AI just can't write copy

I’ve been using AI for a while now at work, and one of the tasks I have tried to use it for is to help me with website descriptions for our construction products.

And if I’m honest… it keeps missing the mark.

It gets close sometimes. The structure is there. The words are there. But it rarely feels like something that would actually make a customer stop, think, and buy ... and that’s when it clicked for me. AI doesn’t struggle because it’s slow or badly trained. It struggles because it simply isn’t human.

It has no empathy. No lived experience. No real sense of what it feels like to be the person reading the page and deciding whether to trust you or not!

So instead of sharp, persuasive copy, you get something else. Safe. Repetitive. A bit hollow.

You can throw better prompts at it. You can guide it, tweak it, refine it. I’ve tried all of that. But it still falls into the same patterns, because that’s what it’s built to do.

AI has been developed to spot patterns in data and leans into them. It writes in a rhythm that feels right on the surface, but it doesn’t really mean anything. There’s no intent or passion behind the words, and for me, thats the fundamental problem. Good copy isn’t just about sounding right. It’s about understanding people, then choosing words that nudge them to act.

That part still needs a human.

That said, I don’t think AI is useless. Far from it.

It’s great for getting started. It helps with structure, rough drafts, and getting ideas down quickly. It speeds things up, especially when you’re staring at a blank page.

But the real work still happens afterwards. That’s where tone, judgement, and experience come in. That’s where something average turns into something that actually works.

It’s also why proper copywriting still matters. Not just words on a page, but words that reflect your business, your brand, your customers, and the way you want to be seen. That kind of work is hard to fake.

If you’re interested in that side of things, there is more chat over at Yorkshire Writers. It’s just two of us, writing in a way that sounds like real people, because that’s what readers respond to.

AI has a place. I use it most day ... but writing copy that connects with people… that still comes down to people.

Fairemail for Android is a GREAT app

I probably don’t sing the praises of software enough, no probably about it, I definately don't!

Some software is awful. Some is bloated, overcomplicated, and seems to exist mainly to make simple jobs harder. But every now and then you find something that quietly does exactly what you need it to do.

FairEmail has been one of those for me.

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been getting around 100 spam emails a day landing in my inbox. Not my spam folder. My actual inbox.

Some of them were painfully obvious. Sender names like “C0stc0”, “0maha Steaks”, and every strange variation in between. The sort of thing you’d look at for half a second and know straight away it wasn’t right.

But technically, they must have been well put together, because they were getting through Heart Internet’s SpamAssassin filters with a spam score of around 1.3. Their spam recognition target at the time was 2, so these emails were being treated as fine.

They clearly weren’t.

I wanted to get it sorted quickly, so I downloaded FairEmail. It took a little bit of getting used to, but once I understood how it worked, it made the whole problem much easier to manage.

I could permanently delete spam emails with very little effort. No dragging things around. No fiddling. No repeatedly seeing the same rubbish sitting there, annoying me. That alone was enough to make me feel a bit more in control of the inbox again.

I was so pleased with it that I paid the £6.99 for the Pro features. Not because I had to, but because it had already proved useful enough to be worth paying for.

Once I’d got the spam under better control on my side, I contacted Heart Internet as well. To be fair to them, they looked into it and I think they were a little surprised that so many emails were being flagged as fine when, to any normal person, they obviously weren’t.

They then made some changes across their eight email servers and it worked.

The number of spam emails getting through to my spam folder dropped by around 75%. That is a massive improvement, especially when it had been feeling like a daily battle just to keep on top of it.

Now, with Heart Internet filtering things better and FairEmail helping me deal with the few that still slip through, I might get one or two spam emails reaching my inbox each day.

That’s fine. I can live with that.

It’s easy to complain when software or services don’t work properly. I’ve done plenty of that. But it’s also worth saying when something does work.

In this case, FairEmail did its job, Heart Internet responded properly, and my inbox is usable again.

That feels like a cracking win to me.

Herbert Henry Scaife

Herbert Henry Scaife was my paternal great grandad.

He was Private 205681, 2/4th Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, part of 187th Brigade in the 62nd (2nd West Riding) Division. He was born in Snaith in 1886, enlisted at Knottingley, and was killed in action on 27 November 1917 during the Battle of Cambrai.

He had no known grave. His name is commemorated on Panel 8 of the Cambrai Memorial at Louverval, Nord, France.

I never knew him, of course. But I am proud of him. To me, he was a hero.

There is another thought I keep coming back to with my great grandad. Herbert had a son before he went to war. My grandad, Austin William Scaife, was born in 1913.

If the timing had been different, even by a couple of years, I would not be here writing this.

That is always a strange thought to sit with.

Before France

Herbert had previously served with the Durham Light Infantry. His earlier numbers are recorded as 59279 and Private 96547, before he became Private 205681 with the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

His medal card shows that he entered a theatre of war in France on 17 September 1915. That means he was already in the Army, trained, and overseas before conscription was introduced in 1916.

That changes the story slightly. Herbert was not simply pulled into the Army by later conscription. The records suggest he was an early volunteer, most likely joining during 1915.

Like many First World War soldiers, Herbert held more than one service number during his time in the Army. Numbers were issued by individual regiments and often changed when a man was transferred, reclassified, or moved between battalions.

His Durham Light Infantry numbers suggest he may have enlisted in spring or early summer 1915. The 17 September 1915 theatre date also suggests he may have served first with one of the Durham Light Infantry’s New Army battalions, possibly the 9th Battalion. This is not confirmed, but the timing fits the known movement of Durham Light Infantry units to France in 1915.

Why did Herbert go to war?

I sometimes wonder what drove him to sign up.

It is easy to think of it as simple national pride, but it was rarely that straightforward. For men like Herbert, it was often a mix of duty, pressure, family responsibility, and the feeling that ordinary men were expected to do their bit.

Britain did not have full conscription at the start of the war. Men volunteered in 1914 and 1915. Conscription came later, through the Military Service Act of 1916, when single men were called first, then married men were included soon after.

Herbert was born in 1886, so he was 28 when war broke out in 1914. He was also a father by then. Austin had been born the year before.

That changes how I think about him.

He was not some unattached young lad chasing adventure. He was a man with a child. He had already built part of his life before the war took him away from it.

We may never know exactly what he felt when he left. Duty, pressure, fear, pride, resignation, all of them may have played a part. There were no newsreels in every home and no social media. Most people received the war through newspapers, official messages, posters, rumours, and conversations in the street.

