Monday, 12 May 2025

Teaching You To Eurovision...

Dust off your VE Day flags, restring your bunting, and prepare your Swiss cheese platter... it's Eurovision! 

Nemo, a person with curly brown hair, wearing pink and red puffy sleeves, walks onstage, with their arms outstretched. Ther face suggests they are emotional and elated.
Last year's winner, Nemo. They won for 
Switzerland with The Code.
For clarity, let's be, well, clear. Tomorrow (Tuesday 13th May) is the first semi-final, Thursday (15th May) is the second, and then there's the main event. On Saturday night at 8pm BST, it's the Grand Final. Whoop-de-whoop-woooooo!

As is now a long established and, I can only assume, beloved tradition, I'm using the Monday morning of Eurovision week to share my thoughts about this year's songs. At the time of writing, thirty-seven countries are in the running. That'll be whittled down to twenty-six on Saturday. By now, I've listened to every single song. This is the season I look forward to the most (excepting the Christmas period, leading up to and including Christmas Eve.) This is when my energy levels are at their peak. My car speakers are blasting out Europop with every drive to the Asda. I'm humming a Croatian banger one minute and some Irish ouija-pop the next. The evenings are lighter, the rain is minimal, and we come together with our international neighbours for the very best of times. 

Alexis Rose, a young white woman with brown hair, is slumped in bed, underneath a quilt. She looks confused. The caption reads, I'm so confused.'
At least that's what USUALLY happens. This year? Meh. I'm not quite there. I don't know why. Sure, I've been busy, but that's standard. And obvs, I've kept an eye on my socials for ESC qualifying songs as they've been selected. Nothing new there. But when I sat down a few weeks ago to give each song a proper listen, I was left kind of... flat? I've not listened again. WHAT IS THIS NEW FEELING? I HATE IT.

Let's break it down. I normally listen to the songs around March and a couple of things happen. Firstly, I hear ten or so brilliant entries that I immediately warm to, and add to my rolling ESC playlist. I feel fired up to cheer any one of them on. I usually find the winner among them. 

The lead singer and the guitarist singing on stage, facing each other, rocking out.
Måneskin on Jimmy Fallon.

Secondly, I discover my own personal favourite. It's never a song that ends up winning (2021's Måneskin is the exception) but I love it, I build my identity around it, I plan to visit its country of origin (which never ends up happening), and am regularly disappointed when it fails to make a dent with the voting public. Hey, sometimes it doesn't even qualify. (#justiceforczechia2024)

Then there's the UK song. When it's announced, I listen with an open mind. I tend to find it 'quite nice'. That's certainly how I felt about Olly Alexander's, Mae Muller's, Sam Ryder's, and James Newman's. (Those are our last four representatives, btw. Did you remember?) And once I've thought, 'that's nice' I listen again. And again. Then I read about the performer, I watch some of their other songs, and I find my opinion elevated from 'quite nice' to 'it's an ear worm' or 'pretty catchy'. I don't do this with any other songs, you understand. That makes sense, right? In my own way, for one week in mMay, I'm as patriotic as the most ardent Reform-voting flag-shagger. So with repeated listenings to the UK entry, I get myself into the head space that 'this could be our year.' 

Now, let's be clear. Do I ever think for REAL that this could be our year? No! We don't care enough! The BBC half-asses the campaign! It's still seen as tongue in cheek nonsense by too many people! Obviously it's not going to be our year. (This post deep-dives into the UK's problem with Eurovision and it's an EXCELLENT use of your time.) The trouble is, in 2022, Sam Ryder inflated all our hopes and dreams. With his excellent skills and pure luck of the draw (singing an energising rocky guitar anthem right after a run of quiet ballads) he almost did the impossible. That means we could do that again. Couldn't we?

A snippet of the music video for What the Hell Just Happened. Three women, wearing cocktail dresses, standing on a staircase, singing together.
Who knows? What I do know is that this year, the UK entry has stuck out for real. Watch Remember Monday singing What the Hell Just Happened now! It's excellently sung, it's been an ear worm for me since its first listen, and in a field of songs that haven't forcibly gripped me with enthusiastic hyperbole, it's well up there. DO I think this could be our year? Well, no. I guess not. But I'm not as convinced by that statement as usual. 

The problem is, nothing else stood out. Where are my ten or so songs that pick me up and take me away? I'm a broad church. I'll take a banger, a ballad, a rock anthem, or a folk song. Just hook me in. Folks, it's just not happened. 

