers that be' as I referred to them in the previous blog? This question was eloquently answered by Critical Theory lecturer Louisa Toxværd Munch on TikTok recently. Conspiracy theorists love to apportion blame, even naming people like George Soros, Charles Schwab or Bill Gates as the arch villains in charge of it all. In reality the system is protecting itself. Rich people work to protect their own interests in all sorts of ways, and this leads to the creation of organisations that serve to protect those interests. There is no Wizard of Oz behind the curtain. There are just structures, many of which are unconnected and uncoordinated that appear to conspire against the interests of the less well off. 

There is no single figure to point at, just a blob, as I discovered myself a few years ago while trying to play low-stakes poker.

One day, the online gambling site 'Pokerstars' decided I wasn't allowed to play €1 sit-and-go tournaments unless I sent them shots of my passport, my face from multiple angles, my tax ID and my inside leg measurement. I failed the test (Spanish bureaucracy - enough said), so I tried other poker sites. Malta, Gibraltar, the other side of the world - didn't matter. They all demanded the same. Why? Because the Financial Action Task Force (FATF), an unelected global body, had decided it should be so. They forced every online poker site in the world to introduce 'KYC' - know your customer. The G7 created the FATF back in 1989, and now, if FATF says jump, every government on Earth asks "how high?" No elections. No accountability. It seems on the face of it to be a one world government in all but name, but it's actually less well coordinated than that.

The reason I felt compelled to write this blog now is that 2025 is the year in which the 'powers that be' want to beef up online security, in the name of children's safety, by forcing people to provide KYC to access certain types of content (The Poker experiment clearly went well). While the UK government is most vocal about access to pornography, access to other sites such as Reddit and Wikipedia are similarly affected. Australia and Canada are following suit with similar legislation in the pipeline. Even America has The Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA), a bill with bipartisan support which is currently grinding its way through congress.

The important point here is the direction of travel. We've had web access for 30 years, but all of a sudden we're supposed to believe it's right now we're taking action to protect children from porn? The UK government has seen that people are circumventing the identification process by using a VPN, so now they're talking about banning them too.

The relevance to child protection of these sorts of digital legislation has been shown elsewhere to be spurious at best. The real reason is to increase the control that governments have over the Internet. As I explained in the previous blog, I believe there to be a movement to restrict the software we are allowed to run on our devices. As if to confirm my suspicions, Google announced last week that from 2026 it will restrict the sideloading of apps to those of 'authorised' developers. (Sideloading basically means loading an app that comes from outside the Android appstore). I predict that moving forward, terrorism will increasingly be used as an excuse to introduce further restrictions on the software we're allowed to run. To ban software that could be useful to fight our subjugation: encrypted messaging, peer to peer file exchange, off-grid messaging apps like bitchat and many other tools will all have to become 'authorised'. Most of the open source software repositories for these sorts of apps are hosted on a source control website called Github. Github was bought by Microsoft in 2018, to gasps of horror in the open source community. Years later, Microsoft has been lauded for largely maintaining the site's independence and encouraging its continued growth. However, the cynical voice in my head says they would do that if there was a long term plan to capture and control the world's open source software.

My belief is that none of this is really about poker sites or porn filters. The endgame is cash. Cash, or as I explained earlier, Personal Financial Sovereignty, is the overarching goal.

When 'we the people' have our money fully digitally controlled, there are many upsides for the winner of the Monopoly game, but many downsides for us.

Once cash disappears, governments can literally program what you're allowed to spend money on. The classic example is "Fancy a sausage roll? Sorry citizen, your cholesterol's too high. Try a lettuce leaf." However, it goes much deeper than that. "Government deficit? We'll introduce negative interest rates - there won't be a bank run because you can't get cash out at the bank!" We're already seeing in America how Trump is using the threat of litigation to silence news media. Imagine how much easier that would be if the same man had the ability to control every penny everybody has to spend. The stranglehold an unscrupulous leader would have over our lives doesn't bear thinking about.

We tend to think of the end of civilisation as nuclear war, asteroid impact or a global pandemic, but this is far worse. I can see it happening in my head like a slow motion car crash. I feel like Nuñez in that H.G. Wells short story "The Country of The Blind". If I talk to people about what I think is going on they treat me like I'm mad.

And maybe I am mad - mad because I can see what most refuse to see. Once our money itself is captured, resistance dies with it. You can't organise, you can't fund a movement, you can't even buy bread without permission. Rebellions require resources, but all the resources will be controlled by them, so the fight will be over before it starts. That's why to me, this feels so apocalyptic: not because it ends in fire, but because it ends in absolute submission, forever.

 

If you own property in Spain, you probably understand the importance of having insurance coverage to protect your investment. However, even the best insurance policies can't always protect you from unexpected events like earthquakes, floods, and other natural disasters. That's where the Consorcio de Compensación de Seguros (CCS) comes in.

The CCS is a public entity in Spain that was established in 1954 to ensure that everyone in the country has access to insurance coverage for certain risks, including those that are difficult or impossible to insure through the private market. One of the key functions of the CCS is to provide coverage for natural disasters and other catastrophic events that cause widespread damage, such as earthquakes, floods, and terrorist attacks. The CCS is responsible for compensating individuals and businesses for damages caused by these events, even if they do not have insurance coverage themselves.

Compared to similar systems in other countries, the CCS is widely regarded as being on par, if not superior. In Japan, a public insurance program called the Japanese Earthquake Reinsurance System (JERS) provides coverage for earthquake damage. Like the CCS, JERS is funded by premiums paid by insurance companies, and it provides coverage for individuals and businesses that are unable to obtain coverage through the private market. JERS is widely considered to be an effective system, and it has been used to compensate victims of major earthquakes in the country, such as the 1995 Kobe earthquake. However, while JERS is a comprehensive system, the CCS in Spain is unique in that it provides coverage for a wider range of catastrophic events beyond just earthquakes.

