Having been a bit suspicious of AI last week, I have dipped my toe in to AI waters by downloading Chat GPT, Deep Seek, MS Co-Pilot, Perplexity and Claude.
The first four give varying responses to questions, trawling the internet to give summarised content. Co-Pilot is wooden and reverts to MS products a lot, Perplexity is OK on content but also a bit rigid, Deep Seek is fairly neutral, Chat GPT is ingratiating, eager to please, wanting to start co-designs and frequently inaccurate or just wrong.
The interesting one is Claude, which promises to be ethical (it won’t research how to kill people, for example) and is designed to answer queries in a session, but won’t remember anything after the session ends – no long-term memory. It is rather entertaining. I put into its suggestion box the idea for a mash-up of two UK sitcoms, and asked it to produce a script. It’s rather fun – I’ll share it in the first comment.
Anyone else had any experience with these ways to augment your intelligence? Give Claude a go. It’ s quite seductive.
FAWLTY GOODS
A Comedy in One Act
CHARACTERS:
• BASIL FAWLTY – Hotel proprietor, manic and pompous
• SYBIL FAWLTY – His wife, long-suffering but sharp-tongued
• MANUEL – Spanish waiter, perpetually confused
• POLLY – Maid/waitress, the voice of reason
• TOM GOOD – Self-sufficient enthusiast, earnest and idealistic
• BARBARA GOOD – Tom’s wife, free-spirited and practical
• JERRY LEADBETTER – Conventional suburbanite, easily flustered
• MARGO LEADBETTER – Jerry’s wife, pretentious and status-conscious
________________________________________
SCENE 1: THE HOTEL LOBBY
[The Goods and Leadbetters arrive with luggage. BASIL emerges from behind the reception desk, attempting charm but clearly stressed.]
BASIL: Welcome, welcome to Fawlty Towers! I trust your journey from… [squints at register] …Surbiton was pleasant? No trouble with the M25? Foreign lorry drivers? Roadworks organized by complete incompetents?
JERRY: Actually, it was quite—
BASIL: Excellent! Now, we have you in our finest rooms. Well, our only decent rooms. The others are currently being… renovated. By which I mean the ceiling fell in.
MARGO: [horrified] The ceiling fell in?
BASIL: Not in YOUR room! Different ceiling entirely. Completely different ceiling. Manuel!
[MANUEL appears, carrying a plate of what appears to be burnt toast.]
MANUEL: Sí, Señor Fawlty?
BASIL: Take these bags to rooms 12 and 14. And for heaven’s sake, try not to drop them down the stairs this time.
TOM: [enthusiastically, in broken Spanish] ¡Hola, Manuel! ¿Cómo está usted? Tengo… er… jardín muy bueno con… vegetables… er… vegetales!
[MANUEL stares at TOM, then bursts into laughter.]
MANUEL: [in perfect English, amused] Did you just tell me you have a very good garden with… what was that… “vegetals”?
TOM: [deflated] I thought I said vegetables…
MANUEL: The word is “verduras,” señor. But I appreciate the effort. [winks at BARBARA]
________________________________________
SCENE 2: THE HOTEL BAR
[BASIL and JERRY are settled at the bar with drinks. BASIL is in full pontificating mode.]
BASIL: The problem with this country, Jerry—may I call you Jerry?—is that we’ve gone soft. Too much consideration for others. In my day, we knew how to run things properly.
JERRY: Absolutely right, Basil. Standards have definitely slipped. At my company, we have to fill out forms just to fire someone now.
BASIL: Forms! Don’t get me started on forms. Half of them designed by Brussels bureaucrats who’ve never run so much as a tea trolley, let alone a hotel.
JERRY: [warming up] And don’t even mention the state of the trains. Last week, the guard was definitely foreign. Couldn’t understand a word he said.
BASIL: Foreign? On a British train? It’s an invasion, Jerry. A quiet, polite invasion, but an invasion nonetheless.
