Five years before the iPhone

Trying to organise some of my old video footage recently, I came across a little demo I recorded of the AT&T Broadband Phone, a project we started in 1999 but which, sadly, died, along with the research lab that had created it, in 2002.

Looking back at it now, I notice how slow-paced it is compared to the typical YouTube video of today!  So if you watch it, you might need a little patience!  Nonetheless, it’s quite fun to see some of the ideas we were considering back then, five or six years before the launch of the iPhone… things like the suggestion that streamed music “might be a service offered by a record company, where you pay a small amount for each track”, for example…

 

Cordless Broadband phone and iPhone comparison

Direct link.

 

(P.S. I had an idea I had written about this here before… and indeed discovered that I had… but not since 2008, about eighteen months after the iPhone was launched.) 

We’re not in Lake Wobegon any more, Toto

For those struggling to understand the US election results, I can only offer the following statistical observations:

  • Roughly half of the world are of below-average intelligence.
  • Roughly half of the world are of above-average gullibility.
  • More than half of the world are on social media.

Sometimes these combine in unfortunate ways.

For those not familiar with the Lake Wobegon stories… Each monologue would end with, “That’s the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.”

A glooming light this morning with it brings

A sombre mood here in our half-American household. The phrase that keeps running through my head is…

Elect me once, shame on me.
Elect me twice…

In the footsteps, and wake, of the Swallows and Amazons


Coniston Water with Bank Ground Farm in the foreground, and the village and the Old Man Of Coniston behind.
(Click images for larger versions.)

Coniston Water, in the English Lake District, is one of my favourite places on Earth.  That’s partly because it’s so beautiful, and partly because it brings back so many memories of happy childhood holidays.  

My parents had an elderly caravan which we would often tow 300 miles or so from Hertfordshire, and a favourite spot to park it was at Pier Cottage, the small site roughly in the middle of the photo above on the far side of the lake.  On the roof of the car, we would have either our little Mirror sailing dinghy, or a couple of kayaks.  Sometimes we even managed to get a couple of bicycles in the caravan too.  Most pitches there have a little bit of shoreline, and the distance from the van to the water was about 10 metres.  

I remember early one slightly misty morning, my brother and I balanced our bowls of cereal on the front of our kayaks, and paddled out to have breakfast in the middle of the lake, which we had pretty much to ourselves.  

I am fortunate to have had a very happy childhood filled with great experiences, but this is seared into my memory as one of the best moments.  Other fun activities available from the caravan door included walking around the lake (about 12 miles) or climbing the Old Man of Coniston: the hill in the background (about 2500ft).  Only much later did I realise that my parents also probably encouraged such activities so that they could have a bit of time to themselves!


Looking southward down Coniston Water.

I still return to the Lake District most years, but last month, for the first time since my childhood, we were once again taking a sailing dinghy to Coniston. This time it was our Tideway 12, named Shingebis. We weren’t, however, camping; we were staying at Bank Ground Farm, on the eastern side of the lake.


Bank Ground Farm

The farm is famous for being “Holly Howe” in the Swallows and Amazons series by Arthur Ransome — also an important part of my childhood — and we’ve been rediscovering the books as adults… chiefly through the unabridged audiobook versions expertly narrated by Gareth Armstrong.  When we’re on a long journey, especially towards a nautical destination, they help make the motorways much more enjoyable, and instill a suitable sense of adventure in our travels!

So, on this trip, we were in a very Ransomesque mood, in which I will unashamedly indulge for the remainder of this post, with apologies to those who have not grown up with the same enthusiasms!  If you explore the books as an adult, you need to remember that they were written for youngish children, about a century ago, and approach Swallows and Amazons as you might The Railway Children or The Phoenix and the Carpet.  If it seems a little tame to you, then try my favourite, We Didn’t Mean to Go To Sea, which is a wonderful adventure with real jeopardy.

(And if you’re unfortunate enough only to have seen the dreadful 2016 film version, then reformat your brain, install a new operating system, and start from scratch.  It is universally agreed among the cognoscenti that the 1974 film, starring Ronald Fraser and Virginia McKenna, is greatly superior.)

Swallows and Amazons, like many of the later books, is set on and around a ‘lake in the north’, which is a blend of Coniston and Windermere.  We were meeting up on Coniston to sail with our friends from the Tideway Owners’ Association (TOA), most of whom share our enthusiasm for the books, so we could revel in our escapism!

