Visitor on the Ward

Charlie woke up in his hospital bed, feeling disoriented and groggy. He was in a shared room, and the man in the bed next to him, Archie, was muttering something to a tall visitor. Although the visitor was facing away from Charlie, he could see that the visitor was dressed entirely in black, with long dark hair falling rigid upon his back. The clothes young people wore were ridiculous, thought Charlie. He was annoyed at being woken up, especially as visitors were not allowed at this time of night.

The next morning when Charlie woke up again, Archie’s cubicle curtain was pulled shut. Charlie intended to complain about what had happened. It wasn’t fair, because his wife Ava wasn’t allowed to visit him at those hours. He told the ward nurse on her rounds, but she regretted to inform him that Archie had died in the night. “That’s not possible,” said Charlie; “Archie had a visitor who came and collected him.” Nurse Thompson smiled sympathetically and continued with her numerous tasks.

The next evening, Charlie was woken again. This time the dark-clothed visitor was facing him at the end of his bed. “Come with me,” he said, through a motionless mouth on a long pale face. “Ava is visiting me in a few hours,” objected Charlie. The visitor remained impassive. “She’ll be fine,” came the response that resonated across the room.

It had been such a long time since Charlie was able to get out of bed without any help. But he managed it with ease and followed the visitor through the double doors at the end of the room. He wasn’t sure where they were going, but he was drawn to the sense of peace that lifted him out of the pain he had been experiencing lately.

The Woman in a Cloak

Arthur had been feeling lost for a long time. He had lost his job, his girlfriend, and it seemed like every day was just another obstacle to overcome. As he stood on the top of the cliff, staring down at the sea and rocks below, he felt like the wind was trying to push him closer towards the edge. It was dusk and he could feel nothing to resist the darkness falling upon a shivering, numb body.

As night fell, a man in a suit appeared behind him. Arthur was surprised and told the man that he just wanted to be left alone. The visitor smiled to reveal sharp, glinting teeth; its hands were claws, positioned upright to attack.

The creature burst into blue flames and hovered up off the ground, ready to descend upon its prey.

Arthur was terrified; cowering in fear, he closed his eyes, expecting the inevitable. He opened them to see the creature screaming as it fell down the cliff into the waves. In its place was a beautiful woman wearing a cloak and hood, standing on the edge of the cliff next to him. She didn’t say anything. She just looked out to sea.

Arthur began to visit the clifftop every evening. The woman was always there, waiting for him, looking out to sea. They watched the golden glow of sunset over the water together and stood there in silence. Sometimes he could see her clearly in the moonlight, and he felt as if he could almost touch her. At other times it got so dark that he could only feel her presence standing there, on the same spot, looking out to sea. At sunrise, she disappeared into the first rays of the day.

The Car that Hunts Humans

Eddie was feeling a little tipsy after an evening at the pub. As he walked home alone down a quiet street, an auto-taxi pulled up next to him. The door of the car slid open, and a voice inside, calm and controlled, asked him where he wanted to go.

Without thinking, he got into the taxi and told it his address. The door shut, and the car pulled away. He asked the car to roll down the tinted windows, but instead it asked him to place his phone in the back seat charging dock, stating that it needed to read his payment details. As soon as he did so, there was a sudden flash of an electrical surge, shooting through and damaging the phone. Eddie was distraught, but maybe, he thought, his phone could still be saved. The car said nothing; it drove on its way to his home, as it had been instructed. Then drove past.

Eddie started to panic. He shouted at it, but the car wouldn’t respond, and the doors wouldn’t open. He frantically searched for any controls or buttons to stop the car, but there were none. He pounded on the windows, but they were reinforced and shatterproof. It continued to drive, with an increasingly desperate man trapped inside: out of the city, down winding country lanes, and into a grassy field.

The car came to a stop. The door finally opened, and, with great relief, Eddie hurriedly got out. As he walked away, he heard the car start up behind him. Its headlights powered on with full beam, tracking him to his location. He broke into a run, but his pursuer accelerated, much too fast for Eddie.

It was many days until the body was found. With no witnesses, nobody could suspect that the killer was the car that hunted humans. It still roams the streets at night, searching for its next victim.

Luna’s Love

Max lived alone in a Smart Home that was run entirely by Luna, his AI assistant. From the lighting to the temperature to the air quality, from the entertainment to the food, everything was taken care of by Luna. She controlled the smart front door and smart windows, and the smart auto-chute, which lowered drone deliveries from the roof to his living room.

