Car update; hay; AI poetry

Car: update

Reading Service Centre diagnosed the noise as being due to a problem with a nearside wheel bearing. Points to Mum, who on our way back from Derbyshire in early July had mooted the idea that it might be a wheel bearing issue. I did text her to congratulate her on her mechanical knowledge, though she modestly claimed it had been a lucky punt. The car failed its MOT on that plus a couple of more minor issues, all of which RSC fixed the same day and retested it. It is now MOT-ed for another year.

When I went to pay up and collect the car, I commented to the very nice chap there that every time the car develops something wrong with it these days, I think it’s going to be sayonara, and referred to its mileage. His response was something like “Nah! Good little cars, those. Go on for ever.” He isn’t the first mechanic I’ve had refer to Ford Fiestas in this vein, so perhaps there’s something in it. He went on to say something along the lines of how he’s had several cars that have done over 200,000 miles and they’ve been fine and as long as I get it an oil change yearly, it’ll be OK. I was cheered by this, though eventually I will no doubt be tempted by the gadgetry that comes with more modern cars, such as navigation screens, sensors to deter you from reversing into walls, and the like (though I think I have, amazingly, managed to avoid doing the latter in the whole of my >35-year driving career despite being sans sensors).

On my way out, another mechanic called over to me as I was approaching the car with “should be a lot better without that noise” and commented that the noise had been “horrific”. Certainly it had been becoming unsettling. I was glad that my worries about them calling me back to claim that they couldn’t hear anything had been unfounded. According to the internet, which I consulted immediately after they phoned me with the diagnosis, it’s extremely dangerous to drive with a severely worn wheel bearing and you should never do it. Oops. The relaxed chap in the office seemed to be of the view that advice off the internet does often overdo the scare tactics.

Cassius' hay consumption

For a few months now Ruth has been concerned at what appears to be a decline in Cassius’ hay consumption. He used to be a good muncher of hay, but I’ve been aware of no longer hearing the regular munch-munch-munch sound from behind me in my office – or at least, not as much as previously. Ruth’s first tactic was to stick a Post-It note low down on the door near his feeding area suggesting that he increased his hay consumption; the note fell off the door and he chewed the corners off it, but we didn’t notice any other change in behaviour.

Wondering whether he simply doesn’t like the hay she’s been buying lately, Ruth splashed out on a pricey hay selection box for him, but he has proceeded to spurn most of the boxes, only showing any interest in a green grassy number which looks as though it’s about the least roughagey of the lot.

My bookshelf stacked with hay selection packs

Cassius enjoying vegetables and ignoring hay

Cassius has now also started on some anti-inflammatory medication of the same sort that Harley went onto for the last few years of his life. Elderly rabbits can get arthritis in their joints, apparently, which can not only interfere with hopping about but also with their management of their caecotrophs (we don’t talk about that; it’s a rabbit thing). Cassius hasn’t shown any overt signs of being arthritic, but then rabbits tend not to show overt signs of anything. The medication is fed to him via a syringe and thankfully, as Harley did, he seems to like it. As mentioned before, rabbits have such a bizarre metabolism that they need the more concentrated dog suspension of this medicine, rather than the cat one.

GenAI forays

At work, we have been instructed to use Microsoft Copilot if we wish to make use of GenAI tools in a work context (which I generally don’t, but am aware that some colleagues do). I am amused by the disclaimer it comes with to the effect that any advice it gives might be complete b*ll*cks.

I have messed about with ChatGPT a few times, mainly to ask it to write poems on specified topics, all of which have been ludicrously saccharine but highly amusing. Here is what it wrote for Ruth’s 50th birthday last year, after being fed selected keywords. Because of my inclusion of the rabbits' names in the prompt, it clearly had trouble telling which name referred to Ruth's partner, so seems to have gone with the assumption that she, Cassius and I are a throuple.

And more recently, I consulted it for some career advice for Ruth:

I also asked it to write a poem about Chloe’s aggression towards Cassius. This one went on at inordinate length, proceeding to glamourize Chloe into some sort of Xena: Warrior Princess figure, and then give the whole thing a happy ending. Also: the understairs cupboard was not her bloody dominion - he was there first.

ChatGPT also had the cheek to title the poem 'Chloe Finds Love':