Category: The Conversation – UK

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Victoria-Elliot Bush, PhD Candidate, Linguistics, Queen Mary University of London

I’m not surprised that Talk Like Yoda Day exists. Over 40 years since his Star Wars debut (puppeteered and voiced by Frank Oz), Yoda remains a recognisable figure in pop culture. This is in part due to his distinctive and frequently imitated version of English.

What stands out about Yoda’s speech is his unusual word order. Think of some of his most famous lines: “Patience you must have, my young Padawan” and “Your path you must decide”. This is clearly not the typical English word order, but it’s not random either. Yoda’s word order mirrors the syntax of British Sign Language (BSL). By building your sentences like Yoda, you can master a key aspect of BSL grammar.

In Yoda’s sentences, the topic comes first. In linguistics, the topic of the sentence is the word or phrase that represents what the sentence is about. The other parts of the sentence provide extra details on this topic. Through a syntactic process called topicalisation, the topic is brought to the front of the sentence.

Topicalisation is uncommon in English, but can be used for emphasis. Generally, English sentences follow this word order: subject then verb then object. For example: Anna (subject) ate (verb) a biscuit (object). What is the topic of this sentence? In fact, it could be any of those sentence elements. It depends on which information the speaker thinks is most important.

If the speaker wishes to place emphasis on what they have chosen as the topic of the sentence, topicalisation is a useful tool. Consider the difference between these two sentences:

The biscuit was eaten by Anna.

It was Anna who ate the biscuit.

In the first sentence, what was eaten is important. In the second sentence, who ate the biscuit is important.

Topicalisation is closely linked with question words – who, what, where, why and sometimes how. Each of these questions picks out a different topic. If you were asked, “What did Anna eat?”, it would probably feel odd to answer, “It was Anna who ate the biscuit”. This is because the topic of that response focuses on who, not what. Subconsciously, on a linguistic level, we understand what the topic of the answer should be, even though we may not be used to thinking about sentences in terms of topics.

There is an important difference between topicalisation in English and how Yoda structures his sentence. For Yoda, topicalisation only involves moving the topic; the rest of the word order remains intact. Yet, in English, we need some extra words to facilitate the topic moving. In English, it sounds much more natural to say, “Patience is what you must have, my young Padawan”, although this is very unlike Yoda.

Yoda and BSL

British Sign Language (BSL) is the primary or preferred language of the British Deaf community. There are around 151,000 BSL users, of whom 87,000 are deaf.

A common misconception is that BSL has the same grammar as English. BSL has its own syntax, separate from English and from other sign languages. BSL is what linguists call a topic-comment language. A sentence commonly starts with the topic and is then followed by further details that build on the topic, known as the comment.

No matter whether the topic is a subject, verb or object, it comes first. So, how can you sign the sentence “Anna ate a biscuit”? Using our question words as a guide, we can identify three possible topics: Who ate the biscuit? What did Anna do? What did Anna eat? For each of these scenarios, you sign the topic first, followed by the rest of the sentence:

BSL: Anna eat biscuit.

(Translation: “It was Anna who ate the biscuit.”)

BSL: Eat biscuit Anna.

(Translation: “What Anna did was eat the biscuit.”)

BSL: Biscuit Anna eat.

(Translation: “It was a biscuit that Anna ate.”)

As with Yoda’s English, in BSL, topicalisation elegantly rearranges the elements in the sentence, without the need for extra words. As well as a prominent position, topics can be marked with so-called “non-manual features”, such as a head nod or widened eyes during the topic sign, or a pause after signing the topic.

The topic-comment structure is a very important aspect of BSL grammar. Unfortunately, it is something that hearing learners can struggle to use consistently. In the worst case, you may feel tempted to give up and use English word order instead. But this isn’t BSL, and it could make your signing unclear and difficult to follow for a Deaf person.

Learning a language with a different grammar might seem difficult, but it is associated with many benefits for the brain, such as increased creativity and improved working memory. It is an opportunity to think about how to express your thoughts differently, which might develop your creative problem solving.