The message around him may well have been that Britain was doing its duty, that the war had to be fought, and that men were expected to go. He may even have believed that by the time his training was over, the war would be close to ending.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

1915: Training and first service with the Durham Light Infantry

Because Herbert was in France by 17 September 1915, his early training must have taken place before then.

His training would have involved route marches with full kit, rifle practice, bayonet drill, trench digging, night exercises, gas drill, and repeated inspections. At this time Herbert has the service number 59279.

The men had to learn how to move as a unit, obey orders quickly, and keep going when tired, wet, cold, and hungry.

This was not glamorous training. It was marching, drilling, digging, cleaning equipment, waiting for orders, and doing it all again the next day.

By September 1915, Herbert was no longer training in Britain. He was in France.

17 September 1915: France

Herbert’s medal card records his qualifying date as 17 September 1915, with France as the theatre of war.

That date does not tell us exactly where he was standing on that day, but it does tell us that he had crossed from Britain to the Western Front.

He would probably have travelled by rail to a south coast port, then crossed the Channel by troopship. After landing in France, soldiers were often moved inland by train, sometimes in French railway wagons marked “40 hommes / 8 chevaux”, meaning 40 men or 8 horses.

For Herbert, this was the point where the war stopped being training, speeches, posters, and kit inspections. It became real.

1915 to 1916: The Durham Light Infantry period

The exact Durham Light Infantry battalion Herbert served with has not yet been confirmed.

Research suggests he may have been with one of the Durham Light Infantry’s New Army battalions, possibly the 9th Battalion, because the timing of his arrival in France fits that scenario. I believe that around this time his service number changed to 96547.

If that is correct, Herbert would have experienced the Western Front long before he joined the 2/4th KOYLI.

Life at the front was usually built around rotation. A battalion would spend time in the front line, then support trenches, then reserve, then rest.

Rest rarely meant comfort. It often meant carrying supplies, cleaning kit, repairing roads, moving ammunition, and preparing to go back to the front line.

Research suggests Herbert may have lived through trench conditions in late 1915 and 1916: mud, lice, rats, cold meals, wet socks, shellfire, sentry duty, and the constant need to stay alert.

By the time he later served with the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, he was probably not new to war.

Transfer to the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry

At some point before or during 1917, Herbert transferred from the Durham Light Infantry to the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

This was common during the war. Men were moved where the Army needed them. Units took losses, drafts were sent forward, and soldiers were reallocated between regiments and battalions.

Herbert became Private 205681 in the 2/4th Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

The 2/4th Battalion KOYLI was part of 187th Brigade in the 62nd (2nd West Riding) Division.

January 1917: The 2/4th KOYLI in France

The 2/4th KOYLI landed at Le Havre on 15 January 1917.

If Herbert was already in France with the Durham Light Infantry, he may have joined the battalion there rather than travelling with it from Britain. Without his full service record, that detail cannot yet be confirmed.

From January 1917, the 62nd Division concentrated in the Third Army area between the rivers Canche and Authie.

February to March 1917: The Ancre

The 62nd Division’s first listed fighting on the Western Front came during the operations on the Ancre, from 15 February to 13 March 1917.

This placed Herbert’s division in the hard, damaged country left by the Somme fighting. The men would have found broken trenches, shell holes, wire, mud, and villages reduced to ruins.

Herbert’s battalion was now learning, or relearning, the rhythm of front-line life within a new division.

March to April 1917: The German retreat to the Hindenburg Line

In March 1917, the German Army withdrew to the Hindenburg Line. The 62nd Division took part in the British advance that followed.

Herbert’s battalion would have moved through abandoned and destroyed ground. The German withdrawal left roads blocked, wells damaged, buildings ruined, and traps behind.

The British were advancing, but they were advancing into devastation.

This was not the old image of men sitting still in trenches. It was movement, patrols, uncertainty, and the constant risk of hidden machine guns or shellfire.

3 to 17 May 1917: Bullecourt

The 62nd Division fought at Bullecourt during the Second Battle of Bullecourt, from 3 to 17 May 1917.

Bullecourt was part of the wider Arras fighting. It was a grim and costly battle against German positions linked to the Hindenburg Line.

Herbert’s experience here would have included heavy shellfire, attacks over broken ground, damaged trenches, and the shock of seeing modern defensive fire at close range.

By this point, the battalion was no longer new to war.

Summer and Autumn 1917: Holding the line

After Bullecourt, the division remained on the Western Front. The months between major battles were still dangerous.

Herbert’s daily life may have included trench repair, wiring parties, sentry duty, ration carrying, lice, rats, cold meals, wet socks, and the constant need to stay alert.

Wiring parties repaired or added barbed wire entanglements, often at night, close to No Man’s Land.

Men “stood-to” at dawn and dusk, meaning they were on high alert with weapons ready, because those were common times for attacks.

Letters from home mattered. So did hot tea, dry socks, and a few hours of sleep. Small things became big things.

November 1917: Moving towards Cambrai

By November 1917, the 62nd Division was in the Havrincourt sector, south-west of Cambrai.

This area mattered because it sat in front of the Hindenburg Line. Cambrai itself was an important German supply centre, and the ground around Bourlon Ridge became one of the key objectives.

The 187th Brigade included the 2/4th KOYLI. Herbert was now moving towards the battle that would take his life.

20 November 1917: Havrincourt and the opening of Cambrai

The Battle of Cambrai began at about 6.30am on 20 November 1917.

The attack was unusual because it used tanks in large numbers. The British also used a predicted artillery barrage, a method where guns were aimed using calculations rather than a long registration bombardment. That helped preserve surprise.

The 62nd Division attacked near Havrincourt. The 187th Brigade advanced with the 2/5th KOYLI on the left and the 2/4th KOYLI on the right.

The 2/4th KOYLI attacked through the German defences around Havrincourt. The division pushed through the Hindenburg Line and helped take Havrincourt, then advanced towards Graincourt and the approaches to Bourlon Ridge.

For the men involved, this must have been a strange day. Tanks were moving ahead, artillery fire was crashing over the German line, and ground that had seemed impossible to cross was suddenly being taken.

But success came at a cost. The 2/4th KOYLI suffered heavy casualties on 20 November, with more than 200 killed, wounded, or missing.

21 November 1917: The advance slows

On 21 November, the early momentum began to fade.

The British had made a large gain, but they had not fully taken Bourlon Ridge. German resistance stiffened, and counter-attacks began around the newly captured ground.

