I watched the boxing this evening - the fight between Oleksandr Usyk and Tyson Fury. Although I know very little about boxing, the result went the way I thought it might. After not quite believing the post-fight comments from Fury - setting a new low for bad sportsmanship - I went straight to Twitter to read the torrent of hate pouring from all the keyboard warriors.
There’s a certain entertainment to be had in people discovering that the majority don’t share their distorted view of the world. Of course, the internet being what it is, the most vociferous found themselves surrounded by and validated by concordant voices.
I wonder if AI will ever be employed to prevent marginalisation - performing fact checking, and countering false narratives - calling out lies, distortions, and fallacies. I guess the elephant in the room is that people tend to believe what they want to believe.
Anyway.
Enough conjecture.
We went to the pub for dinner this evening - initially on our own - without the kids. I say initially, because two of them arrived after our meal to have a drink with us. The pub was filled on our arrival with people going for “pre-drinks” ahead of “Pub in the Park” - an annual money making machine run by several well known restaurants. The greater part of the park in the centre of town is transformed into a gentrified festival of sorts - where celebrity chefs can serve you a saucer full of full at ridiculous prices while you listen to the kind of bands that gentrified festival goers like.
Music is a funny thing, isn’t it. We all retain affection for particular bands or artists woven through pivotal times in our lives. I think it was Nik Kershaw that once sang about putting his words on the audience’s lips. In the quiet moments music reminds of places and people - of moments in time - etched into our memory. The first bars of a song can cause both a smile and a tear.
Oh crikey. Midnight passed some time ago. I should stop typing.