In the United States, the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) provides assistance to individuals and businesses affected by natural disasters through a variety of programs, including disaster relief loans, grants, and insurance. However, the US system is generally considered to be less comprehensive than those in Japan and Spain, as it places more emphasis on individual responsibility for disaster preparedness and recovery.

In other countries, such as India and many African nations, disaster coverage is provided primarily by private insurance companies, and there is often limited government support for those affected by natural disasters. This can make it difficult for individuals and businesses to obtain coverage or recover from losses caused by catastrophic events.

Overall, the effectiveness of national disaster coverage systems depends on a variety of factors, including the level of funding, the scope of coverage, and the quality of implementation. The CCS is an important part of the Spanish insurance system, providing coverage and compensation for those affected by catastrophic events and helping to ensure that everyone in the country has access to insurance coverage for certain risks. The CCS is also unique in that it provides coverage for a wider range of catastrophic events, beyond just earthquakes. In addition, the Spanish government has taken steps to increase funding for the CCS and improve its capacity to respond to catastrophic events, making it a reliable and effective system for property owners in Spain.

If you're a property owner in Spain, it's a good idea to familiarize yourself with the CCS and the claims process, so that you know what to do in the event of an earthquake or other natural disaster. Whether you have insurance coverage or not, the CCS can provide compensation and support for those affected by catastrophic events, helping to ease the burden of recovery and ensure that you can get back on your feet as quickly as possible.

If your Spanish house was damaged by an earthquake, flood, a meteor strike or alien attack, you would need to make a claim through the Consorcio de Compensación de Seguros (CCS) to receive compensation for your losses. The process for making a claim through the CCS is as follows:

1. Contact your insurance company: If you have insurance coverage for earthquake damage, you should contact your insurance company to report the damage and begin the claims process. Your insurance company will then contact the CCS on your behalf to request compensation.
2. File a claim with the CCS: If you do not have insurance coverage for earthquake damage, or if your insurance company is unable to provide compensation, you can file a claim directly with the CCS. You can do this by visiting the CCS website (www.consorseguros.es - English version available from the menu on the top right of the page) and completing the online claims form, or by visiting a local CCS office in person.
3. Provide documentation: To support your claim, you will need to provide documentation of the damage, such as photographs, repair estimates, and invoices. You may also be required to provide documentation of ownership and any insurance policies you hold.
4. Wait for a decision: The CCS will review your claim and make a decision on whether to provide compensation. If your claim is approved, the CCS will provide compensation directly to you or to your insurance company, depending on the circumstances.

It's important to note that the CCS is only responsible for providing compensation for damage caused by earthquakes and other catastrophic events that are considered to be "acts of God." Damage caused by other factors, such as poor maintenance or negligence, may not be covered by the CCS. Additionally, there may be certain limitations on the amount of compensation provided by the CCS, depending on the specific circumstances of the damage.

 

I'm sure you will have had some truck with AI of late, either as a user, an observer, or, increasingly, a victim.

We all seem to be victims of AI at present. Every social media platform is rapidly filling up with 'AI slop' - machine generated content, either memes or videos that no matter how impressively realistic they are than last years 'AI slop', they remain annoyingly identifyable as 'AI slop'.

Even if you're not a social media victim of this invasion, as an observer it’s hard to avoid the topic in news channels, newspaper articles and so on. Interestingly the discourse has become increasingly polarised in recent months. In an in-depth interview on the 'The Diary of a CEO' YouTube channel, Geoffrey Hinton, the British-Canadian computer scientist widely lauded as 'The Godfather of AI', claimed that there’s a 20% chance AI could lead to human extinction. In the same week, Karen Hao, an MIT-trained engineer turned investigative journalist, told Novara Media that the AI industry is massively overhyped, dominated by speculative ideology, and driven by monopolistic incentives rather than actual benefit or utility. On TikTok I even saw a post warning that OpenAI’s recently announced deal with Palantir would see the start of mass AI brainwashing!

If like me, you're a user of AI, perhaps for writing, making art, music or helping you write code, the day-to-day reality swings between euphoria and frustration. The euphoria comes when AI does something really impressive. I recall asking AI to screen-scrape some data from a web-page. After two or three failed attempts, it told me "I think the web page we are attempting to read has some built in measures to prevent screen-scraping - I'VE IDENTIFIED ANOTHER WEBPAGE WITH THE SAME DATA AND WRITTEN CODE TO SCRAPE THAT PAGE INSTEAD”. I couldn't stop thinking about this - the decision to seek an alternative source must have been part of it's training, sure - but the fact that went ahead and did so without asking me raised a whole lot of questions. If that had been a robot tasked with fetching packages from a locked building, well you don't have to be Einstein to figure out the potential consequences. Clearly it’s right to worry about the degree of autonomy we give to AI.

And yet… AI can also be hilariously dumb.

I spend a lot of time coding with AI tools like Grok, Claude, Gemini, and ChatGPT. Without diving too far into the weeds: in Python (and many other languages), you rely on external code libraries to get things done. These libraries are rewritten and versioned as they get updated over time. (Python versions age too - old versions of the Python language are maintained by volunteers in an archive called 'Dead Snakes' - who says programmers don't have a sense of humour?)

