Technological Revolutions

Throughout history, technological revolutions have been both a boon and a burden for the average person. Each major shift, from the Industrial Revolution to the digital age, has left a legacy of profound change, reshaping societies, economies, and individual lives. The balance of benefits and costs has always depended on how these changes were managed and distributed, but often, those who hold the reins of power – be it the wealthy, corporations, or governments – have had a significant role in determining who benefits and who bears the costs.

 

On the positive side, technological advancements have consistently improved quality of life in many areas. The Industrial Revolution, for example, introduced mass production, drastically reducing the cost of goods and making them accessible to a broader population. Items that were once luxuries, such as textiles and tools, became everyday commodities. Similarly, medical breakthroughs, like the discovery of antibiotics and the development of vaccines, have saved countless lives and extended human lifespans. More recently, the digital revolution has brought access to information, education, and communication to billions of people worldwide, breaking down barriers that once seemed insurmountable.

However, these benefits have often come at a cost. Technological change frequently disrupts established ways of life, displacing jobs and skills that were once essential. The mechanisation of agriculture, for instance, rendered many traditional farming roles obsolete, forcing workers to adapt to industrial jobs in urban centres. Today, automation and artificial intelligence continue this trend, threatening employment in manufacturing and service sectors. These transitions often widen gaps in wealth and power, as those with capital and education are better positioned to reap the rewards of innovation, leaving others to grapple with uncertainty and economic instability.

This imbalance between the wealthy and the average person isn’t just a byproduct of technological progress - it’s often a direct result of how technological change is managed. The wealthy, or those in positions of power, often have a disproportionate influence over the development and distribution of new technologies. In many cases, the benefits of innovation are concentrated in the hands of the few, while the broader population may face job displacement, reduced wages, or less economic opportunity. The concentration of power in both government and corporate sectors – many of which are heavily influenced by wealth – means that the average person often bears the brunt of the disruptions caused by these technological revolutions.

The government’s role in managing these transitions is critical, yet often falls short. Politicians, who are sometimes swayed by corporate interests or wealthy donors, may fail to implement policies that ensure a fair distribution of the benefits of technology. Tax policies, labour laws, and regulations often favour large corporations and the rich, while working people struggle to keep up. This imbalance is exacerbated by the growing influence of money in politics, which makes it harder for ordinary people to advocate for their interests.

While technological progress can indeed improve life for many, it requires active intervention – often through political engagement and the collective efforts of workers, unions, and civil society. But as the influence of the wealthy over both politics and markets continues to grow, achieving a more equitable distribution of these benefits becomes more challenging. Without a concerted effort to demand fairness and inclusivity, those in power will continue to shape technological change in ways that preserve their own advantage, leaving the average person to navigate the consequences.

Ultimately, the distribution of the benefits of technological revolutions hinges on society’s willingness to hold those in power accountable. This requires a collective effort, not just from governments, but from the public, to ensure that progress benefits everyone – not just the privileged few. The path to a more equitable future is fraught with challenges, but by pushing for sustainable, inclusive policies and practices, we can strive to create a future where innovation is not just a tool for profit, but a means of improving the lives of all people.

Climate Change

I forgot to mention something yesterday about our day trip to Crickhowell on Friday - we saw daffodils in bloom and they'd obviously been out for over a week.

Of course, there's no such thing as Global Warming.....

Daffodils blooming in December is an unusual sight – hinting at the unseasonal warmth or climate fluctuations we've been experiencing. Traditionally a harbinger of spring, their early appearance disrupts the natural rhythm of the seasons – raising questions about how nature is adapting or struggling to the shifting environment. While their bright yellow flowers might bring cheer to a bleak winter's day in Crickhowell, they also serve as a subtle reminder of the changes in our world.

Crickhowell

On Friday, we embarked on a pilgrimage to Crickhowell, a gem tucked away in the Brecon Beacons. Our first encounter with this delightful town was during a 2015 canal boat holiday along the serene Brecon & Monmouth Canal. Crickhowell has a unique character – it feels like a quaint piece of England transported into the Welsh countryside, with a notable distinction: it holds the record for the lowest percentage of Welsh speakers in Wales. It’s a haven of sorts for English retirees, who lend it an atmosphere of quiet contentment.

For Hay, the highlight is an outdoor clothing shop that specialises in proper, no-nonsense gear – the kind that stands up to the unpredictable weather of the Brecons. Unlike the fashion-driven options you find online, this shop delivers function over flair. For me, the draw lies just a few doors away, at a garage with an ever-changing display of motorcycles. Whether vintage classics or modern marvels, there’s always something in the window to stir the imagination.

The Bull Inn is another staple of our visits, especially at Christmas. Its festive decor is legendary, transforming the pub into a glowing wonderland that wouldn’t be out of place on the cover of a Dickensian novel. The warmth inside, with its roaring fires and local ales, makes it hard to leave.

Of course, Crickhowell’s crown jewel is the bridge over the River Usk. With origins dating back to the 1530s, it has witnessed centuries of history, evolving with each rebuild until it reached its present form in 1706. The bridge’s low arches frame the river in a way that feels timeless, reflecting the surrounding hills and, on a still day, the sky itself.

History seeps from from every corner of the town. The remains of the Norman motte-and-bailey castle are a poignant reminder of a bygone era. Once a formidable stronghold, it was later rebuilt in stone during medieval times but has since surrendered to the elements, leaving behind atmospheric ruins that invite exploration.

For those with a curious eye, Crickhowell rewards with unexpected treasures. Independent shops and galleries line the narrow streets, offering everything from handcrafted gifts to artisan foods. The town’s café culture is thriving, with snug spots serving up homemade cakes and coffee. Its charm lies in its contrasts – a place steeped in history, yet vibrantly alive through a community drive to encourage independent shops. 

A Slight Mistruth

Sajid Javid, the former Conservative Minister, guest edited the Today Programme on Radio 4 yesterday.

In one section he was taking to school children about AI and mentioned that he is a farmer, a statement he may come to regret. Sajid Javid’s claim of having been a "farmer" is technically misleading, given that his role has been that of a landowner leasing his property to working farmers. 

