Forty years ago today, two computers talked to each other and a world of new possibilities was born.
A student named Charley Kline, under the watchful eye of his professor, sent the first message over the forerunner of the internet – the US Department of Defence’s Advanced Research Projects Agency Network.
The “Arpanet” was intended to link giant research computers across the US. Strategists quickly realised that a network of communicating computers stood a better chance of surviving a nuclear strike than a typical command and control system.
But the excitement which drove this moment in the evolution of communications was fired by the ancient impulse to send a message across a distance.
The pioneers of Arpanet were in the tradition of the first tribe to bang out drum messages about a feisty sabre-toothed tiger across a wooded valley. Just as humanity grasped the potential of smoke signals and carrier pigeons to convey messages of love and warning, so computer engineers – many of whom are still alive today – opened a new chapter of communications.
The first message sent from the computer at the University of California, Los Angeles, to its counterpart at the Stanford Research Institute was, appropriately, “Lo”.
Lo and behold, the programmers could have said. We are about to make possible YouTube and Twitter, Amazon and internet dating – within four decades individuals on every continent will have virtual identities and traverse a new realm of human existence.
What had actually happened was much less grandiose. Kline had attempted to send a “login” message and the system crashed after the first two letters.
But this faltering first step into the world of the internet was of an order of sufficient significance to rival Neil Armstrong’s moon landing, which took place that July and caused more of a stir.
We have not been back to the moon, but the exploration of the potential of the internet continues with passion and zeal.
Never before in human history have zealots of every persuasion found it so easy to corral kindred spirits.
Humanity can now tap into a collective brain, and the true consequences of this revolution will be not known for decades. Facebook and MySpace are the silent movies of the internet age.
Already, mobile phones allow people to be “always online”. Just as the people of the past century grew used to looking at their wrist and knowing the time, so we expect to be able to Google anywhere.
And the search engine’s latest translation tool – which can convert Swahili into Welsh at the press of a button – points to a future in which the barriers of language will crumble like the Berlin Wall.
The stage is set for a golden age or an apocalypse as concepts of distance and identity are redefined. We inhabit a moment of peril and possibility, invention and adventure.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Ratzinger on Tuesday
No man can pull himself up out of the bog of uncertainty, of not being able to live, by his own exertions... Meaning that is self-made is in the last analysis no meaning. Meaning, that is, the ground on which our existence as a totality can stand and live, cannot be made but only received.
Joseph Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity, p.73
Joseph Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity, p.73
Monday, October 26, 2009
Barth on Monday
Think of the men in the Bible. They did not come to faith by reason of any kind of proofs, but one day they were so placed that they might believe and then they had to believe in spite of everything.
God is hidden from us outside His Word. But He is manifest to us in Jesus Christ. If we look past Him, we must not be surprised if we fail to find God and experience errors and disillusionments, if the world seems dark to us.
Karl Barth, Dogmatics in Outline, p.12
God is hidden from us outside His Word. But He is manifest to us in Jesus Christ. If we look past Him, we must not be surprised if we fail to find God and experience errors and disillusionments, if the world seems dark to us.
Karl Barth, Dogmatics in Outline, p.12
Friday, October 23, 2009
In Praise of Norwegians and Bob Dylan's Christmas Album
Christmas in the Heart, Bob Dylan's 34th studio album, has reached number five in Norway's charts. This is clear evidence that the higher the line of latitude, the finer the appreciation of bold and true music.
I purchased it last week from Spillers Record Shop in Cardiff, established in 1894, and I think friends and family would have been happier if I'd brought home a hotpot featuring trimmings from Pinochet's moustache and the tail of Sarah Palin's mongoose.
Terms of abuse normally used to describe the crimes of serial killers and the first nights of Belgian musicals turned the air Navy blue as the first chords of Dylan singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing sounded.
A noble Wesh churchman even exclaimed he loathed carols "with a passion".
But that's precisely the point. Carols, as sung by choirboys in ruffled collars, are horrendous.
There's that line from The Ususal Suspects: "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." Well, in the Protestant church Christmas might as well not exist outside of a couple of weeks at the tail-end of December when half the congregation has disappeared to far-flung parts of the country for a course of turkey and marzipan-induced sedation.
