The UK Government doesn’t see the climate catastrophe as one of its ‘priorities’—‘stopping the boats’ is more important than protecting the future of life of Earth. Perhaps, then, I shouldn’t be surprised by the newspaper reports this morning that Sunak is descending further into populism by ‘watering down’ his climate commitments.

Liam Byrne’s ‘there’s no money left’ note has been a millstone around the neck of the Labour Party for the last 13 years.

We’re often told that the Conservative Party is an election winning machine. It is incredible that their strategists can’t see that this policy is their own equivalent if they are hoping to return to Government in 2029 or 2034—after five or ten more years of growing floods, fires, and climate-related chaos.

Wendy and I watched a news report recently which referred used the word ‘steaming’ to refer to shoplifting. It’s hardly a neologism—here’s a newspaper article from the last century which uses it in the headline—but it was new to us.

There have been a lot of puzzling articles about shoplifting recently, whether it’s Dame Sharon White referring to an ‘epidemic’ or Tyler Brûlé worrying about how toothpaste is displayed. I say ‘puzzling’ because none of the coverage seem to get under the skin of the issue.

Reports to police of shoplifting seem broadly comparable to pre-pandemic levels. We all understand that there can be differences between experienced and reported crimes, and that bare numbers of crimes don’t tell the whole story: a business experiences the loss of a packet of Polo mints differently to a gang ‘steaming’ a technology display, even if both are reported as a single crime. Most of the news articles seem to base at least some of their reporting on the crime figures, making slightly odd year-on-year comparisons without providing any wider context. So, I’m not really given to understand from the coverage whether this really is a period of unusual incidence, or whether something else has changed, or whether this is just a return to the pre-pandemic norm.

It’s one of those unfortunate examples where, almost universally, the news coverage of a trend leaves me feeling less well informed.

The image at the top of this post was generated by Midjourney.

Wendy and I saw Past Lives advertised a little while ago, and were keen to see it at the cinema.

It is Celine Song’s debut film, starring Greta Lee and Teo Yoo. It follows two 12-year-old friends in South Korea who are parted when one of them emigrates. We catch up with them at age 24, and again at age 36, as they reflect on how their lives have changed, and on the paths not taken.

It’s hard to know what to say about the film. It was wonderfully acted, beautifully shot and the script was understated and emotionally powerful. It is one of those films which is as much about what is not said as what is said: there are several extraordinarily powerful moments without dialogue.

Both Wendy and I thought this was excellent, and thoroughly enjoyed seeing it. Yet, I think we’re perhaps less likely to remember it a year hence than, say, Tár, which I think made a bigger impression on us both.

Ernie Smith recently wrote:

In the internet era, there is absolutely zero guarantee that our words will outlive us. While not to be morbid, I have literally said to my wife that this would actually be important to me, to have the knowledge that my thoughts would continue to be online, even after my passing. That’s not a small ask.

I was surprised by the strength of my negative reaction to the implied idea that I would want my writing to be preserved after my death: it was something approaching horror.

I have very fixed ideas about my own death, and this made me realise that these ideas are perhaps more fixed than I realised. In essence: when I’m dead, I am dead. I therefore will no longer give a toss about whether my website is online, what anyone does with my organs, or whether I’m buried or cremated. I will, quite literally, care less than I did at any point during my life. If the people who remain find comfort in some activity or other, then they ought to do it; they ought not to sit around and consider whether it is ‘what I would have wanted’ or not, as I am quite literally unable to care.

Obviously, this kind of thing is intensely personal, and I wouldn’t want to seem like I’m judging others. Each to their own. What surprised me was the strength of my own feeling about my own view of this stuff.

It also made me reflect on how my own position is an imposition in its own way. It shifts the whole burden of decision making onto other people, who may not feel that they are in a position to make those decisions. It withholds any easy answers. Perhaps having clear wishes is the easier option all round.

The image at the top of this post was generated by Midjourney.

I’m not a fan of cars, and I’m neither experienced nor especially competent when it comes to DIY. I’ve changed my car stereo before, but it felt like it was pushing the limits of my competence.

Wendy’s indicator in her car had been working intermittently for over a year, and recently stopped working altogether. I’d searched the web and come to the amateur conclusion that the indicator stalk had corroded, which seemed to be a common problem in her car’s model. Wendy asked the garage to repair it when she took it for an MOT, but they said they couldn’t do it. At another garage, they said they’d have to get a specialist in.