Three men are singing on stage. The set is a sauna in the woods and the singer is moving foliage out of the way as he sings to the camera. The caption says, 'nåjaa.'
Kaj, singing for Sweden. 
Sauna vibes right there.
The only song worth pointing out is Sweden. It's been the bookies favourite for ages. It's three men singing about a sauna but it's still good. In terms of vibes, it's piggybacked onto Finland's 2023 Cha Cha Cha. Remember? Course you do! That song came second but was the winner of our hearts. A catchy riff (which you'll have recalled the second I just reminded you) and a bent-arm, side-to-side dance move that united us all. Croatia's Baby Lasagna tried to replicate the vibes last year. His Rim Tim Tagi Dim had a similar hook. This year, Sweden are offering Bara Bada Bastu. It's topping the bookies chart for a reason. I imagine it will win. 

A woman in a black leather leotard is shimmying on stage, with flashing lights.The caption reads, 'Serving Kant.'
Malta are serving.
The other song that stands out is Malta's Serving. The reason is quite specific. Back when it was announced, there was a minor controversy. The original song title, Kant, had to be changed. It seems a national broadcaster complained about it sounding too similar to a VERY BAD WORD. Stand by for the Beeb to block out the sound of everyone in the arena screaming that word at volume, come the chorus. Would I have noticed this song amid the throng without the whiff of scandal? I'm not sure. Possibly not.

A young woman is talking to someone off camera. She looks slightly emotional, and proud. She is saying, 'The whole world is going to open up for you.'
I've given you the tools, now
it's all down to you.
Fly my pretties!
It's time to wrap things up. Do you feel I've short changed you? I hope not. This week will still be filled with fun and frolics. Seriously. If you're feeling down, lonely, or need even the tiniest pick me up, watching thirty-seven countries present an eclectic mix of music, choreography, and sparkles, will ONLY make you feel better. I'm still looking forward to Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Who needs my top picks anyway? Here's a much better idea. Listen to them yourself. Choose your OWN top picks. Let me teach you to fish, and all that jazz.

Whether it's Sweden's night or even the UKs, one thing's clear. It's the MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR. That will never change. Now crack on and get listening. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Monday, 5 May 2025

Let's Have a Conclave...

I've been reminiscing about my previous career. Indulge me! 

I'm a white woman with long brown hair, sitting at a desk. I've got a stern expression on my face, and am holding a photocopied cover of a passport,.
Ms Bond, Y4 teacher.
I'm role playing a
passport control
officer, if it wasn't clear.

I was a teacher. I think, a good one. I worked in a large primary school in St. Helens and taught some fabulous kids who I remember fondly. During my stint, I got a couple of promotions, then left the profession when I was - what was called back then - the SENCO. I had no inclination to be a head teacher, and the kind of future roles I had been working towards (PSHE Advisor for a Local Authority, thank you very much) were cut because of austerity. Having no appetite for doggy paddling in the same role for the next thirty years, it was time for a change.

I mention it now because isn't a conclave utter madness? Whether you've seen the film or you're simply keen on all things Vatican, the whole shebang beggars belief. And I don't mean the quaintly archaic traditions. You know, the black and white smoke, or the threading of the votes, or the secrecy of it all? Not that. It's the election itself that blows my mind.

From the film, Conclave. Ralph Fiennes, as Cardinal Laurence, is holding up his vote on a piece of folded paper, and looking up to the heavens. He's in full cardinal red robes.
Imagining being sequestered with the 
entire staffroom brings on every 
single one of my suppressed anxieties
Imagine all your colleagues under eighty (that's probably all your colleagues, to be fair) being responsible for voting in your new boss. And when no one agrees, they vote again. And when still no one agrees, they vote again. I've sat through too many staff meetings to know the impossibility of a workforce consensus. And that was when we'd be voting on where to put two INSET days into the following year's calendar. Can you fathom voting for a new head teacher this way? 

Picture the scene. There'll be the old guard at one end of the table. The ones that have seen the curriculum repackaged and rebranded repeatedly over the years. The ones that roll their eyes at every new intervention and loudly say, 'Oh, they're calling it THAT now are they?' They sit back in their chairs, lightly doze, and leave the building as soon as the meeting's over. On the other end of the spectrum are the keen young things. The recently qualified members of staff, that haven't lost their love of the job or their will to live. Yet. They'll leave the meeting and go back to their classrooms to rearrange the role-play area for a new topic they're starting tomorrow. Or how about the teachers who are ambitious as frig? They'll privately recognise new policies as stupid, but want to get ahead, so talk the talk in front of the management. Loudly. They're the ones I most identified with. Until I didn't. The thought of these disparate groups of people, attempting to reach agreement on a new boss, stresses me out. It's simply impossible to fathom. I imagine the stress is timesed a million with the masculine mish mash of egos in the Vatican.

