There was a brilliant piece in last Monday’s Guardian in which Stephen Moss asks what robots might learn from our literature. I give you a sample:
[A] new generation of robots combining artificial intelligence with great physical power may not … wipe us out after all. We can be friends, united in a common appreciation of Middlemarch. But a less sunny outlook is suggested by … the Shepton Mallet School of Advanced Hermeneutics [who] fed the entire world’s literature into a robot (called HOMER16) fitted with a high-powered computer; preliminary results are worrying.
Here are some extracts from the HOMER16’s initial readings.
Hamlet: Dithering prince with unhinged girlfriend demonstrates how dangerous it is not to act decisively. Interminable and convoluted plot obstructs the central message that your enemies should be dispatched quickly, brutally and mercilessly. Cannot compute the meaning of the strange “To be or not to be” speech. In what sense is that the question?
A Clockwork Orange: Frightening study that shows the extent to which a love of classical music can damage the human brain. The works of Beethoven seem to be especially dangerous. Fail to understand why this material is still played, even on radio stations that very few people listen to.
The New Testament: Ludicrous set of stories in which the sick are miraculously healed, fishes and loaves materialise from nowhere, and a young man comes back to life after being executed. The telling by four narrators is interestingly postmodern, but the plot is too ludicrous to hold the attention. Could not compute the long introduction called The Old Testament, which seemed very dull and repetitious.
À la Recherche du Temps Perdu: A book in need of an editor about a protagonist in need of a psychiatrist. Good on the dangerous consequences of eating cake.
[With thanks to Julian Miller.]
Category Archives: amusements
Something for the Weekend
Clever New Yorker cartoon I spotted a week or so ago …
Something for the Weekend

Auction Oddments
Another in our occasional series highlighting some of the strange things, and combinations of things, which pass through our local auction house. Here’s a selection from the latest sale. I’ve highlighted some of the more eccentric items.
A Parker pen with black lacquered body and gilt lid. A silk handkerchief printed with the Maginot line, a quantity of silk flags, some badges and a 1937 Coronation tin, an American propelling pencil commemorating The Loyal-Order-of-Moose incorporating a calendar made by Ritepoint, another pencil, four netsuke and a small religious book.
An mid 20th century Tudor gents wristwatch, five other wristwatches, a pair of silver cufflinks, a single 9 carat gold cufflink, old spectacles, a silver and mother of pearl fruit knife, old hat pins, two cork screws, a nut cracker, etc.
A decorative pipe bowl styled as a bearded Cavalier on a perspex stand.
Why would the Cavalier have been on a perspex stand? And then why model the perspex stand?
A lepidopterist’s collection of mounted butterflies in six cases, one pair with roundels containing approximately fifteen butterflies in each with neatly typed name labels, one display of butterflies of Malaya, etc.
Eighteen packs of old bus tickets, seven crowns, other coins including a Victorian florin and a Victorian half crown, a pretty marcasite necklace, a small quantity of decorative jewellery, three first day covers and some mint stamps.
A 1970s leather cased decanter set on wooden tray — sherry, whisky and gin with wooden lids, a large amethyst glass with clear twist glass stem, two glass paperweights, a musical beefeater, a pair of wooden candlesticks and a pair of brass similar, a quantity of horse brasses, a wooden pierced easel mirror encased by folding doors with foliate decoration etc.
An extensive suite of glassware across two shelves to include red and white whine [sic] glasses …
A taxidermy figure of a Kestrel.
A spelter figure of a lady carrying fruit signed by Morau and an oriental style table lamp.
Why had Morau signed the fruit? I need to know.
A set of six Babysham glasses, two Victorian wooden truncheons, a Japanese 19th century yellow ground brush pot, a small quantity of Wade whimsies, a folding vanity mirror, Woods & Co Verona pattern part fruit service, two ebony dressing table pots and covers, Japanese metal box and cover and a Guinness book of Records.
A quantity of stoneware tureens with covers, vases and lids, a small Doulton Lambeth vase, a Colclough part dinner service including dinner plates, side plates, cereal bowls, etc. a black glazed two handled vase, a small quantity of glassware and a model of a caravan structured as a light.
A quantity of pressed and other glassware including fruit bowls and comports, a part tea service, a vintage McDougal flower canister, a small quantity of cameras including Pacemaker, Konika and Kodak Brownie Twin 20, Aquascope 200, mother of pearl inlaid writing box, musical jewellery box, a circular ice bucket, a quantity of games including draughts, chess and dominoes, a pair of Oreset Rosa 39/8 dress making scissors, a green glass fishing float, gramophone needles, etc.
A pair of large Satsuma vases decorated with Geishas and a similar blue ground vase, a pair of flow blue tureens, a set of three graduated flying bird wall plaques, a Victoria china part tea service, a small amount of Royal Albert Old Country Roses tea ware including teapot, three glass decanters and stoppers, a Cottage ware butter dish and stand, a quantity of children’s annuals from the 1960s and 70s including Thunderbirds and a Laurel and Hardy Bumper book plus a Swinger two polaroid camera boxed.
A good collection of vintage metal wicker and wooden wares to include a large metal pan, a toaster, heat master teapots, sugar sifters, silver plated bowl, tray, two Victorian coal irons, wicker picnic basket, wooden trays, pretty Edwardian brass framed fire screen, a wooden chopping board converted to hanging rack with decorative spoons, etc.
A mahogany Canterbury with drawer and two wicker picnic baskets …
Why would a Canterbury be made with two wicker baskets?
A remarkable tribal carved coconut head wearing a vintage leather flying helmet with SLM goggles dated 1942, together with an early leather watch strap for wearing a fob watch on the wrist, and two possibly Sudanese native daggers with leather scabbards
A 19th century naval sword with cast brass guard and fragmentary scabbard, an Indian sabre and swordstick, two bugles, a Milbro 12 bore cleaning kit, and a hand bell
A charming musical poodle by Merrythought with wind up tail and matching hat and fleece outfit in navy blue.
Two shelves of assorted men’s boots and shoes, including Stone Creek, NPS and Reebok, also a box of modern bed linen, still in packets, two sewing baskets and contents and a book @The History of the Self-winding watch
A large box of flint rocks, some carved in the form of seated people, a quantity of enamel teapots, an old telephone, old stoneware storage jars, etc.
Six children’s violins, in cases and a cased Singer sewing machine.
A quantity of DVDs including Annie Get Your Gun and westerns, Australian rules football ball, stainless steel cooking pans, two picnic baskets and a leather briefcase
Something for the Weekend
Oddity of the Week
We all know that soldiers in the British Army are not allowed to wear beards on parade. But that isn’t quite true. There is one rank who is allowed a full beard: the Pioneer Sergeant.

