I never named anybody.

It didn’t matter. They recognised themselves.

Or they thought they did, which amounts to much the same thing once somebody has decided that a sentence on the internet is definitely about them.

Explaining that it wasn’t did not help. It probably made things worse. I was no longer merely a dangerous blogger. I was now a lying dangerous blogger who refused to admit that everything I wrote revolved around the people I worked with.

I have got myself into hot water before by writing about my day job.

I wrote about the atmosphere. The friction. The odd little cruelties that collect inside a workplace until everybody begins treating them as normal. I wrote about how it felt to spend most of my waking life somewhere that seemed to be making me increasingly miserable.

I avoided names. I left out locations. I changed or removed details.

I thought that was enough.

It wasn’t.

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Sometimes I wonder whether I got into trouble at some of the places I have worked because I am more intelligent than some of the people around me.

There. I have written it down.

It looks bloody awful.

Arrogant, elitist and exactly the sort of thing said by somebody who has recently watched a twelve-minute YouTube video about misunderstood geniuses.

I am not saying I am better than everyone else. I don't believe I should be carried into work on a golden throne while my colleagues scatter rose petals beneath my feet.

I am not even sure that intelligence is the right word.

Still, the thought has returned often enough that I cannot dismiss it completely.

I seem to notice things that other people do not. Cracks in plans. Contradictions between what somebody says and what they actually do. Problems sitting quietly beneath the surface while everyone else carries on as though everything is fine.

Sometimes I can see where something is heading before there is enough evidence to explain it properly.

It is a feeling.

Something does not fit.

Something has changed.

Something is being left unsaid.

I have learned not to ignore that feeling because it is often right.

Not always.

That is where the trouble begins.

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I had been spreading myself too thin. This was not an unusual state of affairs.

I had started a Substack newsletter and filled it with sections about cars, motorcycles, travel, television and anything else that wandered across my field of vision. The problem, as I saw it then, was that none of it fitted neatly together.

I did not have a niche.

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The case for having an imperfect memory – a psychologist explains

365daysStudios/Shutterstock Gillian Murphy, University College Cork

Think back to your time at school. Were you hard-working, popular, anxious? And what exam grades did you get? Now, imagine someone pulls out your school reports from that time. How closely would they match the results you just brought to mind?

If your recollections match exactly, you might congratulate yourself on having an excellent memory. But as a psychologist who has spent years researching what people remember – and misremember – my work often challenges the idea that the “best” memory is always the most accurate one.

In fact, some of the distortions commonly regarded as memory failures may be signs of a healthy and adaptive memory system. In many aspects of life, research suggests people misremember their past in predictable, self-protective ways, reshaping experiences to support their current, positive sense of self.

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I went to bed for half an hour this afternoon and woke up four hours later.

That was not the plan.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, a train conductor taught me how to levitate. I cannot remember whether this was part of the normal service or whether I had been upgraded. At one point, it snowed.

Meanwhile, my body was doing something almost as strange. When I lie down, the coughing stops, and my nose stops running. Apparently, I am allergic to being upright.

Rhona just let me sleep.

“It’s okay, you’re ill,” she said.

Sometimes, the kindest thing another person can do is give you permission to stop. Rhona did that, and my body took full advantage.

Four hours’ advantage.

I’m awake again now.

Gravity, at least, has returned.

Things have moved pretty fast with our house purchase.

Just last week, we received the news that the Land Registry had been updated to show Rhona and me as the owners of our small cottage in Adisham.

What an achievement.

The only fly in the ointment has been insurance. Specifically, life insurance for me.

I have Type 2 diabetes, raised blood pressure and high cholesterol. Oh yeah, I’m overweight too. From an underwriting point of view, I am considered high risk, even though I feel fine and am working hard to improve my health.

Despite this, I have been rejected by the first company we tried, Royal London.

FFS!

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Is recursive self‑improvement the dawning of AI superintelligence?

freedom100m/Shutterstock Michael G. Madden, University of Galway and James McDermott, University of Galway

The US AI research company Anthropic has become known for building powerful AI models while simultaneously warning about their dangers.

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I'm not a religious man. I do, however, hold to the theory that the universe is a living system, and we, by extension, are a reflection, or possibly the evolution of the universal consciousness. 

I picked up and read The Four Agreements by don Miguel Ruiz again this week. It's not a long read, but it is very relevant to this post.  

Here's what the book is about.

The Four Agreements is a simple guide to living with more peace, freedom and authenticity. Its core message is built around four principles:

1. Be impeccable with your word. Speak honestly and use your words to build, not harm. Avoid gossip and say what you truly mean.

2. Don't take anything personally. Other people's actions and opinions usually reflect their own beliefs and experiences, not your worth.

3. Don't make assumptions. Instead of guessing what others think or mean, ask questions and communicate clearly.

4. Always do your best. Your best will vary from day to day. If you consistently give your genuine best, you'll avoid regret and unnecessary self-judgement.

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My desk, in our summer house, in our garden. This is my writing desk. From here, I write and create music, listen to music and think deeply. I am happiest here.

I often wonder why. Why do I do what I'm doing? Why do I not do certain things anymore? Why don't people like me? Why don't I like people? 

Why am I writing this blog? This question is probably the easiest to answer. 

A few years ago, I became interested in telling my story. My life has been a rollercoaster ride. The highs and lows have caused great joy, deep sadness, and turmoil. But the ride is and has been incredible. The highest high was becoming a father. Parenthood completed me; it helped me find my rudder and, of course, some direction.

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