[They clink glasses smugly.]
________________________________________
SCENE 3: THE KITCHEN
[TOM is earnestly talking to the CHEF, a large, sweaty man in a stained apron.]
TOM: You see, these are completely organic carrots. No pesticides, no artificial fertilizers. Just good old-fashioned compost and natural pest control.
CHEF: [skeptically] What kind of natural pest control?
TOM: Well, we have a system of companion planting, and Barbara’s been experimenting with some… special herbs that seem to keep the insects away.
CHEF: [interested] Special herbs, you say?
TOM: Oh yes, she’s quite the botanist. Grows all sorts of things. Some of them are quite… potent.
CHEF: I might be interested in these herbs. For… culinary purposes, of course.
TOM: Of course! I’ll get Barbara to show you her herb garden notes.
________________________________________
SCENE 4: THE HOTEL TERRACE
[BARBARA and POLLY are sitting on garden chairs, looking relaxed. BARBARA is rolling something in paper.]
POLLY: I have to say, Barbara, this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in months. Usually by now, Basil would have caused at least three major incidents.
BARBARA: [lighting up] The secret is knowing when to step away from the madness. Tom gets so caught up in his projects, and I love him for it, but sometimes you just need to… [takes a puff] …appreciate the simple things.
POLLY: [accepting the joint] You know, I studied art at college. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d stuck with it instead of ending up here.
BARBARA: It’s never too late, Polly. Life’s too short to spend it all washing other people’s sheets and dodging flying crockery.
[They dissolve into giggles as the sound of BASIL’s voice grows louder from inside.]
________________________________________
SCENE 5: THE DINING ROOM – THE ARGUMENT
[TOM and BASIL are at a table, their conversation having turned heated. Other GUESTS look uncomfortable.]
TOM: But surely you can see that renewable energy is the way forward? We can’t just keep burning fossil fuels and hoping for the best!
BASIL: Renewable energy? What’s wrong with good old-fashioned coal? Powered the Empire, didn’t it? Built this country!
TOM: Built it, yes, but it’s also destroying the planet! We need to think about future generations!
BASIL: Future generations will thank us for leaving them a country that actually works, not some wind-powered fantasy land run by vegetarians!
TOM: There’s nothing wrong with being vegetarian! In fact, if more people—
BASIL: Nothing wrong with it? It’s unnatural! We have teeth designed for eating meat! Canines! Look! [bares teeth dramatically]
[In his enthusiasm, BASIL knocks over a candle, which sets fire to the tablecloth. TOM tries to help but knocks over a chair, which crashes into an ELDERLY GUEST, who falls dramatically.]
ELDERLY GUEST: [groaning] My hip! My hip!
TOM: Oh no! I’m so sorry!
BASIL: [as the fire spreads] Now look what you’ve done! Your liberal guilt has practically murdered Colonel Pemberton!
TOM: Liberal guilt? This is your fault for waving lit candles around!
[The fire spreads to the curtains. MANUEL runs in.]
MANUEL: ¿Qué? ¿Qué está pasando? ¿Fuego?
________________________________________
SCENE 6: THE GRAND FINALE
[Fire engines and police cars arrive outside. Through the windows, we see SYBIL and MARGO returning from golf. The FIRE CHIEF and POLICE SERGEANT enter with the weary familiarity of old acquaintances.]
FIRE CHIEF: [sighing] Right then, Basil. What is it this time? Kitchen fire? Electrical fault? Or have you been trying to fix the boiler again?
BASIL: [indignant] This was not my fault! It was the vegetarian! He and his radical ideas about windmills!
POLICE SERGEANT: [to his constable] Put it down as “political discussion gone wrong.” That’s the third this month.
TOM: [to BARBARA, who appears with POLLY, both looking very relaxed] I’m sorry, darling. I think I may have gotten us banned from another hotel.