Language is also a powerful social and cultural tool for connecting with other people. In 2021, a survey by the Royal National Institute for Deaf People found that people who are deaf or have hearing loss are twice as likely to experience mental health problems compared to people without hearing loss. The survey reported that nearly 47% of respondents felt excluded in everyday life and 33% felt lonely. By learning some BSL, you are working towards making our society more inclusive of people who are deaf.

Rather than getting lost with verb or subject order, remember: talk like Yoda. Start with what is the most important part of the sentence and then provide details. As I’m sure the wise Yoda would agree, sign language learn you should.

Victoria-Elliot Bush does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Why talking like Yoda can help you to master British Sign Language – https://theconversation.com/why-talking-like-yoda-can-help-you-to-master-british-sign-language-282789

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Noemi Procopio, Professor of Forensic Sciences, School of Law and Policing, University of Lancashire

In the early 1990s, crime-loving television audiences could choose mainly between cozy, fictional detective series such as Columbo and Murder, She Wrote. The US docuseries Unsolved Mysteries brought a few real cold-case investigations to light, but coverage of forensic science on screen was still relatively simple.

Then, in May 1991, The Silence of the Lambs was released. Based on Thomas Harris’s 1988 novel, this big-budget thriller was darker, more disturbing and psychologically complex than most crime films of the time.

The protagonist, FBI trainee Clarice Starling (played by Jodie Foster), is a young woman working in a predominantly male environment – who is often underestimated by her colleagues. When she discovers key evidence through a suspenseful process of extraction from a young victim’s mouth, viewers are introduced to a field of criminal investigation they may never have considered before: forensic entomology.

Some kind of seed pod?

No, sir … that’s a bug cocoon.

Entomology – the scientific study of insects – is one of the oldest branches of the natural sciences. And the application of insects to criminal cases dates back almost as far. In the forensic text The Washing Away of Wrongs (1247), written by Chinese investigator Sung T’zu, flies attracted to traces of blood on a sickle helped identify a murderer.

However, it was not until the late 19th century that forensic entomology was formalised as a scientific discipline – thanks largely to the studies of Jean Pierre Mégnin. Influenced by his experiences on the battlefield, the French vet began investigating which insects were attracted to animal and human remains at different stages of decomposition.

These days, carrion insects are used to tell criminal investigators about the time since a victim’s death, whether their body has been moved, and if any drugs or toxins have contributed to their death.

Human remains are commonly colonised by blowflies and their maggots. But in The Silence of the Lambs, Starling was faced with something more unusual: the cocoon of a death’s-head hawkmoth (Acherontia atropos).

The cocoon, which the serial killer inserts into his victims’ throats, is identified by two entomologists who are clearly not forensically trained. Otherwise, they would have thought twice before cutting open the only piece of insect evidence without seeking permission for such a destructive analysis.

The film introduces murderous concepts such as “staging” – the intentional alteration of a crime scene – and a perpretrator’s modus operandi and criminal signature, relating to any distinctive methods they use.

Today, many of us working in forensic entomology and taphonomy (the study of what happens to organisms between death and discovery) are still told our work is “just like The Silence of the Lambs”. But 35 years after the film’s release, forensic entomology is no longer limited to microscopes, forceps and entomologists working alone.

Today’s criminal investigations often feature complex interactions between environmental conditions, decomposition processes and human activity. This makes collaborations between multiple scientific (and non-scientific) disciplines essential.

How the science has progressed

In the two decades preceding the film’s release, the biomedical and life sciences journal PubMed listed 37 publications on the subject of forensic entomology. Since then, there have been more than 1,800.

Methods used for insect identification and age estimation have changed dramatically. Today, molecular and chemical techniques can identify insect species and determine their stage in the lifecycle and geographic origin. These techniques are especially useful in cold cases or poorly preserved crime scenes, where samples may have been damaged or improperly stored.

Insects are also playing an increasingly accurate role in determining the time of death. As well as feeding on decomposing remains, they help spread the bacteria and other microorganisms involved in decomposition. These microbial communities change in predictable ways over time – even in extreme environmental scenarios – offering investigators a further indicator of the postmortem interval.

