conversations with the machine

I've spent a fair bit of time chatting with various AIs this last couple of months. There's a lot of backlash in various arenas, mainly, but not exclusively, creative, about "AI slop" and whilst a lot of the critique is undoubtedly fair, there is something of a pitchforks and torches feel to a lot of it. It's hard to have a normal conversation about the pros and cons without somebody getting incandescently shouty.

I've been using it a fair bit over recent months at work; not, I should stress, to do my work, but to to assist, review and help with analysis. My gut instinct is that it's a tool, like any other in some respects, but I'm also quite conscious that in others it most definitely is not.

But it is an available tool, and a valuable one, and I'm also aware that if we don't make use of it and become familiar in the use of it, others will. Some of those others will be our competition.

Away from work, I'm particularly curious about the impact of using something like AI on artistic integrity. Again, it's a subject that it seems you can't really have a sensible conversation about without risk of irrational escalation.

Which isn't to say that such fears are not without justification. I don't consider the concerns irrational, only the way some parties may choose to express them, typically in a way that so often scales exponentially into a personal attack. In my view, that just shuts down reasonable debate. It certainly makes me reluctant to want to enter any debate with them.

Anyway. On a lighter note a little extract from one of my more recent conversations with the machine:

October is

a month for soup, of more gigs, of clocks falling back and long dog walks in the dark. There are still bats and the moon remains huge and beautiful, hung low in the sky. It's not yet cold, but it is beginning to get wet.

My youngest son turns 28, my eldest son turns 32 and my youngest grandson 1. It's a month of remembrance. Mum would've turned 78. And it's 25 years since we lost my cousin David in a bike accident.

We finally sold the Albacore to, I hope, a good home. Amanda and I are getting on well racing the GP14, with a young friend of ours called Alex occasionally standing in for her as crew when she's not around. I've had so much fun racing the GP14 that I haven't actually sailed the Laser at all this year. Although Alex has raced the boat a fair bit in my place. 

Petrella has, sadly, continued to languish in her berth. I try to get down to Plymouth every couple of weeks to check on her, but even that has slipped with the competing commitments on my time. We're hoping to get back down to her for the first weekend of November. If the weather's kind, we may even sail.

Nik finally had the delayed operation for her hip a couple of weeks ago. It went smoothly, and she's recovering well. We have a holiday cottage booked in Fowey for a week in mid-November. It'll be five weeks after her operation, and the week before she's due to return to work from her convalescence. 

Just Nik, our dog Lottie and me. I'm really looking forward to it.

September was

a month of gigs, a wedding, nights drawing in. Dog walks and bats and a gibbous moons hung low in the early evening sky. Plenty of time on the lake, but little time on the sea.

It turned out I wasn't allergic to seafood. Clearly allergic to something, but nothing in any of the standard tests pinned it down, so we move on and hope we never find out what it was.

Nikki was scheduled for an operation to replace her hip, but because of an inconsequential scratch on the top of her foot, after a long day waiting, the surgeon postponed half an hour before they were to take her down to theatre.

Dad's mobility is on the up after the replacement of his knee. He's even been spotted dancing at a few gigs. Which has never happened before. I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere.

of prawns and pyrotechnics, boats and butterflies

Nikki and I both had last week booked off, the original plan being to head down to the boat with Dad and escape westwards into Cornwall. An appointment with her surgeon scheduled for last Monday curtailed the originally intended early escape, so in the end we didn't get to the boat until mid-afternoon Tuesday.

I made the best of it though, with a gig early Saturday evening, racing with Amanda around the cans at South Cerney Sunday morning and then taking Nikki out to lunch after her appointment with the surgeon on Monday.

So, finally to Plymouth, Tuesday afternoon. Petrella's bimini, an integral part of her cockpit tent, had blown some stitching on some of its seams and zips, so first job was to take the tent down and deliver it to Octagon Marine for repairs. I took the opportunity to ask them to replace the Perspex windows on the back and sides of the tent at the same time, as the original Perspex was so salt and UV scarred by age as to be even barely opaque any more.