Stressful past-life hypotheticals aside, because of Robert Harris' book and the subsequent film, I'm quite interested in the real-life conclave starting on Wednesday. But with the first Eurovision semi final taking place a week tomorrow, I hope to God the eligible cardinals get their shit together, sooner rather than later. We don't need anything taking away from the Eurovision limelight. Let's hope they vote for a lovely progressive person, but get it done quickly. Someone that recognises that far right global politics is bad and that Eurovision, in all its glittery, diverse beauty, is a force for good. Let's send our bestest wishes to all involved. If they time it right, they could vote in the new guy a week on Friday, then celebrate the end of the conclave together, by watching Saturday's Eurovision final. It'd be one hell of a party.

Elizabeth Moss, on a talk show, is regaling the audience with an anecdote. She gesticulates while laughing as she says, 'This is so easy.'
This vibe will not last.
Writing News
I'm starting the editing process with the easy peasy tasks. The spelling of Maddie is now consistent throughout the draft. (A few Maddys snuck though initially.) I've made sure that all ages, times, and dates are written in figures but other numbers are written in full. I've made sure that the character of 'Dad' has a capital letter, but when someone says 'my dad' then it's a small d. The same has gone for Mum, Grandma, and Grandad. These are the baby edits. The teensy tiny things that feel good to iron out but don't take much effort. The effort will come. Just not yet.

Culture
Isn't Hacks brilliant? My friend recommended it a few weeks ago. She raved, so I looked it up, and I've spent the past week bingeing all four seasons. I LOVE it. The set up is... a Gen Z comedy writer is forced to take work with a boomer comedian, who's forced to employ her against her will. Comedy ensues! 

Two women are power walking in exercise gear through a park. The younger on the left, is wearing a t shirt, track pans, with her hair half tied up. The woman on the right is idle,r wearing glamorous leisure wear, with designer sunglasses.
Hannah Einbinder and Jean Smart
What's actually lovely is seeing two women on screen, fleshing out believable lives, where no one is a goodie and no one a baddie. Both are flawed, inspirational, relatable, terrible, and marvellous. I've spent a lot of time with these women since I started watching, and I can't tear myself away. Congratulations, Jean Smart and Hannah Einbinder for creating a brilliant thing.

A table with a platter of food. There's sliced cucumber, tomatoes, olives, cheeses, hummus, and crackers. There's a bottle of wine and two glasses, one of which has wine in it.
Food and Drink
It's swings and roundabouts, isn't it. With the warmer weather, I'm craving healthier food. So I've had a run of picky teas involving salad, cheese, olives, and hummus. But on the unhealthier side, meals like that don't half go well with icy white wine. Hey ho. It's what the season demands!

A doorway off a station. The frame is dark, in shadow. The open doorway shows the view of the station platform. It opens out onto fields, sheep, and a blue sky.
Borth station
Out and About
I survived the annual family caravan holiday. The weather was breezy and warm so everything went well. The marvellous feature of this particular caravan park, is its proximity to the beach. And the station! Borth station is my favourite in the whole of the UK (Clarification: Of of the ones I've visited.) It's tranquil, scenic, and with only the sounds of sheep baaaas littering the silence. How fab to be able to get a train from there. I did it twice over the weekend - both times venturing into Aberystwyth for no real reason other than wanting to travel from the station. It's the simple pleasures!

Five adults, standing together on a pebbly beach. The sky is blue, the sea is out. There are three women and two men, wearing a selection of fleeces, jackets, sunglasses, and outdoor gear. Everyone's smiling.
Siblings on a beach
Enjoy the weather! Enjoy the conclave! Enjoy the whiff of Eurovison anticipation in the air! (More on that next week.) Whatever you're up to, have the best fun. It's all go, isn't it?!

Have a lovely week, folks.

Monday, 28 April 2025

Do Better, May...

So what do you think? Was T.S. Eliot right? Is April really 'the cruellest month'? 

An animated duck with a baseball hat on its head, is dancing about on the spot. The caption reads, Do Better.
You know what to do, May.
Looking at the current global news cycle, it's not far off the mark, although not confined merely to April 2025. Still, let's spin this as best we can. We're about to shake off the month's shackles, and embrace a new start with May. Perhaps things will look and feel a little more upbeat on Thursday. Maybe?

Meanwhile, I'm packing for the annual Bond caravan mini-break and keeping my fingers crossed for the perfect caravan weather. What's the perfect caravan weather? Why, thank you for asking. It's bright sunny skies, a cool chill in the air, and a total absence of rain. The temperature should be around the fourteen degree mark, and jumpers and/or fleeces should still be required. It should be chilly enough to need PJs in bed but not so cold that I'm shivering throughout the night. Based on previous years, it could literally be anything - rain, shine, or gales and widespread flooding. The latter has been particularly common in the part of Wales I'm visiting. I'll keep you posted.