Chemical profiling of insect cuticular hydrocarbons (insect skin) provide definitive species and age signatures. These can reduce the risk of error associated with identification by people, and the time and costs of DNA sequencing.

Forensic entomology has also expanded into areas such as entomotoxicology, where insects feeding on decomposing remains are analysed for the presence of drugs, toxins or other chemical compounds. It is even possible to recover the DNA of the individual on whom an insect has been feeding directly from that insect’s gut contents.

In The Silence of the Lambs, investigators assume that “water leaves no trace evidence of any kind”. Yet today, aquatic forensic researchers examine not only insects but crustaceans, microorganisms and bone proteins associated with decomposing remains in water.

Revisiting the moth cocoon scene

The film’s infamous moth cocoon scene – which saw the extracted evidence collected with forceps, then taken for visual inspection at a museum – would be approached rather differently today.

Firstly, spoons are now recommended over forceps to avoid damaging the sample. Modern forensic practice aims to preserve specimens by taking photographs before any manipulation. Where possible, insects are reared to the adult stage which is often easier to identify with certainty.

Rather than opening the cocoon, it could be compared as is with museum reference collections or analysed using technology such as hyperspectral imaging. This would confirm the species and estimate its developmental stage without altering the evidence.

Many high-profile cases, including some wrongful convictions, have demonstrated how forensic entomology can be a key tool in the investigation of current and historical crimes – as well as of natural disasters and war crimes.

However, technological advances are not enough. The reliability of forensic entomology depends on appropriate crime scene protocols, evidence collection, ongoing research and, perhaps most importantly, specialist training and attention to detail. These qualities are certainly embodied by agent Starling.

But there is another major difference since the film came out in 1991. Unlike Starling’s experience, women now represent a major part of the forensic science workforce. They contribute to a discipline that has become far more diverse, collaborative and scientifically advanced than the one portrayed in The Silence of the Lambs.

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This article features a reference to a book included for editorial reasons, and a link to bookshop.org. If you click on this link and go on to buy something from bookshop.org, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Noemi Procopio receives funding from UK Research and Innovation (UKRI) via a Future Leaders Fellowship, from National Institute of Justice (NIJ), and from Science and Technology in Policing.

Paola A. Magni does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. The Silence of the Lambs introduced the world to forensic entomology – but how much has the science changed since? – https://theconversation.com/the-silence-of-the-lambs-introduced-the-world-to-forensic-entomology-but-how-much-has-the-science-changed-since-283243

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Chris Seenan, Senior Lecturer in Physiotherapy, University of Stirling

In a 2026 study I conducted with colleagues on people with peripheral arterial disease, one participant described how leg pain had disrupted his golf for years. It forced him to stop mid-round, shake his leg and apologise to his playing partners while he waited for the pain to pass. He found it mortifying. Then he tried a small electrical device that delivered gentle pulses through pads stuck to his skin. He still had pain. But he could get round the course.

When we measured his walking on a treadmill, we found no improvement. He had not noticed. That was not the outcome that mattered to him. Before the study ended, he had already gone out and ordered his own device.

A different participant reached the opposite conclusion. The pain was still there when he used the device, he said. It had not done him any good. And he was right, in a narrow sense. The device had not eliminated his pain. What it had done was reduce its intensity and delay its onset, allowing him to walk measurably further. His expectation of complete relief meant that genuine, partial relief felt like failure. He concluded the treatment did not work.

The study did not tell a simple story of success or failure. For some participants, standard treadmill measures did not capture what had changed in daily life. For others, measurable improvements still failed to feel meaningful because they fell short of what the person had hoped for. The difference was not only the treatment, or the severity of their condition. It was what each person had been led to expect.

Recognising relief

Both men were living with peripheral arterial disease, a condition caused by a build-up of fatty deposits inside the arteries that supply the legs. It affects an estimated 236 million people worldwide. Its hallmark symptom is a cramping pain in the calf during walking that eases with rest. Over time, it can shrink a person’s world, limiting independence and increasing the risk of serious cardiovascular problems.

The recommended first-line treatment is supervised exercise therapy: structured exercise sessions led by trained professionals. But in many countries, access to supervised exercise therapy remains patchy and under-resourced. That gap is fertile territory for the wellness market.

Transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation, or Tens, delivers small electrical impulses through electrode pads on the skin to interfere with pain signals travelling to the brain. There is evidence that it can help with some kinds of pain, and it is used in hospital pain management settings. It is not a wellness product. In our study, we explored what happened when people with peripheral arterial disease used TENS independently at home, outside the controlled conditions of a clinical trial.

The findings point to something standard clinical tests rarely capture. Expectation can shape whether useful relief is recognised as useful.

That finding matters well beyond this particular device or condition. The global wellness industry is worth over a trillion dollars and operates with minimal regulatory oversight. People living with painful long-term conditions are among its most heavily targeted consumers. Companies sell electrical stimulation devices, supplements and wearable gadgets to people in chronic pain, using influencer testimonials in place of evidence and social media algorithms to reach people who are frightened, frustrated or in pain.

When a product fails to deliver the transformation it promised, patients rarely conclude they were misled. They conclude that nothing can help them. In conditions where reduced physical activity carries real health consequences, that conclusion is not merely disappointing. It is dangerous.

Poor communication can hinder treatment results

This is where the study speaks to a much wider problem. Whether a person is using a clinical device, a wearable gadget or a supplement sold online, they are often asked to judge it against expectations they did not set for themselves. Even legitimate, clinically tested treatments can be undermined by poor communication about what to expect.

The golfer’s experience illustrates this clearly. He valued an outcome that no clinical trial had thought to measure: the ability to play a round of golf without humiliation. Once he understood the device could offer that, it worked for him. His fellow participant was never given the chance to find his equivalent.

A market built around selling hope is poorly equipped for that kind of honesty. But the same danger can appear even when the person giving advice has medical credentials. Research shows that even medically qualified doctors who become prominent wellness influencers on social media are subject to many of the same pressures as their unqualified counterparts: to build a personal brand, produce content constantly, stand out from competitors and make advice sound more certain than it really is. Having a medical degree does not make someone’s Instagram post better at managing a patient’s expectations. It just makes it more convincing.

What actually helps requires something platforms cannot provide: time, a genuine clinical relationship and communication that is not contingent on making a sale. It requires asking a patient not just whether their pain has reduced, but what they were hoping to do that pain had been stopping them from doing. It requires explaining that partial relief is still relief and that the outcome worth measuring might not be the one on the form.

That kind of honesty does not feature in any influencer’s discount code, medical degree or otherwise. But for the person who just wants to get round the golf course, it might be the most important part of the treatment.

Chris Seenan receives funding from the Chief Scientists Office of the Scottish Government, the National Institute for Health and Care Research and Scottish Heart & Arterial disease Risk Prevention charity.

– ref. Why managing expectations matters in chronic pain treatment – https://theconversation.com/why-managing-expectations-matters-in-chronic-pain-treatment-282746

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Benedicta Quaye, Lecturer in Anatomy, Lancaster University

Around one in every 100 people worldwide has vitiligo – a chronic, autoimmune skin condition that causes the skin to appear lighter in patches.

The number of people affected by vitiligo makes it one of the most common skin disorders. Several studies also suggest that many cases still remain undiagnosed, meaning the true number of people living with vitiligo may even be higher.

Yet despite how common vitiligo is, many misconceptions still surround the condition. People who have the condition still face stigma, intrusive questions and may experience lower wellbeing as a result.

What causes vitiligo?

The human skin has two layers. The outer epidermis (which we can all see) and the inner dermis (which lies underneath the epidermis).

Skin colour is primarily determined by melanin, a pigment produced by specialised cells known as melanocytes that are found within the epidermis. All humans have melanocytes, but the amount and type of melanin the skin produces varies naturally between people and populations. Melanin also contributes to hair and eye colour.

Vitiligo occurs when a person’s immune system mistakenly thinks their melanocytes are dangerous to the body. This causes the immune system to target these cells and destroy them, leading to a loss of pigment.

