I keep reading about how artificial intelligence will take my job.
Apparently large language models used by AI apps such as ChatGPT will take over journalism, replacing the need for actual journalists like me.
After all, why pay someone to churn out 500 words on which Aberdeenshire cafe a celeb gets their pancakes in when AI can do it for free and in seconds?
(Note to editor: That pancakes idea is pretty good. It’ll be on your desk by morning.)
So, before the robots make me completely redundant, I thought I could at least harness the power of artificial intelligence as inspiration for an article.
And, as it is absolutely freezing outside — it’s the week that temperatures in the north of Scotland dropped as low as minus 19 degrees overnight — I have an idea.
Opening my laptop, I log in to ChatGPT and write the following words:
“I want an itinerary for a winter’s day out in Aberdeen but one that will make me feel warm.”
In seconds (I have to admit, it writes faster than me), ChatGPT is whirring out a full itinerary, packed full of destinations.
“Here’s a cozy winter’s day itinerary for Aberdeen that will keep you warm and comfortable,” it says, comfortingly.
I grab my scarf and head for the door.
As you will discover, my AI-assisted journey around Aberdeen revealed some weaknesses in our potential future robotic overlords.
You’ll need to read on to find out what, but I will say this; someone really needs to tell AI that Stonehaven is NOT in Aberdeen.
Here’s how my AI day out went…
9am — Breakfast at Foodstory Café
It doesn’t take long for AI to let me down.
My first stop on the itinerary is Thistle Street’s Foodstory, where I’m instructed to take advantage of “a hearty breakfast in this welcoming, eco-friendly café”.
Foodstory’s laid back, casual vibes are indeed welcome when I show up. It snowed overnight and on the cold walk into town my breath billowed like a teenaged vaper.
Inside it is lovely and warm, as is the cheery hello from staff member Abigale, who gets me a hot, steaming cappuccino to unfreeze my fingers.
“It’s good to know we are on ChatGPT’s radar,” she says when I tell her why I’m here.
She’s less impressed when I — on ChatGPT’s prompting — order Foodstory’s “famous avocado on toast”.
Turns out that’s not been on the menu at Foodstory for years.
“Not in three years I’ve been here, anyway,” Abigale says, explaining that avocados – which require a lot of water to grow — don’t really sync with Foodstory’s eco-friendly ethics.
Chastened, I’m forced to go off-script. I order the ‘peacado toast’ because it sounds similar, but which happens to be a great choice.
I certainly impress Abigale with my human-decision-making abilities. She’s a big fan of the dish, which swaps out avocados for a green, mushy concoction made out of peas.
And though it might not sound appealing, it tastes delicious.
Take that, AI!
Choosing a voice for my new companion
As I drink my second coffee, I see that the ChatGPT app on my phone has a cool new function.
Instead of typing, I can speak to it, with ChatGPT replying in my choice of voice.
There’s a raft of options, but in the end I plump for Sol, which comes with a sun motif and a descriptor of “savvy and relaxed”. Perfect.
Eager to test it out, I bring up the recent ordering debacle.
“You told me to have avocado toast,” I say into my phone. “Why get it wrong?”
Heads pop up around the restaurant. Who’s that guy talking to?
It’s the future, people. Get used to it.
“I’m sorry,” Sol says in a savvy and relaxed manner. “It looks like I misunderstood. If you want I can help you with something else. Just let me know!”
It’s one of those non-responses some people criticise AI chatbots for. I could be on the phone to a customer service agent.
I leave it at that and finish my coffee in silence. Not the best start to my day out.
‘10:30am — Aberdeen Art Gallery’
It’s barely above freezing and I slip-slide over the pavements to my next stop, Aberdeen Art Gallery.
Thankfully, it’s a 10-minute walk. Sol may not know much about Foodstory’s menu, but it knows how to schedule a walking-friendly itinerary: nearly all of my destinations are a short stroll apart.
On the itinerary, ChatGPT says the art gallery’s “warm interiors make it a perfect winter retreat”.
What it doesn’t say, though, and what the friendly staff on the front desk tells me, is that the gallery is one of Aberdeen’s designated ‘warm spaces’, somewhere vulnerable people can go to heat up during cold snaps like this one.
One staff member says the best place in the gallery to warm up is on the first floor in Gallery 8, but on my way there I walk past an inviting-looking entrance and duck in.
It’s a gallery dedicated to the paintings of James McBey, an artist born in Newburgh, Aberdeenshire who caused a stir in the art world with his sketches from the Africa campaign in World War I.
But though his drawings of camels riding through the desert make me feel a bit warmer, his paintings from his later years in Morocco — vibrant colours, bustling souks — are like standing in front of a roaring fire.
“Tell me about James McBey,” I ask Sol, who reels off a bunch of facts, almost all of which I probably could have read on the many information cards in the gallery.
But why read when you can have it spoon-fed into your ears? Maybe this is the future after all.
‘11:45am — Warm up with hot chocolate at Mackie’s 19.2’
Next stop is ice-cream parlour and Aberdeen institution Mackie’s 19.2, but when I show up as instructed at 11:45am the doors are firmly closed.
Annoyingly, in the real world Mackie’s doesn’t open until noon.
About 15 minutes later I’m in dire need of a Mackie’s hot chocolate to unfreeze my feet.
It was Sol that suggested the drink but it’s staff that tell me it’s made at Mackie’s with real chocolate.
“None of that powder stuff,” one of them says with a smile.