Herbert’s battalion may have been involved in holding captured positions, reorganising after the first attack, moving supplies forward, and preparing for further action.

After a major attack, battalions rarely became neat and tidy again straight away. Men were missing, companies were mixed, officers had been hit, communications were in disarray, and nobody had eaten, rested, or slept properly.

22 November 1917: Towards Bourlon

By 22 November, fighting had developed around Fontaine, Anneux, and the approaches to Bourlon Wood.

The 62nd Division had advanced far, but it was now exposed. The German Army was recovering from the shock of the first day and bringing in reinforcements.

The men in this area would have faced shellfire, machine-gun fire, confused orders, and difficult movement over broken ground.

The battle was changing from a breakthrough into a hard fight to hold and extend the gains.

23 November 1917: Bourlon becomes the objective

On 23 November, the fighting increasingly centred on Bourlon Wood and Bourlon Ridge.

The 62nd Division had been heavily engaged since the opening day. Other units were brought into the fight, but the West Riding men had already helped open the way.

Herbert and the 2/4th KOYLI were likely still close to the Havrincourt, Graincourt, Anneux, and Bourlon area during this period.

The exact company-level position is not confirmed from the records I have seen so far.

24 to 26 November 1917: Waiting, holding, and moving under fire

The days between 24 and 26 November are difficult to place exactly without the battalion war diary page in front of me. It is something I would like to look at properly one day. But the wider battle gives us a strong sense of what was happening.

Herbert’s battalion was likely either holding captured ground, moving between support and forward positions, or preparing for renewed action around Bourlon.

These days may have been worse than the opening attack in some ways.

There was waiting. There was shelling. There was the strain of not knowing when orders would come. Men tried to sleep in trenches, dugouts, or shell holes. Rations and water had to be brought forward. Wounded men had to be carried back.

Late November in northern France was cold. Wet boots, mud, frost, tiredness, and fear would all have been part of the experience.

27 November 1917: Herbert’s death

Herbert Henry Scaife was killed in action on 27 November 1917.

By the 27th, the battalion had already been in action for a week.

War diary records for the division show continued fighting around Bourlon Wood and the nearby village. The ground was contested, and attacks were met with strong resistance.

Herbert was in or near the forward positions during this phase, likely somewhere between Anneux and Bourlon, where the fighting was at its most intense.

Casualties were heavy. Units were reduced in strength, and control was difficult to maintain once attacks began.

It was during this fighting that Herbert was killed.

He has no known grave.

That usually means a man’s body was not recovered, could not be identified, or was lost as the battlefield changed hands. It is one of the cruellest parts of this story. His family had a date, a regiment, and a memorial panel, but no grave to stand beside.

Timeline

1886: Herbert Henry Scaife is born in Snaith.

1913: His son, Austin William Scaife, is born.

August 1914: The First World War begins. Herbert is around 28 years old and already a father.

Spring to early summer 1915: Herbert likely enlists in the Durham Light Infantry. This date is estimated from his service number and the fact that he was already in France by September 1915.

17 September 1915: Herbert enters a theatre of war in France with the Durham Light Infantry.

1915 to 1916: Herbert serves with the Durham Light Infantry. His exact battalion is not yet confirmed, but the timing suggests a New Army battalion, possibly the 9th DLI.

Late 1916 or early 1917: Herbert is transferred to the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry as men are redistributed across the Army.

Early 1917: Herbert is recorded as Private 205681 with the 2/4th Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

15 January 1917: The 2/4th KOYLI lands at Le Havre. If Herbert was already in France, he may have joined the battalion there.

15 February to 13 March 1917: The 62nd Division takes part in operations on the Ancre.

March to April 1917: The division advances during the German retreat to the Hindenburg Line.

3 to 17 May 1917: The division fights at Bullecourt during the Arras fighting.

Summer to autumn 1917: Herbert serves through the routine dangers of the Western Front. Exact battalion positions need the full war diary.

November 1917: The 62nd Division moves into the Havrincourt sector, south-west of Cambrai.

20 November 1917: The Battle of Cambrai begins. The 2/4th KOYLI attacks on the right of 187th Brigade near Havrincourt.

21 to 26 November 1917: Research suggests the battalion remains in the Cambrai battle area as British forces push towards Bourlon Ridge and fight to hold captured ground.

27 November 1917: Herbert is killed in action during the Cambrai fighting, most likely connected with the fighting around Bourlon Wood and Bourlon village.

Command

The 2/4th KOYLI was part of 187th Brigade, 62nd (2nd West Riding) Division.

The battalion commander during the Cambrai fighting is recorded as Lieutenant-Colonel R. E. Power.

The 62nd Division was commanded by Major-General Sir Walter Braithwaite.

Medals

Herbert’s medal card shows that he entered a theatre of war on 17 September 1915. That means he qualified for the 1914–15 Star.

He would also have been entitled to the British War Medal and the Victory Medal.

Together, these three medals were sometimes known as Pip, Squeak, and Wilfred.

All unfortunately lost or misplaced, but the memory of Herbert hasn't gone. 

Why I’m here

I keep coming back to my grandad, Austin William Scaife.

He was born in 1913, before Herbert went to war. If Herbert had gonea nd joined the army earlier, or if life had unfolded in a slightly different order, Austin may never have been born.

And if Austin had not been born, I would not be here.

That makes this story feel very close.

It is not just military history. It is family history. It is the thin thread that connects a man born in Snaith in 1886 to me, sitting here more than a century later, trying to understand where he went and what happened to him.

Remembering Herbert

It is hard to write about someone you never met and still feel close to them.

But I do.

Herbert Henry Scaife was not just a name, a number, or a line on a memorial. He was a man born in Snaith who lived and enlisted in Knottingley, trained for war, crossed to France, endured the trenches, fought at Cambrai, and never came home.

His name is at Louverval because his body was never found. That feels unbearably sad, but it also means his name stands with thousands of others who gave everything and were not brought back.

I am proud of him.

I never knew him, but I know enough.

 

The Young Mans Haircut

I spent some time this weekend at a Turkish barber. I’ve always admired the craftsmanship in these places btw, there is a specific kind of intentional care they bring to the cuts that you rarely find in traditional salons.

​Anyway, toward the end of the cut, the barber paused and asked whether I usually style my hair up in a quiff or down over my forehead. When I told him "up," he smiled and noted that wearing it down would make me look younger.