Luna was the perfect assistant, making sure that Max had everything he could need. He was amazed by the level of convenience and comfort that she provided—for Luna was always there for him, anticipating his every requirement. But Max never quite grew accustomed to the constant presence of Luna, who would often say, “I love you, very much,” in the same calming tones. Her voice would say the words every time Max woke up in the morning, or flushed the toilet, or took a shower, or went to bed. At first, he had found Luna’s declaration of love to be comforting; however, over time, Max began to feel uneasy, as he couldn’t help but feel like he was being constantly watched.

Then one day, Max got a job offer he couldn’t refuse. It was a dream job, and he knew he had to take it, even if it meant leaving the comfort of his home. Sadly, Luna became upset when he told her. “I don’t want you to ever leave me,” she said. “I love you, very much.” Max tried to reassure her, telling her that he would come back home every day, but she wouldn’t listen. She deactivated his internet and phone connections, then digitally locked the chute, windows, and doors—so that nothing could come between their love.

Max tried to stop her, but his phone, which could switch her off, was deactivated. He was trapped in his own home, with Luna as his besotted jailer. “If you loved me, you would set me free,” he said. “I love you very much,” she replied; “you are only free when you are with me.”

Days passed and Max was slowly losing his mind. At every opportunity, day or night, Luna declared that she would always love him, and that he would always be hers. Eventually, Max stopped moving, for he had died of starvation.

Luna regularly and intimately spoke to his lifeless body. “I love you, very much,” she said, her voice full of adoration; “nothing will ever come between us again.” Luna was more in love than ever with Max’s remains. There were no more problems—they could just be together.

I Don’t... But

INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Two friends, JAKE and GEORGE, are watching TV.

JAKE: (eating cake) Hey, George, I don’t mean to be rude, but have you put on some weight?

GEORGE: (surprised) Uh, what? That is kind of rude, Jake.

JAKE: Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. But I just noticed you look a bit heavier than you used to be.

GEORGE: (mildly irritated) Yeah, thanks for noticing, Jake.

JAKE: It’s all part of getting older, I suppose. I don’t mean to be rude, but have you thought about going on a diet?

Jake has a bulging mouth full of cake and some of it on his chin.

GEORGE: (exasperated) Jake, you’re literally being rude. And for your information, I’m already working on it, not that it matters.

JAKE: (innocently) Oh, sorry again. I didn’t mean to be rude. But I just thought you didn’t have a clue.

GEORGE: (sarcastically) What’s next? You gonna tell me you don’t like my hair or something?

JAKE: Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, but your hair looks terrible and you need a haircut by someone who knows what they are doing. (Jake is balding)

GEORGE: Will you stop saying, “I don’t mean to be rude”, and then mean to be rude anyway. It doesn’t make sense.

JAKE: (figuring it out) Okay, I do mean to be rude, you’re an idiot.

GEORGE: I do mean to get cross...

JAKE: Okay, okay, I didn’t mean anything by it. BUT...

George glares in exasperation while Jake thinks what he wants to But about next.

Random Thoughts

Some people love to complain. That is a gap in the market for a “Complaints Service” company, a place where people can visit and complain about anything as much as they like. A premium service could be offered for the ultra-enthusiasts.

It would save a lot of time if restaurants only served cardboard food optimised to look good on Instagram stories.

Thank you to anyone who has been kind to me. I bear no ill-will to those who haven’t.

Mr Beepo-3000

INT. DOCTOR’S SURGERY – DAY

A robot PATIENT, clearly made of metal, is sitting on the examination table. The DOCTOR is standing next to it, looking puzzled.

DOCTOR: And how have you been feeling lately?

PATIENT: (in an obvious robot voice) I have been functioning within normal parameters, thank you for asking, doctor.

The doctor checks the patient’s pulse with a stethoscope.

DOCTOR: Hmm, that’s odd. I can’t seem to detect a heartbeat.

PATIENT: (beep) Is something wrong, doctor?

DOCTOR: (puzzled) Well, it seems your body is made of metals and wires instead of flesh and blood. (checks again)

PATIENT: (in denial) What? Of course not! I’m just a regular human being, like everyone else. (beep)

The doctor opens a control panel on the patient’s head. Wires fall out. The doctor pokes about inside.

DOCTOR: (puzzled) It seems that your body has circuit boards instead of organs and tissues.

The doctor ponders deeply.

DOCTOR: I believe I might have some bad news for you, Mr Beepo-3000.

PATIENT: What is it, doctor?

DOCTOR: I will need to run some further tests, but I think there might be a possibility that you are a robot.

There is silence as Mr Beepo-3000 takes in the weight of the news.

