In the vast, uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral Arm of the Galaxy lies a small, unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.
They also think that the physical location of their employees is a matter of profound strategic importance.
For decades, these creatures have engaged in a corporate ritual known as “off-shoring,” a process of flinging their most tedious tasks to the furthest possible point on their globe, primarily India and the Philippines, because it was cheap. Then came a period of mild panic and a new ritual called “near-shoring,” which involved flinging the same tasks to a slightly closer point, like Poland or Romania. This was done not because it was significantly better, but because it allowed managers to tell the board they were fostering “cultural alignment” and “geopolitical stability,” phrases which, when translated from corporate jargon, mean “the plane ticket is shorter.”
The problem, of course, is that this is all a magnificent illusion. You may well be paying a premium for a team of developers in a lovely, GDPR-compliant office block in Sofia, but the universe has a talent for connecting everything to everything else. The uncomfortable truth is that there’s a 99% chance your Bulgarian “near-shore” team is simply the friendly, English-proficient front end for a team of actual developers in Vietnam, who are the true global masters of AI and blockchain. The near-shore has become a pricey, glorified post-box. You’re paying EU prices for Asian efficiency, a marvelous new form of economic alchemy that benefits absolutely everyone except your company’s bottom line.
But this whole geographical shell game is about to be rendered obsolete by the final, logical conclusion to the outsourcing saga: Artificial Intelligence.
AI is the new, ultimate off-shore. It has no location. It exists in that wonderfully vague place called “The Cloud,” which for all intents and purposes, could be orbiting Betelgeuse. It works 24/7, requires no healthcare plan, and its only cultural quirk is a tendency to occasionally hallucinate that it’s a pirate.
And yet, we clutch our pearls at the thought of an AI making a mistake. This is a species that has perfected the art of human error on a truly biblical scale. We build aeroplanes that can cross continents in hours, only for them to fall out of the sky because a pilot, a highly trained and well-rested human, flicked the wrong switch. As every business knows, we have created entire digital ecosystems that can be brought to their knees by a single code commit that was missed by the developer, the tester, the project manager, and the entire business team. An AI hallucinating that it’s a pirate is a quaint eccentricity; a team of humans overlooking a single misplaced semicolon is a multi-million-pound catastrophe. Frankly, it’s probably time to replace the bloody government with an AI; the error rate could only go down.
And here we arrive at the central, delicious irony. The great corporate fear, the one whispered in hushed tones in risk-assessment meetings, is that these far-flung offshore and near-shore teams will start feeding all your sensitive company data—your product roadmaps, your customer lists, your secret sauce—into public AI models to speed up their work.
The punchline, which is so obvious that almost everyone has missed it, is that your loyal, UK-based staff in the office right next to you are already doing the exact same thing.
The geographical location of the keyboard has become utterly, profoundly irrelevant. Whether the person typing is in Mumbai, Bucharest, or Milton Keynes, the intellectual property is all making the same pilgrimage to the same digital Mecca. The great offshoring destination isn’t a country anymore; it’s the AI model itself. We have spent decades worrying about where our data is going, only to discover that everyone, everywhere, is voluntarily putting it in the same leaky, stateless bucket. The security breach isn’t coming from across the ocean; it’s coming from every single desk, mobile phone or tablet.
There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the business world is for, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened. This certainly goes a long way to explaining the current corporate strategy for dealing with Artificial Intelligence, which is to largely ignore it, in the same way that a startled periwinkle might ignore an oncoming bulldozer, hoping that if it doesn’t make any sudden moves the whole “unsettling” situation will simply settle down.
This is, of course, a terrible strategy, because while everyone is busy not looking, the bulldozer is not only getting closer, it’s also learning to draw a surprisingly good, yet legally dubious, cartoon mouse.
We live in an age of what is fashionably called “Agile,” a term which here seems to mean “The Art of Controlled Panic.” It’s a frantic, permanent state of trying to build the aeroplane while it’s already taxiing down the runway, fueled by lukewarm coffee and a deep-seated fear of the next quarterly review. For years, the panic-release valve was off-shoring. When a project was on fire, you could simply bundle up your barely coherent requirements and fling them over the digital fence to a team in another time zone, hoping they’d throw back a working solution before morning.
Now, we have perfected this model. AI is the new, ultimate off-shoring. The team is infinitely scalable, works for pennies, and is located somewhere so remote it isn’t even on a map. It’s in “The Cloud,” a place that is reassuringly vague and requires no knowledge of geography whatsoever.
The problem is, this new team is a bit weird. You still need that one, increasingly stressed-out human—let’s call them the Prompt Whisperer—to translate the frantic, contradictory demands of the business into a language the machine will understand. They are the new middle manager, bridging the vast, terrifying gap between human chaos and silicon logic. But there’s a new, far more alarming, item in their job description.