The few people who are in churches are forced to endure theatrical abominations in which children in need of Ritalin are permitted to wear tea-towels and pretend to be shepherds.
Modern Protestants are used to thinking deeply about Easter all year round, but Christmas is a no-go area. To paraphrase the Hudsucker Corporation's sales pitch for the hula-hoop, it's "You know, for kids."
But the shock of hearing a whiskey and cigarettes voice deliver a straight rendition of Hark the Herald Angels Sing bounces Christmas out of the realms of the make-believe and re-establishes Charles Wesley's carol as a mighty hymn which constitutes an announcement that should make the powers and principalities shake.
Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris'n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
This isn't a message first delivered in a custom-built cathedral in the glow of romantic candlelight. Dylan's croak could be the cry of a shepherd who's seen an angel and wandered into a stable where a young woman who has just given birth is cradling an infant against the cold.
As Bono noted a while ago: "The idea that there's a force of love and logic behind the universe is overwhelming to start with, if you believe it. Actually, maybe even far-fetched to start with. But the idea that that same love and logic would choose to describe itself as a baby born in s--- and straw and poverty is genius, and brings me to my knees, literally. To me, as a poet, I am just in awe of that. It makes some sort of poetic sense. It's the thing that makes me a believer, though it didn't dawn on me for many years."
Admittedly, I do wince when I hear Dylan singing "Must Be Santa" a few tracks along, but the chap is about to celebrate his 69th Christmas. And having made it this far, who can complain if he's feeling happy?
I purchased it last week from Spillers Record Shop in Cardiff, established in 1894, and I think friends and family would have been happier if I'd brought home a hotpot featuring trimmings from Pinochet's moustache and the tail of Sarah Palin's mongoose.
Terms of abuse normally used to describe the crimes of serial killers and the first nights of Belgian musicals turned the air Navy blue as the first chords of Dylan singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing sounded.
A noble Wesh churchman even exclaimed he loathed carols "with a passion".
But that's precisely the point. Carols, as sung by choirboys in ruffled collars, are horrendous.
There's that line from The Ususal Suspects: "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." Well, in the Protestant church Christmas might as well not exist outside of a couple of weeks at the tail-end of December when half the congregation has disappeared to far-flung parts of the country for a course of turkey and marzipan-induced sedation.
The few people who are in churches are forced to endure theatrical abominations in which children in need of Ritalin are permitted to wear tea-towels and pretend to be shepherds.
Modern Protestants are used to thinking deeply about Easter all year round, but Christmas is a no-go area. To paraphrase the Hudsucker Corporation's sales pitch for the hula-hoop, it's "You know, for kids."
But the shock of hearing a whiskey and cigarettes voice deliver a straight rendition of Hark the Herald Angels Sing bounces Christmas out of the realms of the make-believe and re-establishes Charles Wesley's carol as a mighty hymn which constitutes an announcement that should make the powers and principalities shake.
Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris'n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
This isn't a message first delivered in a custom-built cathedral in the glow of romantic candlelight. Dylan's croak could be the cry of a shepherd who's seen an angel and wandered into a stable where a young woman who has just given birth is cradling an infant against the cold.
As Bono noted a while ago: "The idea that there's a force of love and logic behind the universe is overwhelming to start with, if you believe it. Actually, maybe even far-fetched to start with. But the idea that that same love and logic would choose to describe itself as a baby born in s--- and straw and poverty is genius, and brings me to my knees, literally. To me, as a poet, I am just in awe of that. It makes some sort of poetic sense. It's the thing that makes me a believer, though it didn't dawn on me for many years."
Admittedly, I do wince when I hear Dylan singing "Must Be Santa" a few tracks along, but the chap is about to celebrate his 69th Christmas. And having made it this far, who can complain if he's feeling happy?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Poverty of Purpose
The greatest evidence of a crisis at the core of British politics is not the expenses scandal but the failure of any party to focus on working class concerns.
This is the true democratic deficit and a vacuum has opened up in recession-wracked Britain. It will either be filled by people of vision who can speak to millions who fear for their future, or by extremists and purveyors of prejudice eager to flog toxic wares.
In 1997, when the stardust surrounding New Labour glowed with plutonium brilliance, party power broker John Prescott said: “We are all middle class now.”