Vitiligo is initially triggered by either a person’s genetics or certain environmental factors, such as stress, severe sunburn and exposure to melanocytotoxic chemicals, which are found in some cosmetics and households items. These factors either trigger an immune response or cause damage to melanocytes. As melanocytes disappear, affected areas of skin lose pigment and become lighter or completely white.

Vitiligo can affect people of all ethnic backgrounds, ages and skin types. However, it’s often more noticeable in people with darker skin tones.

Vitiligo may appear anywhere on the body. Commonly affected areas include the face, hands, arms, eyes and mouth. Hair growing from affected skin may also lose colour.

Vitiligo can develop gradually or rapidly. While some people develop only a few small patches, others may develop more widespread de-pigmentation over time. Most commonly, patches appear on both sides of the body and spread over time (non-segmental vitiligo). But in rarer cases, patches only appear on one side of the body (segmental vitiligo).

Some people may also notice mild itching, tingling or burning, especially as new patches appear. The affected skin can also be more sensitive to sunlight due to reduced melanin.

Because vitiligo is linked to a dysfunctional immune system, people with the condition may be slightly more likely to develop other autoimmune conditions, such as thyroid disease and type 1 diabetes.

Currently, there are several treatment options for vitiligo. These aim to control disease progression and improve long-term skin appearance.

A misunderstood condition

Despite the fact that vitiligo affects so many people globally, misconceptions and stigma about the condition still persist.

Studies have found that some people continue to wrongly believe vitiligo is contagious, linked to poor hygiene or socially undesirable. This highlights ongoing gaps in public education.

Many people with vitiligo have to endure staring, judgment, intrusive comments and insensitive questions about their appearance – sometimes daily.

Model Winnie Harlow, who has vitiligo and has been candid about her experience with the condition, shared in a recent interview that as a child, parents told their children not to play with her because they might “catch her skin”. Harlow also experienced bullying throughout her school years.

Numerous reports have also highlighted experiences of anxiety, depression, social exclusion and even low self-esteem in people with vitiligo.

Skin colour plays a major role in the development of someone’s identity and affects feelings of integration, acceptance and belonging. Visible changes in pigmentation experienced by people with vitiligo also exposes them to societal or social stigmatisation, social exclusion, loss of employment opportunities or even intrusive questions.

Societal perception needs to be corrected because at its core, vitiligo is a condition rooted in cellular biology and immune dysfunction. Knowing this is crucial because it significantly affects how society responds to those affected with visible medical conditions such as vitiligo.

Benedicta Quaye does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Vitiligo affects around 1 in 100 people worldwide – yet the skin condition remains misunderstood – https://theconversation.com/vitiligo-affects-around-1-in-100-people-worldwide-yet-the-skin-condition-remains-misunderstood-282451

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Marcin Kaczmarski, Lecturer in Security Studies, University of Glasgow

Less than a week after hosting Donald Trump, China’s leader Xi Jinping welcomed his Russian counterpart, Vladimir Putin, to Beijing. Unlike Trump’s visit, this was a routine meeting. The Chinese and Russian presidents have met more than 40 times since 2013, with the latest meeting marking Putin’s 25th visit to China.

The frequency of talks is itself a testimony to the expanding scope of shared interests between the two states. And, as is typical for Sino-Russian summits, Xi and Putin signed an array of documents following their meeting in areas ranging from energy to higher education and the media.

Xi and Putin may be close, but their promises of further cooperation hardly mean the friendship between them has “no limits”.

Opposition to US global primacy has formed the foundation of Sino-Russian cooperation since the end of the cold war. In a 1997 statement, the two nations condemned the “forcing of the international community to accept a uni-polar world pattern”. While not explicitly naming the US, they also added that no single country should monopolise international affairs.

Xi and Putin reiterated this message in Beijing. They adopted a statement in which they vowed to build a multipolar world order and a “new type” of international relations. However, putting this rhetoric into practice has consistently proved a complex undertaking.

Moscow and Beijing often choose the easiest and least expensive way of opposing the US. They have focused primarily on blocking US-backed initiatives and geopolitical strategies by vetoing UN Security Council resolutions.

But they have stopped short of launching any major joint effort to challenge US power. This was illustrated by the muted response of both countries to the ousting of Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro in January, as well as their limited support for Iran in its war with the US and Israel.