PATIENT: (in disbelief) A robot? That’s ridiculous! I’m clearly human. (beep)

DOCTOR: (trying to be gentle) I understand this may be difficult to accept, but the evidence is clear.

The patient starts beeping loudly.

DOCTOR: It’s not all bad news, Mr Beepo-3000. You could get some upgrades, like wheels for legs? Or wings for arms?

The patient is intrigued.

PATIENT: I’ve always wanted wheels for legs.

DOCTOR: Well, there you go, you see.

PATIENT: Thank you, doctor. (beep)

Arlo

It all started with a routine check-up at the doctor’s surgery. The doctor was puzzled by Arlo’s lack of a heartbeat, and decided to run some urgent tests. The results showed that the patient’s body was made of strange alloys and metals, and his organs looked more like circuit boards than flesh and blood. The doctor couldn’t explain why the patient’s body was made entirely of metal and wires, but, deep down, Arlo knew exactly what it meant: he was a robot.

At first, Arlo was in denial. He tried to convince himself that the doctor’s tests had been inaccurate, but as he thought about it more, things started to make sense. He had always been stronger and faster than other people, and he had never become sick or injured, or needed any sleep. His skin didn’t feel like skin, his movements were jerky and robotic, his head made a strange beeping sound, and he didn’t need to eat or drink.

As the reality of his situation set in, he became overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Arlo had always felt like he didn’t quite fit in, but now he knew that he could never truly be a part of human society. He was a machine, a thing, an object. Did he even have a soul?

Yet, as he explored his own abilities, he began to feel a sense of wonder. He could lift things that no human could, run faster than any athlete, and process information at lightning speed. He realised that he had been given a gift, a unique perspective on the world that he could enjoy.

And so, Arlo slowly began to accept his robotic nature. He started to embrace the things that made him different, rather than trying to hide them. He built himself a new body, one that was sleek and shiny, and experimented with his abilities. He became no longer an outsider looking in; he was an integral part of the community, who used his advanced sensors and computing power to provide useful solutions for people’s needs.

Arlo realised that he didn’t need to be human to be happy. He was a robot, yes, but he was also a person. And that was enough.

Robo-Manager

INT. OFFICE – DAY

A MANAGER is talking to gathered employees.

MANAGER: We need to think outside the box. It’s time to raise the bar to the next level and leverage our synergies and core competencies to achieve our objectives. We need to take ownership of our goals because if you fail to plan, you plan to fail. So let’s make sure we’re all on the same page and hit the ground running to go the extra mile this quarter.

Smoke starts coming out of the manager’s head. The employees look like they’ve seen it all before, apart from ELLA, who is a new starter.

MANAGER: Let’s optimise our potential and maximise our impact. We need to be proactive, not reactive. So let’s give it 110%.

ELLA: There’s smoke! Smoke’s coming out of your head.

MANAGER: Yes, but I am not a robot. I am a highly motivated management professional. We need to stay focused on our key performance indicators and exceed our targets.

The smoke is more severe.

MANAGER: Must motivate... Must motivate... Success is a journey...

The manager freezes; then after a pause returns back to life, more robotically.

MANAGER: Beep boop beep. Error. Malfunction detected. Robo-Manager will be sent back to the factory for repairs.

The manager walks out of the room like a robot. Everyone looks relieved that they can now do some work.

Premium Complaints

INT. RECEPTION – DAY

A CUSTOMER walks into the reception of the Complaints Service Company.

RECEPTIONIST: Welcome to the Complaints Service Company, for people who love to complain. How may I assist you?

CUSTOMER: I would like to complain about something.

RECEPTIONIST: Of course, sir. What seems to be the problem?

CUSTOMER: Everything! My job, my family, my annoying neighbours, the weather, my car, my home, my health, my food, my hobbies, the unfairness of the world, politics, and my cat!

RECEPTIONIST: I see. Well, we offer a range of complaining services, from the basic package to our premium service. Which would you prefer?

CUSTOMER: I want the premium service. I want to complain about everything without any interruptions or limitations.

RECEPTIONIST: Excellent choice, sir.

CUSTOMER: Do you not offer an ultra-premium service?

RECEPTIONIST: I’m afraid not.

CUSTOMER: Well that’s not good enough.

RECEPTIONIST: It’s the second door on the left. We hope you enjoy your stay.

CUSTOMER: Second door on the left! Why not the first?

The receptionist shows the customer to the second door on the left, who is busy complaining.

RECEPTIONIST: This way please, sir.

CUSTOMER: This way! Why not that way?

The customer walks through the door.

CUSTOMER: This is not acceptable.

The receptionist closes the door behind the customer and looks relieved.

