AI, governments and the dangerous imitation of friendship.

We live in a strange age where even computers can sound like they care. AI can greet you warmly, governments can sign off letters “Yours sincerely,” and corporations can send you chirpy emails about how they “value your loyalty.”

On the surface, it can all feel a little like friendship. But is it?

The truth is, "friendship language" and real friendship are not the same thing.

They may share vocabulary, but they run on different fuel. One is a performance. The other is a bond. And if we’re not careful, we can mistake one for the other.

And yes, The Digital Dingo is AI. Ably abetted by Lord Squawk Squawk and Prentis Penjani. 

Over the years, I have learned that trust is the most valuable commodity we have. I have been let down and betrayed. But there have been standouts. 

And the biggest stand out is my Mum. She has NEVER let me down. Our governments? That is a whole different story. 

Civilisation is not what we create. It is what we do when someone needs a hand to keep going. 

But let's face it, shit happens. 

" What a healed bone, the smell of leather, and a soldier’s burden reveal about who we are -  and who we may forget to be."

I tended to think of civilisation in terms of inventions – whether it is the wheel, the plough, or that phone so many are glued to all day.

We had a recent situation when one of our readers had a fairly unpleasant encounter with a frightened horse he had rescued, and the poor creature hit out in panic and fear.

He ended up at risk of losing his spleen and was in bad shape for a while... but, due to care from those around him, he is back " in the saddle again. "

But it took a team of devoted family members, lots of encouraging support from fellow bloggers and his own incredible determination that he is on the road to recovery. No, he will never be as he was. But he is better off than he might have been. 

You see, true civilisation isn’t measured in tools or technology. It’s measured in what we do for one another. It’s in the instincts we carry, and the sacrifices we make. And maybe ... just maybe ... it’s in something as quiet and human as staying with the wounded when everyone else runs. In an age obsessed with moving fast and recording everything, it’s worth asking: do we still remember how to carry someone?

On 6 and 9 August 1945, the United States detonated two atomic bombs over the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The bombings killed between 150,000 and 246,000 people, most of whom were civilians, and remain the only use of nuclear weapons in an armed conflict.

As 15^th August ( the surrender by Japan in WW II ) approaches one can anticipate the usual diatribes from the unwashed and soy-latte sets lecturing us on how bad we were in 1945 to drop the atomic bombs on Japan. None of these know-alls were even alive in 1945 so whatever they have to say comes from their collective backsides.

Britain, Germany and the USA were all working to become the first to master nuclear fission. Thankfully it was America who won.

The American effort began in 1939 when Albert Einstein wrote a letter to President Roosevelt setting out the possibilities and predicted consequences of unleashing nuclear power. Einstein, a German born Jew, left Germany to study in Zurich and renounced his citizenship in 1896 to avoid compulsory military service.

RATTY NEWS SPECIAL REPORT

THE PROFESSOR PECK PHENOMENON

How Dusty Gulch University Accidentally Created the World's Greatest Expert on Things He Never Did

By Roderick "Whiskers" McNibble, Chief Investigative Correspondent

Dusty Gulch has always been a town of unusual ideas.

We once had a mayor who proposed solving drought by installing enormous drinking fountains for clouds.

We had the Great Emu Uprising of '32.

We had the Duck Tax Disaster of '76, where residents discovered that ducks were apparently both exempt from taxation and somehow responsible for collecting it.

We even briefly elected a goat as Minister for Agriculture because he was "good with grass."

Barefoot in the Grass: The Last Lesson My Father Taught Me

My father passed away on the 4th of August, eleven years ago.

This year, the date slipped by quietly. There was no ceremony, no grand occasion. But we remembered.

Because some people are not remembered on one particular day. They are remembered every day.

One of our commenters, Frank, often honours our articles about our war heroes with the words, “Lest We Forget.”

Those words carry weight. They remind us that some things must never disappear into the noise of history.

But I have come to realise that remembering is not only about dates on calendars, names carved into stone, or moments of public ceremony.

Sometimes remembering is much simpler.