Rethinking thought leadership

Posted on By Mark Wilson

I’ve never liked the term “thought leadership”. In fact, I hate it. My first run-in with it was back in 2010, when I was working for David Smith and Mark Locke in Fujitsu UK and Ireland’s Office of the CTO. Even then, we were pretty clear: you don’t get to call yourself a thought leader. That label is earned. Other people decide it for you, usually long after you’ve stopped trying to chase it.

Fast-forward to today, and “thought leadership” is still something marketing teams everywhere love to talk about. It’s also something I recognise as part of my job in the Node4 OCTO. But my unease with the term has never really gone away.

So when I came across some LinkedIn Learning training on “becoming a better thought leader” (and yes, even typing that makes my stomach turn), I braced myself. And then something interesting happened.

I was introduced to the idea of a thought reader.

A different take

The course explained it like this…

A thought leader is an expert. The go-to person. The one with the depth, the scars, the experience, the opinions. All fine. We know that world.

But a thought reader is different. A thought reader is someone who pays attention to the world around them.

Someone who tracks what’s happening in the market, in politics, in technology, in society. Someone who can read the room, not just the textbook. Someone who can bring context rather than just content.

Not an ivory-tower specialist. Not a voice shouting into the void. But someone grounded in what’s actually going on.

It’s the person who joins the dots and says: “I see what’s happening here, and here’s what it might mean for you.”

And that resonated

Because unlike thought leadership, I think thought readership can be claimed. You can choose to be someone who stays curious, who pays attention, who reads widely and listens well.

And if I’m honest, that feels a lot closer to where I sit.

A definition worth noting

Along the way, I also stumbled across a piece from the University of Exeter Business School that tries to rescue the term “thought leadership” by giving it a clearer, more grounded definition. They describe it as:

“Knowledge from a trusted, eminent and authoritative source that is actionable and provides valuable solutions for stakeholders.”

And to be fair, that feels right. It talks about trust, action and value. It suggests the label is something you earn, not something you declare.

What I can claim

What I can claim, though, is that I spend a lot of time trying to understand what’s going on out there. Reading widely. Noticing patterns. Making connections. Understanding context so I can explain things in a way that’s useful.

Less “sage on a stage”, and more “person who’s done the research so you don’t have to”.

And that feels much more like a thought reader than a thought leader.

I still won’t claim to be a thought leader — that’s for others to decide.

But, from today, I might, occasionally, claim to be a thought reader.

And that feels much more honest.

A sense of community, on Remembrance Sunday

Posted on By Mark Wilson

Every year, on the second Sunday in November, in common with many others up and down the country, the town where I live comes together. In Olney, around a thousand people gather in the Market Place – some in uniform, some in suits, some just in coats and scarves against the November chill.

We come to remember. Some are there for those who fell in conflicts past. Others come to support their children in youth organisations. Some stand beside friends or colleagues. Whatever the reason, we make the time to come together.

As we approach the hour, the traffic stops and the Last Post sounds. Then, as the clock strikes eleven, silence falls. For two minutes, the town pauses.

In that moment, it’s not about politics or religion or background. It’s about shared respect. About community. About remembering what was lost and valuing what we still have – the freedom, the friendship, the ability to stand side by side in peace.

And that sense of community matters more than ever. We live in a time when society feels increasingly divided – when algorithms on so-called social media feed us outrage and misinformation; when newspapers twist headlines to fit an agenda; when too much of life pushes us into an us-versus-them mentality. Yet, this morning, I saw the opposite. I saw a huge cross-section of our community come together – young and old, rich and poor – all standing side by side.

There was representation from the armed forces, police, fire service, youth groups, churches, schools, sports clubs, charities and the Women’s Institute. Each laying wreaths, but all sharing a common purpose.

Even in a town of fewer than 10,000 people, there were faces I rarely see – and some I don’t always see eye-to-eye with. But today, none of that mattered. We were all there for the same reason, and there’s mutual respect in that.

We may be fortunate here – a small market town in what was once Buckinghamshire, close to areas of high employment and relative comfort – but not everyone here has privilege. Some are struggling. Yet today, that didn’t matter either. For a short while, everyone stood together.

This year’s remembrance feels especially poignant. Eighty years since the Second World War, conflict still rages in too many parts of the world. Nationalism is on the rise again – flags waved with more anger than pride – and it’s easy to forget what those who served fought so hard for.