The Walker children arrive at ‘Holly Howe’ and are staying there when their adventure begins.  At the start of the film you see them running across the field, down to the lake, where, once they have paternal approval, they are able to set sail for their adventures in the Swallow.  We were staying in a small lodge next to the farm, which is at the top of that same field, and took the same route down to the pontoon where we moored our own boat, Shingebis, for the week, next to the boathouse that once housed Swallow.  


Rose and Shingebis at Bank Ground Farm

Many of the places, and vessels, and some of the people mentioned in the books were real, though often given new names in their fictional form. Amazon, for example, is based on a boat originally named Mavis, which can still be seen in a local museum.  But this blurring of fiction and reality is quite fun if you’re interested in finding the locations. An excellent introduction, and a good present for any Ransome fans, is Christina Hardyment’s “Arthur Ransome & Captain Flint’s Trunk“.

Anyway, if you’re setting sail from Holly Howe, one of the first things you have to do, of course, is go and visit ‘Wild Cat Island’, which is actually a blend of Blake Holme, an island on Windermere, and Peel Island, towards the southern end of Coniston.  The famous ‘Secret Harbour’ is definitely on Peel Island though, and is just as described.


Tilly stops off for a drink in the Secret Harbour.


The view south from Wild Cat Island.

If you carry on to the south end of the lake, you get to ‘Swainson’s Farm’, which really was owned by a family named Swainson who were friends of Ransome’s.  And here’s where the mapping between factual and fictional geography gets a little blurred, because this is where the Amazon’s boathouse is, and the river that ought to flow into the lake actually flows out, but it does take you to Allan Tarn, which fans will know as ‘Octopus Lagoon’.


Down the Amazon River to Octopus Lagoon.

The Amazon’s crew, of course, lived at “Beckfoot”, which, to the extent it exists at all, is probably at the far end of the lake, and possibly actually on Windermere.  One can’t take these locations too… ahem… literally!

When we returned to the lake, we dropped our anchor in a little bay for a picnic lunch, and then headed back to Holly Howe.  There was almost no wind, and so we were adopting a technique I call e-sailing.  This is analogous to riding an e-bike, and involves making use of natural power with some assistance from a battery — in our case, to get us over each glassy patch of still water to the next spot where the light wind was ruffling the surface.  This was just as well, since the lake is about 5 miles long and it would have been a long row!

~

A couple of days later, we continued in the footsteps of Ransome’s characters.  Hidden up in the woods on the east side of the lake is an old stone hut, which you would never stumble across unless you knew where to look.  It featured in The Picts and the Martyrs as the ‘Dog’s Home”, where Dick and Dorothea had to camp for a week and a half to avoid being seen by the Amazons’ Great Aunt.  Though the surrounding clearing is now somewhat overgrown, as Nancy observed a century ago, “It hasn’t tumbled down yet”.

We then went in search of locations from Swallowdale.  At the south end of the lake, we crossed the ‘Amazon river’ we had previously explored by boat and reached the little hamlet of Water Yeat, where we parked and walked up a lovely road past the prettily-situated Greenholm Farm.  The road became a track, and eventually took us to Beacon Tarn.  We know from Ransome’s notes that this was where Roger caught his trout in the book, and so became ‘Trout Tarn’.  Nearby, there was a vary plausible candidate for the ‘Lookout Rock’.  In the distance we could see the peak of The Old Man of Coniston, which I have climbed many times.  The children in the book christen it ‘Kanchenjunga’, and they set out from Swallowdale across ‘High Moor’ to climb it.  We took the more relaxed option of sitting beside the tarn enjoying a picnic, but as we did so, some of our more energetic TOA friends had just reached the summit. 


The Ship’s Dog at ‘Trout Tarn’, with ‘Kanchenjunga’ in the distance.

A true location for the little valley named ‘Swallowdale’ has never really been established.  It is meant to be on the beck flowing out of the tarn, but no such spot exists here.  Ransome once said, tantalisingly, that all the places in the books exist somewhere, but this he must have transported from another location.  Still, as readers will know, one of the primary attractions of Swallowdale was that it was almost impossible to find!

~

The following days held more sailing and walking with friends, and, given that the Lake District is one of the rainiest places in Britain, we got to the end of our trip astonished that we’d had an entire week there in September without any precipitation and, in fact, requiring the application of a considerable amount of sun cream!  We’d also had a splendid time exploring the boundaries between fact and fiction, between childhood and adulthood.

As we fastened the cover over Shingebis on her trailer, ready for the drive home, raindrops started to fall, and the entire journey thereafter was in a downpour: a curtain through which we passed as we left that magical world and returned to reality.

But we can easily go back again in the future.  Perhaps even just by picking up a book.