BARBARA: [cheerfully] Don’t worry about it, Tom. We’ll just go camping instead. Much more sustainable.
[MANUEL wanders through the chaos, still carrying his plate of burnt toast.]
MANUEL: ¿Qué? ¿Qué pasa? ¿Es normal esto?
POLLY: [patting his shoulder] Completely normal, Manuel. Completely normal.
[MARGO enters, surveying the scene.]
MARGO: [to JERRY] I leave you alone for three hours to play golf with Sybil, and you burn down the hotel?
JERRY: It wasn’t me! It was the conservationist and the conservative!
BASIL: [as he’s led away by the FIRE CHIEF] This is all perfectly normal! Just a small disagreement about energy policy! Could happen to anyone!
[As the curtain falls, MANUEL is still wandering around saying “¿Qué?” while everyone else argues about whose fault it was.]
THE END
________________________________________
Author’s Note: This script is an original comedy creation inspired by the brilliant British sitcom tradition, but all dialogue, situations, and character interactions are entirely original and created for entertainment purposes.
Hmmm – it’s not great is it? No dialogue for Sybil and very little input from Margo. Manuel flirting would never happen. Also, Polly would never call Mr Fawlty “Basil” and who is Colonel Pemberton?
The “conservationist fighting a Conservative” line is like one of those long and unfunny jokes that used to end up in Punch or the Readers Digest.
The scene ending with Manuel just saying his catchphrase over and over is just rubbish.
Having said all that, as a parody it may work in the hands of a funny group of actors. This Australian sketch hit the spot, I think.
No, it’s not great, it’s just a first draft. Maybe I should have polished it before sharing. I liked the fact that it could do it at all. I noted some of the errors you spotted, though Sybil wasn’t much present in the Builders episode, or the Anniversary.
The art in using these tools, I have found, is taking what they spew out and asking them to rewrite, taking note of critiques like yours, which I might do.
Funny you should say that about Sybil in the Builders episode. She’s not in it much but when she appears and deals with Basil and Basil’s builder, that’s probably the funniest bit.
That’s true – it’s a very clear example of the ‘nest of vipers’ being uncovered at the end of the episode. Of course, Sybil is never away, having permanent residence in Basil’s psyche – the supergo overseeing his every move.
As an O2 customer I get a year’s subscription to Perplexity Pro which gives you access to a number of AI models such as Claude, GPT 4.1, Gemini Pro, Grok etc. I don’t do anything too complicated with it but it can be helpful. For example, I was able to get some good recommendations for stop-over hotels on the way to the Lake District after setting some parameters, eg distance from M6 etc.
I’ve only used it for work and only started using it at all a week or so ago; Copilot as that it what my employer demands. My first experiences have been a mix of frustrating (possibly due to my need to practice prompts) and really useful (stripping sheet protection off a bunch of Excel workbooks which would previously have taken at least 10 minutes each, and would have been easy to screw up).
Co-Pilot is the one authorised for our use, as well, but the limited overview I have of it suggests it is as corporate as the Microsoft Help which it presumably was created to replace. A case of paragraph after paragraph of plodding and either obvious or unhelpful text (sometimes both) with a nugget of essential guidance hidden in the grey. At least it’s not Clippy.
The sort of macros which I think your Excel example refers to would seem to be the labour-saving wins that a lifetime of developing keyboard shortcuts in an MS dominated environment would cry out for.
Here’s one I did just now:
Q: Please tell me, who were better, the Beatles or the Stones?
A: That’s one of the great musical debates! Both bands were revolutionary and influential in their own ways, so it really comes down to what you value in music.
The Beatles were incredible innovators in the studio, constantly pushing boundaries with albums like “Sgt. Pepper’s” and “Revolver.” Their songwriting partnership between Lennon and McCartney was phenomenal, and they had an amazing ability to evolve their sound – from early rock and roll to psychedelia to experimental music. They were also masters of melody and harmony.