Three bullet points on a word document. 1. Need to reduce word count by 10,000. 2. cab is in lower case letters, not CBA. 3. Texts are always in ALL CAPS.
A sneak preview of my editing list
Writing News
I've gone through my notes! Yep, after my massive read through last week, I collated the notes I'd made, and added them to the pile of Post-Its on my desk. The ones where I'd had a random thought at some point during the writing of draft one, and noted it down for a later date. I also scrolled through my notebook app. There's all sorts of snippets on there. Again, when I've been on a train or at someone's house and my mind has wandered to my book, I've noted it down. Now everything's combined, and they're all in once place. I've got a massive list of bullet points to work through and the next few months have some sort of structure.

A man in Edwardian clothes is standing in a large drawing room when a bookcase topples over on top of him and crushes him to death.
Apologies for the Howard's End spoiler
but it got written in 1910.
You've had time to read it.
Culture
There's something about a Bank Holiday that makes me crave a certain type of TV viewing. A lazy weekend demands a mini series. It must have period costumes, and be an excellent interpretation of a classic novel. I want stifled desire and rigid class structures. I want people to break free of societal expectation, and be daring and bold as they throw caution to the wind. Reader, I want an E.M Forster adaptation!

And so it came to pass that I bought the 2017 BBC series, Howard's End on iTunes. For £5.99 I got four hours of quality telly. I've read the book and I've seen the Emma Thompson and Anthony Hopkins film, but this version is the best. (IMHO) It makes so much clearer the choices that individual characters make. (Like, why would Margaret ever marry Henry? Why can't  Helen leave Mr. Bast alone? And why would someone leave their house to a person they've only just met?) On top of all that, Hayley Atwell and Matthew Macfadyen are brilliant. Now that I've got myself in the mood, I want more. I'm currently rewatching Middlemarch (1994) and next, I'm going to see off Far From the Madding Crowd (1998). It's so lovely to have plans. (Oh, and obviously I'll be rewatching Conclave at some point. It'd be rude not to right now.)

A white side plate, with three slices of toast. The toast is covered in a reddish coloured butter. One of the slices has a bite mark out of it.
Anchovy butter on
homemade bread.


Food and Drink
One day I'll stop banging on about anchovies. I promise. But before I do, I'll just leave this with you. Get a tub of your butter/butter alternative and empty it into a bowl. Add four tins of chopped, drained anchovies and mash it all together. Add a decent shake (half a tablespoon? More?) of smoked paprika and perhaps some garlic? Whatever flavours you like, really. Mix and mash until the anchovies are a mush, and the whole thing is a shade of reddy-brown. Now squish it back into the tub. Ta-daaa! You've got yourself some anchovy butter!

Right now, I'm using this on my toast, on my butties, and as something in which to pan fry prawns, eggs, or veggies. It's as versatile as you want it to be. And in non-anchovy news, I'd forgotten how lovely a crunchy lettuce leaf could be in a sandwich. I've been having lettuce, cucumber, and cheese butties for my recent lunches. (Not forgetting the anchovy butter, natch.)

Out and About
Writing to my MP and emailing Keir Starmer was all well and good, but I wanted to be more visible in my support for trans people. Peaceful protests were planned all over the country, and on Saturday, I joined the one in Liverpool. It felt good. It was interesting to note the vibe of the crowd, though. Lots of young people - as you'd possibly expect - but lots of older people too. People with signs that indicated they weren't trans but were gay and had seen this shit before. I heartily belted out TRANSPHOBIA IS NOT FEMINISM and TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS at regular intervals and felt ashamed for the people who are cishet like me, but don't recognise those sentiments to be true. 

On we plod. This time next week, I'll have completed a three day caravan extravaganza with multi-generational family representation. And yes, I know I've described that like it's a three-peaks challenge or Tough Mudder event. If it rains, and we're all squashed into a teeny-tiny living space, it'll feel like the most gruelling of challenges. Fingers crossed my desired weather arrives to save the day. More next Monday... yes?
 
Have a lovely week, folks.

Monday, 21 April 2025

Solidarity with my Trans Siblings...

It doesn't matter what last Wednesday's Supreme Court ruling, says. If I'm in a public loo, and a trans woman uses a cubicle next to me, I'm going to pay zero attention and carry on with my day. If we're standing at the sinks, and she says hello/smiles/does absolutely nothing at all, then I'll probably politely reciprocate, and then also carry on with my day. 