It would have been easy to stay at home this morning. But I’m glad I walked down to the Market Place. Because what I saw was the very best of our community – people united by remembrance, respect and gratitude.

When the Reveille sounded and life resumed, there was a quiet pride. A reminder that community isn’t just something that happens online or when it’s convenient. It’s something we live, together, year after year. And today, it was lived in remembrance of those who served – and those who never came home.

Featured images: author’s own.

The day I forgot my wallet – and it didn’t matter

Posted on By Mark Wilson

Yesterday I left the house without my wallet.

Once upon a time that would have been a disaster – but it didn’t matter in the slightest. I had my iPhone. My Apple Wallet held my train tickets and my virtual payment cards, and everything just worked.

At some point, I realised I’ve quietly crossed the line into a world where my phone is my wallet. It doesn’t just hold my payment cards – it replaces the cards I’d need to withdraw cash too. Which raises a question: if physical cards disappear, will we need NFC-enabled ATMs to keep access to cash alive?

The cashless tipping point

According to UK Finance’s UK Payment Markets 2025 report, cards now account for around two-thirds of all payments in the UK. Cash, once king, has slipped below 10% – fewer than one in ten transactions. Over half of UK adults now contactless payments, including both plastic cards and mobile wallets such as Apple Pay or Google Pay.

The Bank of England says cash won’t die out any time soon, but it’s hard to ignore the direction of travel. Every tap of a card or phone accelerates the shift.

Why cash still matters

And yet, we’re not a cashless society – at least, not officially.

The Financial Services and Markets Act 2023 gave the Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) powers to make sure people can still withdraw and deposit notes and coins. Its new Access to Cash Regime came into force last September.

So even as digital payments dominate, the UK is deliberately keeping cash alive – not for nostalgia, but for resilience and inclusion.

Because while most of us can pay with a tap, around 5% of adults still have no internet access, and many more are what Ofcom calls “digitally disadvantaged” – they’re online, but lack confidence or skills.

Cash also serves as a fallback when the technology fails. Power cut, network outage, or card terminal on the blink – the humble £10 note still works.

Emotional value

Then there’s the emotional side.

The Bank of England points out that many people prefer cash for budgeting – physically seeing money leave your hand is more tangible than a number on a screen.

There’s also the matter of privacy. Every card transaction leaves a digital trail; cash doesn’t. For some, that’s reason enough.

The cost question

One argument that keeps popping up is the cost of card payments. Some businesses still cite high processing fees, especially for low-value sales. Others quietly admit that banking and securing cash costs money too.

And it’s rare to find a truly “cash-only” business these days. In a 2020-21 survey by HMRC, only 1% of small businesses described themselves as cash-only.

The “cash only” question

That 1% does make me raise an eyebrow though.

Whenever I see a “cash only” sign, I can’t help wondering whether every pound is being reported to His Majesty’s Revenue and Customs. It’s probably unfair – there are genuine reasons for preferring cash – but the association is hard to shake.

HMRC’s own research shows some tradespeople see “cash jobs” as unlikely to be caught. Maybe that says more about culture than crime, but it lingers in the background.

Should we mourn the loss of cash?

Personally, I don’t think so.

I like the convenience of digital payments, the security of not carrying notes, and the way my wallet has quietly become redundant. The only time I use cash regularly now is at the local market, where some of the traders are cash-only and others just prefer it. Ironically, I still have some euros in my wallet, but rarely any pounds!

But I do think we need to protect choice. A fully digital economy can’t leave behind those who aren’t ready, able or willing to join it.

The regulators seem to agree. Access to cash is now a legal right, even if accepting it isn’t.

Reflection

Forgetting my wallet was a small thing, but it made me stop and think about how quickly we’ve moved from contactless cards to contactless lives. And as much as I enjoy the convenience of paying with a phone, maybe we should all keep a few notes for emergencies.

Delayed by the signs that are supposed to keep us moving

Posted on By Mark Wilson

After a late flight back into Heathrow last night, I just wanted to get home. It should have taken about an hour. Instead, it took almost two and a half — a slow-motion crawl through the Home Counties, lit by flashing amber lights, unclear diversions and matrix signs that seemed to know nothing about what was actually happening on the ground.