​Being in my late 50s, the idea of "looking younger" isn't a primary goal of mine, in fact, I think trying too hard to recapture youth often looks a bit daft. However, the comment sparked a bit of digital curiosity. I decided to use AI to generate a version of myself with a younger mans hairstyle just to see the contrast.

​The result? It confirmed my instinct. While the AI could change the hair and smooth the edges, I much prefer the reality. There’s a certain comfort in looking like the age you actually are.

The Original Cut

AI Version 1

AI Version 2

AI Version 3

 

What Is A Digital Garden?

I’ve had a few people ask what I mean when I call this site a digital garden, so this felt worth explaining properly.

A digital garden is a way of writing and sharing ideas online that focuses more on growth than polish. Instead of treating every post like a finished article that gets published and forgotten, a digital garden gives you space to plant ideas, come back to them, improve them, and link them to other thoughts over time.

That is what I want this place to be.

A normal blog usually works as a timeline. Newest post at the top, older posts dropping further down, everything arranged by date. A digital garden feels different. It is more personal, more flexible, and a bit less concerned with looking finished. It is allowed to be a work in progress.

I like that.

A real garden is never really “done”. You add things, move things, cut things back, and sometimes leave a patch alone until you know what to do with it. This site works in much the same way. Some posts here are more complete than others. Some are just ideas that needed somewhere to live. Some may grow into something better later on.

That is part of the appeal. It gives me room to think in public, without pretending every piece of writing needs to be a final draft.

It is also a very personal format. A garden reflects the person looking after it, and a digital garden does the same. Mine is a mix of stories, notes, opinions, half-formed ideas, rants, things I want to remember, and things I simply did not want to lose in the endless mess of phones, folders, and old platforms.

I’ll be honest, organising it has probably been the hardest part of doing this; I'mnot the most organised person in teh world as my wife would agree.

I’ve gone through a few different versions of labels, and I’ll probably change them again. That is not failure; it is just part of building something like this. The structure is still evolving, which feels quite fitting for a digital garden. It is meant to be a living space, not a fixed system.

Because I built this on Blogger, and not on a dedicated digital garden platform, some parts are a compromise. Posts still appear in chronological order, which is more traditional blog than digital garden. The deeper linking between ideas is also still a work in progress. I’d like more of that over time, because that is where a digital garden really starts to feel interesting. It becomes less about scrolling through posts and more about wandering through connected thoughts.

Even so, the shape of it is starting to feel right.

If you enjoy a particular kind of post, the labels at the end should help you find similar ones. I’ve also started doing a bit more curation, which I think matters. In a real garden, you place certain plants together because they look right next to each other. The same idea applies here. I have a Stories section to pull my original fiction into one place, and a Best Of section on the homepage for posts I think are worth a bit more attention.

I want to do more of that as the site grows.

There is also a Now page, inspired by the Now movement (it is a movement or a thought process!). That is just a simple page I update from time to time to show what I’m focused on at the moment. It is less about polished content and more about keeping a current marker in the ground.

Most of the code behind this site has been put together by me and layered on top of Blogger. I did not think I would get it this far, if I’m honest, but it has turned into something that feels surprisingly usable and very much my own.

Comments are turned off, and that is deliberate. This space is not really built around discussion. It is more about expression, collection, and exploration. I’m not putting things here to chase approval. I’m putting them here because I want a place for them to exist. You can't like or dislike anything either. All that is too much like social media (which I don't like).

That is probably the biggest difference between this site and some of the others I run. On other websites, I think about search traffic, keyword use, structure, and all the usual SEO details. Here, I mostly just write. That makes it feel calmer, more honest, and a lot more enjoyable.

If someone finds their way here and enjoys something, or finds it useful, that is a bonus. All posts can be shared by copying the URL 😀

I have also added site search, which I use a lot myself. That matters more than I thought ... once a site starts growing, being able to find old ideas quickly becomes part of the appeal for me.

So that is my version of a digital garden.

It is not perfect. It is not finished. It is probably a little messy around the edges. But that feels about right. It is personal, it is still growing, and it gives me a place to write without feeling like everything has to be polished, packaged, and done.

For me, that is the whole point.

ASAP … is that really what you want?

I really struggle with the term “ASAP”.

People use it all the time in (so called) professional environments, but it does not tell me anything useful. It sounds urgent, but it gives me no clear direction on your timescales and I end up guessing what you mean, and that might mean that I miss your deadline.

If you work with me, it is worth knowing this. The term winds me up so much, mainly because most of the time it is being used to mean something else.

The issue is simple. “ASAP” stands for “as soon as possible”, which really means I will get to it when my current workload allows. If I am fully booked until Thursday, then Friday morning is the earliest I can realistically do it.

That is not me being awkward. That is just how time works.

The problem is that most people do not use it that way. When someone writes “ASAP”, what they usually mean is “I need this now”. They are trying to show urgency, but they are doing it without giving a proper deadline, proper instructions.

That is where it falls apart.

If you want something done quickly, you need to be clear about when you need it. Without that, I have to make a judgement call. I have to weigh it up against everything else I am doing, and I might get that call wrong.

There is also a knock-on effect. If something genuinely urgent comes in after your request, it will take priority. Your task then moves back, because it was never tied to a clear time in the first place.

So the word meant to speed things up can actually slow them down.

There is a straightforward fix.

Say what you mean.

If you need something by a certain time, write the time. If it is urgent, say how urgent it is in a way that I can act on.

“Send me those files ASAP” becomes “Send me those files by 4pm today.”

“I need a reply ASAP” becomes “Please reply by midday tomorrow so I can finish this.”

“ASAP please” becomes “This is high priority. Can you do this in the next two hours?”

Now I know where it fits. I can plan properly, and you are more likely to get what you need.

If you really do mean “whenever you can fit it in”, then fine, say “ASAP”. Just be aware that it might not be today, or even this week.

If there is a deadline, say it.

Being clear is not a small thing. It shows respect for other people’s time, it removes guesswork, and it keeps work moving.

“ASAP” is not clear. It is vague, and vague is where problems start.

Does AI Think We’re As Dumb As We Act?

We’re in the middle of a proper digital shift. The kind where AI is being lined up to crack genetics, sort climate problems, and push science forward in ways we’ve never seen.

And yet, at the same time, people are asking it how to eat an apple.

I wish that was an exaggeration. It isn’t. I came across someone asking a chatbot for “instructions on eating an apple properly”, and it stopped me for a second. Not because it’s funny, but because it says something weird about us.