Pioneer Sergeants have existed since the 18th century, beginning when every British infantry company had one ‘pioneer’ who would march in front of the regiment. He would wear a stout apron, which protected his uniform whilst he was performing his duties, and carry an axe to clear the path for anyone following behind. It was also the Pioneer Sergeant’s duty to kill horses that had been wounded in battle, do running repairs and be a blacksmith. Consequently they were traditionally the biggest, strongest, “do-not-fuck-with-me” member of the company.
In modern parades, Pioneer Sergeants still wear their ceremonial aprons and carry their traditional axes in place of a bayonet.
And of course there are other, less traditional, exceptions to the “no beards” rule such a Sikhs.
More over on Forces TV.
Thinking Thursday #5 Answer
This week in Thinking Thursday I asked you to find the next number in the sequence:
Who discovered that it is 311 311 222 113?
If you did, then well done!
So how do you get there?
Well this is what’s known as a look-and-say sequence in which each term is constructed by describing the previous term.
So if we start with the number 3, the next term is “one 3” as the previous number contains just one of the number three. So now we have 3, 13.
And the third number describes the second number, hence it is “one 1, one 3” or 1113, which we wrote as 1 113 just to throw you off the scent a bit. We now have 3, 13, 1 113.
Similarly, number four is constructed from number three: “three 1s, one 3”; or 3 113, giving us the sequence 3, 13, 1 113, 3 113. And so on.
But do you notice something else about this sequence? Yes, that’s right, the last number is always 3. In fact that’s true for any look-and-say sequence which starts with an integer between 0 and 9 — the last digit of each term will always be the starting number.
What I didn’t know was that the look-and-say sequence was introduced and analysed by the British mathematician John Conway who is still alive, and who also invented the Game of Life.
Good fun!
Something for the Weekend
Thinking Thursday #5
We haven’t had a “Thinking Thursday” post since before Christmas so it’s time for a bit more fun.
3, 13, 1 113, 3 113, 132 113, 1 113 122 113, ?
What is the next number in the sequence?
As always there’s no prize except the fun of getting it right. But if you want to show off by putting your answer in the comments, then that’s fine with me!
Answer on Sunday evening, as usual.
Oh, and of course, there’s no cheating!
Oddity of the Week: Glass Armonica
We’ve all misbehaved in restaurants or at dinner parties by running our wet fingers round wine glasses to make sounds. In fact one of the first people to write about the phenomenon was Galileo — and the trick wasn’t new then! And sets of water-tuned glasses on which you can play tunes were popularized in England by Richard Pockridge and Gluck in the early 1700s.
But did you know that there is a real musical instrument based on just this principle: the Glass Armonica (often called the Glass Harmonica).
In 1761 Benjamin Franklin was in London (representing the Pennsylvania Legislature to Parliament) and as a capable amateur musician he regularly attended concerts. One such concert was given by a guy called Deleval, who performed on a set of water tuned wineglasses patterned after Pockridge’s instrument. Franklin was enchanted and set out to invent and build “a more convenient” arrangement.
What Franklin came up with in 1762 was the glass armonica.

The armonica is composed of between 20 and 54 blown crystal (or quartz) glass bowls (37 bowls is a standard size). These are fitted into one another, but not in contact, with a horizontal rod going through their centres; the rotation of the rod is controlled by a pedal. The diameter of the bowl determines the note. Once the bowls are rotating around the rod, the player rubs the edges with wet fingers, thus producing a note — and indeed usually complex chords.
Apparently the armonica was quite a hit, especially in Germany where Franz Mesmer used it to “mesmerise” his patients and who introduced the instrument to Mozart. Indeed Mozart wrote a couple of pieces for the armonica, as did Beethoven and a number of their contemporaries.
If you want to know what the glass armonica sounds like, then here it is, with some instrumental accompaniment.
And find out more about the instrument and its history at:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glass_harmonica
http://glassarmonica.com/
http://www.thomasbloch.net/en_glassharmonica.html