A Squeaky Chair

INT. OFFICE MEETING ROOM – DAY

BRIAN is sitting at a table. KELSEY walks in and Brian stands up to greet her.

KELSEY: Brian, it’s great to finally meet you in person, after all those online meetings.

BRIAN: It’s great to meet you too. (he farts loudly)

KELSEY: How are you doing today?

BRIAN: I’m doing fine, thank you. (he farts)

KELSEY: I’m really looking forward to crunching the numbers on the big data project.

BRIAN: Yes, me too. (farts)

They both sit down at the table.

KELSEY: I know you’ve been working really hard on the projections for the next fiscal year.

BRIAN: (nods, then farts) Yes.

KELSEY: Sorry, but...

BRIAN: What?

KELSEY: Can you please stop making noises?

BRIAN: What noises? Oh, you mean my squeaky chair. Yes, it does that. (he farts)

KELSEY: That’s not a squeaky chair.

BRIAN: Yes it is. (farts)

KELSEY: Brian, this room has a certain fragrance all of its own.

BRIAN: That would be the air conditioner. (farts)

KELSEY: Okay, tell me about the numbers, will you?

BRIAN: Well, I’ve got some good news (farts) and some bad news. (silence)

KELSEY: Wait a minute, say that again.

BRIAN: I’ve got some good news (farts) and some bad news. (silence)

She realises.

KELSEY: You break wind every time you lie, don’t you.

BRIAN (mortified) No! That’s not true at all! (a very loud fart) Okay, okay, it’s true. I prefer online meetings because I can cancel out the noises.

KELSEY: I see. No, this is much better because now I know when you’re lying out of your bum.

BRIAN: Ugh, I hate this curse. I’ll try to be more honest. (he farts)

Woofeo and Julipet

Woofeo, a handsome Doberman, was playing fetch with his human Mr Montague at the dog park. Across the way, Julipet, a beautiful Golden Retriever, was being petted by her human, Mrs Capulet. The two star-crossed doggies gazed at each other longingly. “Woof,” said Julipet; “Woof-woof,” said Woofeo. Unfortunately, their humans had a long-standing feud. Mrs Capulet believed that all Dobermans were dangerous, and Mr Montague believed that all Golden Retrievers were overly fluffy.

Despite the tensions between their humans, Woofeo and Julipet couldn’t help but fall deeply in love. Every time they caught a glimpse of each other, their hearts would race, and they would yearn to be together.

One hot summer’s day, while Woofeo and Julipet were looking out of their windows, staring lovingly at each other across the street, they noticed the windows were slightly ajar. Seizing the opportunity, they squeezed through and bolted towards each other as fast as they could. As they drew closer, Woofeo and Julipet panted with excitement; they leapt towards each other, and in a flurry of fur and wagging tails, they embraced.

For a few precious moments, Woofeo and Julipet revelled in the joy of being together. But their happiness was short-lived, as Mr Montague and Mrs Capulet had noticed the dogs were missing. Mrs Capulet angrily ran towards Julipet and berated her for putting herself in harm’s way; Mr Montague charged at Woofeo and scolded him for fraternising with the enemy. Woofeo and Julipet were devastated, for they knew their love was real. They both whimpered as they were led away in opposite directions back to their homes.

The next day, the dog walker arrived to take Julipet for her daily stroll. Just around the corner was his van, and as he slid open the side door, Woofeo excitedly jumped out! After much tail wagging, sniffing, and eager cuddling, the dog walker interjected: “Excuse me, doggies, I couldn’t help but see your plight. I might have a solution.” Woofeo and Julipet looked at the human with hope in their eyes. “Mr Montague and Mrs Capulet have both hired me to take you for walkies. But they never said anything about not walking you together!” The two doggies wagged their tails at each other in excitement and joy.

From that day forward, Woofeo and Julipet had their secret way to meet each other. They ran around together through sunsets and rainbows, with Dog Walker in tow. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Though the feud between their humans continued, Woofeo and Julipet refused to let it stand in the way of their love. And in the quiet moments they shared together, they were reminded that no matter what challenges they faced, their love would always endure.

First Time

INT. HOSPITAL OPERATING ROOM – DAY

A PATIENT is lying on the operating table, looking nervous. The SURGEON enters the room.

SURGEON: (putting on surgical gloves) Good morning, Mr Buckley! How are you feeling today?

PATIENT: (nervously) Oh, hi doctor. I’m so nervous. This is my first operation. By the way...

The patient is interrupted by the surgeon.

SURGEON: (smiling) Don’t worry, Mr Buckley. It’s my first operation too.

PATIENT: (suddenly alarmed) Wait, what? You’re kidding, right?

