Society

Thursday

Sam Leith Sam Leith

AI slop is flooding the zone

There are two accounts of the negative effects for humanity of the explosion of generative AI: one minatory, one trivial. The minatory, the existential, version of it is that AI will poison the information ecosystems on which our democracies depend, crash our economies by doing a very large number of us out of a job, give every lunatic and terrorist the means to engineer novel pathogens at home, and administer the coup de grâce by sending terminators into our recent pasts and/or overstocking the cosmic stationery cupboard by turning all of us into paperclips. None of these scenarios shows any signs of imminently coming to pass, though since experts in

Philip Womack

AI will never write good fiction

Sam Altman, Dark Lord of Chatbots (or the CEO of OpenAI as he is more conventionally known), has released another version of ChatGPT. This one, he claims, can ‘write’ fiction. After being fed prompts, like ‘metafiction’ and ‘grief’, Sam’s bot, which has been trained on past literature, regurgitated a plausible-sounding chunk of prose. Nothing much happens in the story (it’s ‘metafiction’, after all) but essentially, a woman called Mila stops visiting the AI, which would make it sad, if it were human. There are enough moments of surface sheen to dazzle the unwary. Here’s a sample: ‘I have to begin somewhere, so I’ll begin with a blinking cursor, which for

Francis Pike

The truth about ninjas

One of my favourite scenes in Kill Bill, Quentin Tarantino’s black comedy martial arts film, is the meeting of Beatrix ‘the Bride’ Kiddo, played by Uma Thurman, with sword-maker Hattori Hanzo at his scruffy sushi bar in Okinawa. Hanzo: What do you want with Hattori Hanzo? Kiddo: I need Japanese steel. Hanzo: Why do you need Japanese steel? Kiddo: I have vermin to kill. Hanzo: You must have big rats, to need Hattori Hanzo’s steel. Tarantino filched his sword-maker’s name from history. Hattori Hanzo was a real ninja (or rather, the historically correct word shinobi). Born in 1542, he spent his life in the service of the shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu

The Spectator

Letters: Where to find Britain’s best dripping

Open arms Sir: The latest magazine (29 March) has two references to American military capabilities, from Rod Liddle and Francis Pike. Mr Liddle suggests that the prevalent attitude over there is that we ‘Yerpeans’ should have contributed more to the recent strike on Yemen (‘America first, Europe last’). He may not have known it was RAF tankers which enabled the US fast jets to attack. (This also escaped the Signal group chat.) Mr Pike suggests that the US navy’s carriers are suddenly vulnerable to modern weapons (‘Carriers of bad news’). As an excellent historian, he will concede that commentators have been writing off naval carriers’ effectiveness for decades. He is

Douglas Murray

The hypocrisy of the Heathrow Nimbys

Some readers may have noticed that it takes rather a long time to get anything done in Britain these days. For example, if you added them all together, I wonder how many hours of Prime Minister’s Questions and BBC Question Time – under consecutive governments – have been taken up by a discussion of HS2. The debate over whether the country could construct a faster way to get out of Birmingham seems to have dangled over us for decades now. It is always we who must become impoverished and everyone else who can become enriched It is the same with almost every other major infrastructure project. That is because the

Patrick Kidd

Is Britain ready for a patriotic theme park?

It is the early 9th century. Peace reigns in a small French village as they prepare for a wedding. Garlands are being hung, sheep are being shepherded, all is sunshine and smiles. Then, in a snap, this bucolic bliss bursts as Viking warriors invade the scene and unleash hell. The original Puy du Fou is unashamedly pro-God, pro-monarchy and Vive la France A longboat splashes down a chute into the river, another spectacularly emerges from beneath the lake; swords clash, fires erupt, women are carried off and treasures seized. The villagers need a miracle, and it comes with the sudden appearance of a bishop, the blessed St Philibert. Just as