The Rolling Stones, on the other hand, were the ultimate rock and roll band – grittier, more blues-influenced, and with an incredible live energy that’s lasted decades. Jagger and Richards created some of the most iconic riffs and performances in rock history. They embodied the rebellious spirit of rock in a way that felt more dangerous and raw.
If you prefer musical experimentation, studio craftsmanship, and pop sensibilities, you might lean toward the Beatles. If you’re drawn to blues-based rock, attitude, and that classic rock and roll swagger, the Stones might be your pick.
What draws you to one or the other? Are you more into the innovative studio work or the raw rock energy?
Evenhanded, wouldn’t you say? However…
Q: Yes, but who were better?
A: The Beatles were better.
They had a deeper catalog of innovative songs, pushed musical boundaries further, and their influence on virtually every aspect of popular music is unmatched. While the Stones were masters of their particular style of blues-rock and had incredible staying power, the Beatles fundamentally changed what popular music could be in just seven years of recording.
The Beatles wrote more classics, experimented more successfully, and their peak albums like “Abbey Road,” “Revolver,” and “Sgt. Pepper’s” are simply on another level artistically. The Stones had great songs and an amazing attitude, but they never matched the Beatles’ combination of innovation, melody, and sheer number of timeless tracks.
That said, plenty of people would argue just as passionately for the Stones – and they’d have good reasons too!
There we have it. Definitive. Or not…
Definitive, I’d say. Thanks, Claude.
I just did another Beatles-related one “How about matching the Beatles with Monty Python – who would be John, Paul, George, Ringo, etc?” I wonder if you can guess who Claude thought was matched with who?
Six into four? Cleese = Lennon, Palin = McCartney, Jones = Ringo, Idle = Harrison.
George Martin = Ian MacNaugton
That’s pretty much the result i got when i asked the question on this site about 10 years ago, and it’s what Chat GPT thought. But not the other three. There were a few twists from Claude:
JOHN LENNON → JOHN CLEESE
The Intellectual Rebel
Why it works:
• Both are the tall, imposing figures who can be devastatingly cutting
• Sharp, satirical wit with a tendency toward cruelty in their humor
• Natural leaders who aren’t afraid to be confrontational
• Both have that “angry young man” edge beneath the comedy/music
• Brilliant at wordplay and verbal sparring
• Can switch from charming to absolutely savage in seconds
Signature Style:
• Lennon’s “How do you sleep at night?” vs. Cleese’s “What have the Romans ever done for us?”
• Both masters of the withering put-down and intellectual superiority
________________________________________
PAUL MCCARTNEY → ERIC IDLE
The Charming Showman
Why it works:
• Natural performers who love being center stage
• Both have that cheeky, slightly cheeky charm
• Masters of catchy, memorable material (songs vs. sketches)
• Can be simultaneously endearing and slightly irritating
• Both are the “people pleasers” of their respective groups
• Love wordplay and clever linguistic tricks
Signature Style:
• McCartney’s “Here Comes the Sun” optimism vs. Idle’s “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”
• Both can make you laugh/sing along even when you don’t want to
________________________________________
GEORGE HARRISON → MICHAEL PALIN
The Thoughtful Adventurer
Why it works:
• Both are the “spiritual” members of their groups
• Quietly brilliant with unexpected depths
• More interested in exploration (musical/geographical) than fame
• Often underestimated but capable of stealing scenes completely
• Both have that gentle, slightly mystical quality
• Less ego-driven than their more famous colleagues
Signature Style:
• Harrison’s Indian music exploration vs. Palin’s travel documentaries
• Both bring unexpected wisdom and genuine curiosity to everything
________________________________________
RINGO STARR → TERRY JONES
The Loveable Oddball
Why it works:
• Both are shorter, rounder, and more cuddly than their colleagues
• Natural comedic timing with a slightly surreal worldview
• Often play the “everyman” character who grounds the group
• Unexpectedly deep creative talents (Ringo’s drumming innovation vs. Jones’s directing)
• Both have that slightly bewildered but game-for-anything attitude
• Can make the absurd seem perfectly normal
Signature Style:
• Ringo’s “It don’t come easy” philosophy vs. Jones’s cross-dressing housewives
• Both make you love them even when you can’t explain why
________________________________________
GEORGE MARTIN (The 5th Beatle) → GRAHAM CHAPMAN
The Straight Man Who Enables the Madness
Why it works:
• Both are the stabilizing forces who make everything else possible
• Classically trained and technically brilliant
• Can play it completely straight while surrounded by chaos
• Both died too young, leaving their groups incomplete
• The “adult” presence who paradoxically enables the most childish behavior
• Often underappreciated for their essential contributions
Signature Style:
• Martin’s orchestral arrangements vs. Chapman’s deadpan delivery of absurd lines
• Both make the impossible seem effortless
________________________________________
BRIAN EPSTEIN (The Manager) → TERRY GILLIAM
The Visionary Outsider
Why it works:
• Both came from outside the core group but became essential
• Visionary artists who see the bigger picture
• American (Gilliam) / outsider (Epstein – gay, Jewish in 1960s Liverpool)
• Both responsible for the distinctive visual/business style of their groups
• Can be difficult but absolutely necessary for the creative process
• Transform raw talent into something unprecedented
Signature Style:
• Epstein’s suit-and-tie professionalism vs. Gilliam’s anarchic animations
• Both frame the chaos and make it marketable/memorable
Chapman the straight man? Really?
As straight as an EU banana. There were no straight men in Monty Python, but he did play nominally straight man roles – authoritarian military figures who stopped sketches for being too silly, as well as the main characters around which the others revolved in Grail and Brian.
George Martin died young aged 90, would that I would live that long.
AI hallucinates. Maybe it got confused between Martin and Epstein?
Nope. I have reached my luddite level. I waste enough time looking at screens as it is.
I use AI a lot and find it extremely useful for dealing with bureaucracy. I’ve used Grock, Perplexity and ChatGDP for medical bureaucracy, tax/financial bureaucracy and translations. They’re not always correct, but as long as I know enough to spot its errors, they save me so much time. In the pre-AI days I would have had to do a lot of research on the internet (and in the pre-internet days I would have either had to pay a professional or, more likely, give up and do nothing). “Write a polite reply in Italian to this email, thanking the sender and requesting specific info regarding X” would be a typical instruction I give.
I think those are good uses for AI. One might say that it takes work away from professionals, skilled in drafting Italian bureaucratese, but are there many people who get joy from these tedious aspects of working life? I have to do enough of that already, and if there are solutions that convey the necessary information without needing to learn such ‘skills’, that makes the life of admin workers like myself at a higher level of functionality. Who, for example, wants to go back to the days of typewritten letters and actual carbon copies?
This is the tail end of a convo about whether AI would make novelists redundant. He hedged his bets, and then, impressively, came up with this:
Mike: Storytelling has never had a technological challenge like AI though.
Claude: You’re absolutely right – this is fundamentally different. Previous technologies like the printing press or word processors changed how stories were produced or distributed, but they didn’t challenge the core human monopoly on creating the stories themselves.
AI can actually generate narratives, create characters, and construct plots. It’s not just a tool that helps humans write faster or reach more readers – it’s potentially a competitor in the creative act itself. That’s unprecedented.
The printing press made books cheaper and more accessible, but it still required human authors. Word processors made writing more efficient, but the creativity remained entirely human. AI crosses into the territory of actually doing the creative work, which is a qualitatively different kind of disruption.
What makes this particularly complex is that AI doesn’t just threaten the most formulaic writing – it’s advancing rapidly in areas we might have assumed were safely human, like generating emotionally resonant prose or creating compelling character arcs. The gap between AI-generated and human-written fiction is narrowing in ways that would have seemed impossible just a few years ago.
