writingbrussels

As Time Goes By

Posted on 27/07/2025 by gaelle6

Fireworks at the Eiffel Tower, in Paris, France. (source)

I was born on the 1st of January 1901 in Paris. Well…I wasn’t actually “born” … you should rather say that I was made on the 1st of January 1901. I was carved out of wood you see…Pierre, my maker, made puppets….so I guess that’s what I am…a puppet.

I was made from Linden wood. Pierre gave me articulated arms and legs, as well as a smooth sanded face with a broad forehead and hair made from black horsehair. On my face, he painted two large black eyes in which he placed two gold cufflinks to make them shine. Anne-Marie, his wife, made me clothes out of a dark red velvety fabric that came from the cladding of an old armchair. As a finishing touch, Pierre carved me two little clogs for my wooden feet and attached strings to my hands and feet so he could make me move. Continue reading →

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The Story of Oscar, or Why German Trains Are Late

Posted on 01/07/2025 by writingbrussels

(Versión original en español)

We were the very embodiment of punctuality—the paradigm, along with our Swiss neighbors, of precision engineering and order. No one in their right mind would have dared to question that distinctly German virtue: the ability to always arrive at the time printed on the schedules and tickets.

Photo by Jonathan Eden-Drummond

But I’m talking about a time those under twenty cannot possibly remember¹. That era in which the German railway—indeed, not only the railway but the entire institutional infrastructure of the country—was synonymous with exactitude, now belongs to the past. Today’s young travelers have become used to multiple delays, the kind that make you miss your connecting trains—something utterly unimaginable to previous generations, who would’ve likely attributed such flaws to the Spanish or Italians, never to us. Continue reading →

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La historia de Oscar o por qué los trenes alemanes llegamos tarde

Posted on 29/06/2025 by writingbrussels

(Read the English version)

Eramos la quintaesencia de la puntualidad, el paradigma, junto con nuestros vecinos suizos, de la relojería y el orden, y a nadie, en su sano juicio, se le habría ocurrido cuestionar esa virtud tan germánica, esa precisión para llegar siempre a la hora indicada en los tableros y billetes.

Photo by Jonathan Eden-Drummond

Pero les estoy hablando de un tiempo que los de menos de veinte años no pueden conocer¹. Ese tiempo en que el ferrocarril alemán, pero no sólo el ferrocarril sino toda la infraestructura institucional del país, era sinónimo de exactitud, pertenece ahora al pasado. En la actualidad los jóvenes viajeros se han acostumbrado a las múltiples demoras que los hacen perder conexiones con otros trenes, cosa del todo impensable para las generaciones anteriores que habrían tendido a atribuir tales características a los españoles o italianos, jamás a nosotros. Continue reading →

Posted in Dulce, Rebellion of Things | 1 Comment

Well done, Hercules! (7/7) – Taming the ERA’s AI Hound of Hades

Posted on 17/06/2025 by markrowancropper

“The names of our AI tools? Ha!” cried George, knocking his head back. “We had our ‘heads-up’ with Hermes and Apollo. So don’t be too shocked! They were all heroes. All about to save the world. Not just with brave acts, of course, but with all the prowess of artificial intelligence! Like ….”

Lucija couldn’t resist interrupting.

“I guess Odysseus was amongst them!” she chipped in, stirred by the images in her mind from her favourite schoolgirl stories.

“Yeah, like, they were all there – Odysseus, Perseus, Jason; and even Bellerophon”, came back George.

“But, of course, the greatest of all stood out – Hercules, the perfect AI tool for all our policy knowledge needs!”

The three of them glanced at each other, giggled, and turned to sip on their coffees.

Continue reading →

Posted in Mark, Rebellion of Things | Tagged Brussels, George | Leave a comment

Well done, Hercules! (6/7) – Subduing the Erymanthian Boar of a Civil Servant’s Delusions

Posted on 16/06/2025 by markrowancropper

The train journey to Brussels that morning was particularly fruitful. None of George’s occasional, more garrulous, travel companions had joined him in the secluded first-class section. The quiet moment allowed George the chance to mull over his previous night’s trauma.

But how could he square his daytime confidence that AI was just a load of souped-up spinning jennies, with his dreamed perception that the very same machines were about do all the work of the ERA themselves?

George dropped his brief case on his desk and turned round immediately to look for some colleagues to invite to coffee. George was delighted to see Lucija was at her workstation. He was even more pleased that she was ready to take him up on her offer of coffee.

“Sure thing!” she replied gayfully. “I’ll just finish this email, if I may. Meet you downstairs.”

On his way down the corridor, George picked up Konrad, who was unusually early in the office that day. The queue for coffee passed quickly with its customary small talk and they were soon at a table with Lucija’s cappuccino waiting for her.

“There was a sequel to our AI discoveries of yesterday,” George announced, as his main conversation opener.

“Oh, really,” answered Konrad. “Had some further thoughts?” he asked, playing to George’s natural inclination to supply an answer to a question.

“Not so much thoughts, as impressions,” continued George.

Continue reading →