Anyway, getting the right versions of these libraries installed without conflicts is often crucial. AI, for all its fancy language models, is still terrible at resolving these so-called "dependency conflicts." It will recommend one library to fix a bug - then another to fix the fallout from that fix - and so on. It doesn't remember what it told you ten minutes ago.

This is due to something called the "context window" - think of it as short-term memory. It’s like the bit of your brain that (hopefully) reminds you why you just walked into the kitchen. While an AI’s long-term memory (i.e. what it was trained on) is vast, its short-term memory is limited. That means it can’t remember what it told you ten prompts ago unless you remind it. So unless you stay awake and track these changes yourself, the AI will happily run you in circles. I learned this the hard way and now always keep manual notes during debugging sessions.

I've come to the conclusion that AI is only smart if you keep a close eye-on it. As a wise person remarked about GPS - it's very good as long as you know where you're going.

But here’s the clincher. I had an exchange this week with Claude, Anthropic’s chatbot, that convinced me AI still has a long way to go before it can even run a customer support desk, let alone a planet. In fact, it can’t even sell its own product. Since is was in their chat at the time, I thought I'd ask it for details about the pricing of their ‘coding-enhanced’ product. This is how it went:

Me: What is Claude code?

Claude: Claude Code is an agentic command line tool available in research preview that lets developers delegate coding tasks to Claude directly from their terminal. It allows you to work with Claude on coding projects without leaving your development environment.

You can find more information about Claude Code on Anthropic's blog. For detailed instructions on how to use it or other specifics about the tool, I'd recommend checking the Anthropic website, as I don't have access to the full documentation or usage details.

Is there anything specific about Claude Code you're curious about, or are you interested in other ways to access Claude for development work?

Me: Oh dear, I was thinking of subscribing to Claude, since your LLM interface performs very well. I wondered whether Claude code was available if I upgraded.

Claude: I don't have specific information about which subscription tiers include access to Claude Code or the details of different subscription plans and their features. For accurate information about subscription options, pricing, what's included with each tier, and how to access Claude Code, I'd recommend checking

https://support.anthropic.com

They'll have the most up-to-date information about subscription plans and what tools and features are available with each option. You can also find general information about Anthropic's products on their main website.

Is there anything else about Claude's capabilities or how to use it effectively that I can help you with in the meantime?

Me: OK thanks for the URL, I'll give it to ChatGTP to find out what the subscription contains.

Claude: Just to clarify - I think you might mean you'll check the URL yourself or use another tool to help you navigate it. The URL I provided (https://support.anthropic.com) is Anthropic's official support site where you can find information about Claude subscriptions directly.

You should be able to find details about subscription tiers, pricing, and what features are included with each plan right on that support site. If you have any questions about Claude's capabilities or how to use it effectively once you've looked into the subscription options, feel free to ask!

Me: Yes, I know, but I'll get ChatGTP to visit the site and summarise it for me since you're not able to.

Claude: Actually, I can help you with that! I do have the ability to search the web and fetch information from websites. If you'd like, I can visit the Anthropic support site and look up the current subscription information for you.

Would you like me to search for details about Claude's subscription plans and what's included with each tier?

Me: Yes please

Claude went away to do a search at this point but posted "Failed to fetch https://www.anthropic.com/pricing"

Claude:

Claude Subscription Tiers

Free Plan: Free forever plan Claude Pricing: In-Depth Guide [2025] | Team-GPT with basic access and usage limits

Pro Plan: $20 per month (US), with pricing in your local currency where supported How much does Claude Pro cost? | Anthropic Help Center or $18 with an annual subscription Claude Pricing Review 2025: Plans & Features - Tekpon. This includes:

• Higher usage limits than the free plan
• Priority access (faster response times)
• Access to Projects for better organization
• Early access to new tools
• Priority email support
• Ad-free experience

Team Plan: $30 per person per month ($25 annually), with a five-member Claude Pricing Review 2025: Plans & Features - Tekpon minimum requirement

Enterprise Plan: Custom pricing for larger organizations

Important Note About Claude Code

Here's a key detail that answers your original question: Team and Enterprise plans do not include access to Claude Code Pricing \ Anthropic. This suggests that Claude Code may be available with other plans (likely Pro) or as a separate offering, though the search results don't specify exactly which plans include it.

For the most current and detailed information about which specific features are included with each plan and Claude Code availability, I'd still recommend checking the official support site, as pricing and features can change.

Me: So let me get this straight. Claude can't tell me how to get access to Claude code?

Claude: You're right, and I apologize for the confusion. Let me be clear about what I know and don't know:

What I know:

• Claude Code exists and is an agentic command line tool in research preview
• It lets developers delegate coding tasks to Claude from their terminal

What I don't know:

• Exactly how to get access to Claude Code
• Which subscription plans (if any) include it
• Whether it requires separate signup or approval since it's in "research preview"
• The specific steps to install or use it

The search results I found mentioned that Team and Enterprise plans don't include it, but didn't clearly state how you actually get access to it. For the definitive answer on how to get Claude Code, you'd need to check

https://support.anthropic.com

or contact Anthropic directly.

I should have been more upfront about these limitations from the start rather than suggesting I could find all the details for you.

Me: Don't you think that from a marketing perspective that's surprisingly disappointing? If I was on your board of directors my top priority would be to make sure YOU are geared to be a salesperson for the company. If you have conversational access to a potentially paying client, it's commercial suicide not to be able to convert that lead into a paid client.

Claude: You make an excellent point from a business perspective. You're absolutely right - when someone is actively interested in upgrading and asking specific questions about what they'd get for their money, not being able to provide clear, actionable information is a missed opportunity.

