I recently wrote about the data harvesting reality behind age verification on my professional blog. But this isn’t just a tech issue — it’s a human rights issue. And there are things we can do about it right now.
I’m writing this while staring at yet another weather warning on my phone. Severe weather. Moderate snow or ice. And honestly? It barely registers anymore.
That should concern us.
As I write this in mid-February 2026, parts of England have experienced over 40 consecutive days of rain. Not 40 days of drizzle. Forty days of persistent, ground-saturating, river-bursting, field-flooding rainfall that hasn’t let up since New Year’s Eve. Devon, Cornwall, and Worcestershire have been hit the hardest, with the Met Office confirming some stations have recorded rain every single day since 31 December 2025.
Let me tell you how the AI bubble ends. Not with a whimper, but with hundreds of billions of dollars in planned data centre capacity going up in smoke. Loads of companies going bust. And quite possibly, a proper economic wallop that takes a good chunk of the wider economy down with it.
Sounds dramatic? Maybe. But hear me out.
The Problem With Brute Force
All the big AI tools you’ve probably heard of — ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini — are what’s known as Large Language Models, or LLMs. Despite the fancy name, what they actually do is remarkably simple in concept: they predict what word (or chunk of text) comes next. They do this by having been trained on mind-boggling amounts of data, and the results are genuinely impressive. I use these tools daily, and I’ll be the first to admit they’re brilliant. I get more done, I can explore ideas faster, and it’s honestly quite fun.
A complete guide to building a portable, self-contained router that serves as your main home router for trusted devices day-to-day, then unplugs and travels with you — providing Wi-Fi, mobile data failover, ad-blocking, encrypted networking, and a library of offline content, all from a device smaller than a paperback book.
Let’s be honest for a moment. Traditional climate action — the marches, the petitions, the protests — isn’t working. Not because the people doing it are wrong, but because the people in power simply aren’t listening. And when the consequences arrive, they’ll blame everyone but themselves.
So where does that leave the rest of us?
I’d argue it leaves us exactly where we need to be: focused on resilience. Not saving the planet in some grand political gesture, but building something real and local that actually helps people survive what’s coming.
In my last post, we talked about the power of community resilience. But I know what some of you are thinking: “Axel, that sounds great in theory, but I can’t even keep a cactus alive. I don’t know the first thing about growing food!”
Let me let you in on a secret: It is easier than you think. You don’t need a massive estate or a degree in agriculture to start putting food on your plate. Whether you have a small backyard, a balcony, or just a sunny windowsill, you have enough space to start.
It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the headlines. Recently, news broke regarding a suppressed government intelligence report detailing the stark security threats posed by climate change. It’s the kind of news that makes you want to tune out—the “inconvenient truth” that many in power would rather keep redacted or hidden behind red tape to avoid rocking the economic boat.
But if we look past the heavy black ink of those reports and the stalemate of global summits, a different story is emerging. It’s not a story of waiting for permission or hoping for a top-down miracle. It’s a story about us—and the incredible power we hold when we stop acting as isolated individuals and start acting as a community.
Five years ago I was very motivated to get involved and do my bit for the local part of the world I am in, after realising that my children started worrying about climate change and their future. Let me tell you my story:
I joined the Green Party, ran as a candidate, became a town councillor and even led the party for a while. My journey through local and some national politics left me disillusioned and frustrated. Nay, angry!