Years ago I read Stephen King’s short horror stories Night Shift and one in particular intrigued me. In it machines took over every day life and the threat that human beings would become obsolete. Definition: ‘no longer produced or used; out of date. the disposal of old and obsolete machinery.’ In other words men, women and children would eventually be subservient to Artificial Intelligence.
And now it’s a reality. Goldman Sachs calculate that AI could ‘gobble up 300 million jobs in everything from law, engineering, finance and architecture to media and healthcare.’ For all you know this blog might well be written by ChatGPT!
People are beginning to think twice about this development and now Elon Musk and 1000 others have signed a letter urging ‘a six month moratorium on the training of more advanced AI systems warning that not even their creators can understand, predict or reliant control a technology that can pose profound risks to society and humanity itself.’
This is serious scary stuff – Alexa is my best friend when I want to know something but is she listening to my conversations and reporting back to some library run by a robot in China? And what about this laptop I’m working on? If I mention something, say patient leather dancing pumps, sure as eggs are eggs over the next few days `I will be inundated with ads for patient leather dancing pumps. I exaggerate but it has happened, perhaps not with pumps but with other items I’ve talked about on e-mail with friends. We’ve given away so many of our personal details with a toss of the head – I’ve nothing to worry about, I’ve nothing to hide, they’re welcome to the information. Foolish. And when did you last talk to a real person at the end of the phone when you’re trying to contact some office or organisation? More often than not it’s a zombie voice asking questions before granting you an operator and then you have to listen to horrible music as you wait until an operator becomes available as he, she or they are dealing with other customers. It used to be so easy.
This won’t be easy either
I hope the sun shines on President Biden on Tuesday although I don’t expect he’ll see much more than the inside of The Beast and the new campus of the Ulster University. If it was Clinton he’d be out and about pressing the flesh and spreading good will and positivity. He was very influential in the Good Friday Agreement talks albeit by phone from the White House but always supportive. He even has a part to play in a locally written play on at the moment.
Phenomenal. On every level Agreement at the Lyric Theatre is something special. Twenty five years ago many of us were waiting to hear the outcome of the talks in Castle Building at Stormont. As it played out we got to know the characters, from visiting superstars Senator George Michell and Tony Blair to our own cast of politicians from Gerry Adams to David Trimble and all between. Now Owen McCafferty has taken this time of drama and put it on stage for all to witness the ebb and flow in a room at Stormont and the eventual Good Friday Agreement published on Friday 10th April 1998.
I saw it last week when, for one hour and forty five minutes, with no interval, the audience was held in silence as we, perhaps for the first time, come to understand the depth of rancour between the different parties. To see Mo Mowlam (Andrea Irvine) snatch off her wig and walk round in her stocking soles, Dan Gordon as John Hume a frustrated peace maker, Gerry Adams (Packy Lee) insisting on prisoner release, David Trimble (Patrick O’Kane) caught between and Bertie Ahern (Ronan Leahy) who left his mother’s funeral to travel to Belfast to take part in the talks. The voice of President Clinton via telephone was voiced by Conleth Hill.
I was working in Castle Buildings at that time and when I saw Richard Croxford as the firm yet sensitive master of ceremonies, it brought back such memories of George Mitchell walking the corridors, no doubt sorting out his thinking. A masterful play, tremendous direction, set, sound, props – desks and chairs in choreographed movements within the playing circle – everyone and everything involved certainly to me, was perfect. David Trimble’s son Nicholas agreed, he posted on FaceBook:
“It was not without some trepidation that we went to the Lyric this afternoon to see Agreement. However I have to say it was a superb show. Every single cast member was brilliant and portrayed everyone down to a fine detail and the script itself was gripping, humourous and most importantly fair to all involved. Not going to lie, it was an odd experience seeing someone play your dad on stage, but I’m glad we went.”
My deep admiration goes to Owen McCaffety. What a writer, what research, touches of humour relieved the tension for it to build again to the climax. He opens the play with Mitchel telling us: “Nothing is agreed until everything is agreed.” Twenty five years on this Easter weekend, has the Good Friday Agreement delivered all it promised?
Runs until 22nd April 2023. www.lyrictheatre.co.uk
Today’s the Day! Three years ago I gave up Coronation Street for Lent and haven’t watched it since, this year it was digestive biscuits, plain and chocolate, my decision is will I start binging on them again? And next year what trial will I set myself? Could it be Hellmanns Mayonnaise? Doubtful but who knows.
Undoubtedly Words Matter.
The row rages when it comes to re-writing parts of well known books and novels. It all began with Roald Dahl where his language has been changed and challenged. How could they? Thankfully sense has prevailed and there are now two copies of The Big Friendly Giant, the original and the revised – much like the Bible! Thankfully because there is such a story behind the vocabulary he uses for his characters, they are based on the result of his wife’s stroke. Film star Patricia Neal was partially paralysed and unable to speak, however she survived and gradually her speech returned although she invented words whilst grappling with the correct pronunciation. She talked about having a ‘oblogon’ – a cigarette, she complained that her husband made her ‘switch’ – cross, and gave her the ‘sinkers ‘- depression.
He took her words and created a language all of it’s own, a language the interferers now want to gut and rearrange.
The words are wonderful. Imagine a little girl like Sophie meeting the Big Friendly Giant who says to her: “Just because I is a giant, you think I is a man gobbling cannybull … ! Please understand that I cannot be helping it if I sometimes is saying things a little squiggly … Words is oh such a twitch tickling problem to me all my life …”
A zoo was full of ‘hippodumplins’ and ‘crocadowndillies’ and best of all is the ‘telly telly bunkum box’! All part of a gobble funk language inspired by Patricia Neal who recovered and went on to have another child and an Oscar nomination.
Then we come to ‘new speak’ – how can a mother be anything else but a mother. Gender inclusive language means a mother is a birthing person and a dad the non-birthing parent! A poor new mother will offer her baby chest milk through chest feeding. And so it goes on and on. I had a mother who breast fed me. My dad was my dad and they were superb parents. Let’s not waste time on this subject, it’s not compulsory.
Childhood Memories
When I was little and attending church with my parents and brothers, I was fascinated with the stained glass windows and the congregation, both colourful and intriguing. In front was Jack Sayers editor of the Belfast Telegraph, to one side a family of boys years later to become eminent medical men, on the other side of the aisle the Montgomery family from the Shankill Road, delightful small children I taught in morning Sunday School. There were prominent captains of industry, portly and self-important who liked to shake hands with everyone except insignificant little girls like me. But there was one exception, over to my right was Vivian Simpson Labour MP at one time the only non-Unionist MP attending Parliament. A slight man as I remember, modest with a lovely smile and not adverse to giving a wave to an admiring child. In his family pew was young son John who was destined to become the man to go to if you wanted to understand business and economics in Northern Ireland and further afield. John, who died last Monday, was a very decisive man with a dry sense of humour, always ready to help, no matter what fact you wanted to check he was there with the answer. He was a highly regarded and knowledgable economist and commentator on television and radio as well as input to umpteen papers and periodicals. I respected the father and the son, both made their mark on society.