One reason for this is the asymmetry in their capacity to help each other. Russia lacks the capacity to support China in the economic and technological domains, which are central to the Sino-American rivalry.

In terms of overcoming the US tariffs imposed on Chinese goods, Moscow can offer Beijing neither an alternative or much relief. The Russian market is not rich or attractive enough for Chinese companies, even before the possible fallout from secondary sanctions is considered.

Russia is also limited in its ability to help Beijing bypass US export controls designed to restrict China’s access to advanced technologies, from semiconductor manufacturing equipment to artificial intelligence hardware.

Western sanctions and recurrent failures to modernise the Russian economy have caused Russia to fall behind in the global technology race. And since 2022, Russia has been forced to rely on China for a number of technologies, from cars and laptops to 5G mobile networks.

China is in a different position. It has political, financial and economic means to support the Kremlin in its confrontation with the west. However, keen to preserve its own global interests, Beijing is highly selective in the support it provides to Moscow.

Chinese state propaganda mirrors Russian talking points and repeats Russia’s justification for its war in Ukraine, blaming the west and its “expansion” into former Soviet territories. China has also provided Russia with dual-use components like chips and fibre-optic cables without which the Kremlin could not sustain its war effort.

But, at the same time, China has refrained from providing lethal weapons to Russia. And Chinese armed forces that conduct regular exercises with their Russian counterparts and carry out joint air and naval patrols around Japan and South Korea, do not participate in similar activities in Europe.

China has also consistently delayed its final commitment to the proposed Power of Siberia-2 gas pipeline. The planned pipeline would transport additional natural gas from Siberia to China, partially compensating Russia’s loss of revenue from the European market.

The deepening asymmetry

Clearly, it is Beijing that dictates the pace of and areas for cooperation between the two countries. And Russia’s leadership seems ready to accept this “junior partner” status.

The Kremlin has sought to reconcile conflicting interests between Russia and China in recent years, particularly in central Asia, rather than challenge Beijing. For example, Moscow has remained silent on the presence of Chinese troops in Tajikistan, which was part of Russia’s former sphere of influence.

It helps that China treads carefully and puts substantial effort into creating the illusion of equality between itself and Russia. Despite the negative impact of Russia’s aggressive policy towards Ukraine on Chinese plans to work with Ukraine as part of the China-Europe railway transport corridor, for instance, Beijing has refrained from criticising Moscow’s conduct.

However, some Russians continue to see China as a threat. In recent years, several Russian scientists working on military programmes have been imprisoned following accusations of spying for China. The Russian government is itself also acutely aware of its deepening asymmetric dependence on Beijing.

It is nourishing ties with other Asian states, including countries like India and Vietnam that have historically had troubled relations with China. While China is an indispensable partner for Russia, Moscow looks to be wary of Beijing dominating east Asia and the Indo-Pacific.

Marcin Kaczmarski does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Xi and Putin tout ‘new type’ of world order in Beijing – but is their alliance really that strong? – https://theconversation.com/xi-and-putin-tout-new-type-of-world-order-in-beijing-but-is-their-alliance-really-that-strong-283333

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Roman Pavlyuchenko, Lecturer in Marketing, University of Bath

So now we know exactly what you get when you cross two distinct brands of Swiss watch-making, one affordable (Swatch) and one luxury (Audemars Piguet). You get a new model of watch that attracts massive hype, huge queues and brawling customers.

For £335, you might also get your hands on a colourful pocket watch. But first you’d have to brave the crowds.

The watches, manufactured as a collaboration (or “collab”) between the two companies, are available in selected Swatch stores, with purchases limited to one item per person, per day, per store.

And before the “Royal Pop” watch collection went on sale on May 16 2026, excitement was already high. On release day, police and security teams were deployed in some places, with a tear gas incident in Paris and fighting in Milan. In the UK and the US, Swatch responded to the intense demand by closing its stores.

A popular product then, and a very effective marketing campaign to go with it. For Swatch, it is the third collaboration with a luxury watch brand in recent years.

The first two (with Omega in 2022 and Blancpain in 2023) were also successful.