After I had negotiated the first closure on the M25 (J18-20), National Highways had used the variable signs to warn of closures on the A1 — miles away and irrelevant to traffic heading north and about to turn onto the M1. What they didn’t mention was the full closure of the M1 (J9-11) which was just a few junctions ahead (I joined at 6A and saw nothing until after the J7/8 exit). When I finally reached the cones and flashing arrows, it was too late to do anything but follow the long, meandering diversion through half of Bedfordshire.

The irony is that the technology is all there. We have live traffic feeds, sensors, cameras, and signs capable of displaying accurate, timely information. But it only works if the people behind the systems use it well. Otherwise, the signs are just expensive noise.

And once you start seeing inconsistent or irrelevant messages, you stop trusting them. We’ve all driven under a gantry showing a sudden 40 mph limit for no apparent reason. Or a “Fog” warning on a perfectly clear morning. (I was once told by a former highways engineer that’s often down to spiders nesting in the sensor housing — which makes sense, but doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.)

The result is predictable. When technology over-warns, people tune it out. It’s the same problem you see in many digital systems — from workplace dashboards to AI assistants. Data without context or accuracy doesn’t help anyone. Trust is built on relevance, timeliness and credibility. Without those, the message just becomes background noise.

I’m not against the tech — quite the opposite. These systems can make our roads safer and our journeys smoother. But they only do that when they’re properly configured, maintained and used by people who understand what the data means. Otherwise, we end up ignoring the very systems designed to help us — and taking the scenic route home when all we really want is our own bed.

Featured image: created by ChatGPT.

Gap year benefits: why a gap year might be the best decision you ever make

Posted on By Mark Wilson

It’s that time of year again. In the UK, A-Level results arrive this week, GCSEs next. Traditional and social media will be full of articles about “what to do if you didn’t make the grade”.

I won’t be writing one of those.

Yes, I messed up my A-Levels. I scraped into my chosen polytechnic, graduated from university with honours, and built a reasonably successful career. But that was over 30 years ago. I’m also male and white, and that privilege has opened doors that might not have opened for others. My experience isn’t a template.

What I do want to write about is the magic of a gap year.

After 14 years of education, maybe you need a break before doing more. Maybe you want time before resits or reapplying to different universities. Maybe university isn’t for you at all. Or maybe you just want to live a bit before deciding what’s next.

Gap years are amazing.

Challenging the “gap year = unemployed” mindset

Some people will tell you a gap year is “just another name for being unemployed”. I think they’re wrong.

A gap year can be a year of growth, challenge, adventure, and learning about yourself in ways that a classroom can’t teach.

Two gap years, two very different stories

As a parent to two adult children, I’ve seen this first-hand.

My eldest son, now 20, took not one but two gap years.

The first followed his passion for cycling. He worked as a holiday rep leading cycling tours, returned to the UK to work in a warehouse, and tested whether he could make it as a professional cyclist. The racing results don’t matter — he’s great, but greatness isn’t the same as being exceptional. What mattered was what he learned along the way:

  • How to train 16 hours a week alongside a full-time job.
  • How to plan every meal and every drink to fuel performance.
  • How to deal with disappointment when a promised training arrangement fell through.
  • How to adapt in a foreign country, find a house share with a professional cyclist (thanks Sophie), and live his best life until returning to race in the UK.

His second gap year was more “traditional” — travel to a variety of European destinations, a few weeks volunteering for a charity in India, more warehouse work (he needed to fund it all), and more racing but this time without the professional ambitions.

There were challenges too. An internship had led to the promise of a job, but that never materialised. Undeterred, he followed up and found a new opportunity with the same firm — only for that to go quiet as well, this time because of an administrative error that meant no contract was ever issued. By then he was applying elsewhere. And it was the self-confidence built over two gap years, outside formal education, and without relying solely on his parents for guidance and support, that made him shine as a candidate in his assessment centre for the role. That confidence also helped him be certain the degree apprenticeship was the right route for him — so much so that he let go of his deferred place at The University of Sheffield.

Looking ahead

My youngest son is 18. He’ll get his A-Level results on Thursday and we have fingers (and toes) crossed that he gets the grades for his place at Exeter University. But before that, there are travel dreams to chase — which will also be funded by casual work.

Oktoberfest is already in the calendar (inspired by our Interrailing trip together last year). Applications are in for a ski season. There are plans for a few months in South East Asia. He’s seen his brother’s adventures and has role models in his parents and maternal uncle, who all travelled extensively before him.