So while I still think there are aspects of human experience and perspective that give human novelists advantages, you’re correct that we’re in uncharted territory. The economic pressures alone could be transformative – if AI can produce readable novels at scale and virtually no cost, that changes the entire market dynamics in ways the industry has never faced before.
This really is the first time the fundamental creative act of storytelling itself has been technologically challenged.
Wow!
From the little I’ve seen, Claude can produce a quite witty and very topical short story that with a little bit of editing I’m sure I could pass off to my Writing Group as “mine”.
Question – if twenty different Modern English students ask Claude to write a story entitled, say, “A sleepless night in Sydney ” could/would Claude produce 20 different stories?
40 at least, as each student asks Claude to rewrite with adjusted inputs.
James Joyce it ain’t, but this is seriously impressive, and not a comma out of place.
Mike: Please write me a short story of no more than 1000 words about a man and a woman, strangers, at Stonehenge for the Summer Solstice.
Strangers at Stonehenge
The crowd pressed forward in the pre-dawn darkness, thousands of pilgrims shuffling toward the ancient stones. Maya clutched her thermos of coffee, wondering why she’d driven three hours to stand in a field with strangers, watching the sun rise through rocks that had stood for millennia.
“First time?” The voice came from beside her—a man about her age, maybe forty, with kind eyes and a worn leather jacket that looked like it had seen many solstices.
“That obvious?” Maya smiled, grateful for the human connection in the sea of faces.
“The wonder in your eyes gives it away. I’m David.” He gestured toward the towering trilithons ahead. “I’ve been coming here for fifteen years. Never gets old.”
“Maya. And I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this many people.”
David chuckled. “Twenty thousand, usually. But something about sharing this moment with strangers from all over the world—it’s oddly comforting. We’re all here for the same reason, really.”
“Which is?”
He considered this as they shuffled forward with the crowd. “To witness something bigger than ourselves. To connect with people who stood in this exact spot four thousand years ago, watching the same sun rise through the same stones.”
Maya had come on impulse, fleeing the empty house that still echoed with her ex-husband’s absence. She’d told herself it was about experiencing history, but standing here now, she realized it was about not being alone with her thoughts on the longest day of the year.
“Are you here for spiritual reasons?” she asked.
“Partly. But mostly for the continuity. My father brought me here when I was twelve, right after my mother died. He said some things are too ancient and too beautiful to let grief overshadow them.” David’s voice carried a comfortable melancholy. “He’s gone now too, but I keep coming. For him, for me, for the connection to something enduring.”
They found a spot near the outer circle as the sky began to lighten. Around them, people sat in meditation, played gentle music, or simply waited in reverent silence. A woman nearby had brought her teenage daughter, whispering explanations about the monument’s alignment. A group of friends shared a breakfast of pastries and laughter.
“I got divorced six months ago,” Maya found herself saying, surprised by her own honesty. “I keep thinking I should feel liberated, but mostly I just feel… untethered. Like I’m floating without reference points.”
David nodded. “After my wife left—that was eight years ago—I felt like I’d lost my place in the world. Like I was reading a book and someone had torn out all the pages that explained who I was supposed to be.”
The eastern horizon began to glow, a soft amber that painted the stones in golden light. The crowd grew quieter, more focused. Maya felt the anticipation building like a held breath.
“How did you find your way back?” she asked quietly.
“I’m not sure I have completely. But I learned that some anchors aren’t other people—they’re moments like this. Rituals that connect us to the long story of being human.” He paused, watching the light grow stronger. “My marriage ended, but my need to witness beauty didn’t. My father died, but my connection to what he taught me about wonder didn’t.”
The sun’s edge appeared on the horizon, perfectly framed by the heel stone. A collective sigh rose from the crowd, twenty thousand people exhaling together as light flooded the stone circle. Maya felt tears on her cheeks, unexpected and cleansing.