But in 2008, around 4.5 million employees aged 22 and above were paid less than £7 per hour - 25% of female employees and 13% of men. As reported this week, one in four Welsh households spend at least 10% of their income trying to keep warm.
All politicians pay lip service to the UK’s “hard working families” but these men and women have felt the worst effects of the recession.
As Neil Lee argues in his fascinating study for the Work Foundation, London and the Square Mile were seen as ground zero in the collapse of the financial services and “it was natural to assume that the crisis should be felt most harshly there”. Cities with large middle class populations in the South of England were predicted to bear the brunt of the downturn.
Instead, cities which already had high levels of unemployment experienced the greatest loss of jobs: The less skilled the city, the greater the increase in unemployment.
Far from being ravaged by the recession, London and the East of England has been least affected. When degree-holders lost their jobs, they found it easiest to find new employment.
Where are the politicians who can speak to the people who did not share in the success of the Blair Boom? If idealism, a belief in social justice and a desire to avoid a disastrous splintering of society are not motivation enough, surely a hunger for 4.5 million votes should send politicos to the neighbourhoods where each day is a fight to put food on the table?
Parties of the Left do not need to find an orator with winsome eyebrows to regain a sense of mission and electoral appeal. They need to spend time with the families on the frontline of the recession and bring these men and women into the heart of the party.
Parties on the Right can also sell the case at the next election that a divided Britain is a ghoulish prospect. Manifesto-writers should read The Spirit Level: Why More Equal Societies Almost Always Do Better, by Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett.
It is a tragedy if Britain’s poorest voters face a choice between barbarian goons and the guacamole gang, but provide real hope and millions will vote for change.
This is the true democratic deficit and a vacuum has opened up in recession-wracked Britain. It will either be filled by people of vision who can speak to millions who fear for their future, or by extremists and purveyors of prejudice eager to flog toxic wares.
In 1997, when the stardust surrounding New Labour glowed with plutonium brilliance, party power broker John Prescott said: “We are all middle class now.”
But in 2008, around 4.5 million employees aged 22 and above were paid less than £7 per hour - 25% of female employees and 13% of men. As reported this week, one in four Welsh households spend at least 10% of their income trying to keep warm.
All politicians pay lip service to the UK’s “hard working families” but these men and women have felt the worst effects of the recession.
As Neil Lee argues in his fascinating study for the Work Foundation, London and the Square Mile were seen as ground zero in the collapse of the financial services and “it was natural to assume that the crisis should be felt most harshly there”. Cities with large middle class populations in the South of England were predicted to bear the brunt of the downturn.
Instead, cities which already had high levels of unemployment experienced the greatest loss of jobs: The less skilled the city, the greater the increase in unemployment.
Far from being ravaged by the recession, London and the East of England has been least affected. When degree-holders lost their jobs, they found it easiest to find new employment.
Where are the politicians who can speak to the people who did not share in the success of the Blair Boom? If idealism, a belief in social justice and a desire to avoid a disastrous splintering of society are not motivation enough, surely a hunger for 4.5 million votes should send politicos to the neighbourhoods where each day is a fight to put food on the table?
Parties of the Left do not need to find an orator with winsome eyebrows to regain a sense of mission and electoral appeal. They need to spend time with the families on the frontline of the recession and bring these men and women into the heart of the party.
Parties on the Right can also sell the case at the next election that a divided Britain is a ghoulish prospect. Manifesto-writers should read The Spirit Level: Why More Equal Societies Almost Always Do Better, by Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett.
It is a tragedy if Britain’s poorest voters face a choice between barbarian goons and the guacamole gang, but provide real hope and millions will vote for change.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The Cardiff Giant
The glorious credulity of humanity was demonstrated 140 years ago this week when the discovery of the Cardiff Giant was hailed as an archaeological sensation.
Word spread across the United States that the petrified remains of a giant had been unearthed at a farm in Cardiff, New York.
Thousands of people beat an excited path to the farm of William C. “Stub” Newell and each paid 50 cents to glimpse the marvel.
A dispute then flared between those who thought this 10 ft figure was one of the giants fleetingly mentioned in the sixth chapter of Genesis and others who surmised it was a statue made by Jesuit missionaries to impress Native Americans.
In fact, it was the creation of atheist New York tobacconist George Hull who had argued with a Methodist preacher about the literal interpretation of the Bible and then come up with a money-making wheeze.