When I first travelled, I had no idea what I was doing — I was the first in my family to go to university, the first to go Interrailing, and the first to fly around the world (that wasn’t on a gap year — I took time out after a few years in the workplace — and, by then, my career direction was set and it would have been very difficult to change).

The takeaway

Of course, not everyone will have the opportunities that my sons have. I wrote of my privilege, and my sons benefit from this too — perhaps even more so. They have both had part-time jobs alongside their school work, played sports, and taken part in many other extra-curricular activities that expanded their horizons. And my wife and I will continue to do everything we can to support them, just as we always have.

But here’s my message: think about a gap year.

It might not be for you — and that’s fine. It might be harder to make it a reality — but I urge you to consider it, if you can possibly find a way, because it might open your eyes to a world of opportunity. At the very least, it could give you the kind of stories, skills, and confidence that make you stand out from the crowd, spark curiosity in future employers, and set you on a path you might never have found otherwise.

And that’s why a “gap year” is certainly not a euphemism for being unemployed whilst living with your parents.

Featured image: created by ChatGPT

Clients or customers? Why words matter in business relationships

Posted on By Mark Wilson

“We are a professional services company — professional services companies have clients.”

That was the view of one of my former CEOs, Alun Rogers. And for years, I’ve followed suit. Coming from a consulting background, I’ve always used client as the default. It suggests a professional, ongoing relationship. It hints at trust, expertise, partnership — even a touch of formality.

But lately, there’s been a shift. In my current role, the language is changing. After a period of trying to standardise on client, we’re now seeing customer creeping back in — and it looks like customer might win.

What’s in a word?

At first glance, it might seem like semantics. But words shape perception. And in a world of digital transformation, evolving business models, and hybrid service offerings, choosing between client and customer says something about who we are — and how we see those we serve.

Client carries with it a certain professional distance. Lawyers have clients. Consultants have clients. Agencies have clients. There’s an implication of long-term engagement and a service that’s often tailored or advisory.

Customer, on the other hand, feels more transactional — but also more accessible. It’s friendlier. More familiar. Retailers have customers. SaaS platforms have customers. Even the coffee shop down the road has customers (and maybe a loyalty card to keep them coming back).

Are we transactional or relational?

In truth, many of us operate in the blurred space between the two. We want to build trusted, long-term relationships — but we also offer repeatable, scalable services. The classic consultancy model is shifting. Clients are becoming subscribers. Services are being productised. The lines are blurring.

So maybe this isn’t just a linguistic debate. Maybe it reflects something deeper — how we define what we do.

Clients have customers too

Another reason client has felt natural to me is that, in many cases, our clients have customers of their own. We work with them to help improve the service they offer to their customers. It’s a reminder that, in B2B engagements, we’re often one step removed from the end user — but still invested in their success.

Friendlier language in a customer-centric world

That said, there’s a strong case for friendlier language. As organisations focus more on customer experience and ease of communication, customer might simply land better. It feels more inclusive, more human. And if we’re aiming to be more approachable, then customer might be the right fit — even in a professional services setting.

Just don’t expect me to stop saying client overnight.

Featured image: created by ChatGPT

Andalucía remembered

Posted on By Mark Wilson

Two decades on, we came once more,
To southern Spain, and sun-kissed shores.
Nerja welcomed with skies so wide,
Where sea and mountain gently collide.

From terrace high, the blue expanse,
Each morning caught us in a trance.
Fresh coffee, then to the beach we’d roam,
Before the heat would drive us home.

Villages basked in golden light,
The sea turned silver come the night.
Warmth on skin, cool drinks in hand,
We let the days unfold unplanned.

Laughter echoed, glasses clinked,
We paused, we smiled, we stopped to think.
Days defined by time and place —
Sun and family, gentle pace.

One final day in Málaga’s hum,
Before the holiday was done.
Now back to clouds and colder climes,
But held inside, those warmer times.

(A collaboration between me, and ChatGPT… showing why I should stick to tech and leave the poetry to poets…)

Featured image: author’s own.

Is this really progress? The downsides of the app economy

Posted on By Mark Wilson

A simple plan goes sideways

I should have just phoned the local taxi company.

But no. I listened to my son — who, to be fair, meant well — and took a modern, app-based approach. “Use Bolt,” he said. “It’s just like Uber. I use it all the time.” And that, it turns out, was the problem.