The trans flag. It's five horizontal stripes, and from the top the colours are turquoise, pink, white, pink, turquoise.
It's not trans women who make me feel anxious in public toilets. It's the kind of people that brought the action to the Supreme Court in the first place - transphobes who are obsessed about what's in people's pants. That's well creepy. The kind of people who wouldn't challenge anyone they felt 'looked' like a woman but would feel emboldened to question anyone that challenges their narrow view of femininity. Do we all need to wear makeup now? What about women with short hair? Oh, and heaven forbid you've had a double mastectomy. Expect to be confronted, should you ever meet one of these awful people, when you're desperate for a wee.

The only brief light relief in this massive back step for feminism, is to imagine the hissy fits when trans men start to use the Ladies. Either way, I'll be weeing, washing my hands, and cracking on with my day. I look forward to the day when everyone else does too.

A screen shot of my instagram story. It shows my open laptop that's displaying a word doc. In large font on a blank page it says, Leeza McAuliffe Book 3 by Nicky Bond. Then, in a caption I've added over the top in pink writing, it says, 'Reading from start to finish plus notes. Start time is 9.39am. Going in.'
Writing News
In the end it took me ten hours and nineteen minutes. Kind of. I started reading the first draft of the next Leeza McAuliffe book at 9.39am and finished at 7.58pm. There were a couple of interruptions throughout the day. Mainly, the guy doing my patio felt strongly that the paving slabs I'd chosen were wrong and I had to go to the tile place and rethink. Lolzzz. Brief shopping trips aside, I read continuously. And when it was done, I had a few pages of notes. The next job is to ponder the notes. I need to think about what parts can be ditched and what parts need strengthening. The good news is, I laughed, was moved, and felt satisfied at the end. Win.

Culture
I'm not sure whether this is Culture or not, but it certainly felt historic. On Friday, I visited my parents. My niece had shown an interest in the family photo albums, and so after tea, we sat down and went through them. We began in 1978 and ended in 2018. (My parents mustn't have felt the need to print off anything since then.) It took three hours, and covered twenty-one albums. My brain was absolute mush. My niece, however, seemed to have unending stamina for the chronological history of the Bond family and soaked it all up.

A photo of a family photo in an album. It's clearly faded and from some years ago. It shows a log flume at a theme part, with five children sitting in. They are of varying ages from 4-10. As they plunge down the slope, they're all wide mouthed and screaming.
Bond family history.
These kids are adults now!
What was weird/lovely was to see every single personal milestone, fashion mistake, holiday, and bad haircut archived for posterity. It was also interesting to see the inequality. There was not one photo of any of my sports days, but several pages of one of my little brother's. One sister got a page devoted to her graduation, another got just one photo - of her holding the official graduation photo in front of her face, with the flash obscuring most of it. I guess with seven kids, consistency is impossible. Either way, it was a fascinating evening of family history immersion. An elongated 'life flashing before my eyes' if you will. Can recommend, if you have a similar family photo album set up.

Food and Drink
A long overdue catch up with mates happened on Thursday. We planned to meet in town and head to Bold Street, but beyond that it was vague. The good news is, we found the best place. Ropes and Twines was about half way up on the right, and had excellent wines. Plus, we randomly picked a night where an artist was having an exhibition. His photos were around the walls, and he did a speech where he explained how he'd come to create the collection. All that, as WELL as excellent mates and lots of laughter. Spoilt, I was.

A photo of a patio display at a tile yard. The patio in the centre is a section of slabs that are multicoloured ranging from greys to browns to yellows. There's a grey edging around them.
The new patio tiles I've chosen. 
For your records.
Out and About
I think I've mentioned all my comings and goings above. I was at the rents' in Wales, I was out in town, and I had to choose a second tile option to appease the guy doing the patio. All fun and games. Oooh, I also got to watch my nephew, who'd never had the pleasure of my baby-sitting skills before. He was top company. Happily, he chose to watch TV with me (much more preferable to being forced into active participation of a game) and kept me up to date with the plot twists of his Lego cartoon. A marvellous morning.

Did you have a happy Easter? Is that your bag? Are you enjoying the Bank holiday nonetheless? Whatever you did, I hope it was fun. And if not, that means the fun times are on their way. That's the rule!  

Have a lovely week, folks.

Monday, 14 April 2025

The Next Big Push...

And relaaaxxxx. My busy weeks of birthday celebrations, mini breaks, and friends and family get togethers, are done. I can focus on the book, once again. 

Spongebob Square Pants is in a flap and a frenzy. He's running around the place, throwing papers up in the air, screaming, and adopting about. It's chaos.
What the inside of my head
will be like once I've opened
up the manuscript once again.
I guess, 'relax' isn't the right vibe, tbh. There'll be no relaxing when I get my writing head back on. But even when my brain's filled with words and characters for multiple hours a day, I do love my routine being in place. I love the breakfast, dinner, and tea of it all. The steaming mug as I sit at the desk. The tapping of keys being punctuated by wees and stretches every couple of hours. Even when my head feels it is full of angry bees, I'm excited that my exterior surroundings will be calm and serene. That's the plan anyway. We go again tomorrow. 