This distinction carries important implications for his views on Inheritance Tax. As a landowner, Javid may be more inclined to advocate for policies that reduce IHT burdens for those who own agricultural land, potentially at the expense of more active, working farmers. 

As the debate around IHT continues, it is essential to consider how the interests of landowners and working farmers might differ, and how policy changes could affect both groups in different ways.

The Clootie Dumpling

This Christmas we dispensed with the traditional Christmas pudding and had a clootie dumpling.

The clootie dumpling - a dessert so Scottish it practically sings Auld Lang Syne as it steams. Forget the over-hyped, fire hazard that is the Christmas pudding; the clootie dumpling is where it’s at. Wrapped snugly in its cloot (a cloth, for those south of Hadrian’s Wall, also called a 'clout' in the in north of England and in maritime parlance), this sturdy, spiced marvel doesn’t need the drama of a brandy-soaked blaze to make its mark. No, it’s a pudding with grit and gumption, much like the Scots themselves.

Let’s face it, Christmas pudding is the diva of desserts. It swans onto the table all aflame, demanding applause, and then proceeds to sit there like a sugary boulder, daring anyone to attempt a second spoonful. The clootie dumpling, on the other hand, is the working-class hero of the pudding world. It doesn’t need fireworks; it’s too busy getting on with the job of being delicious. Plus, its humble beginnings - boiled in an old bit of cloth, for goodness' sake - make it the culinary equivalent of "built to last."

And talk about practicality! Christmas pudding is a one-hit wonder, trotted out once a year and forgotten faster than last year’s cracker jokes. The clootie dumpling? It’s the pudding that keeps on giving. Serve it hot with custard, cold with butter, or even fried up in a pan for breakfast - it’s the pudding equivalent of a Swiss Army knife. Christmas pudding couldn’t dream of such versatility; it’s probably still sulking in the cupboard, wrapped in foil, wondering why no one loves it in January.

But the real charm of the clootie dumpling is in the making. There’s something wonderfully absurd about tying a lump of fruity, suet-laden batter into a cloth and boiling it for hours. It’s like a culinary trust exercise: you hope and pray the end result will be edible and not some lumpy meteorite. Yet, when you unveil that golden-brown, pudding-shaped masterpiece, you’ll feel like a domestic god or goddess. Christmas pudding? Just unwrap it from its store-bought plastic and try not to yawn.

In the battle of festive desserts, the clootie dumpling wins hands down. It’s heartier, humbler, and frankly, tastier. Plus, there’s no risk of singeing your eyebrows when you serve it. Stick that in your figgy pudding and eat it.

The Globalist & Elitist Paradox of Brexit

Brexit has often been portrayed as a stand against globalism, with claims of defending national sovereignty, border control, and economic independence. However, a closer look reveals that Brexit aligns with many globalist principles, despite its anti-globalist rhetoric. When the UK left the EU, it wasn’t retreating from global markets but signalling an intention to build new trade relationships with countries outside the EU. The focus on striking free trade deals with nations like Australia, Japan, and New Zealand shows a clear move towards global trade, not isolation. Instead of sticking with a regional bloc, the UK sought to integrate more broadly with the world economy.

Brexit supporters also pushed for deregulation, arguing that EU rules stifled business. This push to loosen regulations and allow more freedom in the market is part of a globalist agenda – one that encourages the free movement of goods, services, and capital across borders. True anti-globalist movements usually advocate for protectionism and tighter controls, not the deregulation we’ve seen post-Brexit. Indeed, deregulation has exposed British workers and industries to the volatile forces of global markets, undermining the very sovereignty and economic independence that Brexit promised to protect.

Similarly, while Brexit limited free movement within the EU, it didn’t shut the door entirely on immigration. The introduction of a points-based system was about attracting skilled workers from across the globe, not just from Europe. This focus on global talent pools is far from the insular stance that anti-globalists typically champion. By emphasising the recruitment of international expertise, Brexit reinforced globalist principles rather than rejecting them.

The financial sector also plays a huge role in post-Brexit Britain. The City of London remains one of the world’s top financial hubs, and the UK has worked hard to maintain this status, adopting competitive tax rates and looser regulations to attract global investment. This kind of financial globalisation is the opposite of what anti-globalist movements advocate, which would typically resist such integration and focus more on localised economic activity. Instead, post-Brexit Britain has doubled down on its reliance on international financial networks, further entrenching its globalist orientation.

This globalist shift is particularly evident in the "Global Britain" initiative, which showed a clear desire to project British influence worldwide. This wasn’t about retreating from global affairs but redefining the UK’s place within them. By prioritising trade agreements with far-flung nations over closer regional ties, the UK increased its dependence on more volatile and less advantageous markets. For instance, trade deals with Australia and New Zealand have been criticised for offering minimal economic gain compared to the benefits of EU membership. Rather than achieving true economic independence, this strategy has left Britain more vulnerable to global economic fluctuations.

The disconnect between Brexit’s rhetoric and reality is stark. This is especially apparent when examining the actions of Nigel Farage, one of the leading figures in the Brexit movement. Farage has built his reputation on defending British sovereignty and national pride, yet his party, the Reform Party, is reported to be benefiting from significant foreign financial backing. Much of this funding comes from individuals with strong business connections abroad, particularly in the US. This foreign influence raises serious questions about Farage’s true motivations. Is he acting in the best interests of the British people, or is he serving the agendas of international business elites?

Farage’s reliance on foreign money is a clear contradiction to the nationalist rhetoric he espouses. It suggests that the Reform Party’s aims are not entirely aligned with the interests of the British public but reflect a globalist agenda dressed up in nationalist clothing. This hypocrisy undermines Farage’s claims of patriotism. Brexit, in this light, isn’t an anti-globalist move but a strategic reconfiguration of globalism, favouring free trade, global influence, and financial integration over regional unity.

This moral contradiction extends further. Farage’s frequent rants against the "elite" are full of irony when you consider his own position within the establishment he claims to oppose. A former stockbroker with close ties to wealthy figures, Farage has built a career in the media, often on the back of his associations with powerful individuals. His significant earnings from speaking engagements, media appearances, and his time in European politics place him firmly within the elite world he professes to despise. Farage’s anti-elite rhetoric, when viewed in this light, appears more as a calculated narrative to further his own position and interests than as a genuine call for change.