I've also ordered some covers for the wheel and instruments, winches and chart-plotter. My thinking is two-fold. At the moment, we keep the cockpit tent up permanently when we're not aboard so as to protect the winches and instruments, but that means it takes the brunt of the elements. If it's not up all the time, then the tent, its zips and the clarity of the windows should last a lot longer.

And it takes about an hour to set the tent up, and about the same to take it down. Perhaps I'm exaggerating a little, but it's a significant effort. So a significant deterrent to taking the boat out for just a few of hours of day-sailing. Perhaps if I reduce the time it takes to prepare and pack away respectively, I'll get more use out of the boat, as getting away for any extended period of time, whether a couple of days or a couple of weeks, has over the last couple of years proven itself to be very difficult.

On which note, when we sat down to supper in the Marina restaurant last Tuesday evening we had a close re-evaluation of our plans for the week. The pain and discomfort in Nikki's hip has escalated dramatically over the last few months. With my help and a stepladder, she could just about board Petrella from the pontoon in the marina, but when I pressed her, she finally admitted she was a little anxious about sailing. So we took the decision to scrap our sailing plans and stay in Plymouth for the week.

It wasn't a terrible hardship. 

We ate out in the Barbican Wednesday evening, enjoyed an extended fireworks display over the Sound later that night and then another Thursday evening, as it was the annual Plymouth Fireworks Competition. 

Friday morning, the government set out a "Critical Warning" to anybody with a mobile phone to warn about the risk of wildfires and discourage us from setting of fireworks or lighting BBQ's or other such silly, potentially incendiary activities. Not sure of the detail, as couldn't really read the small print without my glasses. But the high-pitched, squealing alarm was amplified out of every phone in the packed marina, so gave more than a few of us a bit of a jump.

Annoyingly, I had a bit of a reaction to a prawn salad I had for lunch on Wednesday, which suggests I might've developed a seafood allergy of some kind. I've eaten a lot of prawns in my time, so I guess this could be their revenge. Over the counter antihistamines sorted it out within twenty-four hours, so it had little impact other than to perhaps influence how often we ate out and what I ate over the rest of the week.

Other than that, we spent most days aboard lazing on cushions in Petrella's cockpit beneath the shade of the now re-stitched binini, relaxing and enjoying the warmth of a glorious summer. There's a hesitancy in penning that particular description of the weather; the temperature stretched up into the mid 30's at times and I realise the scary potential significance of the multiple heatwaves we've had this year. I also see the parched, yellowed tinderbox landscape the country has become. But I am a creature of the heat, so can't help but selfishly revel in it whilst I can. 

It was a lovely five days of no plans, no commitments, no expectations, stresses or pressures to worry us. Most of my time was spent reading, with the occasional break to play a bit of guitar. Nikki and I distracted ourselves with a trip to a butterfly sanctuary on Saturday afternoon, the three of us ate again in the Marina restaurant Saturday evening - as I was unable to enjoy any seafood the three of us elected to instead enjoy their fillet steak - and then we packed up the boat Sunday morning and came home via Yate, where stopped to visit our youngest grandchild Freddie and his mum and dad.

He's ten months old now, and thriving. How time flies. 

Blood tests tomorrow to try and get to the bottom of whatever that allergic reaction was that I had.

Racing again at South Cerney Wednesday evening, then gigs Saturday and Sunday. Not sure what my plans are for the week after, but the weekend after next I'm hoping to get back down to the boat with Dad, and this time perhaps manage to cast off and actually head off somewhere for a day or two.

three months of catchup

It has, so far, been a long, hot glorious summer. The band has been stupidly busy, the racing at South Cerney has been entertaining and fun, and not enough time has been spent with Petrella. So pretty much business as usual.

