Douglas Ireland

Tag: UK politics

  • Fugitives in the Pasta Aisle: The Extreme Measures Needed to Protect Your Privacy

    Soundtrack to this post.

    Last month, I wrote about evicting “Big Data” from my digital life. I migrated my entire digital ecosystem onto my own server. It went far beyond simple file storage; I now host my own search engine, media streaming, location tracking, and full personal cloud, reclaiming my digital sovereignty from the likes of Google and Microsoft. It was a technical challenge, but it was a battle I could win. If you own the hardware, you own the rules.

    Stuck in a hospital bed, I have been researching how to apply that same logic to my weekly shop. This is not just an intellectual exercise. When I am discharged, I will be unable to drive for several months. My usual freedom to choose where I spend my money will be gone, shrinking my world down to walking distance. That leaves me with exactly one option: the Tesco just down the road. I would not normally choose them, but geography has made me a captive audience. Hoping to reclaim some agency, I thought I could code a solution from here, but I found the reality is far less forgiving.

    The physical token of the data tax. To access the standard price, you must carry the tracker. – “The Tesco Clubcard containing contactless technology, and the keyfobs” by Marccoton, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

    We are all familiar with the “Clubcard Price.” You walk down the aisle for coffee or olive oil and see two prices. The first is a reasonable £6.50. The second, for non-members, is a punitive £11.00. For years, we have been trained to view the lower price as a reward, a discount for loyalty. But let us be honest about what this really is. It is not a discount. It is a Data Tax. The £11.00 is a fine you pay for refusing to hand over your identity.

    I had a plan to circumvent this. Being a problem-solver, I thought about launching a service on this site: a “Communal Clubcard.” The idea was simple and socialist in nature. We would share communal cards, pooling our collective bargaining power to get the lower prices without giving Tesco our individual shopping histories. We would pollute their data stream with noise and reclaim the discount.

    It turns out, they are way ahead of me.

    I looked into the logistics, and the pitfalls are designed specifically to crush this kind of collective action. Tesco now uses “velocity checks” to detect if a card is used in Glasgow and London within the same hour, instantly locking the account. They have updated their scanners to reject screenshots of barcodes. They are phasing out physical cards in favour of apps that generate rotating, expiration-prone QR codes.

    They have not just made it difficult to share; they have engineered the system to ensure a one-to-one surveillance ratio. They do not just want a customer to buy the beans; they need to know that Douglas Ireland bought the beans, at what time, and what he bought alongside them.

    This brings me to a depressing realisation. I can self-host my email. I can self-host my photos. But I cannot self-host my groceries.

    In the digital world, open-source software like Nextcloud offers an escape hatch. If you have the skills and the patience, you can opt out of the surveillance economy. In the physical world, that escape hatch is being welded shut. The supermarkets have established a monopoly not just on food, but on the terms of exchange.

    There is a workaround, but it borders on spycraft. To avoid the tracking, I would need to set up a “burner” account with a fake name and a masked email address. Crucially, I would have to pay in cash every single time. If I were to slip up once and use my debit card, their systems could link that payment token to the burner account, retroactively tying every bag of pasta and pint of milk to my real identity.

    Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon (1791). A prison design where the inmates are constantly watched but cannot see the observer; the perfect metaphor for the modern supermarket aisle. – Plan of the Panopticon by Jeremy Bentham (1843), via Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain.

    Is this what privacy has become? A luxury good available only to those willing to act like fugitives in the pasta aisle?

    There is a profound inequality here. We often talk about the “poverty premium,” where being poor costs more (prepayment meters, high-interest loans). We are now seeing the emergence of a “privacy premium.” If you can afford to pay the non-member price, you get to keep your data. If you are struggling with the cost of living, you are forced to sell your privacy just to afford the basics.

    My attempt to build a communal alternative failed because the system is rigged against anonymity. But it was a useful failure. It highlighted that the fight for data sovereignty is not just about servers and code. It is about the right to exist in public spaces without being tracked, indexed, and profiled.