And that’s how I ended up buying a replacement indicator stalk online, and following a YouTube tutorial to fix the problem. It was straightforward, taking me about ninety minutes (over two days) and requiring no specialist tools. It did require taking the steering wheel off, which looked quite dramatic.

It all went back together effortlessly (with no bits left over!) and is working splendidly. I was really proud of myself for taking this on, despite it being way out of my comfort zone, and reaching a satisfying conclusion.

It also made me reflect on repairability, from two different perspectives.

Firstly: in the pre-internet era, would I have had the confidence to tackle this with nothing more than a Hayes manual? I think almost certainly not. There’s something reassuring about seeing multiple people tackle the task on video, and getting a proper visual sense of what to expect at each stage.

Secondly: if we had more up-to-date cars, would this be a manageable task? Again, I think almost certainly not. I suspect that modern cars are far less user-repairable, and that there would probably be some garage programming required to replace an electrical part. It seems unlikely that it would be plug-and-play, which wouldn’t be ideal in these climate challenged times.

And so, I suspect this repair has fallen at a very particular, fleeting moment in history. Technology gave me the confidence to tackle the job, but had not made the car itself too complex for a total amateur like me to be able to fix it.

Writing for the Financial Times yesterday, George Parker and Lucy Fisher said:

Next year, Sunak will ask the public at a general election to trust the Tories with another five years in power. Even many in his own party believe he is doomed to fail, that he will be dragged under by the legacy of 13 years of Conservative rule: public sector austerity, Brexit, the chaos and lies of Boris Johnson, the Covid-19 lockdown parties and the economic meltdown of Truss’s brief tenure.

Nonetheless, Sunak remains bullish about his chances of defying the sceptics, with the economy faring better and inflation coming under control. A revamped Number 10 operation is determined to deliver a fifth consecutive Tory election victory. “He really believes he can do it,” says one Downing Street insider.

I think—and hope—Sunak is wrong. I don’t think the Government he leads represents the best group of people to run the country. But Sunak’s confidence gives me optimism.

I worry that Sunak’s best chance of retaining power is a snap, single-issue election in the next handful of months, the issue being the European Convention on Human Rights. A pretext can be manufactured easily, and may even be handed on a plate by a Supreme Court decision that deporting asylum seekers to Rwanda contravenes the Convention. The fact that withdrawal would be controversial provides a strong pretext for “putting it to the people” at a general election. It’s not hard to imagine the right-wing press campaigning fervently in support: “you might not like everything about the Tories, but this is our one opportunity to get this done.” It’s also not hard to imagine that message cutting through.

The logic of enacting this plan this autumn is also straightforward: Sunak can argue that he is “making progress” on his “priorities” and it bounces Labour onto the turf on which they are currently least comfortable, before they’ve worked out their election position. With the press behind them, the Conservatives can define the terms of the debate and largely keep the election as a single-issue vote.

The most dangerous thing for a party heading to an election is ennui introduced by low expectations. The clear narrative based on polling is that Labour is on course to win the next election. The best way to suspend those expectations is by doing something unexpected: calling an early election and redefining the terms of that election to something where the majority view is less clear-cut. Suddenly, the narrative becomes that “it’s all to play for”—inflating the perception of the popularity of the Conservative vote.

This would be a horrible thing to happen. It would spark a distressingly toxic debate and—by definition—give voice to some of our most inhumane tendencies. For what it’s worth, I also don’t think it would work: I don’t think moderate Conservatives would fall into line, I don’t think this sort of campaign would energise large sections of their base, and I think Labour would find ways to cut through with strong ‘change’ messages. This ‘nuclear option’ might be Sunak’s best shot, but I still think it’s a long shot.

If Sunak “really believes” he can win conventionally, then this bet—not to mention the damage it could do to Sunak’s reputation and future earning potential—is not worth the risk. And if Sunak’s confidence avoids us taking a disastrous path, then it’s hard not to like it.

I’m not into cars. I once owned a PlayStation 2, but I’ve never played the racing simulator game after which this film is named. I’m patently not the target audience for this recently released Neill Blomkamp film. If it weren’t for my ‘new approach’ to going to the cinema, there’s no way on Earth that I’d have seen this.

The film is based on a true story. The main character is Jann Mardenborough, a young lad who is very skilled at the Gran Turismo computer game and is thereby recruited and trained up to drive real racing cars. The tension in the film comes from whether someone from outside can make it in the highly competitive world of racing… though, of course, the existence of the film is its own spoiler.