I'm well, although had a nasty re-occurrence of tendinopathy in my Achilles that put me back on crutches for a week or two and scuppered a planned weekend away with Dad and the boat. On which note, Dad's well, and much more mobile now he's had his bionic knee installed. He turned 80 at the end of July, and to celebrate, he crewed for me in the Wednesday evening race at South Cerney.

Speaking of bionics, Nikki is on the short list for a hip replacement. Osteoarthritis in her right hip has caused her trouble for quite some time, but her mobility has deteriorated rapidly over the last year. She has a pre-op appointment with the surgeon on Monday, and hopefully it'll get sorted quickly after that.

Between Nik's mobility and the band's commitments, our time away with Petrella has really suffered this year. We both have next week off work, so will definitely spend some time on the boat; weather permitting, we might escape to Fowey for a night or two. I don't know if we'll get much further than that, but we shall see. I'd like to see Falmouth and the Helford again.

We did enjoy a long weekend away on the boat at the end of May though, a trip out to Fowey just before the really warm weather arrived. Fowey is an easy harbour for Nik. The two meter freeboard on Petrella means she can't climb down into the tender right now, but she can get on and off the Fowey water taxi if she's careful.

In other news, dogs, kids and grandchildren are all well, the latter growing like weeds, and with another grandchild incoming, due to arrive mid January. Which kind of scuppers our plans for an early New Year holiday abroad. We might be able to fit something in between gigs a little later into the spring, but that could be tricky. The band is now essentially fully booked up until NYE 2027/28.

SCSC: the importance of just sailing the boat

Yesterday evening's race at the Lake did not go to plan. Although a 30 knot squall and heavy rain came through at 1800 just as we were beginning to rig the GP14, once it passed through it dried out and the north-westerly wind dropped into the low teens.

So the wind wasn't really the problem.

The problem began with the start line. The race was run from the committee hut ashore, so it was a reaching start due to the wind direction. The GP is a lovely boat, and the more I get used to her, the more I enjoy her, but she's got a very large genoa, so visibility is a bit rubbish.

Which wasn't the entire problem, but certainly contributed. It didn't get in the way of me seeing the Scorpion approaching us on starboard, for example, just as we'd hit a lull and a shift that gybed us onto port but otherwise left us stationary in the Scorpion's path.

"Protest"

Fair enough. And with another thirty seconds to go before the start, plenty of time to take a couple of penalty turns and reposition. Unfortunately, whilst I was looking for the best space to do that, half an eye on my watch and head full of tactics, neither I nor Amanda spotted the Laser hidden behind our genoa. That is, until the thump came and our bows rode up onto her.

The freeboard of a Laser is pretty close to the water, and our relative lack of velocity and the line of our bow-stem meant we just slid up and then back off; a bit of dark scuffing but no apparent damage to our boat or our victim. Damage to our pride was another matter altogether.

No excuses. It was a dumb thing to do. Yes, the start-line was crowded, but sometimes you've just got to remember to sail the boat, and first and foremost that means sailing clear and not hitting anybody else.

By the time I'd apologised profusely and we'd done our two penalty turns (and I'm not sure if it shouldn't have been four, two for the Scorpion and two for the Laser) the rest of the fleet was over the line and most of the way to the first mark.

Still dizzy from our turns, we ducked back to the line to ensure we had a clean start, set the spinnaker for the reach and set to chasing the fleet.

It could've turned out okay. It was gusty, and upwind we made good time with both Amanda and I hiking hard to keep the boat flat and pointing. Downwind, it was painfully obvious we're both still very new to the spinnaker. 

The hoists and drops are getting better. And to our credit, despite the occasionally blustery conditions, we didn't hesitate to hoist at every opportunity. The sail isn't intimidating us any more as, if I'm honest, it did at first. However, we messed up a couple of drops, bringing the kite back into its bag on the wrong side of the jib sheets. 

That made for a horrific tangle on the next hoist, and once the bird's nest of sail, sheets and halyard was unwound, the kite went up in an uncontrollable figure of eight that took another drop and hoist to sort out. And dropped us out irredeemably to the back of the fleet.