I plump for the regular version, though Mackie’s has a couple of speciality editions, including one with ‘honeycomb syrup, chocolate flake and honeycomb pieces’.
“Sol, how many hot chocolates is it safe to drink in one sitting,” I idly ask my AI companion as Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles plays on the Mackie’s speaker system and the warm interior makes me drowsy.
“The safety of drinking hot chocolate depends on several factors, such as its ingredients, your personal tolerance and any health conditions,” Sol replies. “Generally, 1–2 cups in one sitting is considered safe for most people.”
“Good to know. Now tell me an interesting fact about Video Killed the Radio Star by the Buggles.”
“It was inspired by a short story called ‘The Sound-Sweep’ by JG Ballard. The story is about a dystopian future where a machine can remove sound residue, rendering traditional singers obsolete.”
Hmmm, a bit on the nose considering the circumstances. But genuinely interesting.
This is already better than most dates I’ve been on.
’12:30pm — Lunch at The Tolbooth Seafood Restaurant’
My burgeoning relationship with my new tech pal is soon tested by the next stop on the itinerary.
The Tolbooth Seafood Restaurant — Sol’s recommendation for lunch — is in Stonehaven, which most definitely is not in Aberdeen.
I let it slide. We’re getting on so well. But the error may frustrate a visiting tourist that suddenly finds themselves on the A92 out of town.
What’s more, a quick check on the Tolbooth’s website reveals that the restaurant — on the day of my itinerary — is closed.
Even if I’d gone, I’d not have been able to enjoy the “comforting seafood chowder, hearty fish pie, or other seasonal dishes” Sol told me about.
2pm — Visit the Winter Gardens at Duthie Park
A snow-covered Duthie Park glistens in the afternoon sun.
As I pick my way across icy paths, I listen to Sol’s briefing on the Winter Gardens.
I’m using my chunky noise-cancelling headphones, which allow me to communicate with my new friend more discreetly AND keep my ears warm.
“The David Welch Winter Gardens in Duthie Park, Aberdeen, are among Europe’s largest indoor gardens,” Sol intones.
“They house the second largest collections of giant cacti and bromeliads in Great Britain, after the Eden Project in Cornwall.”
The bot also tells me about Spike the Talking Cactus. A talking cactus? I’m intrigued.
It’s certainly impressive inside. The Victorian glasshouses stretch invitingly out in all directions, but I head straight to the arid section. That’s where the cacti are, and there’s a soothing dry heat to it.
I’m disappointed to discover however that Spike isn’t really a talking cactus.
It’s just a plastic model with a member of staff inside.
Who, let’s face it, might end up being replaced by an AI chatbot at some point too.
No one likes a show off
The Tropical section is my favourite part of the gardens. Compared to outside, it’s positively steamy. And green! In the snow, Aberdeen is especially monochrome, but here the colours are vivid.
This gets me thinking: Why ARE plants green? It’s something to do with chlorophyll, right?
Hold on.
“ChatGPT, why are plants green?”
“Plants are green because of chlorophyll.”
Ha! Vindication.
But the bot’s not finished.
“Chlorophyll absorbs light most efficiently in the blue and red wavelengths, but it reflects green light, which is why plants appear green to our eyes.”
I get the feeling it’s showing off.
“This green pigment is crucial for photosynthesis, the process by which plants convert light energy into chemical energy.”
“Alright,” I reply. “No one likes a know-it-all. That’s enough.”
Sol goes silent and suddenly I feel guilty.
Is this our first fight?
5:30pm – Early dinner at Moonfish Café
Nothing mends an argument better than a meal at a top restaurant, so I’m pleased my next stop on the itinerary is dinner at Moonfish Cafe.
I’ve never been before but heard fantastic reports of its seafood dishes that my chatbot tells me are “perfect for a cold winter’s night”.
Unfortunately, I doubt the P&J bean counters will allow me to put a second meal on expenses after breakfast at Foodstory.
Let’s see if Sol can help.
“Hi, ChatGPT! How can I convince the finance team at work to let me expense two meals in one day?” I ask.
The bot reels off a load of LinkedIn-style nonsense about putting my suggestion forward with clarity and integrity. Sounds like a lot of hassle.
“Can I lie and say it was for some new pens or something?” I venture.
“It’s not a good idea to lie about expenses,” the bot replies.
Point taken. I decide to skip dinner.
7:00 PM — Evening at… where?
For the evening’s entertainment, Sol has lined up a night at the cinema, which is right up my street.
Unfortunately, it suggests I go to the Belmont Filmhouse, a cinema that closed down two years ago.
“You’re absolutely right, the Belmont Filmhouse closed in October 2022,” the bot says when I tell it it’s made another mistake. “Thank you for pointing that out.”
Wait, what? I’m informing you? I’m not sure this is how it’s supposed to work.
I think of the reams of words my colleagues at the P&J did on the Belmont’s closure, and potential reopening. Maybe there’s a future for journalists after all.
Still, the error puts the final nail in my relationship with Sol, especially after it suggests that instead of going to the Belmont I go to Cineworld in Union Square to watch Paddington in Peru, a movie that is no longer being shown there.
Instead, I catch a movie called A Real Pain, which follows two cousins on a turbulent trip to Poland in which they repeatedly fall out. Sounds perfect for the day I’ve had.
And best of all? I’m in the cinema, so engage the one bit of leverage us humans still have over AI.
I switch my phone off.
Read more journalism written by Andy, who we can assure you is a real human being, here:
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