Very preliminary, but we’re announcing Treadco – bespoke machine learning and datamining for the discriminating user.
The name and form might change, but we specialize in highly efficient and highly accurate machine learning and data analysis.
Generative models such at the Restricted Boltzmann Machine. Our algorithm is 14 or more times faster than the standard approach. This makes it fast enough to implement in javascript or other interpreted languages and still get results in near real time. Web-based data analysis anyone?
Fuzzy and probabilistic/possibilistic modeling. Correct handling of uncertainty in both the independent and dependent data improves the robustness of the models.
Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation.
Since it seems that our Regency spy romance is much more popular than our science fiction, this post introduces the sequel to The Art of Deception. Amanda’s reading was interrupted by a summons to attend on her mother. Amanda’s mother made it clear that she must attend the assembly. After a short carriage journey, it only being six or so miles between Coalpit Heath and Chipping Sodbury, they have arrived.
The carriage’s arrival in front of the hall interrupted Mrs Bentley’s cutting reply; a servant, dressed something like a footman, opened the door; he offered an arm and at her mother’s urging, Amanda descended; not gracefully, as her mother would remind her in a few moments, but nonetheless without tripping.
She waited for her mother and father before entering the hall.
It looked entrancing, an orchestra scratching out a dance, and – far more important – an excess of young men.
That did not last long; a veritable flock of young ladies, chattering among themselves came through the door behind them.
The excess of gentlemen vanished in an instant; Amanda sighed, found a seat at the side of the room, and pulled a small sheet of paper from her reticule – You can take the book from the mathematician, but not the mathematics – she started writing out a problem in symmetric polynomials, at least what she could remember of it.
Her father interrupted her a few minutes later, “Amanda, dear.”
“What is it, now?” She did not look up.
“May I present Mr Jameson?”
Amanda’s attention snapped away from the paper, and she managed to squeak out, “Delighted.”
My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.
Coalpit Heath is a real place on the outside of Frampton. Most of it is rather nice, unlike this farmhouse next to the tracks.
It’s literally on the wrong side of the tracks.
I don’t have a good picture of the remains of the coal works from the early 19th century because we were always either in a hurry to get walking or it was too dark by the time we returned. They and numerous pit mines supplied the fuel for the iron works at Iron Acton. The villages remain, but little sign of the industry is visible.
Google maps shows the site, if you happen to be in the area.
Illegal aliens is up for order on Amazon. In the end, the way to fix my mistakes was to issue a new edition. I still used kindle create but in a more native way to produce a “reflowable” book.
Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation.
Since it seems that our Regency spy romance is much more popular than our science fiction, this post introduces the sequel to The Art of Deception. Amanda’s reading was interrupted by a summons to attend on her mother. Amanda’s mother made it clear that she must attend the assembly.
Amanda greeted her father when he climbed into the carriage to join her and her mother, “You look dressed to the nines father.”
Mr Bentley tugged at his stiff collar and carefully sat in his all too tight trousers, “Thank you, I wish they weren’t so da- uncomfortable; they don’t suit me.” After he sat, he thumped the carriage and shouted “Drive on.”
Mrs Bentley pointedly added, “You cannot wear your tradesmen’s coat to assemblies, let alone when we take Amanda to Bath or …. London.”
“London?” Mr Bentley paled, “I thought we had agreed to Bath.”
“Bath?” Amanda’s voice quavered, “Bath?”
“You’re such an awkward and shy lass,” Mrs Bentley explained, “It would give you a chance to grow into society, practice your dancing, before,” and here she sent her husband a quelling glance, “before we take you to visit the ton.”
While Amanda sought solace by studying the familiar countryside on the few short miles between Coalpit Heath and Chipping Sodbury, her father reached over and patted her shoulder, “It’ll be alright lass.”
My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.
Coalpit Heath and Chipping Sodbury are near the port of Bristol – Mr Bentley’s iron would likely have gone by sea from there. The Severn, the river that leads into the Bristol channel is known for its large tidal differences.
At low tide the Severn is non-navigable. It looks like one could walk across it and upstream, nearer Gloucester, one can. I presume that’s why Offa’s dyke is on the far side of the river.
The solution to this, of course, was a canal. The Gloucester and Sharpness canal, seen also at low tide here, was under construction at the time of this story. The canal company that started it went bankrupt so that it spent a few years as a useless big ditch.
Prior to completion, the cargo boats would have had a few hours to make it up or down the Severn. It would have been interesting if not dashed exciting and somewhat dangerous to ride one downstream when the tide was flowing. The RNLI frowns on people doing it today in canoes (kayaks in the US and Canada).
Illegal aliens is up for order on Amazon. In the end, the way to fix my mistakes was to issue a new edition. I still used kindle create but in a more native way to produce a “reflowable” book.
This is for one that I’ve been calling “Stone circles on the tor” or “Dartmoor story”. It’s actually science fiction, set in Victorian time, within the same universe as “Cynthia the Invincible.” I’m trying for a bit of a Victorian vibe with it.
Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation.
Since it seems that our Regency spy romance is much more popular than our science fiction, this post introduces the sequel to The Art of Deception. Amanda’s reading was interrupted by a summons to attend on her mother. Amanda has just asked if she must attend the assembly.
Her mother echoed her, almost mocking her question, “Must we go to the assembly?”
“Yes; It’s only in Chipping Sodbury.”
Her mother took a deep breath and tried, once more, to explain, “Amanda, dearest; dearest Amanda … do you want to be an old maid, a burden on your brothers and an embarrassment for your sister?”
Amanda gazed over her mother’s shoulder, “No, not as such, but the company … In Chipping Sodbury of all places … it is vulgar.”
“Not half as vulgar as the hatters in Frampton,” Her mother paused, “Nor as vulgar as the iron master I married.”
“Don’t you love father?”
“I do, but he can be so … so annoyingly common.”
“Rich, wasn’t that enough?”
“For my father, yes; however, not for us; you should marry a gentleman.”
My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.
While she seems strict, Amanda’s mother has her head screwed on the right way. The alternatives to marriage for an unmarried woman, even a mathematically inclined one, were bleak.
To set the scene, this building in Lacock abbey is fairly typical of village buildings.
You’ve seen it – Lacock abbey is the background in many films – ranging from Pride and Prejudice to Harry Potter. The Red Lion pub (I don’t have a good picture of it but it’s in the centre in this picture) is a dead giveaway.
Illegal aliens is up for order on Amazon. In the end, the way to fix my mistakes was to issue a new edition. I still used kindle create but in a more native way to produce a “reflowable” book.
Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation.
Since it seems that our Regency spy romance is much more popular than our science fiction, this post introduces the sequel to The Art of Deception.
Amanda looked up from her stitchery at the noise; her parents were arguing; they always were arguing. This time it seemed to be about the assembly tonight; her father did not want to attend it. She thought, “Perhaps they love to argue,” and with them distracted, put down her stitchery. She rose and slipped away to an upstairs room; a room away from the noise, but more important, it was where she hid her books. The ones that were too exciting for a mere female.
Ignoring the distant cries of battle from her parents, she sat in the window. She opened her book, a tattered copy of Hutton’s ‘Course in Mathematics’ and re-read the inscription, “To my darling sister, better you than me, Freddy.” She paged through the book to find the section, on symmetric polynomials; it was hard going, but interesting.
A gentle knock, on the door frame, disturbed her. Mary, her maid, said, “Miss, your mother is asking for you; remember, there is an assembly tonight.”
My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.
As a bit of a hint, symmetric polynomials were the basis for Galois’ investigations into polynomial groups. Groups form the basis for much of modern cryptography – including the https you don’t see at this website. Amanda won’t go there, but … well you’ll see. Any road, Dr Hutton’s book was state of the art for 1809, and her brother has done her a great favour by sending it to her. Mind you, he wants to be a poet – a much more suitable occupation for a gentleman.
Chipping Sodbury today
The assembly takes place in Chipping Sodbury, a small town near Coalpit Heath, which is near the villages of Frampton and Cotterell. Not to mention the thriving iron works at Iron Acton. It doesn’t look it today, but the area was a hotbed of coal mining and iron working in the early 19th century. Mind you, Frampton was an industrial centre for making hats. Today they’re all suburban communities on the outskirts of Bristol. The featured image shows how some of the area looks today – the buildings in the foreground would have been there, but those on the hill were built mostly after the second world war.
Illegal aliens is up for order on Amazon. In the end, the way to fix my mistakes was to issue a new edition. I still used kindle create but in a more native way to produce a “reflowable” book.
Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation. This is the start of a new work, Illegal Aliens. It is something of a cross between a horror story, a science fiction tale, and a romance.
One of a somewhat menacing pair of visitors finished last week with “that is irrelevant.” Maybe for them. The visitors found a mysterious note in what looks vaguely like Arabic, in a somewhat illegal search. Roland, in a mixture of embarrassment and pride read it (or at least its summary) last week. Another element from Roland’s past and a cat show up. Last week we met Roland’s old post-doctoral supervisor. Roland continues translating (and the cat is back). The cavalry arrives this week, in the form of a DI who worked on Roland’s missing wife and child.
The last image provoked a derisive laugh, “Are you sure, Dr Welchmann, that you can’t read it … the passage is from the book of the dead, a blessing … I mean, it’s in the textbooks; even your books.”
The doorbell interrupted the readings; the woman went to the door, and after a heated discussion at the door, reluctantly escorted someone in; the man she escorted said, “Ah, Roland, I see you’re entertaining the funnies … what happened?”
“Apparently they’re worried about that explosion in London; think I had something to do with it.”
The man studied the two people for MI6 and then asked Roland, “Did you lay gas lines in 1950, and not bother to put them on the map?”
“No.”
“Then it’s hard to see what you have to do with it; it wasn’t a bomb, it was a gas leak … small comfort to the injured, but nothing to do with,” he nodded at the MI6 agents, “that lot.”