Many have been fooled by Farage’s unpatriotic and globalist actions. A reckoning may come when his supporters realise he has no solutions to their grievances – well, none that won’t cost an arm and a leg. Independent analysis has shown that the Reform Party’s manifesto, if implemented in full, would cost an additional £80 billion in taxation. However, it’s not Farage himself who poses the greatest danger; rather, it’s what might follow him when his supporters see him as the flim-flam artist he is.

History offers chilling reminders of what can happen when populist leaders fail to deliver. Economic hardship and disillusionment with political elites have often fuelled the rise of extremist movements. The 20th-century rise of fascism in Europe is a stark example. Should Farage’s failures leave a vacuum, the potential for more dangerous ideologies to take root is real. We could see a shift towards fully-fledged authoritarianism, with devastating consequences for democracy and civil society.

Brexit wasn’t about dismantling globalist systems; it was about reshuffling the power dynamics to suit a different set of players - ones who found the EU inconvenient for their specific goals and that ignored the impact on the average person. Instability, which Brexit created, led to opportunities for wealthy individuals to prosper by disrupting markets and lowering asset prices, allowing them to buy undervalued assets and profit when stability returns. Political or economic upheavals often lead to deregulation, reduced competition, and policy loopholes, which the wealthy can exploit through strategic investments and speculative ventures. Additionally, instability frequently widens wealth gaps, as those with resources can navigate uncertainty, while others bear the brunt of the fallout, further consolidating power and capital in the hands of the few.

Media barons played a pivotal role in shaping public opinion and steering the narrative around Brexit. Owners of influential outlets like The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Telegraph consistently pushed pro-Brexit messaging, framing the EU as a bureaucratic, oppressive entity and amplifying fears around immigration and sovereignty. These media campaigns often relied on sensationalist headlines and selective reporting to stoke emotional responses, bypassing nuanced debate.

The agendas of these media moguls often aligned with their own business interests, which could benefit from reduced regulations outside the EU. By dominating the information landscape, they helped set the tone of the public discourse, sidelining dissenting voices and alternative perspectives. Their role wasn't just in informing the public but actively shaping the Brexit debate to suit their ideological and financial goals.

Bah, Humbug

What's the point of Christmas?

Christmas, the annual spectacle of consumption and sentimentality, begs for re-examination. We cling to this holiday as if it were the cornerstone of our culture, yet its relevance, significance, and authenticity have become questionable in a modern society where most of us neither embrace its religious origins, believe in its mythical characters, nor celebrate it for any meaningful astronomical event.

 

Let’s begin with religion. Christmas ostensibly commemorates the birth of Jesus Christ, a central figure in Christianity. Yet, church attendance is dwindling, and the majority of the population identifies as non-religious. For many, the nativity story is no more than an archaic tale, no longer central to their lives or values. The holiday’s connection to faith has been diluted to the point where it is more about gift-giving than gospel. If Christmas is no longer a religious celebration for most, why do we persist in dressing it up with metaphysical, biblical pretensions?

From a historical perspective, there is no compelling reason why someone in Galilee would need to travel to Judea for a Roman census, as Roman practice did not operate this way. The account in Luke likely serves a theological purpose, aiming to place Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem in alignment with Jewish prophecy and to establish his Davidic lineage. Alternative facts from a post-truth era.

Then there’s Father Christmas, that jolly, rotund invention of folklore and commercialism. Few children truly believe in him beyond a certain age, and adults certainly don’t. The charade of Santa Claus, while charming for a brief moment in childhood, ultimately serves as a tool for marketing and manipulation. Parents are conscripted into perpetuating this myth, which invariably collapses, leaving many children disillusioned. If we’re honest, the myth of Santa is more about driving consumerism than fostering magic or wonder.

And what of its astronomical “significance”? The winter solstice, the actual celestial event, is several days before Christmas. Early Christians co-opted this pagan celebration to ease the transition from old religions to their new faith. Today, we’ve further dislocated Christmas from any seasonal or celestial meaning. It’s not about the shortest day of the year, the return of the light, or any natural cycle. It’s about sales targets and holiday marketing campaigns, as disconnected from nature as a plastic fir tree.

Moreover, Christmas thrives in a post-truth era, where sentimentality and manufactured traditions override facts and sustainability. We are sold the illusion of a perfect holiday, complete with glossy adverts and curated Instagram moments, all while ignoring the environmental devastation caused by our consumer habits. The holiday is crucial to the annual bottom line of companies peddling cheap, disposable tat - products often made in exploitative conditions and destined to pollute the planet for centuries. This veneer of joy and generosity hides a darker reality of waste, inequality, and environmental harm.

Interestingly, while Christmas falters in relevance, pantomime remains a surprisingly modern tradition. With its playful inversion of gender norms - where a woman dressed as a male prince marries a woman, or a male takes the part of a Dame - it epitomises LGBT inclusivity. Then there are persons of restricted growth and an Arab who is escaping thieves. This light-hearted yet subversive performance art resonates with contemporary values, offering a celebration that is both joyful and reflective of our evolving society. That said, an evil woman giving a young girl a dose of Rohypnol to sleep for 100 years is perhaps not PC these days.

The reality is that Christmas has become a hollow ritual, propped up by commercial interests and societal inertia. We’re guilt-tripped into spending money we can’t afford on gifts people don’t need, piling debt and stress onto what should be a time of rest. We’re told to feel festive, even as many of us battle loneliness, grief, or burnout. The holiday’s modern incarnation prioritises superficial cheer over genuine connection, materialism over meaning.

What if we reconsidered Christmas? Let’s strip away the pretence and examine what’s worth keeping. Do we need an annual ritual of enforced jollity and excessive spending, or could we reimagine this time of year as a celebration of what truly matters? Family, kindness, reflection, and rest—these are values worth championing, without the tinsel and pressure.

Perhaps it’s time to let it go or, at the very least, remake it into something meaningful for the present day.