As history, the giant may have been as fake as a market-stall Rolex. But as a cash-generator, it was fine-tuned to perfection.
It cost $2,600 to create, and when a group of Syracuse businessmen glimpsed the multitudes prepared to pay to set eyes on it, they bought the giant for $37,500.
When a Yale paleontologist pointed out that the chisel marks of the stoneworkers were still visible, you might have reasonably expected public outcry and denunciations of the deception.
But the masses were delighted to be duped. The strange sculpture earned the affectionate nickname of “Old Hoaxery”.
Legendary showman PT Barnum created an exact replica which soon drew larger crowds than the original.
The American Civil War had ended just four years earlier and families in the north and the south of the future superpower were mourning the deaths of 620,000 soldiers.
In the wake of such devastation and tragedy, a shaken and young democracy was fertile ground for a hoaxer ready to co-opt religion and suggest America’s citizens were standing, quite literally, on the shoulders of giants.
Great entertainers have long understood that audiences are happy to be hoodwinked. The Coen Brothers merrily fibbed that their 1996 masterpiece Fargo was a true story.
More alarming is the willingness each of us possesses to perceive the world in the way we want to see it, regardless of the facts. The American media today is fragmenting into a terrifying terrain in which consumers choose to see the “news” which fits their ideological slant.
A sceptical Yale paleontologist doubting a modern-day giant would be dismissed as an elitist know-nothing, just as sceptics about the wisdom of America’s plans for Iraq were written off as “cheese-eating surrender monkeys”.
The temptation to wear a partisan visor is just as strong in religion and politics today as in any era. The Cardiff Giant is a monumental reminder that every generation needs a pinch of salt.
Word spread across the United States that the petrified remains of a giant had been unearthed at a farm in Cardiff, New York.
Thousands of people beat an excited path to the farm of William C. “Stub” Newell and each paid 50 cents to glimpse the marvel.
A dispute then flared between those who thought this 10 ft figure was one of the giants fleetingly mentioned in the sixth chapter of Genesis and others who surmised it was a statue made by Jesuit missionaries to impress Native Americans.
In fact, it was the creation of atheist New York tobacconist George Hull who had argued with a Methodist preacher about the literal interpretation of the Bible and then come up with a money-making wheeze.
As history, the giant may have been as fake as a market-stall Rolex. But as a cash-generator, it was fine-tuned to perfection.
It cost $2,600 to create, and when a group of Syracuse businessmen glimpsed the multitudes prepared to pay to set eyes on it, they bought the giant for $37,500.
When a Yale paleontologist pointed out that the chisel marks of the stoneworkers were still visible, you might have reasonably expected public outcry and denunciations of the deception.
But the masses were delighted to be duped. The strange sculpture earned the affectionate nickname of “Old Hoaxery”.
Legendary showman PT Barnum created an exact replica which soon drew larger crowds than the original.
The American Civil War had ended just four years earlier and families in the north and the south of the future superpower were mourning the deaths of 620,000 soldiers.
In the wake of such devastation and tragedy, a shaken and young democracy was fertile ground for a hoaxer ready to co-opt religion and suggest America’s citizens were standing, quite literally, on the shoulders of giants.
Great entertainers have long understood that audiences are happy to be hoodwinked. The Coen Brothers merrily fibbed that their 1996 masterpiece Fargo was a true story.
More alarming is the willingness each of us possesses to perceive the world in the way we want to see it, regardless of the facts. The American media today is fragmenting into a terrifying terrain in which consumers choose to see the “news” which fits their ideological slant.
A sceptical Yale paleontologist doubting a modern-day giant would be dismissed as an elitist know-nothing, just as sceptics about the wisdom of America’s plans for Iraq were written off as “cheese-eating surrender monkeys”.
The temptation to wear a partisan visor is just as strong in religion and politics today as in any era. The Cardiff Giant is a monumental reminder that every generation needs a pinch of salt.
Friday, October 09, 2009
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Unlocking Recovery
If Gladstone and Disraeli commandeered a Tardis and arrived in contemporary Britain, what would they make of our £1 trillion-plus national debt?
A quick glance at the country’s balance sheet would probably send even these great men screaming back to a simpler age.