I sort of enjoyed this. It was too long—two hours and 14 minutes—and I could have done without all the extended racing sequences. I’ll confess that I had a bit of a micro-snooze in many of them. They didn’t seem to be doing anything particularly cinematically clever, and they didn’t really advance the plot, as the outcome was often plain from the start. Yet, I was captivated by Archie Madekwe’s performance as Mardenborough, and did find myself rooting for him.

But there were issues.

Firstly, some of the characterisation was awful. Orlando Bloom could not have been less convincing as PR man Danny Moore if his dialogue had been replaced by silent-film-style interstitials. It was awful. His character had essentially no narrative arc, his drive appeared to come entirely from wanting to promote Nissan, and his whole schtick was morally questionable given the life-and-death stakes for other characters. The character was poorly written, and Bloom wasn’t able to overcome that.

I didn’t recognise Ginger Spice Geri Horner as Lesley Mardenborough—I’m not good with celebrities—but did find myself wondering what had gone wrong in the film-making process. The delivery of her lines was so detached from the situations in which they took place that I found myself wondering if there had been a sickness-driven last-minute substitution or similar. This didn’t interfere with my enjoyment in any major way, though, as the character was so minor.

Which brings us to… the almost total absence of substantive roles for women in this film. Of the first twenty credited actors, only two are women. I don’t understand why you’d make that creative choice. Sure, if this was intended to be biographically accurate, then you’re limited, but it has been widely criticised for straying quite far from the facts. So why not make the creative choice to re-cast Bloom’s character as female? That could even supply a nice narrative arc as a female PR agent battles stereotypes to establish her credentials in a male-dominated industry. It’d be more satisfying than the main motivation being to sell more Nissans. I should acknowledge Maeve Courtier-Lilley, who managed to give some depth to her role despite only being given, like, five lines.

This is also a film that patronises. There are many scenes which begin with establishing shots of well-known skylines, overlaid with both the city and the country in large letters. For example: here’s the Eiffel Tower, let’s just overlay this shot with “PARIS, FRANCE” to make sure the audience really gets it. I’m afraid this really hit my funny bone, and I found myself audibly sniggering each time it happened. Plot points are also telegraphed: there’s a section of the film where Mardenborough must come in fourth place or better to progress, and this point is hammered home so many times for the audience that it begins to hurt.

But mostly… I don’t understand why the team decided to make the racing the main point of tension in the film when the outcome is obvious. It strikes me as a really odd creative decision, but maybe that’s because I’m under-appreciating the popular appeal of the racing sequences. There’s an underplayed subplot about Mardenborough’s relationship with his dad, and I think that’s where I would have located the heart of the film. There are interesting stages to their relationship: frustration at Jaan’s preference for computer games over physical sport; a feeling of exclusion driven by the expensive, elite nature of the sport; fatherly concern at the dangers involved; and, ultimately, reflection on the lack of support he provided. There’s a lot in there that could have been unpacked through the racing, with reconciliation perhaps serving as a more rewarding ending.

Perhaps what this whole review really says is: I don’t particularly warm to racing movies, and would have liked this to be an entirely different kind of film. Who knows? This is a film I would never, under normal circumstances, have seen or had any opinion on. I’m glad I saw it, and feel like I learned a little more about my own film preferences as a result.

Says Becky Hughes, in the New York Times:

Stereotypes may be fading, but bartenders say many male customers are still uneasy with fancy glassware.

I can honestly say that I’ve never, in my entire life, given a second’s thought as to whether the cocktail I have been served is in a ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’ glass. Even as I glanced through the images in the article, I wasn’t really sure how to gender each of the featured containers.

It seems to have something to do with stems:

Jake Webster, a 24-year-old working in finance, used to succumb to the desire for a stemless glass. When he first started going to bars, he would order a beer or a whiskey on the rocks. Eventually, he grew tired of ordering drinks he didn’t like.

Yes, some people, it seems, order drinks they don’t enjoy because they consider the glassware to match their gender. For some people, the choice of drink is driven not even by their own preference for a particular type of glass, but by the preference of a fictional character they happen to like:

“It’s just a matter of what you see in TV and movies,” said Mr. [Max] Klymenko, who added, “I vividly remember Harvey Specter on ‘Suits’ always drinking from a short glass. To me, that seemed like something I should emulate.”