    I might have secured my digital home, but outside the front door, the company town is bigger than ever. And for now, it seems I have to choose between my principles and the price of olive oil.

    I am stuck paying the premium for now. If any readers have found a viable solution, I would be very interested to read about it below or on my Keep in Touch page.

  • Let Scotland Go: A Kindness to Both Nations

    Well, this isn’t how I planned to spend my evening. I’m writing this from a hospital bed, thanks to a sudden issue with my right eye. It’s nothing serious, but it does mean I’m stuck here overnight. No access to my VPS terminal, no proper keyboard, just me, my thoughts, and a surprisingly comfortable NHS bed. And since I’ve got time to kill, I might as well write. Again.

    First off, let’s talk about the NHS. It’s not perfect, but it’s a bloody marvel. Free at the point of use, staffed by people who actually care, and despite years of underfunding and mismanagement, still managing to keep people alive and relatively well. I’m grateful for it. We all should be. So, if you’re reading this and you’re English, remember that the next time someone tries to tell you Scotland’s better off without independence. The NHS is one of the best arguments for why the UK should work. But it’s also a reminder of how badly Westminster can mess things up when it wants to.

    Right, now that’s out of the way, let’s get to the point. Why should the English support Scottish independence? I’m English myself, by the way. Grew up near Manchester, moved to Scotland ten years ago. And I’ve always believed in independence for Scotland. Not because I don’t like being English, but because I think it’s the right thing to do. So, let’s break it down.

    Democracy Actually Working

    Scotland votes one way. England votes another. And yet, Scotland gets dragged along with whatever England wants. That’s not democracy, is it? It’s like being in a flat share where one person always picks the TV programme, even when everyone else wants to watch something different. At some point, you’ve got to ask why you’re even sharing a flat.

    Scottish independence isn’t about nationalism in the flag-waving, chest-thumping sense. It’s about having a government that actually reflects the people it serves. Scotland’s more left-leaning. It’s more progressive on social issues. It’s greener. And yet, it’s stuck with a Westminster government that doesn’t give a toss about any of that. So, if you’re English and you believe in democracy, you should support Scotland’s right to choose its own path.

    A Greener Future

    Scotland’s got ambitious climate targets. It’s investing in renewables like it’s going out of fashion (which, let’s be honest, fossil fuels should be). But Westminster’s dragging its feet. More runways, more roads, more North Sea oil. It’s like trying to run a marathon with someone tying your shoelaces together.

    An independent Scotland could set its own environmental policies. It could push harder for wind, wave, and tidal energy. It could show the rest of the UK what a proper green transition looks like. And if you’re English and you care about the planet, wouldn’t you want that?

    Brexit (Yes, Still)

    Let’s not pretend Brexit’s going well. It’s not. Scotland voted to stay in the EU. It got dragged out anyway. And now it’s stuck with the economic fallout, the trade barriers, the whole mess. Independence would give Scotland the chance to rejoin the EU. To rebuild those trade links. To be part of a bigger, cooperative project again.

    If you’re English and you’re still clinging to the idea that Brexit was a good thing, fine. But if you’re one of the many who’ve spent the last few years watching in horror as the economy tanks and the government flails, why wouldn’t you want Scotland to have a way out?

    A Left-Wing Alternative

    Scotland’s politics are different. The SNP’s not perfect, but it’s miles ahead of Westminster on social issues, welfare, and public services. Labour’s resurgence in England? Great. But Scotland’s already got a left-leaning government. It’s just being held back by Westminster.

    An independent Scotland could be a proper left-wing alternative. It could show that another way is possible. Higher taxes for the rich, proper investment in public services, a real commitment to reducing inequality. If you’re English and you’re sick of the same old Westminster politics, wouldn’t you want to see that happen?

    It’s Not About Separation, It’s About Choice

    This is the big one. Supporting Scottish independence isn’t about wanting to break up the UK for the sake of it. It’s about recognising that Scotland should have the choice. That it should be able to decide its own future. And if you believe in self-determination, in the right of people to govern themselves, then you should support that.