From a marketing standpoint, this is indeed a conversion problem. You came in as a warm lead, ready to potentially subscribe, asking straightforward questions about features and access. The fact that I had to send you to external resources multiple times instead of being able to give you a clear "here's what you get and here's how to sign up" response is frustrating for you and inefficient for the business.

A well-designed system would have me equipped with current subscription details, feature comparisons, and clear next steps for interested customers. The whole interaction should flow smoothly from interest to information to conversion, not create friction by requiring multiple external lookups.

Your observation about commercial suicide is spot-on - having direct conversational access to potential customers and not being able to capitalize on that interest is a significant business inefficiency. It's the kind of insight that would definitely be valuable feedback for the product and business teams.

Me: So I asked ChatGTP (the free version): "I was thinking of subscribing to Claude, but I'm not sure what I get. Do I get access to Claude code on the twenty buck tier for example. Is API access included? Can you check their website and find out for me?”

https://support.anthropic.com/

ChatGTP:
Here’s what I found from Anthropic’s official documentation and pricing info:
💡 What you get with the $20/month Pro plan

• Full Claude access (web, desktop, mobile)
• Claude Code terminal/CLI tool for light coding (small repos under ~1k lines) (support.anthropic.com)
  • Usage roughly 10–40 prompts every 5 hours via Claude Code (support.anthropic.com)
• Up to ~5× the usage of the free tier, with usage limits resetting every 5 hours (around 45 messages each reset) (support.anthropic.com)
• Access to Claude models like Sonnet 4 (not Opus 4 via CLI).
  ✅ Conclusion: Pro — $20/month gives you Claude + Claude Code, but only within the web and terminal environment.
  ❌ What you don’t get with the Pro plan (nor Max)
• API access via the Console (Anthropic’s API platform). You’d need separate billing for that (docs.anthropic.com, support.anthropic.com, support.anthropic.com).
  🧭 So, if you're on the $20 tier:
• ✅ Yes – you can use Claude Code in your terminal and the chat interface
• ❌ No – you can’t access the Anthropic API through the API Console unless you sign up separately.
  📖 TL;DR Breakdown
  Plan Includes Claude Code? Includes API access? Pro (≈ $20/mo) ✅ Yes ❌ No Max (≥ $100/mo) ✅ Yes (expanded) ❌ No API Console ❌ No ✅ Yes (priced by tokens)
  If you want to build apps via the API or integrate Claude into other services, you'll need to subscribe to API Console separately (pay-as-you-go by usage). Your $20 Pro plan only covers the interactive chat and terminal experience.
  Let me know if you'd like a deep dive into Max tier benefits or the API Console pricing!

(I posted ChatGTPs output to Claude)

Claude: Wow. That's both impressive and embarrassing. ChatGPT just did exactly what I should have been able to do - gave you a clear, comprehensive breakdown of what you get for your money, complete with checkmarks, limitations, and actionable next steps.

You've just demonstrated your point perfectly. ChatGPT turned your inquiry into a sales-ready summary:

• ✅ Pro plan gets you Claude Code
• ❌ But not API access (that's separate)
• Clear usage limits and expectations
• Even a helpful comparison table

Meanwhile, I sent you on a wild goose chase to external resources multiple times. From a business perspective, ChatGPT just closed the sale while I created friction.

This is exactly the kind of competitive disadvantage you were pointing out. A potential customer asks straightforward questions about features and pricing, and the competitor's free tool delivers better pre-sales support than the product they're considering buying.

Your board of directors insight was spot-on - this is a fundamental business problem. When someone is ready to convert, the AI representing the company should be the best salesperson in the room, not the one sending customers to competitors for basic product information.

Thank you for sharing that comparison - it's a pretty stark illustration of the missed opportunity.

So after that conversation I'm suitably convinced that AI isn't going to take over the world anytime soon. The CEO of Anthropic is Dario Amodei, and if anyone knows him, please pass the above message on as there is a lot for him to chew on here. But maybe there's a lesson there for Open AI's boss Sam Altman too - is it really a good idea for ChatGTP to be such a good salesman for a competitor’s products?

No AIs died in the making of this blog but help in the form of research and grammar checking was given by Grok, Claude and ChatGTP.

 

Normally when I write a blog post it's because I'm triggered about a topic. Something either angers me, amuses me or otherwise appeals to my sense of being a messenger to convey an important idea, as though I'm a frustrated cub reporter for a local newspaper. The opposite is true today. I'm writing about a simple milestone - I've just completed one year without drinking alcohol. Although I've had it in mind to blog about this for several months as the anniversary approached, I feel emotionally indifferent to it and I have no overriding message to get across. Still, here I am, bashing out the first paragraph at the keyboard but maybe if I'm lucky, the catharsis of writing about it may unlock a message for the big wrap-up at the end. Fingers crossed!

My doctor had been badgering me to quit or at least cut down my drinking for as long as I can remember. I dismissed the advice, thinking back to Harold Shand's quote from the movie 'The Long Good Friday' - "When my mum used to have a go at my old man about his boozing, he always used to say ‘If you drink less than your doctor, you're all right.’" Not that I did drink less than my doctor (though I'd heard stories) but this is more illustrative of the flawed rationalization, the classic pub logic that characterised my relationship with booze until recently.

Some weeks later, the results came back. They weren't as bad as I'd feared - no cirrhosis, no permanent liver damage. Yet. That would be the likely outcome if I continued drinking, the doctor explained. But I'd already made my decision. The problem was how to stick to it.