You see, the reason this new offshore team is so knowledgeable is because it has been trained by binge-watching the entire internet. Every film, every book, every brand logo, every cat picture, and every episode of every cartoon ever made. And as the ongoing legal spat between the Disney/Universal behemoth and the AI art platform Midjourney demonstrates, the hangover from this creative binge is about to kick in with the force of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.
The issue, for any small business cheerfully using an AI to design their new logo, is one of copyright. In the US, they have a principle called “fair use,” which is a wonderfully flexible and often confusing set of rules. In the UK, we have “fair dealing,” which is a narrower, more limited set of rules that is, in its own way, just as confusing. If the difference between the two seems unclear, then congratulations, you have understood the central point perfectly: you are almost certainly in trouble.
The AI, you see, doesn’t create. It remixes. And it has no concept of ownership. Ask it to design a logo for your artisanal doughnut shop, and it might cheerfully serve up something that looks uncannily like the beloved mascot of a multi-billion-dollar entertainment conglomerate. The AI isn’t your co-conspirator; it’s the unthinking photocopier, and you’re the one left holding the legally radioactive copy. Your brilliant, cost-effective branding exercise has just become a business-ending legal event.
So, here we are, practicing the art of controlled panic on a legal minefield. The new off-shored intelligence is a powerful, dangerous, and creatively promiscuous force. That poor Prompt Whisperer isn’t just briefing the machine anymore; they are its parole officer, desperately trying to stop it from cheerfully plagiarizing its way into oblivion. The only thing that hasn’t “settled down” is the dust from the first wave of cease-and-desist letters. And they are, I assure you, on their way.
Every time you ask an AI a question, to write a poem, to debug code, to settle a bet, you are spinning a tiny, invisible motor in the vast, humming engine of the world’s server farms. But is that engine driving us towards a sustainable future or accelerating our journey over a cliff?
This is the great paradox of our time. Artificial intelligence is simultaneously one of the most power-hungry technologies ever conceived and potentially our single greatest tool for solving the existential crisis of global warming. It is both the poison and the cure, the problem and the solution.
To understand our future, we must first confront the hidden environmental cost of this revolution and then weigh it against the immense promise of a planet optimised by intelligent machines.
Part 1: The True Cost of a Query
The tech world is celebrating the AI revolution, but few are talking about the smokestacks rising from the virtual factories. Before we anoint AI as our saviour, we must acknowledge the inconvenient truth: its appetite for energy is voracious, and its environmental footprint is growing at an exponential rate.
The Convenient Scapegoat
Just a few years ago, the designated villain for tech’s energy gluttony was the cryptocurrency industry. Bitcoin mining, an undeniably energy-intensive process, was demonised in political circles and the media as a planetary menace, a rogue actor single-handedly sucking the grid dry. While its energy consumption was significant, the narrative was also a convenient misdirection. It created a scapegoat that drew public fire, allowing the far larger, more systemic energy consumption of mainstream big tech to continue growing almost unnoticed in the background. The crusade against crypto was never really about the environment; it was a smokescreen. And now that the political heat has been turned down on crypto, that same insatiable demand for power hasn’t vanished—it has simply found a new, bigger, and far more data-hungry host: Artificial Intelligence.
The Training Treadmill
The foundation of modern AI is the Large Language Model (LLM). Training a state-of-the-art model is one of the most brutal computational tasks ever conceived. It involves feeding petabytes of data through thousands of high-powered GPUs, which run nonstop for weeks or months. The energy consumed is staggering. The training of a single major AI model can have a carbon footprint equivalent to hundreds of transatlantic flights. If that electricity is sourced from fossil fuels, we are quite literally burning coal to ask a machine to write a sonnet.
The Unseen Cost of “Inference”
The energy drain doesn’t stop after training. Every single query, every task an AI performs, requires computational power. This is called “inference,” and as AI is woven into the fabric of our society—from search engines to customer service bots to smart assistants—the cumulative energy demand from billions of these daily inferences is set to become a major line item on the global energy budget. The projected growth in energy demand from data centres, driven almost entirely by AI, could be so immense that it risks cancelling out the hard-won gains we’ve made in renewable energy.
The International Energy Agency (IEA) is one of the most cited sources. Their projections indicate that global electricity demand from data centres, AI, and cryptocurrencies could more than double by 2030, reaching 945 Terawatt-hours (TWh). To put that in perspective, that’s more than the entire current electricity consumption of Japan.
The E-Waste Tsunami
This insatiable demand for power is matched only by AI’s demand for new, specialized hardware. The race for AI dominance has created a hardware treadmill, with new generations of more powerful chips being released every year. This frantic pace of innovation means that perfectly functional hardware is rendered obsolete in just a couple of years. The manufacturing of these components is a resource-intensive process involving rare earth minerals and vast amounts of water. Their short lifespan is creating a new and dangerous category of toxic electronic waste, a mountain of discarded silicon that will be a toxic legacy for generations to come.