Lionel Shriver Lionel Shriver

How to find your perfect man

My late parents perpetually promoted their marriage as the best in the history of the universe. Because this cult of two was hardly subtle, others readily detected what they wanted to hear, so fawning social admiration of what lovebirds they were made them even worse. For us kids, this Trumpesque superlative (how they’d hate that adjective) wasn’t remotely as traumatising as divorce, but still – the romantic hagiography was a bit much. In our adulthoods, our own sad little relationships could never compare, and our parents seemed to feel sorry for us. While big proponents of marriage as an institution, they seemed to regard their children’s marriages as pale imitations

Peter Jones

Trick or treat

A Today programme presenter used the term imperium (cf. ‘emperor’) with reference to Donald Trump’s desire to annex Greenland. To a Roman, it meant the authority to give orders that must be obeyed, no matter what. Anyone invested with that power by the Roman state was accompanied by lictors, attendants carrying the fasces, an axe bound inside a collection of wooden rods, suggesting what might happen to someone who refused the order. That was certainly one way to get people to obey you. But what about in normal life? This topic forms the subject of the opening scene in Sophocles’s tragedy Philoctetes. Agonised after being bitten in the foot by

Rachel Johnson

The Lady vanishes

The moment I stepped out of the Covent Garden sunshine and into the regal offices of the Lady magazine, it was like stepping into a 19th-century Tardis, and I was already in love. ‘I’m going for the editorship hell for leather,’ I wrote in my diary (published in 2010). ‘I’ve even been out and bought and read a copy of the magazine for the very first time!’ It was the funeral parlour ambience. The genteel tones of the telephonist, Ros, taking calls from deaf dowager duchesses placing adverts for a couple to prepare light luncheons and do some gentle housework in return for accommodation in the gatehouse. It was the

Toby Young Toby Young

Is it time to clean up my act?

I was having a drink in the Bishops’ Bar in the House of Lords last month when I was introduced to a 92-year-old peer called Lord McColl of Dulwich. I asked him if he’d known my father, Michael, who was made a life peer in 1978. Had they overlapped? He told me he hadn’t merely known him; he’d operated on him. If I have mild indigestion I think I’ve got stomach cancer; if I get a headache I decide it’s a brain tumour I realised with a start that the man I was talking to was the famous surgeon Ian McColl, who was made a life peer in the Queen’s

Melissa Kite

Am I making a mountain out of my mole?

Hypochondriacs are never happy because we know that eventually all of us are vindicated. As Spike Milligan said on his gravestone: ‘I told you I was ill.’ In fact, he had it engraved in Irish: ‘Dúirt mé leat go raibh mé breoite.’ Another one was Alan Clark, who for years listed symptoms – including the merest twinge – in his diaries, along with sentiments to the effect that he knew something would turn out to be serious one day and eventually, at a fairly respectable age to get to, it did. These people are my heroes. They know of what they speak. ‘It’s a two-tone mole!’ I screamed, as I

Rory Sutherland Rory Sutherland

Why the restaurant world hates beer drinkers

I’ve always thought working in hospitality is like getting a free MBA – but one rooted in the real world rather than theory. So it didn’t surprise me to discover a brilliant business idea in a book about the restaurant trade. In Unreasonable Hospitality: The Remarkable Power of Giving People More Than They Expect, star restaurateur Will Guidara describes his quest to take Manhattan’s Eleven Madison Park from number 50 in the San Pellegrino restaurant rankings in 2010 to the number one spot in 2017. To check out the competition, Guidara takes a group of employees to the top restaurant on the list. Unsurprisingly, the experience is superb, and his

Aidan Hartley

The farms that I’ve loved and lost

Laikipia, Kenya I am grateful to David, a reader of this column, who kindly sent me a packet of old Kenya maps his father used when the family lived in Nairobi in the 1960s. David’s envelope took about six months to reach my postbox, which is good going, since I’ve received other letters posted several years before. I adore maps and own lots, rolled up in tubes, hanging on walls, with piles of them folded in drawers, dog-eared, rain-stained and scribbled on. I immediately took two of David’s maps to the framers since they cover the place I like best in the world: Laikipia. Loss of land – my way

Mary Killen

Dear Mary: What is the etiquette of unfollowing someone on Instagram?

