To my songwriter friends, you may have explored AI yourselves and happily discovered that it is shit at writing lyrics (often rhyming a word with itself, etc and not being original). However, writer-writer-friends! Be very afraid! Here is my bit of fun today. I just asked the AI (CHAT
My first instruction to the AI:
Please write an essay-length account of a journey from Wimbledon to Chelsea in the style of James Boswell fictitiously travelling with Dr Johnson.
The first response- which came through after about 5 seconds’ thought and downloaded in another 8 seconds or so:
“I would be delighted to write an essay-length account of a journey from Wimbledon to Chelsea in the style of James Boswell fictitiously travelling with Dr Johnson. Here is my attempt at it:
Wimbledon, a place of green fields and rolling hills, freshly painted houses with well-manicured gardens and a plethora of horses and carriages making their way down the streets, was the starting point of our journey. Dr Samuel Johnson, a keen observer of human nature, was already on the spot as I approached him.
"Ah, Mr Boswell, it is good to see you. I trust you had a pleasant time in Wimbledon?"
"Yes, Dr Johnson, it is a lovely place indeed, but I am eager to embark on our journey to Chelsea," I replied, keen to set off and experience all the sights and sounds of our world.
"Very well, then let us be off. I trust that you have brought along your trusty notebook? You'll find that there will be much to observe and reflect on during our travels," remarked Johnson, ever the scholar.
Our carriage was a fine one, with plush seating and good travel facilities. We set off slowly along the winding streets of Wimbledon, with the gentle clip-clop of our carriage horses' hooves providing a soothing ambiance for the journey. I watched as the scenery of the village gradually transformed into the lively hustle and bustle of more urban streets.
The sights around us were many. There were market stalls where produce of all kinds were being sold, and on the edges of the road, we could see artisans busy at their tasks – blacksmiths pounding metal into shape, bakers kneading dough, and even a barber working his razors. The smells of freshly baked bread, roasted meats and bubbling pots of stew wafted through the air, making our mouths water. It was a scene of constant movement, with the noise of pedlars and street vendors mingling with the sound of wagon wheels and chatter.
Dr Johnson was much caught up in observing the people themselves. He was a man of great sensitivity, and he observed with a keen eye, the different expressions on the faces of passers-by, the subtle nuances of their body language and the way in which they interacted with the world around them. He remarked to me at one point:
"Mr. Boswell, it is in the midst of the most humble and everyday life that one finds the greatest truths about existence. The people we see here, carrying out their daily business, have stories and feelings that rival even the greatest tales of the histories."
As our carriage progressed through the streets and the characters around us changed, so too did the buildings around us. The stone, brick and wood structures of Wimbledon were gradually replaced by more substantial edifices of Chelsea. Shops became grander, and houses grew taller, reflecting the wealth of the area.
Finally, we arrived in our destination of Chelsea. It was an area of great elegance, full of parks and gardens, designed to foster a sense of peace and tranquillity. Here, the buildings were magnificent, and there were far more gardens than streets. Elegant carriages, drawn by fine horses with glittering harnesses and polished carriages adorned with intricate patterns, were common.
"Chelsea is a place of great beauty, Mr. Boswell," remarked Dr Johnson. "But do not be fooled by the grandeur of it all. For amidst this graced world lives ordinary people, with ordinary concerns, experiencing the same joys and pains as anyone else."
As we settled down to enjoy a cup of tea and some freshly baked sponge cake, I could not help but be filled with a sense of wonder at all that we had experienced during our journey. The sights, sounds, and smells of the city, the people that we had encountered, and the conversations that we had shared all blended to make for a fascinating journey.
In the end, it had been a trip that exemplified Dr. Johnson's philosophy that we should live life to the fullest, absorbing every detail and finding the pearl of value in even the most mundane of events.”
I then decided to ask it to include the Wombles, albeit anachronistically. Here is my instruction.
My second instruction to the AI:
Would you please re-write your excellent account of a journey from Wimbledon to Chelsea in the style of James Boswell fictitiously accompanied by Dr Johnson but insert a reference to the Wombles even though you and I both know that the Wombles are also fictitious and do not accord with the chronology of Dr Johnson and James Boswell.
The AI responded just as quickly, this time inserting pertinent referenced to The Wombles.
The AI RE-WRITE inserting the Wombles:
“Certainly, I'd be happy to take on that challenge! Here is the re-written account of the journey from Wimbledon to Chelsea, with a reference to the Wombles:
Wimbledon, a place of green fields and rolling hills, freshly painted houses with well-manicured gardens and a plethora of horses and carriages making their way down the streets, was the starting point of our journey. Dr Samuel Johnson, a man of great learning and a deep love of literature, was already on the spot as I approached him.
"Ah, Mr Boswell, it is good to see you. I trust you had a pleasant time in Wimbledon?"
"Yes, Dr Johnson, it is a lovely place indeed. I couldn't help but think of the Wombles who are said to reside here, tidying up the place and making it a better world for all," I said with a smile.
Johnson raised a quizzical eyebrow but said nothing.
Our carriage was a fine one, with plush seating and excellent travel facilities. We set off slowly along the winding streets of Wimbledon, with the gentle clip-clop of our carriage horses' hooves providing a soothing ambiance for the journey. The iconic figure of Great Uncle Bulgaria, the Wombles' esteemed leader, and his team of diligent Wombles were nowhere to be seen, but I imagined them watching us from afar and making sure the streets were kept clean.
The sights around us were many. There were market stalls, where produce of all kinds were being sold, and on the edges of the road, we could see artisans busy at their tasks – blacksmiths pounding metal into shape, bakers kneading dough, and even a barber working his razors. The smells of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and bubbling pots of stew wafted through the air, making our mouths water. It was a scene of constant movement, with the noise of pedlars and street vendors mingling with the sound of wagon wheels and chatter.
Dr Johnson was particularly struck by the people themselves. He was a man of great sensitivity and observed with a keen eye the different expressions on the faces of passersby, the subtle nuances of their body language, and the way in which they interacted with the world around them. He remarked at one point:
"Mr. Boswell, there is much to be learned from the Wombles' motto of 'making good use of bad rubbish'. For in the midst of the most ordinary and everyday life, we can find the greatest truths about existence. The people we see here, carrying out their daily business, have stories and experiences that rival even the greatest tales of the histories."
As our carriage progressed through the streets and the characters around us changed, so too did the buildings around us. The stone, brick, and wood structures of Wimbledon were gradually replaced by more substantial edifices of Chelsea. Shops became grander, and houses grew taller, reflecting the wealth of the area.
Finally, we arrived in our destination of Chelsea. It was an area of great elegance, full of parks and gardens, designed to foster a sense of peace and tranquillity. Here, the buildings were magnificent, and there were far more gardens than streets. Elegant carriages, drawn by fine horses with glittering harnesses and polished carriages adorned with intricate patterns, were common.
"Chelsea is a place of great beauty, Mr. Boswell," remarked Dr Johnson. "But do not be blinded by the grandeur of it all. For amidst this graced world lives ordinary people, with ordinary concerns, experiencing the same joys and pains as anyone else."
As we settled down to enjoy a cup of tea and some freshly baked sponge cake, I couldn't help but think of the Wombles and their message of making the world a better place. The sights, sounds, and smells of the city, the people that we had encountered, and the conversations that we had shared blended to make for a fascinating journey, one that exemplified Dr. Johnson's philosophy of finding value in every detail of life, no matter how small”
Me back to the AI:
Brilliant! I shall send it to my writer friends and I am sure they will be amused and impressed!
The AI wrote back:
Thank you so much, I’m delighted that you enjoyed it and I hope your writer friends will too!
**