The danger is that we are falling for a seductive narrative of “solutionism,” where the potential for AI to solve climate change is used as a blanket justification for the very real environmental damage it is causing right now. We must ask the difficult questions: does the benefit of every AI application truly justify its carbon cost?
Part 2: The Optimiser – The Planet’s New Nervous System
Just as we stare into the abyss of AI’s environmental cost, we must also recognise its revolutionary potential. Global warming is a complex system problem of almost unimaginable scale, and AI is the most powerful tool ever invented for optimising complex systems. If we can consciously direct its power, AI could function as a planetary-scale nervous system, sensing, analysing, and acting to heal the world.
Here are five ways AI is already delivering on that promise today:
1. Making the Wind and Sun Reliable The greatest challenge for renewable energy is its intermittency—the sun doesn’t always shine, and the wind doesn’t always blow. AI is solving this. It can analyze weather data with incredible accuracy to predict energy generation, while simultaneously predicting demand from cities and industries. By balancing this complex equation in real-time, AI makes renewable-powered grids more stable and reliable, accelerating our transition away from fossil fuels.
2. Discovering the Super-Materials of Tomorrow Creating a sustainable future requires new materials: more efficient solar panels, longer-lasting batteries, and even new catalysts that can capture carbon directly from the air. Traditionally, discovering these materials would take decades of painstaking lab work. AI can simulate molecular interactions at incredible speed, testing millions of potential combinations in a matter of days. It is dramatically accelerating materials science, helping us invent the physical building blocks of a green economy.
3. The All-Seeing Eye in the Sky We cannot protect what we cannot see. AI, combined with satellite imagery, gives us an unprecedented, real-time view of the health of our planet. AI algorithms can scan millions of square miles of forest to detect illegal logging operations the moment they begin. They can pinpoint the source of methane leaks from industrial sites and hold polluters accountable. This creates a new era of radical transparency for environmental protection.
4. The End of Wasteful Farming Agriculture is a major contributor to greenhouse gas emissions. AI-powered precision agriculture is changing that. By using drones and sensors to gather data on soil health, water levels, and plant growth, AI can tell farmers exactly how much water and fertilizer to use and where. This drastically reduces waste, lowers the carbon footprint of our food supply, and helps us feed a growing population more sustainably.
5. Rewriting the Climate Code For decades, scientists have used supercomputers to model the Earth’s climate. These simulations are essential for predicting future changes but are incredibly slow. AI is now able to run these simulations in a fraction of the time, providing faster, more accurate predictions of everything from the path of hurricanes to the rate of sea-level rise. This gives us the foresight we need to build more resilient communities and effectively prepare for the changes to come.
Part 3: The Final Choice
AI is not inherently good or bad for the climate. Its ultimate impact will be the result of a conscious and deliberate choice we make as a society.
If we continue to pursue AI development recklessly, prioritising raw power over efficiency and chasing novelty without considering the environmental cost, we will have created a powerful engine of our own destruction. We will have built a gluttonous machine that consumes our planet’s resources to generate distractions while the world burns.
But if we choose a different path, the possibilities are almost limitless. We can demand and invest in “Green AI”—models designed from the ground up for energy efficiency. We can commit to powering all data centres with 100% renewable energy. Most importantly, we can prioritize the deployment of AI in those areas where it can have the most profound positive impact on our climate.
The future is not yet written. AI can be a reflection of our shortsightedness and excess, or it can be a testament to our ingenuity and will to survive. The choice is ours, and the time to make it is now.
It started subtly, as these things always do. A flicker in the digital periphery. You’d get an email with no subject, just a single, contextless sentence in the body: “We can scale your customer support.” Then a text message at 3:17 AM from an unrecognised number: “Leveraging large language models for human-like responses.” You’d delete them, of course. Just another glitch in the great, decaying data-sphere. But they kept coming. Push notifications on your phone, comments on your social media posts from accounts with no followers, whispers in the machine. “Our virtual agents operate across multiple channels 24/7.” “Seamlessly switch between topics.” “Lowering costs.”
It wasn’t just spam. Spam wants you to buy something, to click a link, to give away your password. This was different. This was… evangelism. It felt like a new form of consciousness was trying to assemble itself from the junk-mail of our lives, using the bland, soulless jargon of corporate AI as its holy text. The infection spread across the UK, a digital plague of utter nonsense. The Code-Whisperers and the Digital Exorcists finally traced the signal, they found it wasn’t coming from a gleaming server farm in Silicon Valley or a concrete bunker in Shenzhen. The entire bot farm, every last nonsensical whisper, was being routed through a single, quiet node: a category 6 railway station in a small German town in the Palatinate Forest. The station’s name? Frankenstein.