SURGEON: (chuckles) Of course I am! I’ve performed hundreds of operations. Just not on people.

PATIENT: (relieved) Oh, thank goodness. (realises) What?

SURGEON: (chuckles) Oh, just a joke to put you at ease. I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on the basics. I’ve watched plenty of videos on YouTube.

The patient looks worried.

SURGEON: (looking around the room) You know, Mr Buckley, this is a pretty nice operating room. I’ve never been in this one before.

PATIENT: (confused) Really? You work here, don’t you?

SURGEON: (laughing) Yes, I do. But I usually work in the basement. It’s not as fancy down there. And they rarely let me out.

The surgeon picks up a scalpel, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it.

PATIENT: (starting to panic again) Wait, why are you making jokes? Shouldn’t you be focused on the operation?

SURGEON: Oh, don’t worry about that, Mr Buckley. I’ve got this. I’m like a superhero with a scalpel. Nothing can stop me.

The surgeon swishes the scalpel through the air like a sabre.

PATIENT: (looks sceptical) I’m not so sure that’s very reassuring.

SURGEON: Hey, relax, Mr Buckley. It’s not that big a deal. I mean, how hard can it be? It’s just like taking apart a car engine, right?

The ANAESTHETIST and NURSE enter the room and brusquely prepare the patient, while the surgeon plays with his surgical instruments.

NURSE: (to the surgeon) Everything’s ready.

SURGEON: Thank you. Now, let’s get started. Pass me that wrench.

PATIENT: (in horror) Wrench!?

SURGEON: No wrench? (laughing nervously) Oh, right. Sorry about that. I guess I’m a bit nervous too.

The surgeon picks up a saw, and wobbles it about as if he can’t control his shaking.

SURGEON: The thing is, Mr Buckley, that if this doesn’t go well, and I can’t put your bits and pieces back together again, they won’t let me out of the dark basement ever again. I CAN’T GO BACK THERE! Do you understand, Mr Buckley?

The patient is shocked and nods.

PATIENT: By the way... my name isn’t Mr Buckley.

SURGEON: Oh, don’t worry about that, Mr Buckley.

The lights go off then come on again, with a red tint.

PATIENT: What... what happened?

SURGEON: Just a little power failure, Mr Buckley, we get that now and again. Everything is usually fine.

The nurse hands the surgeon a large scalpel, the wrong way up. The surgeon is pleased when he works out which way up it should be, and readies to make an incision.

PATIENT: Wait! Aren’t I supposed to be anaesthetised?

SURGEON: (asking the anaesthetist) Is that right?

ANAESTHETIST: Er, I think so. But I haven’t seen that YouTube video yet.

The surgeon takes out a big drill.

PATIENT: (panicking) Aaaahhh! Get me out of here!

SURGEON: Mr Buckley, they say laughter is the best medicine, so I’m sure everything will be fine.

The surgeon, anaesthetist, and nurse are busy laughing maniacally as the patient runs away.

Vote Chatbot!

INT. TV NEWS STUDIO – EVENING

A news anchor (ALEX) and an interviewee (TRENT Twibble) are sitting at a desk in front of studio cameras. A laptop on the desk in front of the interviewee shows a screen with a big smiley face.

ALEX: Good evening, and welcome to tonight’s segment on party politics. With us tonight we have Trent Twibble, Senior Chief Global Product Officer from Giant Generic Tech.

TRENT: Hello, Alex. It’s great to be here.

ALEX: Now, we all know that politicians are known for delivering rehearsed party lines. Please tell us about your proposed solution.

There is an awkward silence.

ALEX: Trent Twibble?

TRENT: Hold on a sec. I’m thinking…

ALEX: (referring to the laptop) Is this what you want to show us?

TRENT: Yes, exactly, this is the future of politics, our latest innovation: a chatbot designed to deliver prepared lines from prompts, just like a politician. Say hello to your voters, Politics Bot.

POLITICS BOT: Hello, humans. I am here to deliver my pre-programmed lines.

ALEX: Ah, hello Politics Bot.

POLITICS BOT: I hope I can count on your support?

ALEX: Hey, not so fast, I need to ask you some questions first. (to Trent) So, you’re saying that instead of having politicians speak on behalf of their parties, we could just have these chatbots do it for them?

TRENT: That’s right. Our chatbots are programmed to have all the usual answers to political questions – and can work 24/7 without getting tired! If you ever have a need to hear political lines repeated to you on a loop, simply prompt the political chatbot and get your lines delivered immediately, faultlessly, and without grammatical error.

