Like many people in the glorious West, I have been playing with the latest Chinese innovation. I say innovation — what we really mean is copy. They have taken information from OpenAI and used it to make their own cheaper version. Turns out OpenAI is not that open. They shouldn’t even have been looking.
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What’s worse is they stole my information, which OpenAI had already stolen from me! Maybe two wrongs do make a right — like a double negative.

When I told people I was playing with DeepSeek, they looked aghast. They warned me that the Chinese would use my information and do terrible things. I laughed at their concerns. They said our government and the people who sell OpenAI services had said it was very bad and dangerous.

“Was it worse than TikTok?” I replied.
“Even worse,” they said.

I ignored them. I don’t vote for these governments, so why should I believe a word they say? That’s democracy. Suck it up.

I went ahead and used DeepSeek. It was OK. It’s software. It works. Mostly. It occasionally goes blank and says…

“Sorry, that’s beyond my current scope. Let’s talk about something else.”

It says that whenever I mention a taboo subject. Fortunately, I mostly talk about female fashion and chocolate, so it doesn’t come up much.
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But the other day, something went very wrong.

I have a mind that works against me. When there is something taboo, part of my brain accepts that. The other part doesn’t.

“Write about it,” says Bad Brain.
“Please don’t,” says Nice Brain.

Bad Brain always wins. It is not my fault.

Bad Brain had an idea. Write a fun spoof about a replica Tiananmen Square being set up in Hong Kong. A sort of Disney-style theme park where people could re-enact the man in front of a tank or other such scenes. You could buy t-shirts and souvenirs like a Xi Jinping pin cushion.

I thought it was fun, so I created a small masterpiece and gave it to DeepSeek for proofing. The screen cleared, and a cute wagging finger emoji appeared.

I gave up with DeepSeek and ran it through ChatGPT.

“That’s brilliant,” it said, and gave me a month’s free subscription.
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I published it and thought no more about it.

Wednesday is my take-out day. I usually have a Chinese — prawn crackers, chicken curry, and chips. I am a food adventurer. Within limits.

I went to my local restaurant and placed my order. There was a problem accepting payment.

Two men in shades appeared and asked me to accompany them behind the counter.

“I’d forgotten the fried rice,” I thought as we entered a private room.

I tried to explain I was on a diet, but they were not concerned with my order.

I was made to sit at a small table with my hands handcuffed to the chair. It seemed slightly odd. Normally, I just order, pay, and collect within five minutes.

One of them placed my Tiananmen Square piece in front of me. He wagged his finger, just like the emoji.

I shrugged in emoji fashion.

“Forget the fried rice,” I said, making a satirical comment which went past them.

It was no laughing matter. They explained how I could be whisked from there to Beijing without anyone noticing. I had to sign a contract agreeing to delete my article and keep quiet on pain of pain.
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I am a proud free Englishman. My country has conquered the world, fought the Nasties in the Second World War, started the first one, and generally got our own way through centuries. I sing Rule, Britannia! before breakfast each day and salute the King’s picture before bedtime.

Do you think two stooges are going to put the frighteners on me?

I signed the paper. There’s history, freedom, and pride — and then there are two large unsmiling gentlemen in a dark room with you in handcuffs.
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They let me go with a warning.

So why don’t I republish and be damned?
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From my window, I have a clear view of the street. A small BYD electric car now regularly parks a little way up the road. It has a wagging finger emoji on the bonnet.