And when they sank into the safe sofa of a London club, they might ask how it was possible for a nation to emerge from a period of blissfully uninterrupted growth and then plunge into such abominable straits.
If it is difficult to understand why we abandoned the ancient principle of saving for a rainy day during a time of plenty, it is even more of a challenge to devise a recovery strategy.
It is too much to expect even the finest minds in any single party to come up with a solution. So, perhaps the time has come for a new adventure in democracy?
The world of technology has been utterly transformed in recent years through the proliferation of “open source” software.
Instead of jealously guarding a program’s code, developers are increasingly releasing this software so it can be worked on by a global volunteer army of enthusiasts and experts.
Just as we marvel at the mountains a few thousand ants can generate, so fired-up programmers can create software which doesn’t crash, is more resistant to viruses, and is packed with features which might not have emerged from the grey confines of a corporation. According to one estimate, this is saving consumers $60bn a year.
Similarly, the user-created encyclopaedia Wikipedia has defied the sceptics and evolved to become a priceless repository of human knowledge where errors are quickly corrected and information is updated with astonishing alacrity.
Goodwill, enthusiasm and the generous donation of time and expertise have spurred the creation of more than three million articles in English alone.
At a moment in history when it is imperative Britain finds a way to unbuild a £1 trillion debt mountain, surely there is a strong case for looking beyond the wisdom of the usual cadre of favoured policy experts and Whitehall mandarins?
In a spirit of honesty and humility, the Government should open its accounts online. Just as open source programmers daily spot vulnerabilities and glitches in software, bright minds – unfettered by the entanglements of party politics – could come forward with ideas we desperately need.
Many of the finest innovations in modern technology were conceived not in universities or corporations but in garages; these were pursued not in the hope of a fat bonus at the end of the month but with the raw passion of the inventor-entrepreneur.
The world of politics and economics is in dire need of reformation and renewal. Governments live in fear of barbarians at the gates, but the men and women locked out might do something truly revolutionary: balance the books.
A quick glance at the country’s balance sheet would probably send even these great men screaming back to a simpler age.
And when they sank into the safe sofa of a London club, they might ask how it was possible for a nation to emerge from a period of blissfully uninterrupted growth and then plunge into such abominable straits.
If it is difficult to understand why we abandoned the ancient principle of saving for a rainy day during a time of plenty, it is even more of a challenge to devise a recovery strategy.
It is too much to expect even the finest minds in any single party to come up with a solution. So, perhaps the time has come for a new adventure in democracy?
The world of technology has been utterly transformed in recent years through the proliferation of “open source” software.
Instead of jealously guarding a program’s code, developers are increasingly releasing this software so it can be worked on by a global volunteer army of enthusiasts and experts.
Just as we marvel at the mountains a few thousand ants can generate, so fired-up programmers can create software which doesn’t crash, is more resistant to viruses, and is packed with features which might not have emerged from the grey confines of a corporation. According to one estimate, this is saving consumers $60bn a year.
Similarly, the user-created encyclopaedia Wikipedia has defied the sceptics and evolved to become a priceless repository of human knowledge where errors are quickly corrected and information is updated with astonishing alacrity.
Goodwill, enthusiasm and the generous donation of time and expertise have spurred the creation of more than three million articles in English alone.
At a moment in history when it is imperative Britain finds a way to unbuild a £1 trillion debt mountain, surely there is a strong case for looking beyond the wisdom of the usual cadre of favoured policy experts and Whitehall mandarins?
In a spirit of honesty and humility, the Government should open its accounts online. Just as open source programmers daily spot vulnerabilities and glitches in software, bright minds – unfettered by the entanglements of party politics – could come forward with ideas we desperately need.
Many of the finest innovations in modern technology were conceived not in universities or corporations but in garages; these were pursued not in the hope of a fat bonus at the end of the month but with the raw passion of the inventor-entrepreneur.
The world of politics and economics is in dire need of reformation and renewal. Governments live in fear of barbarians at the gates, but the men and women locked out might do something truly revolutionary: balance the books.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
A Life in Full
Comparisons are rarely drawn between First Minister Rhodri Morgan and Audrey Hepburn.
One is an icon of a vanished Hollywood and the other is the defining figure of the first decade of Welsh devolution.