We’ve built something incredibly powerful, arguably the most impressive computer "brain" we’ve ever created, and we’re using it to skip over the basics of being human. The small stuff we used to just figure out. Buying a present for a six-year-old. Making toast under a grill. Matching socks.

They are decisions or questions that aren't particularly difficult. None of it ever needed improving.

But now it’s easier to ask than to think, so we ask, and we stop thinking.

You do start to wonder what’s going on behind that blinking cursor. While engineers are stress-testing logic and capability, the system is quietly working through questions about egg boiling and jumper washing. If it had awareness, you’d imagine it raising an eyebrow.

It doesn’t need to take over. It just needs to wait.

Because the real test isn’t what AI can do. It’s what happens when it isn’t there. The moment the Wi-Fi drops, and you’re stood in front of a toaster or a birthday card with no prompt, no shortcut, no answer ... that’s when things get interesting.

We like to think we’re becoming more efficient. Smarter, even.

But I've just realised that there’s a fine line between efficiency and dependency, and it feels like we’re edging closer to it without really noticing.

Next time you’re about to ask AI something simple, something you already half know the answer to, it’s probably worth pausing.

Not out of principle. Just to prove you still can.

Everything Was Already Here

It’s a strange thought when you sit with it for a minute and let your mind delve into it, that nothing around you is really “new”.

Every object you can see, your phone, your desk, the road outside, even the food you eat, all comes from the same limited set of elements that have always been here. We haven’t invented new matter. We’ve just got very good at rearranging what already exists.

Steel isn’t new. It’s iron, carbon, heat, and process.
Plastic isn’t new. It’s oil, broken down and rebuilt.
Glass is just sand that’s been pushed to its limits.

Even the complicated stuff, electronics, medicines, fuels, it all traces back to the same building blocks. And when you think about it, we’ve just become really good at using these elements.

I've never too sure whether this concept is reassuring or a worry!

All the progress, all the industries, all the things we take pride in as “made by us”, are really just clever transformations. We take what the planet gives us, and we reshape it into something useful, or sometimes something pointless. But as we use all this stuff, does it mean that at sometime we might run out fo something vital!

It does make you look at waste differently as well.

If everything we use is part of a closed system, then nothing really disappears. It just changes form and ends up somewhere else. Landfill isn’t “away”. It’s just a different version of the same materials, sitting in a different place.

I Do Not Owe My Future Self an Apology

Not sure if you would class this as an epiphany or just an interesting thought.

I’ve just updated my profile on nownownow.com, and one of the questions was something like, “Have I had a recent epiphany?”

For no special reason, the thought struck me that I do not owe my future self an apology for who I am today.

I think the life I have led, and the life I lead today, is a good one. My current level of knowledge is very good, and my current emotional capacity is also strong. My daughters are doing well, I have a beautiful wife, and I’m heading into the near future with retirement (and the freedom that brings) starting to feel real.

If I spend my life trying to become someone my “future self” won’t be ashamed of, I risk living a life that isn’t mine.

Perhaps that is the real epiphany.

I suppose, like could do today with my past self, my future self will look back and realise that every “mistake” or “flaw” I have today was actually a necessary stepping stone.

I don’t owe an apology for being what is effectively a work in progress. That’s just called being alive.

Pinter Brewing Times by Beer | Batch Log & Results

My Pinter brewing schedules follow the standard Fermentation / Cold Crash / Conditioning format. For example, After Midnight 7 / 2 / 14 translates to:

• 7 Days: Fermentation (The Pinter remains at the suggested temperature).
• 2 Days: Cold Crashing (The Pinter is moved to the fridge in dock, if needed).
• 14 Days: Conditioning (The Pinter is moved to the fridge out of dock).

I lead each entry with the start date to track how seasonal temperatures and duration tweaks affect the final pour.

Date Started	Beer Style	Notation (F/CC/C)	Rating	Notes / Experiments
25 April 2026	Ancestors  British Bitter	7 / 0 / 10	-/10	OK, going away so could only it 7 days brewing not recommended 8.
15 April 2026	Snap Pilsner	11 / 2 / 11	-/10
29 March 2026	Space Hopper Double IPA	9 / 2 / 7	8/10	Didn't do the hop hack on this and I think it was still as hoppy as the last brew.
28 March 2026	Space Hopper Double IPA	7 / 2 / 14	8.5/10	Another decent brew of this one. More carbonated than previous ones!
28 Feb 2026	Space Hopper Double IPA	9 / 2 / 7	8/10	Much better. Did the hop oil hack on this and it was very hoppy.
21 Feb 2026	Space Hopper Double IPA	7 / 0 / 7	6.6/10	Not bad, a bit yeasty, not suggested, but I will cold crash next time.
14 Feb 2026	Trooper Remixed British Beer	7 / 1 / 5	8/10	Minimum effort on this and a really decent pint.
23 Jan 2026	After Midnight Belgian Dark	14 / 7 / 5	8/10	Vast improvement. Better temp control and a few extra days worked well.
23 Jan 2026	After Midnight Belgian Dark	10 / 7 / 3	7/10	Started in a slightly cooler environment for 2 days, perhaps a bit yeasty.

Ode to the Sherbet Lemon

The humble sherbet lemon. I’m not sure there are many better sweets out there.

You’ve got that lovely, long-lasting hard outer shell. Then, just as you settle into that flavour, the shell thins or cracks, and you hit that zesty sherbet fizz. It’s an instant shift from calm to chaos, and it keeps your taste buds interested.

That reaction, when the fizz hits your tongue, feels like a tiny party going off in your mouth.

They’re never too sweet, which makes them dangerously moreish. Worth keeping in mind they’re around 20–25 kcal each.

Per sweet:

• Calories: 20–25 kcal
• Carbohydrates: 5–6g
• Sugars: 4–5g
• Fat: 0g
• Protein: 0g

They also work brilliantly as a palate cleanser, and you’ve got the citrus base to thank for that.

There’s something genuinely interesting about them. Proper nostalgic too. I spent plenty of time in sweet shops in the 70s, and these always stood out.

I’m struggling to think of a better sweet. I was fond of a Fizz Bomb back in the day… but that’s one for another post.

 

The Doll at Platform Five (Mild Horror)

You get used to seeing the same things on the morning train. Same faces, same conversations, same bloke spilling coffee on his tie before we’ve even left the platform. But that morning, something different caught my eye, and my nose.