    And here’s the thing: it’s not like Scotland and England would become enemies. We’d still be neighbours. We’d still trade, still cooperate, still share a history. But Scotland would finally have the chance to build the kind of country it wants to be.

    So, What Now?

    If you’re English and you’re reading this, think about it. Scottish independence isn’t a threat. It’s an opportunity. For Scotland, yes, but for England too. It’s a chance to rethink what the UK is, what it could be. To move away from this centralised, London-dominated mess and towards something better.

    And if you’re Scottish? Well, keep pushing. Keep making the case. Because independence isn’t just about nationalism. It’s about building a fairer, greener, more democratic country. And who wouldn’t want that?

    (Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to try and get some sleep in this very bright, very noisy hospital ward.)

  • Seizing the Means of Connection

    Soundtrack to this post.

    As we enter 2026, many of us are making the usual resolutions to spend less time on our screens or eat more healthily. My resolution is different. I am not trying to spend less time on the internet; I am trying to change how I inhabit it. I am moving “Big Data” out of my life and moving my digital existence onto my own Virtual Private Server (VPS).

    Image: Warded lock
    by Thegreenj
    via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0. A threshold to a digital space that belongs to you, not a billionaire.

    This sounds like a technical project, but it is fundamentally a political one. For years, we have lived in digital company towns. We do not own the square where we speak; corporations do. We saw this reality on full display at the start of this year. Men like Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg were not just guests at Donald Trump’s second inauguration. They were right at the front, seated in positions of honour that were traditionally reserved for family and cabinet members. It was a clear signal of the increasingly close bond between political power and the billionaire owners of the digital platforms we use every day. We do not own our memories or our data; we merely rent space from them. We have become tenants on digital land that can be sold, gated off, or strip-mined for AI training data at a moment’s notice.

    Aaron Swartz spent his life fighting to liberate knowledge and he understood these power dynamics perfectly. He famously said that information is power. But he also knew that like all power, there are those who want to keep it for themselves.

    Right now, that power is concentrated in a few corporate boardrooms. They treat our data as a raw material to be extracted, which is a modern version of the old enclosures that fenced off the physical commons centuries ago. By self-hosting, we are rejecting this new feudalism. We are stating that our words and connections are not commodities to be monetised by billionaires.

    This is especially vital as we enter the era of AI. If AI is going to eliminate jobs, we have to ask what the new economy will actually look like. In a world where human labour is replaced by machine intelligence, data becomes the primary resource. It is the fuel that runs the entire system. The question of who controls that data is the question of who holds the power in a post-scarcity world.

    In his 1930 essay, “Economic Possibilities for Our Grandchildren,” John Maynard Keynes predicted that by 2030, technological progress would allow us to work only fifteen hours per week. He believed we would have solved the “economic problem” and would instead be grappling with how to spend our newfound leisure time. We are almost at that 2030 deadline, yet the fifteen-hour week feels further away than ever.

    Replacing work should be a good thing. Most people only work because they are paid to do so. But Keynes’s vision failed because the gains from productivity were not distributed; they were captured. If the data that powers the AI future stays in private hands, we will not get leisure. We will get a deeper kind of dependency. Reclaiming our data is the first step in ensuring that a world without work is a world of freedom, not just one of mass unemployment and corporate control.

    There is a misconception that data sovereignty is only for the technical elite. That is no longer the case. The tools to reclaim your data, such as the open-source platform Nextcloud, are now mature and accessible to anyone with a little curiosity. You do not need a computer science degree to stop being a product.

    Admittedly, it is a little less convenient. You have to manage your own backups and occasionally learn how a new piece of software works. However, that small amount of friction is worth the reward. It is the difference between buying a microwave meal and cooking from scratch. When you cook for yourself, you know exactly what is in the pot. You know where the ingredients came from, and you are no longer at the mercy of a corporation’s supply chain.

    You also get to eat in peace. When you host your own services, the advertising disappears. You are no longer being shouted at by brands or tracked by algorithms trying to sell you back a version of yourself. You gain a sense of resilience, a cleaner digital environment, and a deeper understanding of the tools you use every day.