We’re on holiday in Andalucía, trying to get to a nearby village for dinner. I booked the ride through Bolt, selecting a pickup slot between 17:00 and 17:10. The app stressed the importance of punctuality: we had to be outside on time, or the driver might only wait five minutes before cancelling. Fair enough. So at 16:57 we were all standing by the road, ready to go.

By 17:10, nothing had happened.

Then the app admitted defeat. “No drivers available.” Ride cancelled. “WTF? I booked that hours ago”, thought I.

Platform to nowhere

OK, so Bolt has no drivers and our evening plans are in disarray. So I tried Uber. First, it quotes a price. Then it suggests paying extra to “increase the chance of getting a ride”. You know, because surge pricing and nudging people into premium options is apparently what counts as innovation now. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t work either. After taking my money and several minutes of repeatedly trying to get a driver to take the ride, feasting on my iPhone battery and drinking my mobile data allowance, it finally gave up on the cutesey “sorry about the wait” and admitted that there we no drivers available.

So here we are. No car. No ride. No confidence that we’d even get back if we somehow found our own way there.

I did everything right. I booked in advance. I turned up early. I trusted the system.

And the system is broken.

The slow death of a good idea

This is the very definition of enshittification — the gradual degradation of a service as it prioritises growth, then revenue, then cost-cutting. What starts out as a great user experience slowly turns to dust as the platform corners the market and lets quality slide. First they undercut local businesses, drawing customers in. Then they ration supply, push up prices, and shrug when things go wrong.

Talking with my son about his experience back home, and it seems the traditional minicab firms are fewer and fussier — because they’ve been undercut too. Just like high street shops were when Amazon trained us to expect fast, cheap delivery with no human interaction. And what happens when the competition’s gone? Well, you can guess what happens to the prices and service levels.

App-based everything

It’s not just transport or retail. It’s food delivery, hotel bookings, eBooks, music, even how we consume the news. Everything’s an app. Everything’s global. Everything’s slick — until it isn’t.

And I’m clearly not alone in thinking this. I recently reshared a post on LinkedIn that echoed a lot of my frustrations. From self-checkouts to smart homes, booking travel to banking queries, we’ve been sold the idea that technology makes everything easier. But the pattern seems to be this: companies use technology to reduce their own costs — while shifting the work onto us.

We scan our own groceries. We manage our own bookings. We dig through online portals to find PDFs that digitise our paper records. We chat to bots that often can’t help, and fill in digital forms just to get the most basic of services.

Grumpy Old Man

So yes, I may joke about my Grumpy Old Man Syndrome, but the underlying point stands: just because we can do something digitally, doesn’t mean we should. Especially when the “innovation” really just amounts to taking humans out of the loop and putting consumers to work.

Of course, some people prefer the new ways. Not everyone wants to chat with a travel agent or ring up a cab office. For many, the ability to access data and services 24/7 is empowering.

Progress means keeping options open

But what matters most — and what so often gets forgotten — is that there should still be a choice. Because if everything goes digital with no fallback, we risk excluding those who can’t (or don’t want to) play the app economy game.

Maybe I am just an old man yelling at the cloud (service). But the app-based, gig-driven, digitally transformed economy isn’t always a step forwards. The frictionless experience often hides a lot of pain behind the scenes — for drivers, small businesses, and occasionally, for frustrated tourists standing by a road in southern Europe, hoping the app will work this time.

The world is increasingly run by tech bros in California. And we’re all a little poorer — culturally and economically — for it.

Featured image: created by ChatGPT

Post Script

[14/7/25] Yesterday morning, I walked to the local tourist office. I know, really old school! There, I spoke to a really helpful lady, who advised me on local buses and taxis. We called a central number for taxis in the town — no advanced bookings can be made but the first off the rank came to collect us. And we had our evening in the next village. It was lovely.

Monthly retrospective: May 2025

Posted on By Mark Wilson

I’ve been struggling to post retrospectives this year – they are pretty time consuming to write. But, you may have noticed the volume of content on the blog increasing lately. That’s because I finally have a workflow with ChatGPT prompts that help me draft content quickly, in my own style. (I even subscribe to ChatGPT now, and regular readers will know how I try to keep my subscription count down.) Don’t worry – it’s still human-edited (and there are parts of the web that ChatGPT can’t read – like my LinkedIn, Instagram and even parts of this blog) so it should still be authentic. It’s just less time-consuming to write – and hopefully better for you to read.