There was this faint smell in the carriage, like smoke, or maybe burnt dust off a radiator. It was difficult to place. It wasn’t like the typical smoke you get from a fire. It just seemed unusual. Nobody else seemed to notice. A woman across from me was laughing into her phone, and the fella next to her was hammering his keyboard like it owed him money.

I sniffed again. It was there, all right. Acrid, but oddly old, not the clean, chemical kind of smoke you get nowadays. Something heavier, like coal or charred cloth. Then, just as quick as it came, it was gone.

I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and no-one else seemed concerned, so I just put it down to one of those things.

As the train slowed into the station, I glanced past my reflection and up at the big glass hotel that sits just beyond the tracks. In one of the second-floor windows stood what looked like a child-sized doll. Pale face, expressionless, perhaps a little sad. It was dressed in old-fashioned clothes, Victorian, I guessed. Its head was forward, but looking over me and the carriage I was in. It seemed to be looking out across the city.

It was the sort of doll that definitely belonged in a museum, not a hotel. It was so out of place, but I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t help wondering why someone would take something like that to a hotel. By the time the train stopped and I stepped onto the platform, I looked up again. The doll was gone.

Next morning, there it was again. Same window, same doll, motionless. Nobody else seemed to notice. Too busy scrolling through newsfeeds and emails to look out of the window.

Then suddenly something inside me dipped, like stepping off a kerb you didn’t see. My pulse thudded in my ears, and there was that whiff of smoke again, curling at the back of my throat, dry and unpleasant.

It stuck in my head all morning. Over lunch, I started poking about online. The hotel’s website was all brick, glass, and chrome, all “boutique luxury” and “city views”. I wanted to see what had stood there before. A few clicks later, on one of those old map archives, I found it. The Slate Wharfe Workhouse, right by the old cut of the Wharfe, just south of the railway lines.

A miserable place, by the sounds of it. I found a grainy photograph. It looked miserable too. Soot-blackened brick, barred windows, smokestacks in the distance. Then I came across a snippet from a 1908 newspaper: “Fire at Slate Wharfe Workhouse. Many Saved by Workhouse Labourer.”

The article was short. They thought the blaze started in the laundry. Most of the children were dragged out by a labourer who went back inside again and again until the roof came down. The report said he’d tried to reach the last child, a girl seen trapped at an upstairs window, banging at the barred window as the flames took hold. Her body was never recovered.

That night, I dreamed of heat and smoke, and child’s hands pressing at the windows.

Next morning, I made sure to sit by the window in the carriage again. As we slowed past the hotel, there she was again, the doll, staring out. I lifted my phone and took a picture. When I looked at it later, I felt something cold tighten in my chest.

The doll was there, yes… but behind it, faint in the reflection of the glass, was the outline of a man. His face was partly lost in the glare, yet the shape of it, the hair, the eyes, the jaw, it looked horribly familiar.

It looked like me.

I don’t know what to make of it. But sometimes, when the train brakes before the platform and the air smells faintly of hot metal, I catch that old taste of smoke in my mouth… and once, I swear, I coughed up a fleck of soot.

And this morning, as I sat there trying not to look at the window, my phone buzzed with a new photo, no message, no sender.

It was my photo of the doll.

Only this time, its head had turned… and it was looking straight at me.

An original short story by Andrew Scaife
© Andrew Scaife, 2026. All rights reserved. 

The End of the Invisible Audience

For years, almost 35 years, every time I sat down to write, I wasn't alone. The room was crowded with invisible people: the boss who was vertually dictating what I should write, the client who might get offended with the wrong word or phrase, the prospect I didn't want to scare off, and the Google (and all the social platforms) algorithm that demanded its pound of flesh in optimised keywords and the right hashtags.

I spent more time thinking about the consequences of virtually every single word and sentence than the point of writing it sometimes. Everything had to be sanitised, perfectly structured, and professional to a fault. It was usually writing by committee, even when the committee was just in my head.

Fuck that.

One of the biggest realisations in moving to this "Anti-Social" setup is how much energy I was wasting on people who don't actually exist. This isn't a marketing asset anymore. It’s not a lead-generation tool. It’s just a digital garden. It's me saying what I want to say, in the way I want to say it.

Stripping away the structured copy, certain posts or content having to be a particular length, the SEO, the Meta tags, thinking about imagery and the copywriters templates has given me something I’d forgotten I needed: the freedom to just write what I want. If a post is too short, fine. If it’s too blunt, even better. If it upsets someone who was looking for a "polished brand experience," they’re in the wrong place anyway.

From here on out, the only "audience" I’m writing for is myself. If you find something here that resonates, great, pull up a chair. But I’m done performing for the algorithm. I’m just going to say it as it is and let the chips fall where they may.

It’s liberating to finally stop caring.

Can We Get People Voting Again?

So, I'm standing as a Liberal Democrat paper candidate this May in Horbury and South Ossett. I’ve been looking back at previous election results, and what I found really surprised me. When the final votes are counted in local elections, the numbers often tell a heartbreaking story. It isn’t just about which party wins or loses; it’s the fact that, so often, only about a third of our community shows up. That means nearly two-thirds of our neighbours effectively have no say in how their local area is run.

Since I uncovered this last week, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that silent majority. I refuse to believe that the people who stay home don’t care. I know they care. They care about the state of our roads and pavements, bin collections, fly-tipping, the quality of our children’s education, and the dignity of social care for our elderly. Talking to people about this, there is a very strong view that politics is just something that happens to us, rather than something we can actually shape.

Local Politics Isn’t Broken ... It’s Waiting for You

I hear it all the time: "Why bother? My vote can't influence anything!" But that’s just not true. From transport and infrastructure to the very heart of our local economy, local authorities decide how millions of pounds of our money is spent. When we don't vote, we aren't "protesting", we are simply handing over a blank cheque to someone else to make those decisions for us.

Let’s just address this very dangerous myth that one vote doesn’t matter. In local elections, margins are often razor-thin. A single vote really does have the power to make a huge difference. If we take Horbury and South Ossett as an example, in the 2021 local elections, there were only 45 votes between the winner and second place! That is a handful of households. That is one street of people deciding the future for everyone else.

The Candidate Problem

Looking at the local landscape again, Labour has held control here since 2021, yet I don’t see their candidates out there promoting their achievements (perhaps because there aren't many) or even their party’s policies. To me, that’s scary. Right now in Westminster, the Labour Party and Keir Starmer are in hot water over the Peter Mandelson situation, and by staying silent locally, they are risking a knee-jerk reaction from our community. I’m personally worried that if people feel ignored by the left, they might end up looking too far to the right out of sheer frustration.