How about The Festival of Light and Renewal, a modern, eco-conscious winter celebration that connects people with nature, honours the farming cycle, and welcomes the return of light after the winter solstice. Designed to replace wasteful, consumer-driven traditions, it focuses on sustainability, community, and the cycles of the earth. 

The festival spans a weekend and blends ancient practices with contemporary values. The first day begins with nature walks and workshops where participants create sustainable decorations such as beeswax candles and foraged wreaths. Farmers and gardeners share stories about the year’s harvest, encouraging reflection on the connection between food and the seasons. The day culminates in a communal feast, featuring locally sourced, seasonal dishes that celebrate the winter harvest. 

The second day centres on light rituals and renewal. Families and communities create biodegradable lanterns for a symbolic procession, illuminating hopes for the year ahead. Activities include tree planting and sowing seeds, fostering a commitment to sustainability. The festival concludes with a solstice bonfire, acoustic music, and reimagined traditional songs celebrating light, warmth, and the promise of spring. 

This festival reimagines winter traditions as an opportunity to celebrate nature, community, and meaningful connection. By focusing on sustainability and the rhythms of the earth, it offers a thoughtful, modern alternative to conventional celebrations.

Obviously it's not for townies or Reform voters.

Merry Christmas to my remaining reader! Oh, have you noticed how Merry Christmas has transformed into Happy Christmas? Apparently that's because the Old Queen preferred to use Happy rather than Merry because Merry sounded too raucous - and it caught on.

Magdebourg Attack

So, Saudi Arabia warned Germany about the anti-Islamic activist and refugee from Saudi who ploughed into a crowded Christmas market in Magdebourg. Isn't that a bit like Putin warning Germany about Navalny? I'm not surprised the warning wasn't acted on.

The Magdeburg Christmas market attacker, reportedly a refugee from Saudi Arabia and a supporter of the far-right AfD, presents a paradoxical narrative that bridges two seemingly opposed ideological worlds. Saudi Arabia embodies a hard-right governance model rooted in strict Islamic principles, while the AfD champions a secular nationalist agenda, often opposing the influence of Islam and immigration. 

The attacker’s alignment with the AfD suggests a rejection of his religiously conservative background, possibly driven by disillusionment or a desire to assimilate into what he perceived as mainstream European identity. This convergence highlights how hard-right ideologies, despite differing in their cultural and religious foundations, can appeal to similar grievances, such as opposition to liberal multiculturalism or a quest for control and identity. His actions, however, underline the contradictions inherent in supporting a movement that fundamentally opposes the presence of individuals like himself, complicating narratives around both refugees and far-right extremism.

Another possible reason could stem from a sense of deep resentment or frustration towards both his origin and host societies. The attacker might have harboured grievances against the Saudi regime for forcing him to flee, while also feeling rejected or marginalised in his new environment in Europe. The AfD's rhetoric, which often critiques liberal multicultural policies and portrays immigrants as victims of failed systems, might have resonated with his disillusionment. By aligning with the far-right, he may have sought to channel his anger against the very structures that shaped his life, expressing it in a contradictory yet violent manner.

Shoplifting

A friend, who has years of experience in RFID technology, pointed out that these devices are available on Amazon.

They're tools for removing anti-theft devices used in shops. Is it any wonder there's an explosion in shoplifiting?

Busiest Travel Day of the Year

Yesterday I had to go to Measham in Derbyshire to collect a car.

Left home at 6.30 to make the 7am train from Yate to Gloucester. 3 people on the train.

Arrived to a near deserted station at Gloucester before transferring to a train to Nottingham. Hardly a person on the train.

It filled a bit more at Birmingham, but not by many and certainly not by as many as on a normal weekday.

Arrived at Measham and, after having checked the car out, started the drive back by 10am. Got back to the Bristol area by midday without meeting any delays whatsoever.

Seems people heeded the warnings.

Porsche

Had to go to the Porsche dealership in Newport to collect a Porsche Macan 5 earlier in the week. It's called a Porsche, but it's a diesel MPV, so not really a Porsche, unlike these I videoed.

The thing about expensive car dealerships is you can go in looking like a tramp and you don't feel out of place - Porsche buyers themselves dress like an armpit. Time was when you'd have to wear a suit or very expensive smart casual in order to be taken for a customer, but not anymore.

The staff are made to wear trendy, skinny trousers - even if their bodies aren't designed for skinny trousers.

I don't know why, but I'm always very self-conscious when snaffling biscuits or a coffee from the coffee station in these places. It's probably because I'm trade and picking up a 2nd hand car and not a real customer spending £100k or more. I personally would never buy a car from somewhere as plush as this place I visited, as the cost of all the fluff goes on the price of the cars.

One thing I noticed about the Macan I picked up was the speedometer.

The numbers read 25, 50, 75, 100, etc. Most speedos go up in 10s, but this one goes up in 25s - could that be why Porsche drivers tend to get done for speeding? 30, 40, 50, 60 and 70 are the numbers most are interested in, but only one of them appears on the Macan speedo, so they choose the next highest.

It's not just the Macan 5. This is the speedo of a Panamera Turbo S we have at work.

Spoon Design

After going out for a meal last Sunday, while eating a sticky toffee pudding and trying to scrape the sticky toffee off the plate, it struck me that our traditional spoons are not optimally designed for plate scraping.

Having a curved edge on both sides makes plate scraping impossible, so why on earth don't we have spoons with one side being flat?

The above design makes so much more sense. Time to flash up my grinder.....

Christmas Tree Problem Solved

Each Christmas we swear we'll never have another indoor Christmas tree, primarily because of the environmental impact, but the prices have gone ridiculous too. I usually leave it to around the 20th to buy one, by which time the sellers are desperate to get rid of them and you can just make a silly offer. £20 will get you one that did cost £80.

This year we solved it by decorating the Stone Pine growing in the garden, which is now of a suitable size for decorating, as well as being in full view of our living room.

Hay might tuttle it up with another string of lights before Christmas. Understated, yet refined.