On the blog…

Home Assistant tinkering (again)

I’ve been continuing to fiddle with my smart home setup. This month’s project was replacing the ageing (and now unsupported) Volvo On Call integration in Home Assistant with the much better maintained HA Volvo Cars HACS integration. It works brilliantly – once you’ve jumped through the hoops to register for an API key via Volvo’s developer portal.

And no, that doesn’t mean I can now summon my car like KITT in Knight Rider – but I can check I locked it up and warm it up remotely. Which is almost as good. (As an aside, I saw KITT last month at the DTX conference in Manchester.)

Software-defined vehicles

On the subject of cars, I’ve been reflecting on how much modern cars depend on software – regardless of whether they’re petrol, diesel or electric. The EV vs. ICE debate often centres on simplicity and mechanics (less moving parts in an EV), but from my experience, the real pain points lie in the digital layer.

Take my own (Volvo V60, 2019 model year). Mechanically it’s fine and it’s an absolute luxury compared with the older cars that my wife and sons drive, but I’ve seen:

  • The digital dashboard reboot mid-drive
  • Apple CarPlay refusing to connect unless I “reboot” the vehicle
  • Road sign recognition systems confidently misreading speed limits

Right now, it’s back at the body shop (at their cost, thankfully) for corrosion issues on a supposedly premium marque. My next car will likely be electric – but it won’t be the drivetrain that convinces me. It’ll be the software experience. Or, more realistically, the lack of bad software. Though, based on Jonathan Phillips’ experience, new car software contains alarming typos in the UI, which indicates a lack of testing…

Thinking about the impact of generative AI

This update isn’t meant to be about AI – but it seems it is – because it’s become such a big part of my digital life now. And, increasingly, it’s something I spend more time discussing with my clients.

AI isn’t new. We’ve had robotic process automation (RPA), machine learning, data science and advanced analytics for years. I even studied neural networks at Poly’ in the early 1990s. But it’s generative AI that’s caught everyone’s imagination – and their budgets.

In Episode 239 of the WB-40 podcast (AI Leadership), I listened to Matt Cockbill talk about how it’s prompting a useful shift in how we think about technology. Less about “use cases” and more about “value cases” – how tech can improve outcomes, streamline services, and actually help achieve what the organisation set out to do.

The rush to digitise during COVID saw huge amounts of spending – enabling remote working or entrenching what was already there (hello, VDI). But now it feels like the purse strings are tightening, and some of that “why are we doing this again?” thinking is creeping back in. Just buying licences and rolling out tools is easy. Changing the way people work and deliver value? That’s the real work.

Meal planning… with a side of AI

I’ve also been experimenting with creating an AI-powered food coach to help me figure out what to eat, plan ahead, and avoid living off chocolate Hobnobs and toasted pitta. Still early days – but the idea of using an assistant to help nudge me towards healthier, simpler food is growing on me.

Reading: The Midnight Library

I don’t read much fiction – I’m more likely to be found trawling through a magazine or scrolling on my phone – but Matt Haig’s “The Midnight Library“ really got me. OK, so technically, I didn’t read it – it was an impulse purchase to use some credits before cancelling my Audible account – but it was a great listen. Beautifully read by Carey Mulligan, it’s one of those rare books that manages to be both dark and uplifting. Some reviews suggest that not everyone feels the same way – and my reading it at a time of grief and loss may have had an impact – but I found it to be one of my best reads in a long time.

Without spoiling anything, the idea of a liminal space between life and death – where you can explore the infinite versions of yourself – is quietly brilliant. Highly recommended. So much so that I bought another copy (dead tree edition) for my wife.

On LinkedIn this month…

It’s been a lively month over on LinkedIn, with my posts ranging from AI hype to the quirks of Gen-Z slang (and a fair dose of Node4 promotion). These are just a few of the highlights – follow me to get the full experience:

