A load of crystal balls

I think it's fair to say I'm not a morning person - though if the Mail is to be believed (as ever, a very big 'if'), I am certainly not alone.

And, as I try to work up the resolve to face the day, there is one thing that is guaranteed to put me in a bad mood; premature prognostication.

The BBC's lamentable habit of regurgitating political party press releases as news is bad enough, but there is an irritating tendency for this to stray into the world of predicting the future:

Ed Miliband will acknowledge... He will emphasise... But he will also say...
Among his proposals will be...

The piece from the Today programme and the BBC website quoted at OoL by the Quiet Man, who has much to say on the actual content of the speech, is typical of the practice.

I'm sure Mr Miliband intends to say these things, and that his autocue is primed and ready, but who can really say that he will?

Those of a religious persuasion often formally acknowledge this uncertainty; the interjections 'deo volente' or 'insh'Allah' exist because of a long-standing and widespread acknowledgement that no one can say for certain that something will definitely happen.

Whether you attribute it to chance or divine intervention, it seems somehow arrogant to ignore the possibility of illness, say, or a traffic jam or - admittedly a long shot - a meteor strike, as if your certainty guarantees that the described event will take place.

It's a subject that has been aired here before (see Mystic Ed and his Crystal Balls) and, since it springs from the arrogance of the BBC and the political machinations of spin doctors, will doubtless surface again (and again, and again....).

Labour's Seaside Manifesto - blink and you'll miss it!

Yesterday afternoon, this bizarrely-titled document was appearing in media reports - by evening, there was scarcely a mention. Did they think better of it? Where did it go? Or was it just killed off by the British weather - the planned photo-ops of Brown surrounded by happy families eating ice-cream failing to materialise.

Still, it seems only right to commemorate it in song...




Seaside Manifesto

Seaside, while the media stroll along with me
I'm busy showing them that right is on my side;
See how I’ve teamed up with Duncan Bannatyne?
(You know you’d like to criticise but you can't)
So I’m campaigning madly,
Would town regeneration make you vote for me gladly?
A brand new angle in every marginal
Seaside rendezvous.

I’m getting frantic, three days left to campaign,
So it's Seaside manifesto time - you’ll like it,
It’s fantastic, you can be an entrepreneur,
And there are neighbourhood agreements,
Heritage programmes
And rebuilt piers - it's so fashionable!

**********

And so Great Yarmouth, where I am today
Visiting with Duncan here,
In a renaissance
Will be the Riviera of the North Sea
With just some regeneration and some government cash
If you all vote for me.

So we’re here at the seaside
For a photo opportunity
Maybe things’ll work out right
See how I’m posing with Duncan Bannatyne
In search of some reflected glory from the man?
Though maybe deep down we know
The public’s had enough of us and yearn to see me go
There’s still a place for Labour’s sensational
Seaside manifest-o – it’s adorable
Seaside manifest-o–o-o
Seaside manifest-o, give us a kiss!



http://www2.labour.org.uk/labour-launches-seaside-manifesto,2010-05-03

The Rise of the Machines

Warfare 101: "Let's keep our guys safe, and kill the enemy."

At least that 's the definition inspiring Bob Quinn of robot manufacturer QinetiQ in his aim to delegate the whole messy business to a bunch of robots.

There's something distinctly unsettling about the idea of a battlefield where lethal robots eliminate each other in the name of human ideologies. It's the apotheosis of the arms race, the ultimate Deus ex Machina. We've already visited this territory through the visions of countless science fiction writers and filmmakers and it's a worrying place to be.

Despite the reassurances of Quinn and his colleagues that humans will retain ultimate control, the processing speed of machines could unleash a counterattack before the operating soldier fully registers the incoming fire. Wait for a human response and you've lost the advantage.

So robot warriors under human control only work against unaided humans; put them up against a similar force and the tiresomely slow human element will soon be removed. The search for advantage will transfer the decision-making to the robots themselves, and thus render it dependent on their programming; and we all know computers never fail, don't we?

Most unsettling of all, perhaps, is the Pentagon's new toy, the EATR. This driverless vehicle can refuel itself in from 'organic matter' scavenged from its surroundings. The interviewer on the Today programme had the same queasy thought as I did and asked the inventor, Dr Robert Finkelstein, whether it might feed on the bodies of fallen soldiers.

Dr Finkelstein reassuringly replied that it would consume "organic material but mostly vegetarian," but then went on to say, "The robot can only do what it's programmed to do, it has a menu."

I'm sure it has; I'm just worried about what - or who - might be on it.

John Humphrys' Crystal Balls

Dear Today programme,

This morning you gave details of Prince Charles' audience with the Pope, (a short lads-only chat before allowing the Duchess and retinue in) even though it had not yet taken place. On several recent occasions, you have announced what such-and-such a politician 'will say in a speech later today'.

Since these events have yet to happen, please explain the clairvoyant devices you employ to be so certain that nothing will prevent, alter or postpone them. Granted, you have a copy of the Prince's itinerary, or the politician's press release, but how do you know? The royals might get stuck in traffic, the MP could pull a sickie, an asteroid might impact and end the world as we know it.

Oh, and while we're about it, please try to do something about your habit of spinning out news headlines, as in 'The teenager missing for three weeks following a coach crash during a school trip to the Australian outback which resulted in three deaths has been found....'

'No man is an island'; by the time you get round to telling me whether the child is alive or dead, I've been holding my breath for 30 seconds. Forget this Germanic obsession with placing the verb at the end of the sentence; for goodness' sake, put yourselves in the position of the listener, and give us the crucial information as soon as possible!

Thank you, that feels a lot better.