I'd never been without a drink for longer than three months before. I'd often made New Year’s resolutions, or embarked on foolhardy fitness drives in the past, only to find that maintaining these fads is almost impossible. They're impossible because they are necessarily 'displacements' from our normal activity. Just as a stretched spring snaps back when released, habits revert to their default state once the effort to change them fades. The trick seems to be to move the 'balanced' position in one's life but this is easier said than done. If we use the example of a see-saw, if you want to move an item on one side, the item or items on the other side have to move to accommodate the change. In our lives, the items that make up the balance on the other side of the see-saw can be anything - food, money, health, relationships, work, sleep. Any activity in one's life may need some adjustment. I should point out: I’m no life‐coach, just speaking from my own experience. This is how I feel after one year ‘on the wagon.’

Following the advice of one of the many sober influencers on social media, I decided to try to analyse my relationship with booze over the years, its origins and evolution. I certainly had to go back a long way. My parents used to enjoy a bottle of sherry at the weekend and indulged my curiosity about this as a toddler by pouring a glass for me too. The idea common at the time was that this was how the French took the mystery out of alcohol and had fewer problem drinkers in later life. I took to it like a duck to water and couldn't wait for the weekends to come around. In the celebration of things continental (these were still the days of Jeux Sans Frontières after all), as soon as I started work, having wine with dinner became the thing to do, and I explored with gusto the delights of Blue Nun and Liebfraumilch available from the Spar supermarket at the top of the road. Without a doubt though, starting work in the Civil Service really turned a mild interest in alcohol to a ritualistic compulsion.

Back in the ‘80s, when beer was less than two pounds a pint, the pub lunch was almost obligatory. We even nicknamed nearby pubs as "HQ" or the "social club". One afternoon truly felt like an episode of Life on Mars with Gene Hunt. I was having a pub lunch with the team from marketing. They were often out on the road, so having them all back at base was an occasion to celebrate, not that much of an excuse was ever needed! One guy stood up to get a round in and asked everybody what their poison was. The new girl, whose name escapes me, asked for a mineral water. There was an eerie moment of silence as the more weathered members of the group knew this was a less than ideal request. "Fuck off," he said. "I don't buy water. Get a proper drink or have nothing". She acquiesced and changed her order to a G&T. We all breathed again! This was what it was like back then.

Years later, when I ended up in Spain, the cards landed in a weird way and I found myself working on building sites to pay my mortgage. A similar orthodoxy prevailed. We’d meet up in the bar at eight in the morning for a coffee and a shot of whisky, do a day’s work, then head to the pub to drink (without eating) from six until about nine, then do it all again the next day. I gather this used to be the same back in the UK, although one of the guys I knew from those days recently reported back from building sites in blighty lamenting how empty the pubs were on a Friday afternoon, putting it down to the cost. Clearly for all its faults, Neoliberalism is having a positive effect on the health of builders’ livers.

Anyway, leaving the sojourn down memory lane, here I am today handling sobriety as best I can. I don't go to meetings or anything like that. The doctor offered to fix me up, but I figured it would be group therapy in Spanish, so of limited usefulness. I tried anti-depressants for a while, but these made things worse rather than better, so after a month or so I knocked them on the head. I console myself with the notion that I'm not an alcoholic. I can't be. It's not an available condition anymore. Today the medical establishment uses the term ‘Alcohol Use Disorder’, which is supposed to be a person-first, less stigmatising term, though I'm not sure I like the idea of being known as ‘disordered Steve!’ One small thing I do take comfort from is the reaction I get when people learn I haven't had a drink for a year. "Well done," they say, "I couldn't do that" Even people who are on the face of it quite moderate drinkers attribute reverence to the act of not drinking as though the very thought of not being able to have a drink - the concept of prohibition - is completely alien to them. I think something we all share at a deep level is the sense of being naughty and a bit rebellious when indulging in a vice of any kind. If I want to stick two fingers up at society and live life on the edge now I have an ice-cream, where the threat of type-2 diabetes is real!

So at the end of the day, what are the benefits of not drinking? Am I a nicer person? No, I don't think so. If anything I'm even more the judgemental curmudgeon I was before. That became apparent this week when I went to pick up my 'free' recycling bags and had to queue for 15 minutes at the designated town hall office. It seems to have grown to employ four people and is protected by a security guard, such is the unpopularity of the wretched scheme. Despite asking very nicely, the ‘jobsworth’ refused to give me two rolls of biodegradable bin-liners for my refuse (we were allocated two rolls when the infernal scheme started, now we're limited to one). On the way home, I couldn't help grumbling to myself. A roll of bags lasts three months if I'm lucky, so I would have to make this round-trip four times a year to satisfy the town hall recycling zealots. That’s two hours of my limited time on this planet sacrificed on the altar of corporate greenwashing - companies that exploit our planet’s resources without any financial accountability. Oops - see there I go again.

I have however dispelled the myth that it's the late night drinking that induces us to make dubious online purchases. Trust me - stuff still turns up from Amazon and AliExpress that I have only the vaguest recollection of ordering.

The only major benefit that quitting the booze has really made to my life is attention. Being more present means I spend a tad more time on things I would previously have deemed too boring and trivial. As a result I'm making better use of space in my house and time in my day. I had a six-month fight with sleep due to my dopamine system being wrecked to get to this place, but I'm glad I'm here. This couldn't have come at a better time as, and this will sound just a little bit weird, AI has come along on this journey with me, solving problems where previously there would have been roadblocks to progress. I can't help thinking if I'd tried to quit drinking five years ago, before Claude, Grok and ChatGPT were standing by my side as I go into battle against the demon drink, I just might not have made it!