But it's all good practice. She's a good boat, we just need to use her to her full potential. I should stress none of this was the crew's fault, and although I think Amanda was frustrated with herself, I really hope she realises that.

Forecast looks light for Sunday. We shall have another go.

No photos. My hands were too full of boat to think of taking any. So the photo at the top is from a sunny, calm Sunday a couple of weeks ago.

SCSC: of drifts and screamers

A photo of our GP14 taken a couple of weeks ago. Despite the pink spinnaker Amanda wasn't actually crewing for me; we had sailed the morning races together, and then Alex (an infectiously enthusiastic thirteen year old) came out with me for the afternoon pursuit, which we won.

The photo was taken from the shore by his dad, Mark. Conditions were very, very light. This spring the weather seems to have gone from one extreme to the other, and it's either been a drift where it's been very difficult to get enough pressure into the sail to set the kite, or a white-knuckled 30 knots screamer of a blow where the idea of launching the kite has terrified both helm and crew. No easy middle-ground where we'd have the opportunity to get used to the third sail.

So Amanda, myself and Alex are still getting ourselves into frequent tangles, more often than not. Admittedly, Amanda and I more than Alex and I, but Alex has the advantage of lots of spinnaker practice racing with the cadets.

We're still having very good fun working the boat out though. 

Gigs tonight and tomorrow, then I'm racing at the lake again on Sunday. Amanda can't make it as it's her mum's birthday, so I've got Alex crewing for me all day. The forecast is 15 to 26 knots from the northeast, which, when your crew weighs less than your dog, is likely to be a bit of a handful.

Three races are scheduled, two class handicap races in the morning, and a pursuit in the afternoon.

unimpressed (but still cute)

I was a little late picking Lottie back up from the groomers yesterday. Apparently, she was not impressed. Lottie, that is. Amanda, the lady with the brush and clippers, was very understanding (as was her next client whom I'd kept waiting).

Lottie turned 4 last month. They grow up fast.

Freefall: mud and rain

Dad is recovering well, and seems very happy with his new bionic knee. He actually made it back out to his first gig again last Saturday. It should've been a balmy evening sat in a farmer's field, watching the band play on the back of a truck.

Of course, we're still in the midst of an English spring, and after a few weeks of sunshine and hot weather, on Saturday night the rain set in thick and hard just as we arrived to set up, and didn't relent until the gig ended, when the rain then cut off as if on cue.

We had to rely on a friendly local to tow the band's trailer out of the field with his pickup, then go back to tow the drummer's car out.

It was otherwise fun, although a bit nippy; my breath was steaming in the air as I sung. Dad was fine, we installed him on a camping chair in the bar tent where he comfortably spent the night out of the rain watching the band play.

I've now got to clean the mud off my kit in time for tomorrow night's gig.

Dad and I hope to get down to Petrella for the end of the month; it's a bank holiday weekend, so if the weather is kind and his knee suitably healed, we hope to make Fowey or Falmouth or both. It will be our first cruise of the year. In fact, between my health (which is now, happily, fully recovered) and his, it'll be our first since our last trip out to Salcombe last August.

So the first sail of this year is shockingly late. I quietly wonder if perhaps I should give up on the south coast and perhaps look for a boat that's a little smaller and easier to manage single-handed, and closer to home.

But I'll park that thought for now. Petrella and I are far from done. It's just been a frustrating eight or nine months.

Bionic Dad

Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Roger Gribble will be that man. Better than he was before. Better... stronger... faster...

Dropped Dad off at the hospital yesterday for his knee replacement. Had a message later that day "It’s a done job! I’m back in my room. Can’t move my legs yet, but I’m starting to move my hips. So Progress!!!" I haven't yet caught up with him this morning, but so far so good.

Though I do imagine he's a little sore. Hopefully bring him home tomorrow, and he'll be well on the road to recovery and ready to resume his crewing duties on Petrella's foredeck.

bad poetry