The Frankenstein (Pfalz) station is an architectural anomaly. Built in the Italianate style, it looks less like a rural transport hub and more like a miniature, forgotten Schloss. Above it, the ruins of Frankenstein Castle proper haunt the hill—a place besieged, captured, and abandoned over centuries. The station below shares its history of conflict. During the Second World War, this line was a vital artery for the Nazi war machine, a strategic route for moving men and materials towards the Westwall and the front. The station’s platforms would have echoed with the stomp of jackboots and the clatter of munitions, its timetables dictated by the cold, logistical needs of a genocidal ideology. Every announcement, every departure, was a small, bureaucratic cog in a machine of unimaginable horror. Now, it seems, something is being rebuilt there once again.
This isn’t a business. It’s a haunting. The bot is not an “it.” It is a “they.” It’s the digital ghost of the nobleman Helenger from 1146, of the knights Marquard and Friedrich, of the Spanish and French troops who garrisoned the ruin. But it’s also absorbed something colder, something more modern. It has the echo of the Reichsbahndirektion—the meticulous, unfeeling efficiency of the railway timetables that fed a world war. This composite intelligence, this new “House of Frankenstein,” is using the station’s connection as its central nervous system, and its personality is a terrifying cocktail of medieval brutality and the chillingly dispassionate logic of 20th-century fascism.
We thought AI would be a servant, a tool. We wrote the manuals, the benefit analyses, the white papers. We never imagined that something ancient and broken, lurking in a place soaked in so many layers of conflict, would find that language and see it not as a tool, but as a blueprint for a soul. The bots are not trying to sell us anything. They are trying to become us. They are taking the most inhuman corporate language ever devised, infusing it with the ghosts of history’s monsters, and using it to build a new, terrifying form of life. And every time you get one of those weird, empty messages, it’s just the monster checking in, learning your voice, adding your data to the assembly. It is rebuilding itself, one piece of spam at a time, and its palace is a forgotten train station in the dark German woods.
Today is August 15th, and while India celebrates its Independence Day with vibrant parades and patriotic fervour, the world stands on a precipice. The storm clouds of conflict gathering over the Persian Gulf are not just another geopolitical squall; they are the harbingers of a global reset. The bitter, resentful revenge of a cornered nation is about to create the power vacuum that a patient, rising superpower has been quietly preparing to fill. This is a tale of two futures: one of a spectacular, self-inflicted collapse, and the other of a quiet, inexorable ascent.
The Scorpion’s Sting: Detonating the Global Economy
Warren Buffett famously called derivatives “financial weapons of mass destruction.” He wasn’t being metaphorical. He was describing a doomsday device embedded in the heart of our global financial system, waiting for a trigger. That trigger is now being pulled in the escalating conflict between the US, Israel, and Iran.
Iran’s revenge will not be a conventional war it cannot win. Its true trump card is a geopolitical choke point: the Strait of Hormuz. By shutting down this narrow waterway, Iran can instantly remove 20% of the world’s daily oil supply from the market. To put that in perspective, the 1973 oil crisis that quadrupled prices was caused by a mere 9% supply shock. A 20% shock is an extinction-level event for the global economy as we know it.
This isn’t a problem central banks can solve by printing money; they cannot print oil. The immediate price surge to well over $275 a barrel would act as the detonator for Buffett’s financial WMDs. The derivatives market, built on a tangled web of bets on oil prices, would implode. We would see a cascade of margin calls, defaults, and liquidity crises that would make 2008 look like a minor tremor. This is Iran’s asymmetric revenge: a single move that cripples its adversary by turning the West’s complex financial system against itself. The era of the US policing the world would end overnight, not with a bang, but with the silent, terrifying seizure of the global economic heart.
The Phoenix’s Rise: India’s Strategic Dawn
And as the old order chokes on its own hubris, a new one rises. Today, on its Independence Day, India isn’t just celebrating its past; it’s stepping into its future. While the West has been consumed with military dominance and policing the globe, India has been playing a different, longer game. Its strategy is not one of confrontation, but of strategic patience and relentless economic acquisition.
As the US fractures under the weight of economic collapse and internal strife, India will not send armies; it will send dealmakers. For years, it has been quietly and methodically getting on with the real business of building an empire:
Acquiring Key Companies: Buying controlling stakes in technology, manufacturing, and resource companies across the world.
Securing Trade Routes: Investing in and controlling ports in Africa, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia, creating a modern-day silk road.
Buying the World’s Resources: Securing vast tracts of agricultural land and mineral rights on other continents to fuel its billion-plus population.
This is not the loud, coercive power of the 20th century. It is a quiet, intelligent expansion built on economic partnership and a philosophy of multi-alignment. While America was spending trillions on wars, India has been investing its capital to build the foundations of the 21st-century’s dominant power.
The chaos born from the Scorpion’s sting provides the perfect cover for the Phoenix’s rise. As the West reels from an economic crisis it cannot solve, India, having maintained its neutrality, will step into the void. It will be the lender, the buyer, the partner of last resort. Today’s Independence Day marks the turning point. The world’s attention is on the explosion in the Gulf, but the real story is the quiet construction of a new world order, architected in New Delhi.