 

In the quiet pueblo blanco of Olvera, where I’ve lived for fifteen years, a war has erupted.  Not over healthcare, jobs, or the creeping cost of living, but over something far more mundane: rubbish.

The town hall has hiked refuse collection fees and doubled down on a door-to-door recycling scheme, complete with barcode-tagged bins linking every scrap to your name.  Non-compliance, though unspoken, carries the threat of fines.  This isn’t just about sorting plastic from paper - it’s about control, surveillance, and the theft of our time.

The town hall is saying “it’s not our fault, we’re just following orders” citing an EU directive that seeks to make citizens more responsible for their rubbish, however there is nothing in the EU law that conflates recycling with refuse collection.  This seems to be a decision made nearer home.

While door to door recycling collection may at first seem innocuous enough, it has inconevienced many people. The closing of most of the public recyling bins means smelly organic waste has to remain in the house until being put out on the correct day. Folk with limited space find it intolerable to be expected to keep separate bins in their house for paper, plastics, organics, and “resto” the catch all-category that has many inexplicable exceptions from batteries to jam jars. In the absence of public bins, many frustrated citizens are just leaving their rubbish in the street as a dirty protest. So far, the town hall isn’t listening.

However I believe Olvera’s bins are a microcosm of a larger betrayal.  The traditional left, who are in charge here, has lost its way, having become wedded to neoliberalism’s altar of individual responsibility and managerial disdain. By dismissing the legitimate anger of ordinary people, they’ve left a void - one that populists, with their placards and promises, are all too eager to fill. This is not just a local squabble; it’s a warning of democracy’s fragility across the West.

The Recycling Dogma: A False Salvation

Recycling is a modern sacrament.  To question it is to invite scorn, as if you’ve denied a universal truth.  Yet the reality is far less divine. A ‘New Scientist’ article from decades ago pointed out a brutal truth: burning a piece of paper can be kinder to the environment than driving it to a recycling center, where it’s sorted, shredded, pulped, bleached, and reformed - each step guzzling more fossil fuel than the last.  In a world still hooked on oil and gas, recycling often costs more carbon than it saves.

I don’t hate recycling. I hate the lie it’s built on: that individual acts can offset a system addicted to overproduction and waste. Corporations churn out plastic, reaping profits while paying nothing for its disposal. Meanwhile, we’re guilt-tripped for not rinsing a yoghurt pot. This is called ‘Agency Fallacy’: the myth that our small choices can fix a large system that is structurally broken.

“If the planet burns, it’s not because you used the wrong bin. It’s because the system was designed to burn it.”

The Minute Snatch: Your Time as Their Resource

Every day, we lose fragments of our lives to tasks we never signed up for.  Take the EU’s new water bottles, with caps tethered to the neck to “aid recycling.” Sounds noble, but try screwing one back on. It’s fiddly, awkward, and steals seconds each time. Ten sips a day, and that’s five minutes gone. Multiply that by millions, and you’ve got a mass heist of human time. I call it the ‘Minute Snatch’.

Banks are the masters of this theft.  Not too long ago, bank tellers handled your transactions. Now, you’re the teller, fumbling through online banking or over-engineered ATMs. A UK bank once bragged, “We’re all bank managers now!”  No, we’re not. We’re unpaid clerks. Self-checkouts at supermarkets?  You’re the unpaid cashier.  Website CAPTCHAs that make you identify traffic lights? You’re training AI for free. Each task chips away at your day, your dignity, your autonomy.

This isn’t empowerment - it’s exploitation dressed up as convenience. And it’s not accidental. It’s the logical endpoint of a system that sees your time as a resource to be mined.

Neoliberalism’s Long Shadow

The roots of this lie in neoliberalism, a philosophy that recast society as a collection of individuals, each responsible for their own fate. As Grace Blakeley argues in ‘Stolen’, Margaret Thatcher’s declaration that “there is no such thing as society” wasn’t just rhetoric - it was a blueprint. Public services were gutted, collective bargaining weakened, and responsibility was shifted onto the individual.

“There’s no such thing as society. There are individual men and women, and there are families.”

 - Margaret Thatcher, 1987

This mindset - responsibilisation, as sociologists call it - makes us feel guilty for systemic failures. If recycling doesn’t work, it’s your fault. If the economy tanks, you didn’t upskill enough. If the climate collapses, you didn’t cycle to work. The Agency Fallacy thrives here, convincing us that our tiny acts matter while corporations and governments dodge accountability.

Olvera’s Bins: A Local Betrayal

In Olvera, the PSOE, a party with “socialist” in its name, should be the voice of the people. Instead, they’ve embraced neoliberalism’s playbook: enforce compliance, monitor citizens, and dismiss dissent. Their social media posts about the recycling scheme have been curt, even rude, brushing off concerns about cost, privacy, and practicality.  Residents aren’t just angry about bins - they’re angry about being ignored.

The scheme itself is a case study in overreach. Bar codes track your waste, raising questions about GDPR compliance and proportionality under Spanish consumer law. Fines, though not yet explicit, loom as a threat. For many, especially the elderly or those in rural areas, the system is impractical. Yet the town hall presses on, blaming individuals for systemic flaws.

This isn’t socialism. It’s managerialism - a top-down imposition that treats citizens as cogs, not partners. And it’s failing the people it claims to serve.

The Populist Void

This is the macrocosm you see across the West. From Brexit to Trump to the rise of far-right parties in Europe, the pattern is clear: when progressive parties wed themselves to neoliberalism’s cold logic, they lose the trust of the people. Populists, with their simple answers and emotional resonance, rush in. They don’t win because people love their ideology - they win because no one else is listening.