Writing News
I've kind of already told you. Tomorrow, unexpected catastrophes aside, I'll be back at my desk and reading the 3rd Leeza McAuliffe book from the beginning to the end, then changing almost everything about it over the next few months. I can't lie, I'm looking forward to seeing what I wrote. 

The iconic Liverpool Liver Buidlings. A large grey brick building, with twin domes that have large liver birds sitting on top. Set against a backdrop of the river, the sun has just set, creating a layer of orange against the darker blue sky.
An actual good photo
taken by me. Lordy.
Culture
Isn't Liverpool a beautiful city? I've known this forever, of course, but it was made blatantly obvious to me last week. I was at a wedding in town, where the rooftop drinks terrace looked over the Liver Buildings. And as the set over the river, it was spectacular. Aren't I lucky to be six train stops away from it all.

Joe Wilkinson, with his full beard and longish hair, is sitting on a chair in the Taskmaster studio, scrolling his hand down in the air as he bows his head. As if to say, 'I thank you,' to the audience for their reaction, presumably.
Joe Wilkinson was the one
responsible for setting me off
FYI.
That's my attempt at throwing a bit of architecture into my cultural ramblings. (I could see buildings from my rooftop! They were stunning!) The past week has seen me mainly hoover up some telly. I mentioned on TikTok/Insta last Monday how I'd devoured Last One Laughing. I watched the UK version, which caused me to melt down in snotty, tearstained hysterical laughter whilst watching a riff on Stars in Their Eyes. I've also finished The White Lotus, which continues to widen my eyes in shock at the shenanigans onscreen. Next up, I think I'm probably going to try Severance. I hear good things. 

 
A bar top in a restaurant. There's a slim drinks menu on the left, and on the right is a chunky frosted tankard full of beer.
I'm a big fan of The Ivy's
half pint tankards
straight from the fridge.
Food and Drink
I have a vague guiding principle when I'm choosing from a menu. I like to order something I can't make at home. Can't or won't, to be fair. At a recent friend's birthday meal, I got to pick a double whammy when I chose a cheese soufflé to start and then lobster linguine for my main. Neither of those beautiful meals will ever be attempted by me in my kitchen. Thanks to The Ivy for sorting me out. 

Beany soup with feta, paprika, 
onion, garlic, and Vegemite.
Back at home, however, I buzz off making things that are a little less classy. Take this soup, for instance. In a frying pan, I sweated down some onion and garlic, then added a can of beans. I went with cannellini. Once I'd cooked it for a bit, I added a dollop of Vegemite, some feta, and a couple of good shakes of paprika. Voila! A beany, tasty, soupy thing. It wasn't The Ivy, but it was bloody tasty.

My brother - a white, brunette man - is standing in front of a large house plant. He's holding a photo in a white frame. It's of a blue door, which is a turnstile at Goodison Park. He looks decidedly chuffed.
Dom with his
Goodison Park
turnstile photo. 
Out and About
London baby! Yep, Because my oldest brother turned the big 4-0, on Saturday my family congregated near his hood in Battersea for his birthday meal. And because I've been burning the candle at both ends recently, I added a couple of days onto the trip, and recuperated with a comfy hotel bed and all my stretchiest clothes. It was glorious.

As this post drops, I'll be on my way home. Back up north, and back to my much-needed routine. It's time to set the morning alarm once more, and bring back some sense to proceedings. That must be doable, surely? 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Monday, 7 April 2025

♫...Old Nick Bond, Wrote a Book, AI, AI, Ohhh... ♫

I'm definitely not a technophobe. No way! I was the first person I knew to get a smart phone. I regularly eschew a staffed checkout for a self-service, preferring my own thoughts to the pained small talk some cashiers feel the need to offer. And then there're the apps. I can turn on my heating, defrost the car, or search for directions before I leave the house. Technology? All over it, mate. 

An animation of the cartoon character Inspector Gadget in a grey Mac and hat, scratching his chin with a gloved hand on a spring that's popped out of his hat.
Just call me Inspector Gadget
But what I continue to be, I like to think, is discerning. Look, I'm no Maggie Philbin or Judith Hann. I'm just an everyday person navigating the world. I don't need the blingiest, most space-age gadgets for every given task. Nope, I try to look at a new technological advance on offer and make a decision. Is this actually better than what's gone before? It's great when something comes along that makes life easier. But here's the rub. It must be easier AND better. Not easier and crapper. That's a rubbish pay off. Who wants ease when the end result is shite?

