The future is robotic?

OUR changing language. M&S men's shorts now claim "active waist moves with you." The worst waists, of course, are the ones that move off by themselves. My waist went missing in 1997 and I didn't see it again until 2012.

SO farewell, the old shoe shop, which has graced our main street for as long as I can remember. It is being replaced by an ice-cream parlour. In this internet age, the products that do best in the high street are the ones that cannot be ordered on line. Shoes can be successfully delivered by courier, ice cream less so.

SO THE future is robotics. If you believe everything you hear this week, the Government's Technology Strategy Board is going to drive the UK into the forefront of the global robotic market with a dozen new proving grounds for robots, drones and driverless cars. The aim is to release humans from dirty, dangerous or repetitive tasks. So far, so good. But anyone over 60 will recall the glittering promise of something called automation. Back in the 1950s, automation was going to release us humans from drudgery. As one old timer told me lyrically many years ago: "The idea was that we'd only have to work a couple of hours a day and we'd spend the rest of our time writing poetry and making mandolins." It has not happened. Far from setting mankind free, the new technology, based on computers, has shackled millions more people to the grindstone. In 1952 about 23 million British people were employed. Today that figure is approaching 32 million. What are the odds on robotics making life easier, giving us more time to raise the kids, draft the occasional sonnet and make a mandolin? Be very sceptical. The lesson of history is that the more labour-saving devices we invent, the harder we must labour.

MIND you, future-guessing is notoriously difficult and, for all we know, robotics may indeed deliver the New Jerusalem. I was recently in Leamington Spa, a town which grew big and prosperous on a single, highly unlikely, commodity. It is a reminder that when it comes to forecasting the Next Big Thing, the most bizarre ideas sometimes come up trumps. Leamington is one of England's great spa towns, a venue for the health-seeking fashionistas of the early 19th century. The water they clamoured for is still available at a public tap today, so I tried some. It is salty, sulphuric with an after-taste of vomit. I wonder what visionary first downed a mugful of that and thought: "Yup, we're on to a winner here."

LET us consider those limited-edition Rolf Harris art prints, snapped up by fans and art lovers alike as an investment. After the old groper was convicted this week, will his art becomes more or less valuable? Fame is valuable but infamy has its price, too.

I HAVE to report an unexpected outbreak of common sense in high places. I wrote some days ago about the Orwellian plan to order newspapers to remove all online references to anything that could prejudice a court case. Ultimately, this could mean removing all archive references to a defendant or witness. Thankfully, after lobbying by newspapers, the Attorney General Dominic Grieve has agreed to drop the clause in the new Criminal Justice and Courts Bill. Sanity resumes, at least for the time being.

SOUTH Korea's World Cup squad were pelted with toffees after arriving home empty-handed from the World Cup. Over there, hurling high-calorie, sugar-filled treats at someone is regarded as a great insult. Over here, it's a friendly greeting. More Quality Street, gran?