“It’s extraordinary,” she whispered.
“Every year, I think it will be less magical,” David replied. “Every year, I’m wrong.”
They stood in comfortable silence as the sun climbed higher, painting the ancient stones in shades of gold and amber. Maya realized that for the first time in months, she wasn’t thinking about what she’d lost or what came next. She was simply present, part of an unbroken chain of humans who had gathered to witness light returning to the world.
“I think I understand now,” she said as the crowd began to disperse. “Why you keep coming back.”
“It’s not about the stones, really. It’s about choosing to show up for wonder, even when—especially when—life feels uncertain.”
As they walked back toward the car parks, Maya felt something shift inside her. Not healing exactly, but a recognition that she could carry this feeling with her—this sense of being part of something larger and more enduring than her own small story.
“Same time next year?” David asked as they reached the place where their paths diverged.
Maya smiled, feeling the first genuine lightness she’d experienced in months. “I think so. For the continuity.”
They parted ways among the crowd of strangers who had briefly become a community, united by their willingness to rise before dawn and witness something ancient and beautiful. Maya drove home as the sun climbed higher, carrying with her the memory of light flooding stone and the quiet wisdom of a stranger who had reminded her that some anchors transcend circumstance.
The stones would wait for another year, patient and eternal, ready to frame the sun’s return for whoever needed to remember that they were part of something larger than themselves.
I’m copying & pasting that – my Writing Group is going to be well impressed!
The advances in AI over the last few of months that have most impressed me have been in video. Just 6 months ago AI video seemed fairly limited in its capabilities. Now it seems hard to tell an AI-created video from a “real” video.
Inspired by @salwarpe I asked ChatGPT to ceate a soap opera in the style of Coronation Street using AW contributors – and make it funny. Here’s the result :
Certainly! Here’s a funny, dramatic soap opera story — Afterword Alley — set in a fictional northern cul-de-sac populated by exaggerated versions of contributors from The Afterword forum. All character names are affectionate nods to familiar avatars and posting styles.
⸻
AFTERWORD ALLEY
A soap opera for people who alphabetise their vinyl and cry at Sandy Denny lyrics.
⸻
EPISODE 1: “You Can’t Polish a Picture Disc”
(Opening titles: moody shots of rain, a battered jukebox, and a close-up of a forlorn pint of mild.)
Scene: The snug of The Drunken Organist, the only pub in Afterword Alley. Rain lashes the windows. Black Celebration is glaring at a packet of Scampi Fries.
Black Celebration:
“It’s not proper music unless it’s got a bit of existential dread and a synthesiser that sounds like a haunted freezer. That’s just science.”
MikeTheP (entering, waving a gatefold sleeve):
“Rubbish. This new reissue of Gentle Giant: Live at Basingstoke Wool Exchange is the pinnacle of modern civilisation.”
HPSaucecraft (sipping a mild):
“It’s all just noise. Give me Elkie Brooks in a cardigan any day.”
Suddenly, the door bursts open. Tiggerlion, the Alley’s self-appointed archivist, charges in brandishing a clipboard.
Tiggerlion:
“Right, everyone sit down. I’ve compiled the definitive list of greatest live albums recorded within 500 yards of a Little Chef. Don’t argue.”
Rigid Digit (muttering):
“Not this again. Last time he got us all banned from Greggs.”
⸻
Scene: Outside on the cobbles. A low-key feud is brewing. Hawkfall, known for enigmatic posts and perfect punctuation, is carefully rearranging his front garden gnomes.
BaronHarkonnen (suspiciously):
“You’ve aligned those gnomes to the solstice again, haven’t you? It’s witchcraft, that.”
Hawkfall (without looking up):
“They are calibrated to face the exact direction of Glastonbury ’72. For energy.”
BaronHarkonnen:
“Energy? You plugged one into your Smart Meter last week and tripped the entire street.”