Why is this on my mind right now? Well, it's because of the current discourse surrounding artificial intelligence. Look, I know the score. We've been using AI for years. Without realising it, most of the time. This article is from 2019. I deliberately found something from a while back, to show how people have been climbing aboard the AI train without much thought. Me too, natch. And you know what? Fair play! Having my Hotmail account (mostly) spot the spam and send it straight to Junk, is good. It makes my life better, not having to wade through gross crap from bots and pervs. Carry on! 

Likewise, I'm pretty reliant on my SatNav. Because of a missed update, I recently learnt the hard way what it's like to follow directions in an unknown town towards a closed road. Arghhh! I managed not to stop dead at the red closure sign and cause a pile up. Instead I turned off at the next open road, drove around in a flap for a bit, before finding somewhere to stop and have a think. Bring back my AI updated satnav! I need it! 

And when someone has purchased one of my books in the past, and then Amazon suggests my latest one to them while they're looking for something else, I'm grateful! I have many beefs with Amazon, but not that. That makes my life easier and better! Hurrah.

But back to the topic in hand. I said there'd been a load of AI discourse lately, and there has. I see it in publishing chat, a lot. Because whilst there are some decent ways we can use AI and not feel like we're compromising on something fundamentally good, it's not always the case.

Lisa Simpson is crossing her arms across her chest and looking outraged as she says, 'I'll die before I misspell.'
Take spell check. If you're terrible at spelling and grammar, you'll probably love it. You'll cling to it at the end of something you've had to write, changing every highlighted error. But for those that are pretty handy with their written communication, it's clear that spell check makes mistakes. It doesn't get context. It misidentifies English spellings as incorrect, or flags up deliberately chosen dialect or slang. I rarely use it. 

Or, you know when you're typing an email and your computer tries to guess the end of the sentence and offers the next few words? Urgh! Only if I were writing in obvious cliches would that be any use to me. Or predictive text? It's often wrong. Or when I Google something and have to scroll past the AI overview first. Why would I want an AI overview? Where's it come from? What sites has it used? Why is it slowing me down while I check I'm getting information from a trusted source. To rely on AI for all of that, feels like we're throwing our hands up in the air and saying, 'Quality be damned!' 

I was talking about this to a mate recently. She'd started to use ChatGPT for work - to get ideas for presentations to clients while she wrote them. It posed a question. (Full disclosure: I can't remember if I asked it. Wine had been taken. ) The question was, 'Why would she think an AI program would give her a better result than her own brain? Or her selected trusted sources that humans had written? When AI is comprised of pulling generic stuff from a load of random, unchecked places, why would a mishmash of derivative information be better than what she could produce herself? Particularly when she knows the specific needs of her client base. I think I know the answer. It's because it's quicker. It cuts a corner but gives her more time for the rest of her job. And I guess that makes sense. I can see why that would be good when your day is comprised of a million other things. 

But it's not that simple for everyone. When your entire job is the artistic creation of chapters, verses, or scripts, perhaps the ability for someone to generate a bland and basic facsimile of your content is NOT the way forward. This is the issue that the publishing industry is grappling with at the moment.* How can we protect creative professionals and their intellectual property, in the face of the rise of AI? That's the question currently being debated between anyone linked to publishing. I'm sure other areas of the arts are having similar convos.

That's not all though. A recent Atlantic article broke how Meta (that's Facebook and Insta and whatnot) have been using published authors' work to train their AI engine. No one had been informed about it before the fact. No one had been paid for their work. It is only possible to check if your content had been stolen by using the handy search tool in the article. So far, mine has not. But many authors - both traditionally and self-published - have had their copyrighted work ripped off to train Meta's AI tools. 

An animated cartoon Shakespeare head. He's got the receding hairline, the white ruff, and is crying.
A weeping Shakespeare 
laments his lack of copyright.
Take William Shakespeare. He's had his plays used for AI training. Having died well over seventy years ago, his copyright expired a while back.** But let's use the example to see where it leads. Say you want to write a Shakespeare-style scene for, oh I don't know, a comedy sketch? Or a school project? You could ask the AI engine to write you something Shakespeare-esque, involving a skull, or a quill, or even a wheelie bin. It'll pull from a variety of sources, most notably Shakespeare's own stuff, and it'll churn out something 'in the style of.' The result would probably be amusing. Perhaps Shakespearian-sounding in places. But it would definitely be clunky, include small amounts of gibberish, and be a pale imitation of the real thing.*** And you know what? That's fine. It's Shakespeare. His canon is established. His work is in the public domain and has been forever. No one needs to worry about Shakespeare getting ripped off or devalued. 