There is little doubt that Breakfast at Rhodri’s is a very different experience from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
And while Ms Hepburn is famous for her Roman Holiday, she was never seen cooking a giant fish by a caravan in Mwnt.
But Ms Hepburn is remembered for talking to everyone on a film set with the same warm courtesy, regardless of whether they were statesmen or stagehands.
And as Mr Morgan’s Long Goodbye nears the climax, the 70-year-old Labour leader leaves both friends and former rivals with similar memories.
Regardless of whether it was the Estonian president or the chap on his right at a Cardiff City match, each encountered the same Welshman with a Wikipedia-beating general knowledge and a voracious appetite for life.
Any politician has ample opportunity to disgruntle subordinates. But the men and women who have shared their working lives with him in the pressure cooker of the Assembly talk with spontaneous affection and enthusiasm for their boss.
Historians and analysts will critique his leadership in the decades to come, and the jury is out as to whether the fabled “clear red water” which divides Wales from England has led to better health and education. Labour has lost votes in recent elections like a tree in winter.
But as a tribute to a man, surely the true respect of people who see you on wretched days as well as when the limelight shines is as great a prize as any state-approved gong?
Mr Morgan would probably not welcome comparisons with Cuba’s Fidel Castro – and there has certainly never been any suggestion Russian nuclear missiles have arrived in Mumbles.
But each man is a blend of self-certainty and curiosity which has not faded with age. The 83-year-old former Cuban leader was recently ruminating on the potential for robot-controlled warplanes, climate change and the hopes for peace in the Middle East.
Interviewing Mr Morgan is like hanging onto a helium balloon in a hurricane as he weaves through passions as diverse as Massachusetts politics, daffodil-based health treatments, the prophetic powers of John Updike and the posture of Welsh boxers.
We can only hope he will use the freedom he will soon enjoy to keep a blog.
Shortly, we will learn who will play Joshua to the man who for better or for worse has been devolution’s Moses. Welsh politics is no longer a wilderness of anxious uncertainty, and while he may not have led the nation into a promised land, anyone who sees the unfading light in his eyes knows he can see such a glow on the horizon.
One is an icon of a vanished Hollywood and the other is the defining figure of the first decade of Welsh devolution.
There is little doubt that Breakfast at Rhodri’s is a very different experience from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
And while Ms Hepburn is famous for her Roman Holiday, she was never seen cooking a giant fish by a caravan in Mwnt.
But Ms Hepburn is remembered for talking to everyone on a film set with the same warm courtesy, regardless of whether they were statesmen or stagehands.
And as Mr Morgan’s Long Goodbye nears the climax, the 70-year-old Labour leader leaves both friends and former rivals with similar memories.
Regardless of whether it was the Estonian president or the chap on his right at a Cardiff City match, each encountered the same Welshman with a Wikipedia-beating general knowledge and a voracious appetite for life.
Any politician has ample opportunity to disgruntle subordinates. But the men and women who have shared their working lives with him in the pressure cooker of the Assembly talk with spontaneous affection and enthusiasm for their boss.
Historians and analysts will critique his leadership in the decades to come, and the jury is out as to whether the fabled “clear red water” which divides Wales from England has led to better health and education. Labour has lost votes in recent elections like a tree in winter.
But as a tribute to a man, surely the true respect of people who see you on wretched days as well as when the limelight shines is as great a prize as any state-approved gong?
Mr Morgan would probably not welcome comparisons with Cuba’s Fidel Castro – and there has certainly never been any suggestion Russian nuclear missiles have arrived in Mumbles.
But each man is a blend of self-certainty and curiosity which has not faded with age. The 83-year-old former Cuban leader was recently ruminating on the potential for robot-controlled warplanes, climate change and the hopes for peace in the Middle East.
Interviewing Mr Morgan is like hanging onto a helium balloon in a hurricane as he weaves through passions as diverse as Massachusetts politics, daffodil-based health treatments, the prophetic powers of John Updike and the posture of Welsh boxers.
We can only hope he will use the freedom he will soon enjoy to keep a blog.
Shortly, we will learn who will play Joshua to the man who for better or for worse has been devolution’s Moses. Welsh politics is no longer a wilderness of anxious uncertainty, and while he may not have led the nation into a promised land, anyone who sees the unfading light in his eyes knows he can see such a glow on the horizon.
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