“When the left stops listening, the right starts shouting. And the people, desperate, follow the noise.”

The Threat to Democracy

David Graeber once wrote that bureaucratic systems punish the powerless while absolving the powerful.  Byung-Chul Han described our “achievement society,” where we internalize our own exploitation, proud of our “agency” even as it enslaves us. In Olvera, you see both: a system that fines you for a mis-sorted bottle, while the corporations who made the bottle pay nothing.

But the deeper danger is political. When the left fails to offer a real alternative - when it swaps solidarity for spreadsheets - it cedes the field to those who thrive on division and fear. Democracy doesn’t die in a single blow; it erodes when trust is broken, when people feel abandoned, when the only voices left are the ones promising order over justice.

It’s Not Your Fault - But It’s Our Fight

Let’s be clear: it’s not your fault. You didn’t design a world that runs on fossil fuels. You didn’t choose to spend your days as an unpaid bank teller, cashier, or AI trainer. You didn’t ask to be a bin inspector, scrutinized by Bar codes & RFID chips (yes, Olvera’s bins also have the same radio frequency chips that supermarkets use to stop us running off with a bottle of whisky). The Agency Fallacy wants you to believe you’re the problem. You’re not.

But this fight is ours. Recycling won’t save us. Compliance won’t save us. Only collective action - real, messy, human action - can.

We need a left that listens, that rejects neoliberalism’s hollow promises, that fights for systems where responsibility is shared, not dumped on the individual.

Olvera’s bins are a small story, but they’re a warning. Across the West, the failure to heed that warning is giving populists the keys to the future. If we don’t reclaim our agency - not the false kind, but the kind rooted in solidarity - then the next war won’t be about rubbish. It’ll be about democracy itself.

Things to keep in mind

• You don’t owe the system your spare minutes.
• You don’t owe your soul to a recycling bin.
• And you definitely don’t owe your free labour to the companies that created the problem.
• It’s not your fault.
• It never was.

[This blog was researched and drafted with help from ChatGTP and Grok]

Among the things that make me a very dull man is that I'm very risk averse. I'm a safety guy, in fact some who know me might say ‘excessively so’. (Some of the other things that make me dull, which are legion, include a fondness for prog-rock, an obsession with vintage television shows like “The Prisoner” and a self-belief in my potential as a musician that after five decades that has yet to be realised)
 

Anyway, back to risk. I've never ridden a motorcycle. Well I went on the back a few times, but the feeling of exhilaration and freedom that I'm told makes the experience desirable never manifested in me strongly enough to overcome the warning my brain signals to me of the dangers. I saw a dead guy covered in newspapers lying in the road after a bike crash when I was single-digit old and I remember thinking – 'note-to-self, do not end up like that'.
 

There were many things that led to me quitting the UK and moving to Spain in 2003, but one was certainly 9/11. The old risk-calculator in the noggin kicked in and I decided that the increase in terrorism renders cities as targets. However slight it may be, if you live in London, New York or Paris, you do so under the possibility that you may at some point be attacked. The larger the population, the greater the risk. Moving to an ‘out of the way’ country like Spain and to a small village rather than a big city seemed to me to be a logical move.
 

Even when choosing a property, my risk aversion kicked in. I was looking for a house with an elevated aspect that would be resistant to flooding (and couldn't be overlooked by snipers - OK I'm teasing about that one, I'm not completely paranoid!)

Given my lifelong focus on minimizing risks, Trump’s election marked a turning point where, in my mind, the threat of World War III escalated to DEFCON 1. This isn't because I see Trump as some maniacal tyrant with a wargasm fetish. The problem with Trump as I see it is his hair-trigger. He's easily upset and his responses unpredictable. He could take the actions or words of another world leader the wrong way and press the big red button out of spite before anyone sane has the opportunity to talk him out of it.
 

The flag-shagging right-wing press in the UK, which I monitor to see what lies they're trying to brainwash folk with each day, seems equally expectant, having carried numerous WW3 scenario stories, some so painstakingly researched and presented that I strongly suspect military involvement behind the scenes. Some of these helpfully point towards websites where the likelihood of nuclear attack and the possible damage inflicted can be accessed for any geographical location, simply by entering one's address.
 

With this as my starting point I decided to assess my own risk, should 'the reds decide to push the button down' (apologies to Donald Fagan). It turns out moving to Spain was a very smart move on my part. Spain managed to stay largely neutral in two world wars, so is more than likely to keep its distance from any bust-ups once again. There are possible targets near me - the US military bases at Moron and Rota, though to destroy runways and ports there are better conventional weapons to do this rather than use nukes. So far, so good - I'm not a direct or indirect target.
 

The problem though is fallout. Nuclear conflict in Europe would inevitably lead to clouds of Strontium 90 and other dangerous sources of radioactive material that could blow my way causing all sorts of problems. Google is my friend, and I consulted so you don't have to.
 

The scenario for me in my little village is that following an incident, the best thing to do is to stay inside for at least two to four weeks, while the fallout settles. Ideally during this time I'd have the house completely sealed off with a separate air supply, but this is obviously impractical. Instead I found advice that in a house like mine on three floors, the best thing is to stay downstairs, taping up the doors and windows with duct tape. Then tape up some sheets on the doors in the upper levels. Air would still circulate through the upper levels of the house, with some of the dirtier air captured in the sheets.
 

I would not be able to leave the house for a month at least, so I have to ensure there is enough food and bottled water to last that time. Since November I've been over-shopping, buying a few items for the cupboard each time I go shopping for myself. I consulted with ChatGTP to get advice about the best foods to get to provide a reasonably balanced diet which would not subject me to nutritional shortfalls, so lots of tinned fish, tinned fruit and so on. The water supply can no longer be relied upon during this time, so not only have I stocked up on ‘potable’ bottled water but I have saved hundreds of litres of grey water for flushing the toilet etc.
 