“Thank you John; I’m sure you didn’t visit just to tell me that.”
“No, this is … official … about Janet and Thomas.”
“News,” Roland’s attention focused on him.
“Good and bad … something’s been found, but …”
My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.
I’m getting a bit ahead but these images will be useful next week.
The Black Mountains of Wales are stark and beautiful. This picture shows the dense heather that covers their flat tops. Sugarloaf mountain is that peak to the right of the background.
Grwyne Fawr is on the other side of the mountain in this picture.
Illegal aliens is up for order on Amazon. In the end, the way to fix my mistakes was to issue a new edition. I still used kindle create but in a more native way to produce a “reflowable” book.
I had a chance to walk on Offa’s dyke. About 800 AD (or CE if you’re a stickler), Offa, the king of Mercia built a wall along the border with Wales. Parts of it still survive.
It was rather dark under all that growth, so the picture isn’t quite as clear as ideal. It wasn’t really a fortification, but more of a definition of the boundary between the two kingdoms, and no the Welsh didn’t pay for it. You can see where the Mercians dug stone and earth from the English side to build it up – usually on the edge of a ridge where there wasn’t room to grab soil from the Welsh.
The trail follows the wall for about four kilometers. We came back through Beech’s farm (a good looking campsite) and down “Miss Graces’ lane.”
There’s a ‘goddess’ offering near the Devil’s pulpit (since Tintern Abbey is in ruins, I guess he’s winning).
The pulpit, itself, with the ruins visible in the haze below. The Devil was supposed to preach to the monks from here.
English Robbins have set up near here. There were at least to male birds, both begging and chirping loudly to each other. (Get off my lawn?).
Long-horned cattle that reminded me of Aurochs as they moved through the forest were in the woods near our car.
When I write set in modern day Britain, I’m careful about the settings.
The Red Lion is a real pub, with a real well inside it, and (according to my researcher) good food and great beer (Avebury Well Water was an awesome bitter by his report).
Avebury itself is full of tourists this time of year (the Equinox well past). Tourists, sheep, and stones.
There wasn’t a guided tour at the long barrow – the kind of thing Roland did for fun and spare cash – though my researcher passed one on the way back to the car.
Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation. This is the start of a new work, Illegal Aliens. It is something of a cross between a horror story, a science fiction tale, and a romance.
Roland awoke after bringing an attractive young woman home, alone. Something of a surprise, and in some ways a shock. His mobile chirruped into life and the works manager – where he’d been called to examine a mysterious block of Roman concrete – told him the “bloody German bomb, it went.” A knock on the door interrupts their conversation just after Mr Shah explains that one of his workers couldn’t even stand the firecrackers on Guy Fawkes.
One of a somewhat menacing pair of visitors finished last week with “that is irrelevant.” Maybe for them. The visitors found a mysterious note in what looks vaguely like Arabic, in a somewhat illegal search. Roland, in a mixture of embarrassment and pride read it (or at least its summary) last week. Another element from Roland’s past and a cat show up. Last week we met Roland’s old post-doctoral supervisor. This week Roland continues translating (and the cat is back).
The man handed Roland his phone, there was an image, a scan of a fragment on it.
Roland started reading, darkness, despite the sunny morning, surrounded them and ‘his’ cat hissed; Roland stopped and the room lightened; the cat resumed her purr, “It’s a curse … not to be read aloud, at least not if you don’t mean it; it invokes Apep and Set among others … they’re the least obscure of the deities.”
“Who?”
“Apep, the God of Chaos and Evil, not to mention destruction; Set … basically the model for Satan the Bible, much as Osiris’s life and resurrection were models for Jesus or Mithras.”
“You don’t believe that tripe, do you?”
Roland shook his head, “No, not really, but it’s been such a strange last few days … I’d rather not tempt fate.”
He read further, silently; after looking at the wall for a moment, he turned to the agents and said, “It invokes them as protection; protection from something else; something far worse.”
The next image was spray-painted on a brick wall, “It’s from here, painted on the new biochemistry building, off Sherrington Road … keeps coming back, no matter what they do to clean it.”
“It’s a warning, about transgenic animals … bringing a curse from Bastet upon their efforts.”
His cat purred louder.
My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.
Illegal aliens is up for order on Amazon. In the end, the way to fix my mistakes was to issue a new edition. I still used kindle create but in a more native way to produce a “reflowable” book.
I’ll be off exploring Exmoor next week. High open and wind-swept hills with unbelievable views (when it isn’t raining) and sea nearby (wet suits are a good idea if you want to actually bathe). Horses and horse-flies.
Horses on Exmoor Down
The ordnance survey maps show stone circles and other neat neolithic monuments. One has to be careful, however, the last time I was there I used the British Grid and a GPS to find one. It was literally a circle of small stones (about 2Kg each) in a field of heather. Unlike Stonehenge of Avebury, it wouldn’t have been a difficult feat of engineering.