But consider the same process for an author who isn't so established. Their writing style can - on the surface of it - be quasi-replicated easily and cheaply. That means their work becomes devalued, and their career adversely affected. When you're trying to make a living - or more realistically, trying to fund the odd night out here and there - knowing that something can ape your style whilst being less accomplished in its delivery, really sucks. Plus, it's stealing. That's supposed to be illegal.

The UK Government recently had a consultation period about AI. Their AI playbook released in February, gives the impression they're quite keen on its possibilities. The Society of Authors held a protest last week. Targeting Meta, they focused on the illegality of intellectual property theft. The Writers' Guild have likewise been advising their members how to fight back in the face of their industry being swallowed up without much thought. Indeed, my own Government consultation response, that I wrote based on the notes from ALCS, focused on the need for exemptions for copyrighted work. It seems that whilst people are on board with making life easier and processes quicker, they're not thinking about the effects on culture. 

We all access culture. We all devour the products of creativity. Most of us chill out at the end of the day with a binge-watch. (I've recently hoovered up The Residence on Netflix. It was a whimsical delight!) Viewing the pitch from a purely writing perspective, we know how much society absorbs written stories. Whether it's books, films, or soap operas, we're obsessed with the lives of others. Hey, take the film, The Lives Of Others. Would an AI engine create the beautifully nuanced story of one man's journey from a cold rule-based Stasi officer, to someone who learns the value of poetry and expands his inner world, all whilst visibly remaining the downtrodden automaton he's always been? There's no way! The churned out script would be stereotypical fluff. It'd be heavy handed and dull. It might be quicker than writing a film from scratch, but it would be far crapper by comparison. 

An illustrated pencil drawing of a hand, holding a pencil, tapping it in frustration in front of a blank page.
Creating. Takes. Time.
Besides, who says the creative process should be quick? Who thinks it should be easy? It's SUPPOSED to be a slog. It's the blood, sweat, and tears of the creator that over time, make it a thing of beauty; a compelling and absorbing use of your time. It's not meant to be done in a flash and onto the next thing. If it were easy, its value would plummet. 'Quality be damned!' I type, for the second time this post.

All this is to say, that while I'll still watch films that an algorithm has suggested, or use my satnav whenever I'm in a new place, I plan to keep a discerning eye on new tech as it pops up. Does this technology make my life easier AND better? It's got to be two for two. Anything else can be swerved. 

In terms of my books, I'm committed to refusing to use AI in my writing. Why would I? My brain created Leeza McAuliffe and that's where I'll go for her subsequent exploits. Likewise, my front covers are created by a human artist. Gary is his name. He's boss. Could I create something usable with AI tools? Maybe. Would I want to? NO! I want them to be brilliant. I want an artist and designer whose work adds value to my own. Not a quick and easy rip off of other people's intellectual property. It's as simple as that. So while the Government is looking at ways that AI can improve productivity and cut spending in Westminster, it needs to recognise that it's not that simple. Creative industries will be adversely affected if there are no restrictions and exemptions. And with that, the quality of the telly, novels, theatre, even the adverts we consume, will deteriorate. Like I said at the top, I'm no Maggie Philbin or Judith Hann, but I'm no technophobe either. Make my life easier AND better. That's the challenge. When it comes to creativity, I don't think it's something AI can ever hope to achieve.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Interesting aside. As I typed this sentence, the predictive text element of Blogger wanted me to write '... This is the issue that the publishing industry is grappling with at the Monet.' Sheeeeesh.

**To be absolutely accurate, copyright law didn't exist in Shakespeare's time. But nowadays, copyrighted material becomes fair game for public use, seventy years after the death of the person that holds copyright. Every year there's a new batch of cultural output that  - for example - an author can quote in their own work without getting permission or paying for. This is why I used Ralph Waldo Emerson's writing as an opening quote in Carry the Beautiful. 

*** Here's an example of AI's limitations. A few weeks ago, you may remember, I wrote a eulogy for my laptop. While posting it on Bluesky, I chose a fabulous Gif to accompany my words. Joan Collins, as Alexis Carrington, is dressed to the nines in funereal black. She's wearing a hat with mesh veil over half her face, and she's tearfully standing at a graveside. In the three second gif, she looks down at the grave, has an emotional swoon, and then throws herself into the arms of a burly hunk standing behind. I chose the Gif so its camp comedy could accompany  my tongue-in-cheek writing. But! When I clicked to add the ALT text (the text that describes it for visually challenged readers) there was already an AI suggestion typed into the box. I could accept it, or type my own version over it. The suggestion AI had come up with was, 'A woman wearing a black hat with a veil over her face.' This is the most one-note, basic description of what was, in reality, some camp-as-tits, dramatic, visual hyperbole. Reader, you'll be pleased to know, I wrote over that suggestion with my own description.