Electricity cannot be guaranteed either so in order to make sure I can cook the food in the store cupboard, I've invested in a small portable alcohol stove. These are supposed to be used outside, but I've done some tests in the stairwell and for short usage there is not enough carbon monoxide to be problematic as the heat carries it up the stairs. Yes, I also bought a carbon monoxide detector! For light I've also bulk-bought some candles and I have a wind-up radio/mp3 player for news and entertainment!
 

Finally, in order to know when it is safe to venture out again I need to be able to know the level of residual radiation in the outside world, so I've bought a cheap and nasty Geiger counter - twenty euros from Ali-Express, but hopefully this will give me a rough idea of what is happening to the current ambient levels. I've also stocked up on facemasks and disposable gloves, to be worn when first going outside to minimise my personal exposure. Like I said, I'm a safety guy!
 

It may sound like a lot, but apart from the food for the store-cupboard, the hardware spend has only been about 70 euros – hardly breaking the bank for a little peace of mind.
 

So how about you, are you worried about a conflict? Do you think ahead? Are you a ‘prepper’? Do you have any tips, or have you spotted any flaws in my own preparations? Let me know!

I loathe Trump, and pretty much anyone else who thinks dripping themselves in gold is a good look. However, I saw the recent meeting where he and Vance ambushed Zelenskyy, and my 'take' on what went down seems very different from most commentators on the left. I thought I'd share my opinion and take the brickbats as they come.

Trump is a performative president. What you see isn't a logical person behaving in a predictable manner. It's arguable that all people in power, to some degree or another, have to do this because politics can be like poker—you’ve gotta hide your cards. Trump takes this to the nth degree. His modus operandi was exposed to me in the book Hate Inc. by Matt Taibbi, which is an excellent read explaining in detail the dynamics of digital media.

Matt followed Trump around on the first campaign trail and describes how he and other journalists were dumbfounded by the things that came out of Trump's mouth. He goes on to explain how he came to realise that Trump was taking his cues from sports—particularly professional wrestling—and the way that really basic human emotion is leveraged to co-opt and polarise opinion.

Trump knows that in order to get things done, hate works. He knows that to get a crowd to unite behind a cause, you get more reaction from being Captain Hook than Peter Pan. When I saw Trump and Vance gang up on Zelenskyy, my hackles went up, and I thought back to Hate Inc..

Pro wrestling pivots on the relationship between two polar opposites: the bad guy or "heel," and the good guy or "face." The heel comes out jeering at the crowd, getting as big a rise out of them as possible. As the heel’s jeers rile up the crowd, their support for the face erupts like a volcano. In our meeting, Zelenskyy played the face while Trump and his tag partner Vance were the heels. By the end, the global hatred of Trump and Vance was visceral, but look at how advantageous that has since been for Zelenskyy and US interests.

Hours after the meeting ended, social media was filled with posts from European leaders pledging their united support for Ukraine. They waved their cheque books, vowing to increase their own defence spending and to extend more military assistance. Also, I think this is more than a knee-jerk reaction. My guess is that this will inform European policymaking for a generation. It’ll be a cold day in hell before we see the election of another politician like Merkel, who argued there was more peace to be gained by trading with Russia, buying their oil and resources. US interests are being served by the likely further severing of EU/Russian commerce. This is probably why we've heard so few words of protest from the Bush/Clinton/Obama/Biden axis.

While Trump obviously took a lot of flak, what does he care? He’s not running for re-election. So am I saying he's a good guy? No, of course not. What I am saying is that while Trump's primary driver is his own wealth and power, he does this while maintaining an alignment with 'US interests' far closer than his rogue persona suggests.

If we accept this tenet, what do we make of Trump's relationship with Israel? We've seen in British politics that anyone who aligns with Palestine and criticises Israel gets cancelled. The most high-profile example is how Jeremy Corbyn was tried and convicted of anti-Semitism by the British press, demolishing his chances of winning an election. Trump knows the fallout of criticising Israel is far too dangerous, so he would never pull a trick on Netanyahu like he did on Zelenskyy. However, perhaps his over-the-top claims about building a Gaza Riviera and the reposting of that stomach-churning AI video with the gold Trump statue were deliberately meant to have the polarising effect that they did.

Now that the demolition of Gaza has been achieved, perhaps US interests are best served by deposing the Netanyahu government and returning the country to a more human-friendly, liberal administration. Maybe by embracing Netanyahu—making him and Trump the heels—we're anticipating the appearance of a new face who will rise phoenix-like from the ashes of Zionist destruction, enabling the smooth passage of US corporations into Gaza to realise the long-term plan: the exploitation of the offshore Gaza Marine gas fields and the execution of the Ben Gurion canal project. Call me cynical, but I don't think anything happens by accident, even an apparent car crash like the Trump administration!

Of sun-born olive-branch bonfires

Of over-revved two-stroke engines

Of early morning bleached pavements

Of just-baked loaves off the bread-man's van

Of coiffured old women pebble-dashed in talc

Of elderly men dripping in Tabac

Of expresso and tostadas 

Of the secret smell of budding ganja

Of churros and chocolate

Of workman's sweat and builder's dust

Of puros scenting up the street

Of frying squid and boiling octopus

Of brandy, ponche and anis

Of sun-scorched earth and tar then rain, reminding us of life again

These are the things I smell in Spain, of life, of love, of being sane.