Pressure Washer Hoses

Pressure washer hoses are a mystery to me. They kink as you move around cleaning a car, but frequently you find two kinks in opposing directions - a left-hand one followed by a right-hand one - and they seem incapable of cancelling each other out when you pull on the hose.

The photo above is two left-land kinks in succession, which can't be cancelled out anyway, but you know what I mean.

Apparently it's possible to buy anti-kink hoses, but then you face the challenge of every manufacturer having a different standard for connection to the lance. Yes, there are adaptors on the market, but they're a nightmare to navigate, as they have technical designations for the connections, rather than saying which manufacturer's jet spray they work on. Even then, some manufacturers change their standard with the introduction of a new model, just to ensure you buy a lot more kit from them.

Car SOS

We watch a lot of TV programmes like Car SOS, where someone who has a rusting classic car, but can't do any work on it due to a stroke or other debilitating condition, has their object of joy restored in secret by a team of professionals.

I keep waiting to see a surprised owner say; "I'm not at all pleased - I wanted to do it myself," or; "I'll have to take it apart again and do it properly."

 

£20bn Black Hole

Brexit’s impact on the UK’s economy is no longer speculative - it’s tangible, measurable, and increasingly impossible to ignore. Goods exports to the EU have plummeted, services have struggled against rising barriers, and the government’s fiscal position has taken a battering. This has left Labour, now in government, grappling with a fiscal black hole that necessitates hard decisions about public spending and taxation.

 

Goods exports to the EU, historically the UK’s largest trading partner, have faced severe disruptions since Brexit. Customs checks, tariffs, and regulatory barriers have turned what was once a seamless trading relationship into an obstacle course. Many businesses have reduced their exports or even relocated operations to avoid the headaches. While there was hope that new trade deals would open up fresh opportunities, these have so far been modest in scope and unable to offset the losses from the EU market. That's not opinion - it's counting.

Services, traditionally a UK strength, have shown resilience but not immunity. They are less affected by Brexit tariffs but have faced new regulatory hurdles, particularly in financial services. The loss of “passporting” rights for UK financial firms has been a significant blow, with some business shifting to European financial hubs like Paris and Frankfurt. Other professional services, from law to architecture, have also faced increased barriers, limiting their ability to work seamlessly across borders.

The economic consequences are clear. The Office for Budget Responsibility estimates that Brexit has permanently reduced the UK’s productivity by 4%. By 2023, this translated into a GDP shortfall of £140 billion compared to where we might have been within the EU. This contraction directly impacts government revenues, with an estimated £40 billion in annual tax revenue lost. For a country already grappling with rising demands on public services, that’s a devastating figure. It's also a figure that contributes to the £20 billion Black Hole they're trying to fill.

Labour has inherited a public purse in dire straits. Years of Brexit-induced economic strain, combined with external shocks like COVID-19 and the energy crisis, have left the government facing the Black Hole. The fallout from Brexit has compounded existing issues, forcing Labour into difficult decisions on spending cuts and tax rises to balance the books. While some of these pressures - such as global inflation or an ageing population - would exist regardless, Brexit has undeniably worsened the situation by shrinking the economy and cutting off a significant source of growth.

It’s important to remember that staying in the EU wouldn’t have eliminated all challenges. The UK would still be contending with the long-term effects of the pandemic, supply chain disruptions, and geopolitical turmoil. But a larger economy, higher tax revenues, and better trade conditions would have provided more breathing room for policymakers. Instead, we’re now dealing with the consequences of a self-imposed handicap.

The promise of Brexit was about taking back control, but the reality has been a significant loss of economic and fiscal flexibility. Businesses have spent years adapting to new rules instead of investing in growth. The political energy consumed by Brexit has delayed much-needed domestic reforms in productivity, infrastructure, and skills. And the cost is now being borne by ordinary citizens through tougher budgets, higher taxes, and constrained public services.

Labour faces an unenviable task. The Black Hole they’ve inherited is a direct result of Brexit’s economic impact, compounded by years of political and economic mismanagement. Their hard decisions aren’t just about navigating the global challenges that all countries face- they’re about trying to rebuild from a self-inflicted wound. The tragedy is that so much of this could have been avoided. Instead of leveraging our strengths as a leading trading nation within Europe, we’re left counting the cost of turning away from it. And the numbers, unfortunately, don’t lie.

Labour must tread carefully before opening discussions about rejoining the EU, no matter how compelling the economic arguments might be. The political landscape remains deeply polarised, with Brexit still a contentious issue for many voters. Any rush to reverse course risks alienating swathes of the electorate who view Brexit as a matter of sovereignty and identity, not just economics. 

Additionally, the EU itself is unlikely to welcome rejoining discussions while the UK’s political climate remains unstable or divisive. Rebuilding trust and credibility on the world stage is crucial, as is proving that the UK can manage its own affairs effectively before renegotiating its place in the European fold. 

Labour’s priority must be to stabilise the economy, repair relationships with the EU through closer trade ties, and rebuild domestic consensus. Only then could the conversation about rejoining be approached with the seriousness and unity it demands. 

Mink Oil

There I was, standing in the garage, admiring my boots like a proud parent at a school play. They'd seen better days - scuffed from adventures and dull from neglect - but I had a plan. Hay had picked up a tin of mink oil from somewhere, convinced by the promises of rejuvenated leather and a waterproof shine. Little did I know, this tin held more surprises than a Christmas cracker.

I unscrewed the lid, took in the vaguely animalistic scent, and slathered the stuff on my boots with the fervour of a Michelin-starred chef basting a roast. They gleamed beautifully, the leather soaking in the oil like it had been stranded in the Sahara. I was so pleased with myself.

Then came the idle thought. Why is it called mink oil? I assumed it was one of those charmingly archaic terms, like "goose grease," that had more to do with folklore than actual animal ingredients. After all, who in their right mind would take a mink - a small, slinky creature with the air of a fashion diva - and turn it into boot polish?

But curiosity got the better of me, so I reached for my phone and searched. It turns out that mink oil is exactly what it says on the tin: oil from minks. Specifically, their fat.