  • Jony and Sam’s mysterious new venture
    I waded into the announcement from Jony Ive and Sam Altman with, let’s say, a healthy dose of scepticism. A $6.5bn “something” was teased with a bland video and a promo image that felt more 80s album cover than product launch. It may be big. But right now? Vapourware.
  • Is the em dash trolling us?
    I chipped in on the debate about AI-written content and the apparent overuse of em dashes (—) –often flagged as an “AI tell” – usually by people who a) don’t understand English grammar or b) where LLMs learned to write. (I am aware that I incorrectly use en dashes in these posts, because people seem to find them less “offensive”.) But what if the em dash is trolling us?
  • Skibidi-bibidi-what-now?
    One of the lighter moments came with a post about Gen-Z/Gen-Alpha slang. As a Gen-Xer with young adult kids, I found a “translator” of sorts – and it triggered a few conversations about how language evolves. No promises I’ll be dropping “rizz” into meetings just yet. Have a look.
  • Politeness and prompting
    Following a pub chat with Phil Kermeen, I shared a few thoughts on whether being polite to AI makes a difference. TL;DR: it does. Here’s the post.
  • Mid-market momentum
    Finally, there have been lots of posts around the Node4 2025 Mid-Market Report. It was a big effort from a lot of people, including me, and I’m really proud of what we’ve produced. It’s packed with insights, based on bespoke research of over 600 IT and Business leaders.

Photos

A few snaps from my Insta’ feed…

https://www.instagram.com/markwilsonuk/p/DJr5Ui8N94u

For more updates…

That’s all for now. I probably missed a few things, but it’s a decent summary of what I’ve been up to at home and at work. I no longer use X, but follow me on LinkedIn (professional), Instagram (visual) and this blog for more updates – depending on which content you like best. Maybe even all three!

Next month…

A trip to Hamburg (to the world’s largest model railway); ramping up the work on Node4’s future vision; and hopefully I’ll fill in some of the gaps between January and May’s retrospectives!

Featured image: created by ChatGPT

Who gets paid when the machines take over?

Posted on By Mark Wilson

Yesterday evening, I was at the Bletchley AI User Group in Milton Keynes. One of the talks was from Stephanie Stasey (/in/missai) (aka Miss AI), titled “Gen AI vs. white collar workers and trad wives – building a robot to make my bed”.

It was delivered as a monologue – which sounds negative, but really isn’t. In fact, it was engaging, sharp, and packed with food for thought. Stephanie brought a fresh perspective to a topic we’re all thinking about: how AI is reshaping both the world of work and the way we live at home.

The labour that goes unnoticed (but not undone)

One part of the talk touched on “trad wives” – not a term I was especially familiar with, but the theme resonated.

If you’d asked my wife and I in our 20s about how we’d divide up household tasks, we might have offered up a fair and balanced plan. But real life doesn’t always match the theory.

These days, we both work part-time – partly because unpaid labour (childcare, cooking, washing, cleaning, all the life admin) still needs doing. And there don’t seem to be enough hours when the laptop is closed.

The system isn’t broken – it’s working exactly as designed

The point I’ve been turning over for a while is this: it feels like we’re on the edge of something big.

We could be on the brink of a fundamental shift in how we think about work – if those in power wanted to make radical changes. I’ll avoid a full political detour, though I’m disheartened by the rise of the right and how often “ordinary people” are reminded of their place. (My youngest son calls me a champagne socialist – perhaps not entirely unfairly.)

Still, AI presents us with a rare opportunity to do things differently.

But instead of rethinking how work and value are distributed, we’re told to brace for disruption. The current narrative is that AI is coming for our jobs. Or a variation on that theme: “Don’t worry,” we’re told, “it won’t take your job – but someone using AI might”. That line’s often repeated. It’s catchy. But it’s also glib – and not always true.

I’m close enough to retirement that the disruption shouldn’t hit me too hard. But for my children’s generation? The impact could be massive.

What if we taxed the agents?

So here’s a thought: what if we taxed the AI agents?

If a business creates an agent to do the work a person would normally do – or could reasonably do – then that agent is taxed, like a human worker would be. It’s still efficient, still scalable, but the benefits are shared.

And, how would we live, if the jobs go away? That’s where Universal Basic Income (UBI) comes in (funded by taxes on agents, as well as on human effort).

Put simply, UBI provides everyone with enough to cover their basic needs – no strings attached. People can still work (and many will). For extra income. For purpose. For contribution. It just doesn’t have to be 9-to-5, five days a week. It could be four. Or two. The work would evolve, but people wouldn’t be left behind. It also means that the current, complex, and often unjust benefits system could be removed (perhaps with some exceptions, but certainly for the majority).

What could possibly go right?

So yes, the conversation around AI is full of what could go wrong. But what if we focused on what could go right?

We’ve got a window here – a rare one – to rethink work, contribution, and value. But we need imagination. And leadership. And a willingness to ask who benefits when the machines clock in.

Further reading on UBI

If you’re interested in UBI and how it might work in practice, here are some useful resources:

Featured image: author’s own.