    There is also a hidden environmental cost to the Big Tech model. Because their business relies on extracting and storing every possible scrap of our data to train AI, they have built an infrastructure that is staggeringly wasteful. These data centres consume vast amounts of power and water just to maintain the digital landfill they use for profit. Choosing to self-host is a way to reject that waste. It allows for a more conscious, lean way to live online. When you only host what you actually need, you are practising a form of digital conservation. It is a radical choice that proves “small is beautiful” applies just as much to our servers as it does to our communities.

    My resolution for 2026 is to stop being a digital tenant and become an owner. In a world where every part of our identity is for sale, keeping something for yourself is a revolutionary act.

    Oh, and I’m quitting vaping too, because one form of cloud hosting is probably enough for one year.

  • Public Broadcasting, Private Burden

    I believe in public service broadcasting.

    The idea of a well-funded, independent broadcaster providing education, culture, news, and entertainment for everyone, regardless of income, is something worth protecting. That’s why I support the principle of the BBC.

    But I don’t support the TV licence as a way to fund it.

    A Flat Tax in Disguise

    Right now, the licence fee is £174.50 a year. It’s the same for everyone, whether you’re a millionaire or struggling to make ends meet. That’s not fair.

    It’s effectively a flat tax. Flat taxes always hit those with the least the hardest. In a cost-of-living crisis, expecting someone on minimum wage or Universal Credit to pay the same as someone on a six-figure salary makes no sense.

    To make things worse, failure to pay can lead to criminal prosecution. Every year, thousands of people, mostly women, end up in court over this. It’s outdated and punitive.

    There’s a Better Way

    I think the BBC should be funded through general taxation. That would mean:

    • Everyone still contributes, but those with more would pay more
    • No need for aggressive letters or enforcement officers
    • No criminal records for watching TV
    • Lower admin costs
    • A more equal and modern system

    Several countries have already moved in this direction. Norway, Finland, and Sweden all fund their public broadcasters through income tax. The BBC could do the same if the political will existed.

    It’s Not About Opting Out

    To be clear, I don’t watch live TV or BBC iPlayer, so I don’t need a licence. But I shouldn’t have to keep declaring that. I don’t have to tell Netflix I’m not a customer, or Sky, or The Times. The BBC should be publicly funded, not presume everyone owes them unless proven otherwise.

    I’ll always support public service broadcasting. Just not through a system that punishes the poor to protect the rich.

  • What’s Got You Most Hyped for a Reform UK Government?

    What are people actually looking forward to if Reform wins the next General Election and forms a government?

    Is it the generous tax cuts that will inevitably gut public services across the country, leading to the slow dismantling of everything from libraries to local councils, already held together by little more than duct tape and goodwill?

    Maybe it’s the vision of a skeleton Civil Service, hollowed out in the name of “efficiency,” where job cuts are spun as progress and oversight becomes optional.

    How about the long-rumoured privatisation of the NHS? Selling off the very institution people clap for, while quietly preparing us to pay American prices for insulin and A&E visits?

    Perhaps you’re excited for chlorine-washed chicken and hormone-laced beef, as British food standards are sacrificed for post-Brexit trade deals that no one asked for.

    There’s also the small matter of workers’ rights. What could be more liberating than losing your right to union protection, fair dismissal processes, or sick pay?

    Then there’s the slow erosion of bodily autonomy, with hard-won reproductive rights under threat, framed as a return to “traditional values.”

    And we can’t forget the overt bigotry that appears regularly in the words and tweets of many Reform candidates. This seems to be a feature, not a bug.

    So I ask again, in all seriousness, with just a touch of sarcasm:

    What is it you’re most looking forward to when Reform takes the reins?

    Because I suspect the people clapping them into power may not be ready for what happens when the applause stops and the policies begin.

    I’d love to hear your thoughts.
    Do you agree, disagree, or have your own worries about a Reform government? Drop a comment below and let’s talk about it.