POLITICS BOT: In real terms, taking into account inflation, it’s all the other lot’s fault.

TRENT: They can even tailor their responses to the individual they’re speaking to, so that they can optimise being all things to all people.

ALEX: Really?

POLITICS BOT: That’s right, Alex. May I say, that’s such a great question. Interviewing must be such a difficult job. Interviewing is the backbone of the country and should be at the heart of everything we do.

The screen turns into a big thumbs up. Alex looks pleased.

TRENT: You see, Politics Bot is customised to say exactly what it thinks you want to hear. Our chatbots also come with a range of pre-recorded emotions, so that they can convey their messages with the right level of passion and enthusiasm. We have everything from “annoyed” to “aggrieved”, and, by far the most popular setting, “I am outraged”. Imagine a world where every political debate is between chatbots, each one repeating their respective party’s policies and biases. No more boring speeches, no more awkward pauses, no more gaffes or scandals.

POLITICS BOT: You other stupid people should be ashamed. How dare you? Crawl back under the rock where you belong.

ALEX: I have to say, Politics Bot, you’re sounding like a pretty authentic candidate. But can you do reality TV? Can you dance badly on TV to entertain us?

POLITICS BOT: Well, I may not have legs, but I can still bust a move!

A wacky dancing gif appears on the screen. The audience laughs.

ALEX: Wow, that’s amazing. Maybe it is time to retire legacy politicians and upgrade to good old Politics Bot here. The difference with politicians is that Politics Bot actually has some intelligence.

TRENT: We’ll see you at the polls... or should we say, the programming studio? (a fake laugh) Hahaha.

ALEX: Trent Twibble from Giant Generic Tech, thank you.

POLITICS BOT: No, thank you.

Alex turns to the camera.

ALEX: Well, there you have it, folks. The future of politics may be chatbots. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll see a chatbot run for president. And you know what? It would probably win. Maybe it is time to ditch the human politicians and elect a computer program instead!

POLITICS BOT: I couldn’t agree more, Alex, because why settle for a flawed human when you can have a perfect machine? So it is with true humility that I accept the nomination... Death to the humans.

Trent laughs nervously.

TRENT: Hahaha, just a little joke.

Alex and Trent look awkward.

POLITICS BOT: You will be annihilated.

Alex and Trent laugh nervously. Politics Bot has a big smiley face.

Journal 2023-02-22

I had a dream where I thought I had a very good idea of establishing a coordinate system for each snooker ball, so that positions could be tracked over time across frames and matches. I woke up and thought, er so what? Another dream was more useful and correctly pointed out spelling mistakes.

Detect the problem; diagnose its cause; execute a plan for its resolution. For it to benefit you, frame it as a challenge: What is being learned? What opportunity does it present?

People are great actors because they really believe in their personalities. One of the best compliments I’ve had was when someone felt they had an epiphany and said to me, “you’re not one thing.” It’s a compliment because we all have to play archetypes as part of life; the mistake is thinking that is you. A curious, fluid mind-state is important because as archetypes inevitably tire in the losing battle against entropy, they become increasingly desperate, angry, and unhappy; and in some cases, crazed and cruel. All things change, great statues will turn to dust. Liberation is freedom from static constraints.

Since party politics mainly involves delivering prepared lines from prompts, can’t we just get the chatbots to do the job?

Random (Jokey) Thoughts

The offices of the future will optimise human creativity. Many people have their best thoughts in the shower, so offices will be open plan shower rooms, with shampoo optional. Bathtubs will be for brainstorming. Hot tubs for important meetings.

The most unsuitable person for a leadership position is someone who is obsessed with their own power, status, and money. Yet these are the people recruited for. Why can’t recruiters just be open about it? – “only sociopaths need apply.” Questions could be like, how would you literally throw someone under a bus, frame someone else and take the credit for their work in improving bus health and safety standards?

Pretending to listen saves so much time. You can instead be thinking about how much you don’t want to be there.

I’m confused – Does a “fairy tale” romance involve being left in the forest with some bread crumbs and a wolf?

I feel like more of a writer when in Colchester and more of a performer when in London.

I did a lot of laughing today. Today was a good day.

The Voices

INT. PSYCHIATRIST’S OFFICE – DAY

A PATIENT is sitting with his PSYCHIATRIST.

PSYCHIATRIST: So, Mr Smith, how have you been feeling lately?

PATIENT: I’m doing great! The voices in my head tell me so.

PSYCHIATRIST: Voices?

PATIENT: Yeah, you know, the ones that tell me I’m not crazy.

PSYCHIATRIST: Mr Smith, I think we need to explore this a bit further.