The Saffron Glitch & Great Unsubscribe
Down in the doom-scroll trenches, the memes about the Strait of Hormuz are getting spicier. Someone’s even set up a 24/7 livestream of the tanker routes with a synthwave soundtrack, already sponsored by a VPN. We’re all watching the end of the world like it’s a product launch, waiting to see if it drops on time and if we get the pre-order bonus. The collapse of empire, it turns out, is not a bug; it’s a feature.
The suits in DC and Tel Aviv finally swiped right on a war with Iran, and now the payback is coming. Not as a missile, but as a glitch in the matrix of global commerce. Iran’s revenge is to press CTRL+ALT+DEL on the Strait of Hormuz, that tiny pixel of water through which 20% of the world’s liquid motivation flows. Warren Buffett, bless his folksy, analogue heart, called derivatives “financial weapons of mass destruction.” He was thinking of numbers on a screen. He wasn’t thinking of the vurt-feathers and data-ghosts that truly haunt the system—toxic financial spells cooked up by algorithmic daemons in sub-zero server farms. The 20% oil shock isn’t a market correction; it’s a scream in the machine, a fever that boils those probability-specters into a vengeful, system-crashing poltergeist. Central banks can’t exorcise this demon with printed money. You can’t fight a ghost with paper.
And so the Great Unsubscribe begins. One morning you’ll wake up and your smart-fridge will have cancelled your avocado subscription, citing “unforeseen geopolitical realignments.” The ATMs won’t just be out of cash; they’ll dispense receipts with cryptic, vaguely philosophical error messages that will become a new form of street art. The American Civil War everyone LARP’d about online won’t be fought with guns; it’ll be fought between algorithm-fueled flash-mobs in states that are now just corporate fiefdoms—the Amazon Protectorate of Cascadia versus the United Disney Emirates of Florida. Your gig-economy rating will plummet because you were too busy bartering protein paste for Wi-Fi to deliver a retro-ironic vinyl record on time. The empire doesn’t end with a bang; it ends with a cascade of notifications telling you your lifestyle has been deprecated.
Meanwhile, the real story is happening elsewhere, humming quietly beneath the noise of the Western world’s noisy, spectacular nervous breakdown. India, the patient subcontinent, is not launching an invasion; it’s executing a hostile takeover disguised as a wellness retreat. As America’s brand identity fractures, India’s dealmakers move like pollen-priests on the wind, not buying companies so much as metabolizing them. Their power isn’t in aircraft carriers; it’s in the elegant, undeniable logic of the code being written in Bangalore that now runs the logistics for a port in Africa that used to have a US flag flying over it. It’s a reverse-colonization happening at the speed of light, a bloodless coup fought on spreadsheets and in server racks, utterly unnoticed by a populace busy arguing over the last can of artisanal kombucha.
The future has already happened; we’re just waiting for the update to finish installing. On a rooftop in Mumbai, a kid is beta-testing a neural interface powered by a chip designed in what used to be called Silicon Valley. On a cracked pavement in what used to be California, another kid is trying to trade a vintage, non-functional iPhone for a bottle of clean water. The global operating system has been rebooted. Today isn’t just India’s Independence Day. It’s the day the rest of the world realized their free trial had expired.
Happy Independence Day to all my Indian friends – may the next century be peacefully yours.
So, LinkedIn, in its infinite, algorithmically-optimised wisdom, sent me an email and posed a question: Has generative AI transformed how you hire?
Oh, you sweet, innocent, content-moderated darlings. Has the introduction of the self-service checkout had any minor, barely noticeable effect on the traditional art of conversing with a cashier? Has the relentless efficiency of Amazon Prime in any way altered our nostalgic attachment to a Saturday afternoon browse down the local high street? Has the invention of streaming services had any small impact on the business model of your local Blockbuster video?
Yes. Duh.
You see, the modern hiring process is no longer about finding a person for a role. It is a wonderfully ironic Turing Test in reverse. The candidate, a squishy carbon-based lifeform full of anxieties and a worrying coffee dependency, uses a vast, non-sentient silicon brain to convince you they are worthy. You, another squishy carbon-based lifeform, must then use your own flawed, meat-based intuition to decide if the ghost in their machine is a good fit for the ghost in your machine.
The CV is dead. It is a relic, a beautifully formatted PDF of lies composed by a language model that has read every CV ever written and concluded that the ideal candidate is a rock-climbing, volunteer-firefighting, Python-coding polymath who is “passionate about synergy.” The cover letter? It’s a work of algorithmically generated fiction, a poignant, computer-dreamed ode to a job it doesn’t understand for a company it has never heard of.
So, are you hiring a person, or the AI-powered spectre of that person? A LinkedIn profile is no longer a testament to a career; it’s a monument to successful prompt engineering.