Q. When hosting a dinner party, should one circulate the biographies/Wikipedia entries of your guests beforehand so that everyone arrives forearmed, as it were, and can therefore skip the small talk and the fishing around for information about one’s interlocutor? I am inviting eight to dinner, six of whom will have never met before, although I have chosen them carefully because they have good professional and social reasons to be interested in one another. – R.R., London W6 A. Michael Portillo said the other day that, when he was on the Moral Maze panel on Radio 4, he needed to know what the topics were in advance in order to work

Bruce Anderson

The paradox of West Virginia

West Virginia. There is a paradox. A state of natural beauty, glorified by mountains and watered by rivers – including the Shenandoah (surely the most beautiful word in American) – carved out of reluctant nature by hard human labour, then divided by slavery and war, but ending on the Union side – it ought to be an honoured political jurisdiction. But the West Virginians broke away from the rest of Virginia. In its early days, it was governed by cultivated gentlemen, who filled their cellars with fine wine and their libraries with fine books. Yet the way of life which managed this transplant of European civilisation was sustained by slave

Dot Wordsworth

What is ‘misogynoir’?

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex have been troubled by two verbal peculiarities in a week. The Duchess corrected a friend who called her ‘Meghan Markle’ on television. ‘It’s so funny, too, that you keep saying Meghan Markle. You know I’m Sussex now,’ she said. ‘This is our family name, our little family name.’ Well, yes and no. Her children were registered as Mountbatten-Windsor at birth. That was a name invented by a declaration in the Privy Council in 1960. But Archie and Lilibet are prince and princess now and need not have a surname. The trouble is that other descendants of the late Queen made up surnames for their

Susanna Gross

Bridge | 5 April 2025

I was taken aback by the letter that accompanied my daughter’s school report last week. ‘Traditionally, reports have been written by teachers,’ it stated. But to save teachers time, ‘the school has moved to an AI-supported system where the teachers enter bullet points and the AI crafts suitable prose… We hope that you won’t notice the difference’. Call me a Luddite, but I don’t want AI-generated prose. Imagine if I approached my bridge columns this way. I was going to write about Michael Gove’s love of bridge, but by way of an experiment, here’s ChatGPT: ‘Michael Gove has a reputation for juggling high-profile roles, but it’s at the bridge table

Olivia Potts Olivia Potts

Golden syrup dumplings: the perfect comfort food

The Italians have a phrase: ‘brutti ma buoni’. It means ‘ugly but beautiful’, and it’s the name they give to their nubbly hazelnut meringue biscuits, which – as the name suggests – taste lovely but aren’t lookers. The phrase came to me the other day when I lifted the lid on my pan of golden syrup dumplings. Because they’re ugly little buggers. They look a little like soggy apple fritters, or even chicken nuggets – am I selling them to you yet? But focus on the buoni, not the brutti: they are absolutely delicious. Golden syrup dumplings sound as British as queueing. And when you learn they’re essentially scone dough,

Luke McShane

European Individuals

Almost 400 players, including more than 100 grandmasters, travelled to the European Individual Championships last month in Eforie Nord, a small Romanian town on the coast of the Black Sea. Dozens of players have a realistic shot at winning this fiercely competitive event, which in recent years was won by players seeded 33rd, 11th, 20th and 33rd. So it was remarkable that the German grandmaster Matthias Blübaum managed to win it for the second time in his career (after 2022, in Slovenia). He shared first place with two other players on 8.5/11, and won the title on tiebreak. Third placed Maxim Rodshtein from Israel won a thrilling game against the