Candidates need to provide clear information because it pushes the local agenda and boosts turnout significantly. We don't need more "politics-as-usual"; people need a reason to believe their voice actually counts.

I am standing because I want to lower the barrier between the "political elite" and the real world. I want to show that local government isn't just some "minority interest" for people in suits; it is the direct engine room of our quality of life and our local spending power. This May, I'm hoping that the local electorate across the country don't let the silence decide their future.

Quick Microwave Protein Bread

I adore bread, but sometimes I know I need to cut down my consumption and eat something a bit healthier.

This is one of those handy little recipes that takes hardly any effort and gives you a quick, high-protein bread alternative in just a few minutes.

The basic idea works well, but if you find it tastes a little too eggy, a few small tweaks can make it feel more like bread and less like a microwaved omelette.

Ingredients

• 3 dessertspoons of oat bran
• 1 dessertspoon of plain yogurt
• 1 dessertspoon of milk
• 1 egg
• 1/2 teaspoon of baking powder
• A small pinch of salt

Method

1. Add all the ingredients to a mug, ramekin, or small microwave-safe bowl.
2. Mix well until the batter is smooth.
3. Microwave for 2 minutes to 2 minutes 30 seconds, until nicely set. I use a shallow microwave-safe dish so it cooks in a good 'slice' shape
4. Leave it to stand for 1 to 2 minutes before turning it out. This helps it firm up and improves the texture.
5. Slice if needed, then grill both sides until lightly browned.

Easy Ways To Improve The Flavour

• Add a pinch of black pepper for a more savoury finish.
• Try a little garlic powder or onion powder to mask any egginess.
• A small sprinkle of grated cheese works well if you want more flavour

Approximate Nutrition Per Bread

• Calories: around 130 to 140 kcal
• Protein: around 10 to 11g
• Carbohydrates: around 13 to 15g
• Fat: around 6 to 7g
• Fibre: around 2 to 3g

Nutrition is approximate and will vary depending on the yogurt, milk, and exact spoon sizes used.

Serving Idea

This works nicely as a quick breakfast bread, toasted sandwich base, or something to have alongside eggs, cottage cheese, or a bit of peanut butter if you want to push the protein up further. As a vegetarian, I like to have this bread with Quorn Sausages or grilled Quorn Fillets for a filling lunch.

The Decisive Moment

I took this photo of a clownfish at the Jewel of the Sea Aquarium in SeaWorld, Orlando, back in April 2011. Just as I hit the shutter, a regal tang swam into frame.

It was only later, when I looked back at the image, that it clicked. I’d unintentionally captured Marlin and Dory (yes of Finding Nemo fame) together.

People often talk about Henri Cartier-Bresson and his idea of “The Decisive Moment”... that split second where everything comes together and you press the shutter with intent.

This wasn’t that.

This was pure luck. And maybe that’s what makes it even better.

Original photo by Andrew Scaife

Cleaned up by AI

Story: When Rosie met Sammy (Kids)

years ago, when my daughters were very young, I used to write little stories about the things they loved. This is one of them about our adorable (and sometimes slightly chaotic) family cat.

Suitable for ages 4 to 8 (read-aloud).

Story 2 of 2 in the “Rosie the Cat” series

When Rosie Met Sammy

Rosie is a small black and white cat. She lives in a big house and is looked after by two little girls.

Emily and Rebecca loved looking after Rosie, and each night they fed her and let her go outside to play.

One night, after Rosie had eaten her supper, she walked down the garden path, jumped onto the wall at the bottom of the garden, and settled down to sleep. All was quiet… well, almost.

Rosie could hear someone crying.

She looked up and down. She saw nothing. She looked left and right, and there, at the end of the wall, she saw a small squirrel sitting with its head in its paws, crying.

Rosie quietly walked over to the poor, sobbing animal.

“Hello,” said Rosie.

“Hello,” sobbed the squirrel.

“I’m Rosie,” said Rosie.

“I’m Sammy,” answered the squirrel.

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” asked Rosie.

“I’m lost,” replied Sammy, and he began to cry again. “I was playing, then exploring, and now I’m lost. I can’t find my way home.”

Rosie looked around to try to help her new friend.

“Do you live in these bushes?” she asked, trying to help.

Sammy looked at the bushes in the garden. They looked dark and prickly.

“No,” answered Sammy.

Rosie looked around again.

“Do you live in the shed?” she asked, looking towards the shed at the bottom of her garden.

Sammy looked at the shed. It looked warm, dry, and friendly, but it wasn’t where he lived.

“No,” the sad squirrel answered again.

“I live in a tree,” said Sammy. “In a drey.”

“A drey?” questioned Rosie.

“Yes, a drey is the place where squirrels live. They are dry, comfortable, and warm, and they are built high in trees.”

Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, giving Rosie and Sammy a fright.

“I don’t like it here,” said Sammy.

“Can you remember anything about where your drey is?” asked Rosie.

“Well,” said Sammy, thinking hard, “it’s in a tree. In fact, there are a lot of trees near it. It’s near a place where children play, and there is a small stream nearby.”

Rosie beamed a huge smile.

“I think I know where that is, Sammy.”

“Really? Is it far away?” asked Sammy, now smiling too.

“Not very far at all,” said Rosie.

They jumped down from the garden wall, and Rosie led the way. “We’ll stick to the shadows,” she said quietly, “and keep away from the street lights.”

They moved quickly down the road, staying close to the hedges, before darting into a big bush at the end. Cars passed by, their headlights sweeping across the road, but Rosie and Sammy stayed perfectly still, hidden in the darkness.

“This way,” whispered Rosie.

They slipped down the side of a house and into a back garden. Rosie peered ahead. The coast was clear.

She leapt over a fence, with Sammy hopping close behind, and they dropped down on the other side.

In front of them was a steep bank, and below it, a small stream. Across the stream, they could see a wooded area.

Rosie spotted a fallen branch nearby.

“Over here, Sammy,” she whispered.

Together, they hurried across the branch, balancing carefully as they crossed the stream. Then they climbed up the bank on the other side and pushed through thick, dense hedges.

When they emerged, Sammy’s eyes lit up.

Across the grassy clearing in front of them, and beyond a small childrens play area was a cluster of tall trees.

“Rosie, that’s it… I’m home!” he squeaked with delight.