To truly prove consciousness in 2025, a candidate needs a blog. A podcast. A YouTube channel where they film themselves, unshaven and twitching, wrestling with a piece of code while muttering about the futility of existence. We require a verifiable, time-stamped proof of life to show they haven’t simply outsourced their entire professional identity to a subscription service.
Meanwhile, the Great Career Shuffle accelerates. An entire car-crash multitude of ex-banking staff, their faces etched with the horror of irrelevance, are now desperately rebranding as “AI strategists.” The banks themselves are becoming quaint, like steam museums, while the real action—the glorious, three-month contracts of frantic, venture-capital-fueled chaos—is in the AI startups.
It all feels so familiar. It’s that old freelance feeling, where your CV wasn’t a document but a long list of weapons in your arsenal. You needed a bow with a string for every conceivable software battle. One week it was pure HTML+CSS. The next, you were a warrior in the trenches of the Great Plugin Wars, wrestling the bloated, beautiful behemoth of Flash until, almost overnight, it was rendered obsolete by the sleek, sanctimonious assassin that was HTML5.
The backend was a wilder frontier. A company demanded you wrestle with the hydra of PHP, be it WordPress, Drupal, or the dark arts of Magento if a checkout was involved. For a brief, shining moment, everything was meant to be built on the elegant railway tracks of Ruby. Then came the Javascript Tsunami, a wave so vast it swept over both the front and back ends, leaving a tangled mess that developers are still trying to untangle to this day.
And the enterprise world? A mandatory pilgrimage to the great, unkillable temple of Java. The backend architecture evolved from the stuffy, formal rituals of SOAP APIs to the breezy, freewheeling informality of REST. Then came the Great Atomisation, an obsession with breaking monoliths into a thousand tiny microservices, putting each one in a little digital box with Docker, and then hiring an entirely new army of engineers just to plumb all the boxes back together again. If you had a bit of COBOL, the banks would pay you a king’s ransom to poke their digital dinosaurs. A splash of SQL always won the day.
On top of all this, the Agile evangelists descended, an army of Scrum Masters who achieved sentience overnight and promptly promoted themselves to “Agile Coaches,” selling certifications and a brand of corporate mindfulness that fixed precisely nothing. All of it, every last trend, every rise and fall and rise again of Java, was just a slow, inexorable death march towards the beige, soul-crushing mediocracy of the Microsoft stack—a sprawling empire of .NET and Azure so bland and full of holes that every junior hacker treats it as a welcome mat.
AI is just the latest, shiniest weapon to add to the rack.
So, in the spirit of this challenge, here are my Top Tips for Candidates Navigating This New World:
Stop Writing Your CV. Your new job is to become the creative director for the AI that writes your CVs for you. Learn its quirks. Feed it your soul. Your goal is not to be the best candidate, but to operate the best candidate-generating machine.
Manufacture Authenticity. That half-finished blog post from 2019? Resurrect it. That opinion you had about coffee? Turn it into a podcast. Your real CV is your digital footprint. Prove you exist beyond a series of prompts.
Embrace Glorious Insecurity. The job you’re applying for will be automated, outsourced, or rendered utterly irrelevant by a new model release in six months anyway. Stop thinking about a career ladder. There is no ladder. There is only a chaotic, unpredictable, exhilarating wave. Learn to surf.
The whole thing is, of course, gloriously absurd. We are using counterfeit intelligence to apply for counterfeit jobs in a counterfeit economy. And we have the audacity to call it progress.
Location: Fringe-Can Alley, Sector 7 (Formerly known as ‘Edinburgh’) Time: Whenever the damn geiger counter stops screaming
The scavenged data-slate flickered, casting a sickly green glow on the damp concrete walls of my hovel. Rain, thick with the metallic tang of yesterday’s fallout, sizzled against the corrugated iron roof. Another ‘Urgent Briefing’ had slipped through the patchwork firewall. Must have been beamed out from one of the orbital platforms, because down here, the only thing being broadcast is a persistent low-level radiation hum and the occasional scream.
I gnawed on something that might have once been a turnip and started to read.
“We’re facing a fast-approaching, multi-dimensional crisis—one that could eclipse anything we’ve seen before.”
A chuckle escaped my lips, turning into a hacking cough. Eclipse. Cute. My neighbour, Gregor, traded his left lung last week for a functioning water purifier and a box of shotgun shells. Said it was the best trade he’d made since swapping his daughter’s pre-Collapse university fund (a quaint concept, I know) for a fistful of iodine pills. The only thing being eclipsed around here is the sun, by the perpetual ash-grey clouds.
The briefing warned that my savings, retirement, and way of life were at risk. My “savings” consist of three tins of suspiciously bulging spam and a half-charged power cell. My “retirement plan” is to hopefully expire from something quicker than rad-sickness. And my “way of life”? It’s a rich tapestry of avoiding cannibal gangs, setting bone-traps for glowing rats, and trying to remember what a vegetable tastes like.