The realisation hit me like a misplaced hammer. My boots were practically wearing tiny mink jackets. The mental image was both ludicrous and horrifying: a mink in a leather apron, polishing boots in a Victorian cobbler’s shop. My ethical sensibilities began to twitch. Was this why the tin hadn't come with a "cruelty-free" badge?

It got worse. As I dug deeper into the history of mink oil, I discovered it had been a staple of fur farming by-products for years. That lovely sheen on my boots? Courtesy of an animal that might have otherwise been starring in a 1920s coat catalogue. My boots were not just waterproof - they were complicit.

I found myself staring at my newly polished footwear with a mix of admiration and guilt. They looked magnificent, but at what cost? The boots, of course, were unmoved by the moral dilemma. They simply shone with smug satisfaction, oblivious to the existential crisis they had triggered.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, a person who frets over whether bees are ethically treated in honey production, now walking around with minks on my feet. I felt like apologising to every passing squirrel.

So, what did I learn from this adventure? First, always read the label - and maybe do a quick Google search - before slathering something on your possessions. Second, if you're going to use mink oil, make peace with the fact that your boots might look amazing, but your conscience might not.

As for my boots, they're now the best-looking pair I own, but I can't help imagining the ghost of a disgruntled mink trailing me wherever I go. If I hear tiny squeaks in the dead of night, I’ll know why.

Recliner

We tend to watch TV channels that old people seem to favour - Quest, U & Yesterday, PBS America. The reason we know that old people favour them is that they're full of adverts for funeral plans, mobility scooter and recliners.

The recliner is a piece of furniture that promises comfort but looking like it was stolen from a retired uncle’s 1960s den or a closing-down pub. Recliners, it seems, are forever trapped in a peculiar design purgatory, somewhere between practical living room furniture and Father Jack chair. You know the look - overstuffed arms that bulge like they’re smuggling pillows and upholstery patterns reminiscent of a pint-sodden pub floor at last orders. It's less "luxury relaxation" and more "guess who’s banned from IKEA?"

Manufacturers will tell you these designs are timeless classics, which is furniture-speak for we’ve been flogging this same ugly chair since the Cold War. It’s as if they believe no one in the 21st century wants to recline unless surrounded by swirling paisley patterns that make you feel like you’ve had one too many lagers. Heaven forbid they make a chair that doesn’t look like it comes with its own wood-panelled backdrop and a faint whiff of stale crisps.

And the names! The Regal Recliner, The Prestige Lounger, or - most laughable of all - The Urban Chic. There is nothing urban, chic, or regal about a chair that looks like it moonlights as a prop from Rising Damp. Somewhere, there must be a secret meeting of recliner designers who are steadfastly committed to keeping modernity at bay. “Shall we try a minimalist design this year?” one might ask. “No,” another replies firmly, “add more buttons and tufting. People love tufting.”

The good news is that a few brave designers have finally started producing recliners that look as if they belong in a home and not a themed pub. But beware - those often cost as much as a small car. So for now, most of us are left to choose between comfort and dignity. Just remember: no one can judge your recliner’s upholstery if they’re too busy enjoying the perfect angle of your footrest.

The Ceiling Light Cable

It’s 2024 - we’ve got self-driving cars (well, sort of), chatbots that know your favourite type of toast (but still can’t quite answer a straightforward question), and virtual reality that can put you on the Moon without leaving your sofa. And yet, in the middle of all this technological triumph, a singular relic of human ineptitude dangles defiantly above our heads: the ceiling light cable.

We went away for a short midweek break in Brixham last week and, while staring at the ceiling in the rather plush hotel restaurant (Berry Head Hotel), I espied this.

 

That uninspired strand of wire that says, “I could be tucked neatly away, but I think I’ll just hang out here instead.” It mocks us every time we look up. How is it that we’ve sent probes to Mars but can’t figure out how to make ceiling lights look less like they’re cosplaying as bungee jumpers?

Back in the day, cables were considered revolutionary. People didn’t care if they hung out in plain view - electricity was the new magic, and you were lucky to have a bulb at all. But now? Now it’s like wearing a powdered wig to a job interview. Society has evolved; the ceiling cable has not. Sure, some genius decided to invent recessed lighting and modular tracks, but the rest of us? We’re stuck squinting at a plastic rose fitting that somehow makes the whole situation worse.

The real problem is that no one has made the ceiling cable trendy. We live in a world where avocado toast and ironic mullets get more attention than practical design solutions. If we renamed “wireless ceiling fixtures” to “aesthetic air energy conduits,” perhaps Instagram influencers would lead the charge. But alas, the humble ceiling cable is neither glamorous nor hashtag-worthy.

Imagine a world where your ceiling lights are powered by invisible beams of energy. Cool, right? But instead of developing this, we’re still arguing over whether your smart speaker is spying on you. Concealed wiring sounds equally great - until you remember your house is 150 years old, and your DIY skills are limited to changing batteries in the remote. Why hide the cables when you can celebrate them? Paint them neon green, braid them into modern art, or string up fairy lights. It’s called “industrial chic,” and it costs three times as much as doing nothing.

The truth is, we as a civilisation are inherently lazy. Why solve a problem when you can ignore it? The ceiling cable issue isn’t life-threatening, and until it starts falling on people or leaking secrets to the government, it’s unlikely to get any real attention. So here we are, staring wistfully at our dangling cables while we order smart bulbs from an app. At least those bulbs change colour.

Until humanity collectively decides that hanging cables are a global crisis, we’re stuck with them. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe the ceiling cable is a metaphor for life - slightly annoying, definitely outdated, but still doing its job. So next time you’re lying on your sofa, staring at that sagging wire above your head, take a moment to appreciate it. It’s not perfect, but neither are we.

The Old Sodbury Kaaba

On the A46, leaving Old Sodbury on the way to J 18 of the M4, there's an old house which has been in a dilapidated state for many years and was surrounded by junk. It was a dwelling, but someone bought it - I suspect James Dyson, who has his estate on the other side of the A46 and has been doing a helluva lot of land work in the area, as well as buying up everything scrap of land that's for sale. Must be something to do with inheritance tax...