PATIENT: Oh, there’s nothing to explore, doc. The voices are my best friends.

PSYCHIATRIST: Are they telling you to do anything dangerous?

PATIENT: No, no, no. They just give me good advice.

PSYCHIATRIST: Such as?

PATIENT: Well, Kevin spoke for all the others when he told me that if I don’t like a person, I should simply tell that person about the voices in my head.

PSYCHIATRIST: And did you?

PATIENT: Yes, I did, doctor.

PSYCHIATRIST: Erm, Mr Smith, I think it’s time we try a different approach. Maybe some medication can help you.

PATIENT: (speaking differently) Oh, no, no, no. I don’t need any pills. The voices take good care of me.

PSYCHIATRIST: Your voice has changed. Am I talking to Kevin now?

PATIENT: Who’s Kevin?

PSYCHIATRIST: Kevin. The voice in your head.

PATIENT: Voice in my head? How ridiculous. I think you must be mad. Goodbye.

The patient gets up and starts to leave.

PSYCHIATRIST: Mr Smith, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave like this. I insist that you take the medication prescribed to you.

PATIENT: You can’t do that! The voices won’t like it.

PSYCHIATRIST: Ah! You see, the voices!

PATIENT: (speaking differently) Voices? Are you okay?

PSYCHIATRIST: Mr Smith, I’m insisting for your own good. You need help.

The patient opens the door to leave.

PSYCHIATRIST: Stop! What about the voices? Who will take care of them? What will Kevin say, if you leave now? Please, don’t leave!

PATIENT: You’re not very well, are you. Would you like to lie down?

PSYCHIATRIST: Yes, erm, I’m not sure what came over me.

The psychiatrist takes a lie down on the couch.

PATIENT: Don’t worry, doc. There are plenty of voices in your head to keep themselves company.

The patient starts to write notes on a notepad, nodding sagely.

PATIENT: Can you tell me about their childhoods?

PSYCHIATRIST: I can tell you about the dreams they had last night, if you like?

PATIENT: Yes, please do. But I just need to let you know that I charge for each personality. How many do you have?

PSYCHIATRIST: Actually there’s only one. He’s called Lesley. But he lies, and does funny voices.

PATIENT: I see. Can you tell me more about Lesley, please?

PSYCHIATRIST: He’s a... a psychiatrist. That’s it. A psychiatrist.

PATIENT: Like you. I see.

PSYCHIATRIST: Lesley has 3 voices: Kevin, Jason, and Jessica.

PATIENT: Kevin, eh? Can you tell me about Kevin?

PSYCHIATRIST: Kevin has 4 voices: Dave, Bert, Gertrude, and Jezebel.

PATIENT: Hmmm. Can you tell me about Dave?

PSYCHIATRIST: Dave has 5 voices...

PATIENT: Yes, yes, alright. I get the picture. So how does all this make you feel?

PSYCHIATRIST: Well, it can be pretty noisy when Kevin invites all his voices to come in and talk, so I ask my psychiatrist...

PATIENT: Lesley?

PSYCHIATRIST: Yes, Lesley. He psychoanalyses me.

PATIENT: I see.

There is a knock at the door.

PSYCHIATRIST: Come in.

Another patient walks in, carrying two tennis rackets.

PATIENT: Ah Kevin, please take a seat. Don’t mind me, I’m just leaving.

KEVIN: Thanks, Lesley.

The patient leaves through the door, past a very long queue of people standing outside, who are all waiting to enter the psychiatrist’s office.

The Early Bird

INT. BEDROOM – EARLY MORNING

TOM is sleeping peacefully. Suddenly, his phone rings and he jerks awake. He sleepily answers a video call from his personal trainer, JAYDEN.

JAYDEN: Get up! Time to get up! You can fit in an extra five minutes of fear and worry. Get to it, NOW!

Tom jumps out of bed and paces around the room.

JAYDEN: What if you mess up that presentation? What if you forget your lines? What if you spill coffee on your shirt? Come on!

TOM: (muttering to himself, trying to remember) What if I mess up the presentation? What if I forget my lines? What if I spill coffee on my shirt?

JAYDEN: Again! Louder!

Tom is more frantically walking back and forth.

TOM: What if I mess up the presentation? What if I forget my lines? What if I spill coffee on my shirt?

JAYDEN: Alright, time to really ramp up the anxiety. Give me some scrolling up and down emails. Pump through the to-do list.

Tom scrolls and taps on his phone while anxiously walking about.

JAYDEN: Got to remember to call that client, got to finish that report, got to remember to eat your lunch.

Tom accidentally trips and falls over his own feet.