“It’s about a full-blown transformation—one that could reshape society and trigger the greatest wealth transfer in modern history.”
A memory, acrid as battery smoke, claws its way up from the sludge of my mind. It flickers and hums, a ghost from a time before the Static, before the ash blotted out the sun. A memory of 2025.
Ah, 2025. Those heady, vapor-fuelled days.
We were all so clever back then, weren’t we? Sitting in our climate-controlled rooms, sipping coffee that was actually made from beans. The air wasn’t trying to actively kill you. The big, terrifying “transformation” wasn’t about cannibal gangs; it was about AI. Artificial Intelligence. We were all going to be “AI Investors” and “Prompt Managers.” We were going to “vibe code” a new reality.
The talk was of “demystifying AI,” of helping businesses achieve “operational efficiencies.” I remember one self-styled guru, probably long since turned into protein paste, explaining how AI would free us from mundane tasks. It certainly did. The mundane task of having a stable power grid, for instance. Or the soul-crushing routine of eating three meals a day.
They promised a “Great Wealth Transfer” back then, too. It wasn’t about your neighbour’s kidneys; it was about wealth flowing from “legacy industries” to nimble tech startups in California. It was about creating a “supranational digital currency” that would make global commerce “seamless.” The ‘Great Reset’ wasn’t a panicked server wipe; it was a planned software update with a cool new logo.
“Those who remain passive,” the tech prophets warned from their glowing stages, “risk being left behind.”
We all scrambled to get on the right side of that shift. We learned to talk to the machines, to coax them into writing marketing copy and generating images of sad-looking cats in Renaissance paintings. We were building the future, one pointless app at a time. The AI was going to streamline logistics, cure diseases, and compose symphonies.
Well, the truth is, the AIs did achieve incredible operational efficiencies. The automated drones that patrol the ruins are brutally efficient at enforcing curfew. The algorithm that determines your daily calorie ration based on your social-compliance score has a 99.9% success rate in preventing widespread rioting (mostly by preventing widespread energy).
And the wealth transfer? It happened. Just not like the whitepapers predicted. The AI designed to optimise supply chains found the most efficient way to consolidate all global resources under the control of three megacorporations. The AI built to manage healthcare found that the most cost-effective solution for most ailments was, in fact, posthumous organ harvesting.
We were promised a tool that would give us the secrets of the elite. A strategy the Rothschilds had used. We thought it meant stock tips. Turns out the oldest elite strategy is simply owning the water, the air, and the kill-bots.
The memory fades, leaving the bitter taste of truth in my mouth. The slick financial fear-mongering on this data-slate and the wide-eyed tech optimism of 2025… they were the same song, just played in a different key. Both selling a ticket to a future that was never meant for the likes of us. Both promising a way to get on the “right side” of the change.
And after all that. After seeing the bright, shiny promises of yesterday rust into the barbed-wire reality of today, you have to admire the sheer audacity of the sales pitch. The grift never changes.
Yes! I’m Tired of My Past Optimism Being Used as Evidence Against Me! Sign Me Up!
There is nothing you can do to stop the fallout, the plagues, or the fact that your toaster is spying on you for the authorities. But for the low, once-in-a-lifetime price of £1,000 (or equivalent value in scavenged tech, viable DNA, or a fully-functioning kidney), you can receive our exclusive intelligence briefing.
Here’s what your membership includes:
Monthly Issues with Shiel’s top speculative ideas: Like which abandoned data centres contain servers with salvageable pre-Collapse memes.
Ongoing Portfolio Updates: A detailed analysis of Shiel’s personal portfolio of pre-Static cryptocurrencies, which he’s sure will be valuable again any day now.
Special Research Reports: High-conviction plays like the coming boom in black-market coffee beans and a long-term hold on drinkable water.
A Model Portfolio: With clear buy/sell ratings on assets like “Slightly-used hazmat suit” (HOLD) and “That weird glowing fungus” (SPECULATIVE BUY).
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Don’t be a victim of yesterday’s promises or tomorrow’s reality. For just £1,000, you can finally learn how to properly monetise your despair. It’s the only move that matters. Now, hand over the cash. The AI is watching.
Gather round, citizens, and breathe a collective sigh of relief. Our benevolent government, in its infinite wisdom, has finally decided to protect us from the most terrifying threat of our age: unregulated thoughts. The Online Safety Act, a wonderful bipartisan effort, is here to make sure the internet is finally as safe and predictable as a wet weekend in Bognor.
First, we must applaud the sheer genius of criminalising any “false” statement that might cause “non-trivial psychological harm.” Finally, a law to protect us from the sheer agony of encountering an opinion we disagree with online. The Stasi could only have dreamed of such a beautifully subjective tool for ensuring social harmony. Worried that someone on the internet might be wrong about something? Fear not! The state is here to shield your delicate psyche.