Work started to clear the site a number of years ago and fences were erected around it, but the house was left. I suspect it has some preservation order on it, despite being totally uninhabitable. However, in the last week there has been activity in the grounds of the house.

I think it's going to be draped in a black and gold cloth and turned into a facsimile of the Kaaba in Mecca.

Portholes

 Last week, while in Brixham, we visited a cafe with a maritime theme. Good marketing - sell food and drink, but have a sideline in maritime memorabilia that can be bought. It's called The Chart Room.

If you look closely, you can see graffiti on the walls, which comprises seafarers and their ships. The owner kindly allowed me to add my moniker.

While there I spotted a couple of brass portholes, probably from a canal boat, but eminently suitable for my purposes. I paid over the odds, but finding two identical ones was perfect. They were for my new garage doors.

They're not as nice as the aluminium ones I have in the house, which are far more chunky and have hinges and screw-downs, but adequate.

The brass ones are currently held on by some silicone sealant and a few screws, but the intention is to get some domed brass nuts of a suitable size - and not too expensive.

Syria

Assad has fled to Russia, the Syrian government has crumbled, and history tells us that Syria’s political landscape will resemble a bizarre cross between a Monty Python sketch and the infamous scene in Lawrence of Arabia, where the tribes argue in Damascus after capturing the city. You know the one - chaotic shouting, lofty rhetoric, and absolutely no idea how to run a power plant.

In the vacuum left by Assad’s departure, factions of all shapes and sizes will emerge, each claiming they are the group destined to lead Syria into a bright new future. “We’re the legitimate government!” proclaims one coalition. “No, we’re the United Democratic Front for the New Syrian Renaissance!” counters another. The Damascus Conference Room, once a place of hushed bureaucracy, is now a cacophony of tribal leaders, exiled intellectuals, and ambitious newcomers, all demanding their piece of the pie.

This scene could not be more reminiscent of that chaotic meeting in Lawrence of Arabia. Like the Bedouin tribes arguing over who gets to control the telegraph office, post-Assad Syria’s factions are will be locked in a debate about critical infrastructure. One group demands control of the national grid but admits they don’t know how to run it. Another insists on taking over hospitals but points out they’ve never actually seen an X-ray machine. The one voice of reason, a dishevelled engineer pleading for cooperation, is promptly ignored as everyone yells, “We captured Damascus—we deserve it!”

Meanwhile, Assad, safe in a Russian dacha, watches the news with a smug grin, sipping tea and muttering, “Told you so,” as if the chaos vindicates his years of autocratic rule. He may even consider brushing up his eye surgery skills. Putin, ever the opportunist, sits nearby, chuckling at the absurdity of it all and wondering how he can turn it to his advantage.

Back in Syria, the international community plays its usual roles. Western powers applaud the “spirit of democracy” while failing to understand that democracy doesn’t exactly thrive on shouting matches and petty squabbles. Turkey seizes the opportunity to extend its influence under the guise of peacekeeping, and the U.N. dispatches a weary representative who tries in vain to broker agreements that last longer than the time it takes for a round of tea.

Meanwhile, the Syrian people stand on the sidelines, much like the citizens of Damascus in Lawrence of Arabia, watching their supposed liberators argue themselves into irrelevance. “Are they going to fix the roads?” one man asks. “What about the water supply?” another adds. But instead of answers, they get yet another declaration: “We are the Supreme Revolutionary Committee for the People’s Liberation and National Unity!” followed by a chorus of “Splitters!”

The tragedy, of course, is that while the factions bicker, the country continues to suffer. The Monty Python absurdity and Lawrence of Arabia melodrama highlight the same timeless folly: it’s easy to take power, but governing requires more than speeches and banners. Syria’s post-Assad leaders might want to take a lesson from history - or at least agree on who gets to run the metaphorical telegraph office before the whole endeavour collapses under the weight of its own absurdity.

One hopes it doesn't happen, but let's wait and see.

The Bitcoin Conundrum

Bitcoin had been in the news recently, having breached the £100k mark. This got me thinking on perceived value and human behaviour, so I did a little research.

The intersection of human behaviour, economics, and emerging financial tools like Bitcoin offers fascinating insights into how perceptions of value and potential gain shape decisions. Bitcoin, often referred to as "digital gold," highlights this dynamic vividly. Its rising value creates a paradox: as its price increases, people are less inclined to spend it. This reluctance stems from the belief that Bitcoin’s future value will surpass its current worth. 

For example, buying a car with Bitcoin valued at £100k might seem sensible at the time, but if Bitcoin’s value doubles soon after, the buyer may regret their decision, feeling they effectively paid £200k in fiat terms. Sellers, too, face volatility risks, as the value of the Bitcoin they receive could plummet before they convert it to fiat. This dynamic, coupled with Bitcoin's deflationary nature due to its finite supply, incentivises hoarding over spending, limiting its practicality as a currency.

 

This reluctance to spend during periods of rising value mirrors broader human behaviours, particularly in tax policy. Many people, even those who are not wealthy, support policies that favour the wealthy due to aspirational thinking. This mindset, often called the "lottery mentality," reflects the belief that they might one day become wealthy themselves. As a result, they perceive policies protecting wealth as safeguarding their potential future fortunes. Identification with success also plays a role, as wealth is often equated with hard work and achievement. Supporting lower taxes for the wealthy aligns individuals with values like ambition and merit, even if they do not directly benefit from these policies.

Another contributing factor is the fear that taxing the wealthy could harm economic growth. This belief, rooted in the theory of trickle-down economics, suggests that lower taxes on the wealthy encourage investment, job creation, and innovation. While there is some truth to this argument - wealthy individuals do have significant investment potential - real-world evidence often contradicts the idea that such policies benefit the broader economy. In practice, much of the wealth saved through tax cuts is not reinvested in ways that stimulate growth. Instead, it is often directed into offshore accounts, stock buybacks, or luxury goods. Furthermore, concentrating wealth among the rich reduces overall consumer spending, weakening demand and slowing economic growth.