Martin’s law of meetings, and the ‘national conversation’

I’m slightly amused by all the news reports this week that the government wants a ‘national conversation’ on the future of the NHS. While this is a laudable idea which will appeal to the punters, I doubt it’s actually very practical.  

My late friend Martin King used to say that the ease of making any decision is inversely proportional to the number of people involved in making it.  So trying to have a committee of 70 million people might be counterproductive?  Anyway, Martin’s theory was that you shouldn’t, in general, try to make any decisions in meetings; you should only use them to ratify decisions you have already made!

A wise man, in many ways.

My own view of how to fix the NHS, for what it’s worth (and I admit it’s not worth very much, probably!) is as follows:

Firstly, it needs to be more tightly integrated with social care (so people can get out of hospitals quickly), secondly, it needs much better ways of rewarding efficient and effective workers and getting rid of others (because of the often amazing administrative inefficiency and incompetence of many otherwise lovely and well-meaning people), and thirdly, of course, it always needs more funding.  (Oh, and fourthly, we should re-join the EU, but I’m not holding out much hope there…)

So let’s talk about funding. We should be completely open with the public about how much more funding is needed. My guess, based on the cost of private healthcare plans, is about £1-2k more per person per year.  We currently spend just under £4k/person/year on healthcare.

I wrote more about this topic a couple of years ago.  Note that, despite much common rhetoric, the NHS has never actually had any cuts in funding, except once, when the increased spending during Covid returned to its normal levels after the pandemic.  But the rate of growth in spending has varied under different governments. This interesting page from the BMA suggests that, under the Conservative government, there has been an cumulative ‘underspend’ of £446bn, which they base on the fact that the longer-term historical rate of growth (a pretty substantial 3.8% in real terms) hasn’t been maintained at the same rate in the last decade and a half.  If it had, they would have had that much more.  

It sounds like a terrifying figure, but it’s only £6K per person, or £400 for each of those years, to recover all of it.  Another interesting observation is that we spend the same proportion of GDP on healthcare as most other comparable countries.  It’s just that our GDP hasn’t been doing very well lately!  (So I guess the counter-argument would be that we get the NHS we can reasonably afford, and we need to fix the economy to get a better one.) But let’s assume, for the purposes of argument, that we want to fix the NHS and we can’t immediately fix the economy.  

We should then simply propose adding whatever amount is really needed to income tax or NI.   There are far too many people who complain that the NHS is underfunded but assume that the funding is going to come from somebody other than themselves!  

For people to accept this, these funds should be ring-fenced, so they really can’t be spent on anything else.   Then we should just make people vote on whether they really want it, based on the extra x% of tax it’s going to cost them, either through a referendum or as a manifesto at the next general election.  (Count me in, for all reasonable values of x!)

Actually, a referendum would allow the extraction of real numbers for x.  Imagine going to your polling station and being presented with just one multiple choice question; something like this:

How much should the government raise the current standard rates of income tax for the exclusive purpose of further funding the NHS and Social Care systems? (choose one answer)

  • Not at all
  • 1%
  • 2%
  • 3%
  • 4%
  • 5%

Then you do the maths and give people the NHS they’re willing to pay for. The ballot box, I would suggest, may be the only way to make a decision when the participants in your ‘conversation’ are truly ‘national’ in their numbers!  

Otherwise, Martin’s law applies.

P.S. I do know that some of the above is over-simplistic. Historically, raising overall tax rates hasn’t usually actually raised overall revenues for any length of time, for example, but I think raising them for this explicit purpose, and then cutting them elsewhere if you want to, would prove popular.  However, I’m not an economist, and you should feel free not to vote for any government proposing to appoint me as Chancellor or Health Secretary,

 

 

 

 

Stereo required

I hadn’t come across the singer ‘Madelline’ before, but I’ve been somewhat entranced by her track ‘Dopamine’, not just because it’s a pleasant song, but because of this particular version.

To the same backing track, you hear her singing it in both French and English at the same time.

If you listen through a single phone speaker, it just sounds like a bit of a jumble, but if you have headphones or anything else with decent stereo separation, then the effect of hearing the same person, singing the same song, at the same time, to the same backing, but in your left ear in French and your right ear in English, is quite bizarre, especially if you have reasonable fluency in both.

It does slightly weird things to my brain, but it’s also interesting to see the flexibility in translation needed to get roughly the same concepts into the same lines.

Data management tip of the day

“Nobody wants ‘backup’.  Everybody wants ‘restore’.”

— Heard on the Self-Hosted show, one of my favourite tech podcasts.

Surviving the search engine meltdown

  Today, I got yet more evidence that the web is sinking in a world of AI-generated slime.  