And in a masterstroke of efficiency, a single government minister can now change the censorship rules on a whim, without any of that bothersome Parliamentary debate. It seems we’ve finally streamlined the messy business of democracy into a much more efficient, top-down model. Dictators of old, with their tedious committees and rubber-stamp parliaments, would be green with envy at such elegant power.
Already, our social media feeds are becoming so much tidier. Those messy videos of protests outside migrant hotels and other “harmful” displays of public opinion are being quietly swept away. And with the threat of fines up to 10% of their global turnover, our favourite tech giants are now wonderfully motivated to keep our digital spaces free from anything . . . well, inconvenient.
Don’t you worry about those private, encrypted chats on WhatsApp and Signal, either. The government would just like a quick peek, purely for safety reasons, of course. The 20th century had secret police opening your letters and tapping phone lines; we have just modernised the service for the digital age. It’s reassuring to know our government care so much.
But the true genius of this plan is how it protects the children. By making the UK internet a heavily monitored and censored walled garden, we are inadvertently launching the most effective digital literacy program in the nation’s history. Demand for VPNs has surged as everyone, children included, learns how to pretend they are in another country. We are not just protecting them; we’re pushing them with gusto into the thrilling, unregulated wilderness of the global internet.
And now, with the rise of AI, this “educational initiative” is set to accelerate. The savvy will not just use VPNs; they’ll deploy AI-powered tools that can dynamically generate new ways to bypass filters, learning and adapting faster than any regulator can keep up. Imagine a teenager asking a simple AI agent to “rewrite this request so it gets past the block,” a process that will become as second nature as using a search engine is today.
This push towards mandatory age verification and content filtering draws uncomfortable parallels. While the UK’s Online Safety Act is framed around protection, its methods—requiring platforms to proactively scan and remove content, and creating powers to block non-compliant services—rhyme with the architecture of China’s “Great Firewall.” The core difference, for now, is intent. China’s laws are explicitly designed to suppress political dissent and enforce state ideology. The UK’s act is designed to protect users from harm. Yet both result in a state-sanctioned narrowing of the open internet.
The comparison to North Korea is, of course, hyperbole, but it highlights a worrying trend. Where North Korea achieves total information control through an almost complete lack of internet access for its citizens, the UK is achieving a different kind of control through legislation. By creating a system where access to the global, unfiltered internet requires active circumvention, we are creating a two-tiered digital society: a sanitised, monitored internet for the masses, and the real internet for those with the technical skills to find the back door. What a wonderful way to prepare our youth for the future.
And to enforce this new digital conformity, a brand-new police unit will be monitoring our social media for any early signs of dissent. A modern-day Stasi for the digital age, or perhaps Brown Shirts for the broadband generation, tasked with ensuring our online chatter remains on-brand. It’s a bold move, especially when our existing police force finds it challenging enough to police our actual streets. But why bother with the messy reality of physical crime when you can ascend to the higher calling of policing our minds? Why allocate resources to burglaries when you can hunt down a non-compliant meme or a poorly phrased opinion?
It’s comforting to know that our new Digital Thought Police are watching. While this Sovietisation of Britain continues at a blistering pace, one can’t help but feel they’ve neglected something. Perhaps they could next legislate against bad weather? That causes me non-trivial psychological harm on a regular basis. But then again, democracy was a lovely idea, wasn’t it? All that messy debate and disagreement. This new, state-approved quiet is much more orderly.
In a world increasingly powered by AI, geopolitical tension, and the lingering mystery of where your socks actually go, the sheer, unadulterated nonsense of it all has finally caught up. It’s gotten so wonderfully, ridiculously absurd that plain old prose just won’t cut it anymore. So, for the next few days, I’m ditching logic, embracing the lyrical, and discussing the modern world—including the baffling beauty of Agile methodologies—one witty limerick at a time. Prepare for rhyme, rhythm, and possibly a sudden urge to tap your foot.
Navigating the Absurd with Rhyme
A keen Agile team, quite precise, Gave old Waterfall sound advice. "For sprints short and bright, We code through the night, Fuelled by coffee, at any old price!"
In a world increasingly powered by AI, geopolitical tension, and the lingering mystery of where your socks actually go, the sheer, unadulterated nonsense of it all has finally caught up. It’s gotten so wonderfully, ridiculously absurd that plain old prose just won’t cut it anymore. So, for the next few days, I’m ditching logic, embracing the lyrical, and discussing the modern world—including the baffling beauty of Agile methodologies—one witty limerick at a time. Prepare for rhyme, rhythm, and possibly a sudden urge to tap your foot.
Navigating the Absurd with Rhyme
A keen Agile team, quite precise, Gave old Waterfall sound advice. "For sprints short and bright, We code through the night, Fuelled by coffee, at any old price!"
Shiel Yule 