Empirical evidence from various tax regimes underscores these points. Tax cuts for the wealthy during the Reagan and Bush administrations in the United States, for example, led to increased deficits and modest economic growth, falling short of the promised economic booms. The "Kansas Experiment" in 2012, where the state implemented dramatic tax cuts for high-income earners, resulted in budget crises and stagnant growth, forcing a reversal of the policy. In contrast, countries like Sweden and Denmark, with high taxes on the wealthy, enjoy strong economies and high standards of living. These nations demonstrate that progressive taxation, when paired with reinvestment in public goods like education and infrastructure, fosters both equality and growth.

The parallels between Bitcoin usage and tax policy extend to a shared human tendency to prioritise future gains over immediate utility. Bitcoin holders often refrain from spending during price surges, much as aspirational voters support policies favouring the wealthy in the hope of future personal benefit. Both behaviours are driven by the desire to avoid perceived losses, whether financial or aspirational. Addressing these issues requires systemic solutions. For Bitcoin, enhancing its transactional utility through tools like the Lightning Network and promoting the use of stablecoins for everyday purchases could mitigate its volatility. For tax policy, emphasising evidence that progressive taxation supports economic growth and ensuring transparent reinvestment of tax revenues in public goods can help counter the belief that taxing the wealthy is harmful.

These interconnected issues highlight the complex relationship between individual aspirations and collective well-being. While the pursuit of personal gain drives innovation and ambition, it can also perpetuate inequality and hinder economic stability. Understanding these dynamics is essential for building systems - both digital and economic - that balance individual interests with the needs of society as a whole.

The Hate-Monger

The term "Hate-Monger," while used colloquially to describe divisive public figures, originates from the world of Marvel Comics as a supervillain embodying hatred and prejudice. 

First appearing in Fantastic Four #21 in 1963, the Hate-Monger is revealed to be a clone of Adolf Hitler, his identity steeped in bigotry and the manipulation of others through fear. 

He wields a "Hate-Ray," a device that amplifies anger and discord, weaponising human vulnerabilities to incite chaos and control. This fictional narrative offers a striking parallel to real-world figures accused of stoking division for power.

 

As with the Hate-Monger, Trump’s rise to prominence relied heavily on exploiting societal fractures. The Hate-Monger used his ray to sow distrust and hatred; Trump, critics argue, achieved similar effects through his rhetoric. By labelling Mexican immigrants as "rapists," promoting a Muslim travel ban, and dismissing protesters as "thugs," Trump amplified latent fears and prejudices, drawing people to his side by painting others as threats. His ability to frame himself as the protector of "forgotten Americans" mirrors the supervillain’s skill in presenting himself as the solution to the chaos he incites.

Like the Hate-Monger, whose power relied on dividing people, Trump’s strategy often involved pitting groups against one another: rural versus urban, white versus minority communities, conservatives versus liberals. This tactic not only consolidated his base but also destabilised the broader political landscape, echoing the fictional villain's quest to spread discord as a means of control. Social media became Trump’s analogue to the Hate-Ray, a tool used to amplify his voice and provoke reactions on a massive scale.

Yet, as with the Hate-Monger’s eventual defeat in Marvel Comics, Trump’s legacy is not without opposition. His critics liken him to the comic book villain, not just because of his divisive rhetoric, but also due to the enduring societal damage left in his wake. However, supporters see him not as a hate-inciting force, but as a disruptor battling an unjust status quo, a far cry from the caricature of a comic book villain.

The parallels between Trump and the fictional Hate-Monger serve as a lens through which his presidency and influence can be critiqued. Both figures reveal the dangerous allure of leadership rooted in fear and division, as well as the societal vulnerabilities that enable such figures to thrive. Ultimately, they remind us of the critical importance of vigilance and unity in resisting forces that seek to exploit hatred for their own gain.

There's also "The Puppet Master", who has an equivalent in Musk.

We have our own Hate Monger in the UK, who also sows dissent by exploiting, and even manufacturing grievances.

Age Related Sentencing

When we’re young, summers feel endless, and a year seems like a lifetime. As we age, time seems to slip through our fingers, with weeks and months passing in a blur. This subjective perception of time raises an intriguing question: should prison sentences reflect the relative experience of time based on age? Could a one-size-fits-all approach to sentencing overlook this psychological reality?

 
This idea challenges the principles of equality and proportionality in justice systems worldwide, sparking a fascinating ethical debate.

Perhaps punishment should reflect the subjective experience of time. A one-year sentence for a 20-year-old might feel like a significantly longer period than the same sentence for someone who is 70, given the way time is perceived at different stages of life.

Justice systems aim to ensure that punishments fit the crime, but the impact of a sentence varies depending on the prisoner’s age. A more equitable approach might involve tailoring the length of incarceration to the individual’s perception of time. This could result in shorter sentences for younger offenders and longer ones for older offenders to balance the perceived burden.

Younger prisoners often have more of their lives ahead of them and may benefit from interventions designed to reform behaviour quickly. A shorter, impactful sentence might deliver the same rehabilitative outcomes as a longer sentence for an older person.

Older prisoners face unique challenges, including declining health and limited time to reintegrate into society post-incarceration. Longer sentences could disproportionately limit their ability to live a meaningful life after release.

However, despite its merits, this idea faces significant practical and ethical obstacles.

A cornerstone of most justice systems is the principle of equality: the same crime should carry the same punishment. Tailoring sentences to age or subjective experience risks undermining this fairness. Critics argue it introduces a slippery slope where other subjective factors, such as personality or mental resilience, might also demand consideration.

How do we quantify the perception of time? Would a 30-year-old’s experience of time differ from that of a 40-year-old enough to warrant adjustment? The subjectivity of time perception makes standardisation nearly impossible, and without a robust system, age-based sentencing could appear arbitrary.

Adjusting sentences based on age could lead to unintended biases. For instance, younger offenders might be seen as "getting off lightly," while older offenders could be perceived as unfairly targeted. This could undermine public confidence in the justice system.

Rather than adjusting the length of sentences, the justice system could focus on tailoring rehabilitation and support programs based on the age and life stage of the offender.

Programs could focus on education, vocational training, and mental health support to maximise their potential for reform. Specialised support might address age-related challenges such as health care, preparation for reintegration, and access to family and community networks.