Our otherwise-fine Dualit toaster has, after many years, started to have occasional hiccups with its timer… I think the clockwork has become a little dodgy.  So I did a quick search to see if others had the same experience, and I got this page back as one of the top hits:

I quote: “Nowadays, there are so many products of dualit toaster timer keeps sticking in the market and you are wondering to choose a best one.”

There’s a danger that we may soon move past the time of useful online search — Peak Google, if you like — and the alternative approach of trying to ask questions of an AI will only make things worse, since studies have already shown that training AIs on AI-generated content quickly leads to madness (for the AIs, that is, not the users, though that too would probably follow soon afterwards). 

So making the most of online content in the future may depend, more than ever before, on being able to ensure that it comes from a trusted human source.  Who’s old enough to remember when the web was small enough that human-generated indexes were the best way to find things?

But this is also why, as John Naughton nicely reminds us in an Observer piece this weekend, the best human-generated and human-curated content out there is often available via your RSS reader, not your search engine.  (I happen to like News Explorer, and have used it for a few years.)

RSS — a system for telling you when your favourite sites, especially blogs, have been updated without you needing to go and look at each one every day — has existed since long before Facebook and these other trendy things now called ‘social networks’ existed, and I suspect will still be around after they’ve gone.  But if RSS doesn’t appeal for some reason, much of the best content — including, of course, John’s blog and this one — is also available via an even more time-tested channel.  Your email inbox.

 

It’s hard not to like this story…

Regular readers will know that I like electrifying things.  Our car has been electric for nearly a decade now, and we also have a lawnmower, a strimmer, two hedge-trimmers, two bicycles and a range of other devices powered by batteries. We also generate most of our own electricity, and buy the rest overnight at cheap rates from renewable sources.  All very satisfying.

Perhaps my favourite such purchase, though, is our electric outboard motor, which makes powered boating as pleasant as sailing, and has provided us with no end of peaceful enjoyment.  

Larger boats, however, are a problem, when it comes to electrification.  

Though there are some bigger ships and even some car ferries powered by batteries, they tend not to cover very great distances.  Meanwhile, traditional shipping burns vast amounts of fuel, and typically very dirty fuel, because the big diesel engines can make use of far less refined oils than the stuff we use on land.  (And, ironically, something like 40% of all global shipping consists of the transport of fossil fuels themselves to other places that want to burn them!)

I can’t help wondering whether more shipping could be powered by nuclear reactors.  This is, of course, already used for submarines, primarily because nuclear reactors don’t depend on oxygen.  But suppose you want propulsion that doesn’t depend on carbon either?  Still, nuclear fission does have some challenges of its own.

So I think many people are hoping that the big cargo ships of the future will carry hydrogen tanks instead of diesel tanks, and that will be the eventual answer to how we make them cleaner, at least until we have mobile fusion reactors that can extract deuterium from the sea water en route

But there may be another important option, which comes not so much from the future, as from the past.

Last month, for the first time in nearly a century, a large cargo ship set off across the Atlantic powered almost entirely by sail.  (See this Fast Company post for the details.)  These are sailing ships for the modern age, taking advantage of carbon-fibre masts, meteorological forecasts tied to the routing software, and automations that allow them to be sailed by a very modest crew.  Winds are easier to predict than in the past, and spars and sails can be bigger while still being manageable.  TOWT, the French company behind the ships, has two in operation now, and six more on order.

I’ve no idea how significant a part of our future shipping needs could be met this way, but I really hope they can play a substantial part, because, quite apart from everything else, aren’t they beautiful?

The 'Anemos' under sail

Cross-format poetry

Continuing the theme of Good Stuff Spotted on Mastodon, this comes from Natasha Jay:

There was a young man
From Cork who got limericks
And Haikus confused.

The Geek’s Prayer

From Phil Giammattei‘s Mastodon feed…

Lord, grant me the acumen to automate the tasks that do not require my personal attention,
the strength to avoid automating the tasks that do,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

(Thanks to Rupert Curwen for reposting.)

A brief trip to the past

I’ve just come back from bobbing about in a small boat on the crystal blue waters of the Greek bit of the Mediterranean – a marvellous excerience!

I’m sitting in the tender here because, as anyone who has tried it will confirm, it’s much easier to land a drone on a boat that doesn’t have any rigging!

But just before I set off in the wake of Odysseus et al, I decided to spend a day in Athens visiting the Parthenon. Should you wish to spend a few minutes in my company doing the same, you can find a short video here.

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© Copyright Quentin Stafford-Fraser