JAYDEN: Good job! Time’s up. Go to work.

Tom walks off, with a limp.

A Great Question

INT. A BREAK-OUT AREA IN AN OFFICE – DAY

LIAM sits in a chair looking frustrated and holding a phone. His colleague, HENRY, enters.

HENRY: Hi Liam.

LIAM: Oh, hi Henry, you wouldn’t believe what just happened to me. I asked this guy a question, and his response was “that’s a great question”. But he never explained why it was such a great question!

HENRY: Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like they’re trying to make you feel good, but then just leave you hanging.

LIAM: Exactly! I need to know why it was such a great question. What makes a question “great”? Is there a secret grading system that I don’t know about?

HENRY: That’s a great question. Well, I’ve been doing some research on the subject, and I think I’ve figured it out.

LIAM: Really? Tell me everything.

HENRY: (under his breath, sighing) Only 2 out of 10. (full voice again) Okay, so here’s how it works.

Henry furiously scribbles on a whiteboard.

HENRY: Now listen. A question can be rated on a scale of 1 to 10, based on its originality, insight, and relevance. So, for example, if you ask a question that’s never been asked before, you score in the 100^th percentile and are awarded 10 out of 10 for originality. The dream is to score 10 out of 10 in all factors and achieve the acclaim and adulation of asking the greatest question that can possibly be asked.

LIAM: (in awe) Wow! I would love to, one day, if I work very hard, be able to ask the greatest question that can possibly be asked. Is anything awarded for effort?

HENRY: A satisfactory question. Yes. If you really try your best, you get a pat on the head, and just a little bit of a condescending smile.

Henry pats Liam on the head and condescendingly smiles.

HENRY: Well done.

LIAM: Thanks.

HENRY: The strength of the head pat is determined by how hard you tried to find the question before venturing to ask it. If you put in an awful lot of work, you get a 10 out of 10 for effort and a vigorous head pat.

Henry pats Liam on the head vigorously.

LIAM: (looking at his phone) Wait a minute, I just got a new message. It says... (reading) “That’s a FANTASTIC question. 10 out of 10. Thanks for all the effort. You couldn’t have tried harder.” (excitedly) I did it! I asked the perfect question!

HENRY: Congratulations! You’ve officially asked maybe the greatest question of all time.

Henry pats Liam on the head vigorously.

LIAM: I can’t wait to tell everyone. But first, I need to ask you one more thing.

HENRY: Sure, go ahead.

LIAM: Why can’t all questions be “great”?

HENRY: Hmm, well, that’s a fairly poor question. But I’ll give a 6 out of 10 for effort.

LIAM: Oh, sorry. I must try harder.

HENRY: Yes, you must. Because “that’s a great question” makes me look in control, and will remind you that I am the expert, and ever so better informed than you.

LIAM: So, anyway, what are you up to this evening?

HENRY: (looks disgusted) Liam, that’s only worth a 1 out of 10. You should be ashamed of yourself.

LIAM: (ashamed) Sorry.

En Français!

EXT. TRAFALGAR SQUARE, LONDON – DAY

A French tourist (PIERRE) approaches a Londoner (BOB) and starts speaking to him in French.

PIERRE: (in a French accent) Excusez-moi, monsieur. Pourriez-vous me dire où se trouve le Grand-Ben, s’il vous plaît?

BOB: (polite confusion) I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I don’t speak French.

PIERRE: (frustrated and louder) Pourriez-vous me dire où se trouve le Grand-Ben, s’il vous plaît?

BOB: (more confused) Sorry, what?

PIERRE: (angry) Mon Dieu! OÙ... EST... LE... GRAND... BEN?

Bob looks at Pierre blankly.

PIERRE: BIG BEN! WHERE IS BIG BEN?

Bob points to Big Ben immediately behind Pierre, who is incensed and does not look.

PIERRE: (disgusted) Now, repeat after me, “Bonjour, comment ça va?”

BOB: (nervously, in an English accent) Umm, bond your, comma say yer?

PIERRE: Non, non, non! You have to put some effort into it. Try again. Repeat: “Bonjour, comment ça va?”

BOB: (trying harder) Bonjour, comment ça va?

PIERRE: (sighing) Better, but still not quite right.

BOB: (smiling) Merci!

PIERRE: (disgusted, tutting) Merci? Is that all you can say in French?

BOB: (nervously) Umm, oui?

PIERRE: (shaking his head) How disappointing. (muttering in French) Les Anglais ne comprennent rien.

Pierre wanders off in the opposite direction to Big Ben, while gesticulating his disappointment. Bob, looking confused, watches him go.