I recently bought some very short-stemmed wine glasses for use at home, as our longer-stemmed ones don’t fit in the dishwasher very easily. I’m now worried that this was an unintended imposition of my masculinity.

I have never ordered a cocktail based on a glass. I always order one of two things. One option is a cocktail I know I’ll enjoy (most often a negroni; a negroni sbagliato if you really insist on bubbles; maybe something with Aperol if you’ve got no Campari). The other is to order something different, something experimental: typically the house speciality. The glass isn’t a consideration.

But… I can’t get too high and mighty about this.

If ever I find myself in Starbucks, I do tend to order a flat white because they serve it in a nice cup and saucer rather than one of their unredeemably awful 3-inch-thick mugs. It’s nothing to do with gender, it’s just a preference for drinking out a vessel that seems designed for humans rather than animals.

The image at the top of this post was generated by Midjourney.

Like most people, sometimes I happen to read two unrelated things in succession and thereby draw unexpected conclusions.

Dan Cullum recently posted the widely accepted reason for the relative lack of success of the Segway:

The Segway is a great piece of technology. When it was announced, it was meant to change the way humanity moved.

The problem was the Segway wasn’t designed to handle stairs.

And stairs, well, they’re everywhere.

And then Andrew Mueller’s breathless excitement at Paris banning e-scooters:

E-scooters were always an answer to a question that presumably nobody had asked: “What would be an efficient way of making life for pedestrians miserable at best, dangerous at worst?” They have been a blight upon every city on which they have descended. In use, they are a nuisance and a menace. When stationary, they’re ugly and obstructive litter.

By declaring a stop to this nonsense, Paris has set what will hopefully be a resonant example.

Segways and e-scooters are driving at the same goal: moving pedestrians more quickly with less effort. The latter was leagues more successful than the former, yet didn’t solve the alleged ’killer problem’. You can’t ride an e-scooter upstairs, either.

It reminded me not to take the commonly accepted explanation for an enterprise’s failure at face value. It’s probably a lot more complicated than it seems.

The image at the top of this post was generated by Midjourney.

I recently made a resolution to see more films in cinemas. It’s a bizarre coincidence that the first film I’ve subsequently seen has an over-the-credits speech by the lead actor about the impact of seeing films in cinemas, and hubristically underlining the importance of this particular film. The fact that I spent much of that speech racking my brain to remember the product name of the IKEA floor-lamp he was sat next to—it’s an Årstid, if you’re wondering—gives some idea of the impact of the speech.

I went into this blind. I had no idea of the whole Trump / QAnon controversy associated with the film. If you’ve no idea what I’m talking about, it’s a US culture war rabbit hole that you’re better off ignoring, as I will for the remainder of this post.

This was a really odd film. It is apparently based on the life of Tim Ballard, who is played by Jim Caviezel, and his work with Operation Underground Railroad. The film’s expressed mission is to raise awareness of child sex trafficking. This seems to be ’raise awareness’ in the sense of ‘make people aware that it exists’, not in the sense of ‘make people aware of their own agency in influencing the situation’. This is fine, if we accept that there are people unaware of child sex trafficking, which is surely a small group.

Oddly, for a film raising awareness, the victims’ narratives are mostly skimmed over. Once children are rescued, they are portrayed as immediately happy, as though their experiences might not leave lifelong psychological and physical scars. Instead, the film follows a sort of ‘rogue US agent saves the world from evil foreigners’ script, concentrating on the rescuer’s narrative.

There’s a troubling undertone of religion as a driving force for the action, with the lead character gravely intoning that ‘God’s children are not for sale’ in a moment that, I’m afraid, caused me to audibly snort. Women in the film aren’t really given much opportunity to offer thoughts on the wider issue of trafficking, and there’s a fundamental assumption that everyone involved is plainly evil: there’s no moral complexity or challenge to be found.

There was a brief promise of some interesting moral questions, like how we should support those who are forced to watch images of child abuse for investigation and evidential purposes… but it turns out that the film’s answer was, well, not very satisfactory.

Perhaps weirdest of all, in a film that is reputedly trying to convince its audience to care about a huge problem, not a single one of the characters is motivated by it. Indeed, several actively demur from tackling trafficking in general, and will only consent to becoming involved when a specific child is on the line. That’s a peculiar narrative choice given the message.

Basically, this film gets a ‘no’ from me, with the sole exception of the child actor Lucas Avila, who steals every scene he is in, and is completely heart-melting.