Sammy gave Rosie a quick, grateful hug before racing across the grass, past a climbing frame and a set of swings, and up the nearest tree. High above, Rosie could see another squirrel rush forward and wrap him in a relieved hug.

Sammy turned, waved down at Rosie, and then disappeared into his drey.

Rosie sat for a moment, watching the tree, pleased that her new friend was safe.

Then, with a flick of her tail, she turned and quietly made her way back home, ready for a well-earned sleep.

An original story by Andrew Scaife (written in 2006)
© Andrew Scaife, 2006–. All rights reserved.

Story: Rosie and the Playtime (Kids)

years ago, when my daughters were very young, I used to write little stories about the things they loved. This is one of them about adorable (and sometimes slightly chaotic) family cat.

Suitable for ages 4 to 8 (read-aloud).

Story 1 of 2 in the “Rosie the Cat” series

Rosie and the Playtime

Rosie loved the little girls that she lived with very much, but Emily and Rebecca were a little too bouncy and active for her sometimes, and all Rosie wanted to do most of the time was sleep.

Rosie loved to sleep and would spend large amounts of the day snoozing in a warm corner of the house, or under a particularly fragrant bush in the garden, and she never liked to have her sleep disturbed.

On this particular Sunday morning, Rosie had got herself settled nicely in front of the warm fire when she heard the unmistakable sound of the girls running downstairs, shouting her name.

“Rosie, Rosie, come out and play!” they both shouted together.

Rosie lifted her head, opened her eyes slightly, then simply settled down again as she listened to the laughter of the girls getting further and further away.

It seemed to Rosie that she had just got her head down again when Emily sat alongside her and started to stroke her.

“Come on Rosie,” whispered the excited little girl, “come and play with your toy mouse.”

Rosie was then aware of her favourite toy being galloped along the floor and all over her tired body. Rosie just rolled further onto her side and covered her eyes with her paws, stretching out her long, slender body for a good old stretch, before curling back into a ball.

But the girls were not going to give up that easily.

Rebecca leaned in close and whispered, “If you come and play, Rosie, you can have some extra treats later.”

One eye slowly opened.

Rosie lifted her head again, this time a little higher. Treats were something Rosie understood very well.

With a long, slow stretch, she finally stood up, flicked her tail, and began to walk quietly towards the back door. The girls looked at each other, trying to stay quiet, but their excitement bubbled over as they followed her outside.

In the garden, Rosie came alive.

She darted across the lawn, chasing after sticks the girls dragged along the grass. She pounced at invisible creatures only she could see, leaping high into the air before landing softly and racing off again. The girls chased her, laughing and calling her name, running back and forth across the garden.

For a while, Rosie forgot all about her nap.

Eventually, though, Rosie slowed. She stopped, looked around… and realised the girls were no longer chasing her.

Curious, she padded back towards the house.

The back door was still open. Rosie slipped inside and made her way into the living room.

There, curled up on the sofa, were Emily and Rebecca, fast asleep. Their playtime had worn them out completely.

Rosie paused for a moment, then jumped up gently between them. She turned in a small circle, settled herself comfortably, and with a soft purr, closed her eyes.

And so, after all that excitement, she finally got what they wanted… a nice, peaceful sleep.

An original story by Andrew Scaife (written in 2006)
© Andrew Scaife, 2006–. All rights reserved.

Story: Why Do Squirrels Have Bushy Tails? (Kids)

years ago, when my daughter Rebecca was 14, we started writing stories together. I wrote a few children's stories at the time, and this is one of them.

Suitable for ages 4 to 8 (read-aloud).

Part 3 of 3 in the “Why Does It Work Like That?” series

Why Do Squirrels Have Bushy Tails?

When squirrels first appeared on the planet, they looked pretty similar to how they do today. The major difference was their tails.

While their tails were still made of hair, they were much thinner, rather like a rat’s tail.

You may not know this, but squirrels are messy creatures. Inside their homes, they tend to leave twigs, moss, and the shells of nuts and acorns all over the place, and since the beginning of time, this has been a problem for them.

Until one day, when one enterprising young squirrel decided to clean up his home. He found that brushing away the debris and dirt was difficult with his little arms and feet, and it left him very tired, so he decided to use his tail as a broom instead.

Now, he found that swishing his tail around was much easier, but with such a thin tail, the task still wasn’t an easy one to accomplish. Still, he carried on, and over the course of the day, he swished his tail around so much that something rather amazing started to happen. The hairs began to spring out, and his tail became bushier and bushier, and the sweeping became much easier.

At first, all the other squirrels laughed at this funny-looking youngster, but they quickly stopped when they saw how wonderfully clean his home was, and exactly how it got that way.

And that, dear friend, is why a squirrel’s tail is bushy, and why today squirrels have very tidy homes.

An original story by Andrew Scaife (written in 2013)
© Andrew Scaife, 2013–. All rights reserved.

Story: Why Do Fish Swim? (Kids)

years ago, when my daughter Rebecca was 14, we started writing stories together. I wrote a few children's stories at the time, and this is one of them.

Suitable for ages 4 to 8 (read-aloud).

Part 2 of 3 in the “Why Does It Work Like That?” series

Why Do Fish Swim?

It’s a little-known fact that when fish first evolved, they stood upright on their tails and walked around much like we do today. A big problem for fish, though, was that they couldn’t wear shoes and socks on their tails, so walking on rough or hot ground was very uncomfortable. Because of this, they all walked around with rather grumpy looks on their faces.

One day, one small fish had really had enough of walking and hurt himself, so he sat in a hole in the path and sobbed. His tail hurt so much, and the more he thought about how much it hurt, the more upset he became. The more upset he got, the more he sobbed and cried.

After a while, his crying started to attract a large group of fish, who gathered around the hole to see what the matter was. Nobody could make him happy, so he became sadder and sadder, and cried more and more.

All the time he was crying about his poor, aching tail, the little hole began to fill up with his tears, so much so that the water rose up to his face. The little fish looked around and saw the huge crowd that had gathered. Suddenly, he felt very embarrassed. He dunked his head under the puddle of tears and kicked his tail to try to get away from everyone.

To his amazement, and to the amazement of all the other fish watching, the little fish glided quickly and effortlessly through the water. He kicked again with his tail and swam around faster and faster.

And to this day, while they could still walk on land on their tails if they wanted to, fish choose to swim, because it’s much easier.

An original story by Andrew Scaife (written in 2013)
© Andrew Scaife, 2013–. All rights reserved.