⸻
Scene: Polly’s Vinyl Emporium (not to be confused with the vape shop). Inside, MiniBarKid, the newest forum member, is nervously trying to buy a record.
MiniBarKid:
“Do you have anything with guitars but not too guitar-y? I’m new to this.”
KidDynamite (from behind the counter):
“You need a gateway album. Here’s a Japanese pressing of Roxy Music: Live in a lift. That’ll sort you.”
MiniBarKid (hopeful):
“Is it rare?”
KidDynamite:
“No, but it smells faintly of regret and was once owned by a man called Dave who cried during Eno solos.”
⸻
Scene: Number 17. Beany, dressed entirely in black and sipping a turmeric latte, is recording a podcast about late-period Neil Young albums.
Beany (into microphone):
“This week on Echoes of a Man With a Hat, I’ll be ranking Neil’s fifth-best harmonica moments. Special guest: My cat, Leonard.”
Suddenly, the doorbell rings. It’s Alias, flustered and carrying a bag of samosas.
Alias:
“I brought food! Also, have you heard? Gatz is moving in!”
Beany (wide-eyed):
“The Gatz? Of the ‘I once saw Mick Fleetwood in a service station’ anecdote fame?”
Alias:
“Yes! And he’s bringing… his jazz-funk collection.”
Beany (drops latte):
“It’s happening again.”
⸻
Scene: Back at The Drunken Organist. Tension has reached boiling point. The pub quiz is about to start, hosted by Vulpes Vulpes, who has arrived in a cape.
Vulpes Vulpes:
“Round One: Prog or Prescription Drug?”
Black Celebration (buzzing in prematurely):
“Marillion!”
Vulpes:
“Incorrect. The answer was Clexane. Used to prevent blood clots and also track seven on a forgotten Barclay James Harvest album.”
Suddenly, there’s a dramatic BANG. The jukebox explodes. Smoke. Panic. From the mist emerges Sniffity, soaked to the bone, holding an umbrella and a stolen Glen Campbell boxset.
Sniffity:
“It’s started. The great purge. Spotify’s deleting anything under 128kbps.”
Everyone:
“Nooooo!”
⸻
Scene: Cliffhanger time. Atop the Cobbles, silhouetted in streetlamp glow, Molesworth, the forum’s lurking sage, mutters darkly while feeding a fox.
Molesworth:
“The vinyl shall be warped, the threads shall be locked, and lo, a bootleg shall arise from Stockport…”
He turns, stroking his beard made entirely of Bob Dylan B-sides.
Molesworth:
“Tell them… winter is coming. And it’s got a Concept Album.”
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To be continued…
(Or possibly deleted due to thread drift.)
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Let me know if you want future episodes (e.g. “Hawkfall’s Christmas Mix-Up”, “The Great Mojo Giveaway”, or “Who Burned MikeTheP’s Box Set?”).
I wonder if Claude knows that box sets no longer feature in my life? Wouldn’t put it past him.
I like the casual accuracy around @kid-dynamite.
I don’t!
And my jazz funk collection wouldn’t require Pickfords to bring it with me.
I’m glad I inspired you, and possibly gave MiketheP the hint to experiment, BC, because when I tried to add your guidance to my Fawlty Goods script, or put Mike’s prompts into Claude, I came up with questionable results, even when retweaking with new prompts.
It just shows that while AI can be a magnificent monkey, it takes a skilled organ grinder to churn out a good tune.
Yes I asked it to change the pub name to the Aspidistra and Hatstand – and it did – but it created another “episode” which wasn’t as good.
I think Enoxaparin works better than Clexane.
That’s a very generic standpoint.
Also, Barclay James Harvest Prog? Factual error, surely.
BJH have used a mellotron and have a song called “Galadriel.”
Case proved, m’lud.
The clincher would be do their fans smell of damp afghan coats and patchouli oil?