One reason for their success if that these partnerships allow consumers to own a little bit of elite watchmaking for a fraction of the cost (a “normal” Audemars Piguet could cost tens of thousands of pounds). Like a Louis Vuitton passport cover or a baseball cap made by Ferrari, it’s a token experience of an elite brand for those who can’t regularly afford them.

From a business communications perspective, it’s a way of introducing large groups of people to luxury brands. It’s similar to how luxury car brands like Aston Martin and Lamborghini license their cars for use in video games such as Forza Horizon or Gran Turismo.

Meanwhile, Swatch gets free press and a positive spin for its entire product portfolio.

Watch what you wish for

From a consumer perspective though, the picture is more complex. The recent frenzy over Swatch’s watches should not be dismissed as merely herd mentality, and nor can it be explained by a sudden surge in demand for mechanical timepieces.

Instead, our research suggests that the response is a clear manifestation of something we call the “enrichment economy” – the fact that if something is in short supply and in high demand, it can be resold at a decent profit.

The enrichment economy has long been a feature of the world of art and antiques, but has also become a familiar part of mass market goods. Swatch has simply followed the example of certain trainers, Pokémon cards, dolls, and Lego sets. For instance, the Lego Cloud City set (originally released in 2003 in limited quantities for about £100) now resells at close to £10,000.

Driven by the chance to make a quick but substantial buck, consumers go out of their way to buy certain products and then resell them for much more than they originally cost.

In the case of Swatch and Audemars Piguet, the evidence for that motivation is clear. The watches sell from the stores at £335, and are being almost immediately offered online for ten times that amount – or even more.

As with other economies, the enrichment economy is prone to periods of boom and bust. For instance, the market for second hand luxury watches, which experienced unprecedented demand a few years ago, has now hit a plateau, forcing resellers to discover new markets with greater investment potential.

So while Swatch is at the centre of the enrichment economy in mid-May 2026, it could easily and quickly be overtaken by another brand or object very soon. And as the cost of living crisis continues, it seems highly likely that the enrichment economy will only expand as people look for ways to supplement their incomes with various side-hustles.

In the meantime, our research also suggests that big brands can do their bit to prevent customers getting so excited that they end up fighting with each other over popular products at shop fronts.

They could, for example, allocate sales using an online lottery system. Or they could prioritise trusted and loyal customers and increase the availability of their merchandise.

From a business and PR perspective, though, Swatch may already have won. By turning the collaboration into a talking point – and making scarcity, controversy and curiosity all work in its favour – the brand is having the time of its life.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Swatch brawls: why are people fighting over pocket watches? – https://theconversation.com/swatch-brawls-why-are-people-fighting-over-pocket-watches-283295

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Tom Yarrow, Professor of Anthropology, Durham University

When John, a stonemason working at Glasgow Cathedral, finishes repairing a section, the highest praise he can receive is that no one notices. “When we get things that come together you just see a couple of wee bits of stone”, he explains. “You don’t actually see the work that went into it. But it’s satisfying getting it to all come back as if it’s never been touched.”

This is the paradox at the heart of skilled conservation work: the better you are at your job, the more invisible your efforts become. John spent years mastering complex stonecutting techniques precisely so his interventions will disappear. When all goes well, the building appears untouched.

We live in a culture that celebrates creativity, innovation and leaving your mark. Disruption is praised as the highest achievement. AI companies sell us on their power to generate novel content. Tech executives move fast and break things. Politicians advocate for glorious revolutions and talk of progress. Even on the right, conservativism has recently been given an increasingly radical inflection. In the UK, visions of reform tap into mainstream disaffection with the status quo. In the US the Trumpian hope that America can be “great again”, involves a similar vision of wholesale change. The result is that some of the most valuable forms of work often go unrecognised.

“There is a kind of love, called maintenance”, U.A. Fanthorpe wrote, in her 1995 poem, Atlas, a tribute to the many unseen acts that keep our domestic lives going. From paying bills, to home maintenance and the small acts of kindness that sustain filial relations, she highlights this “sensible side of love”. In a similar spirit, we want to highlight the undervalued work of maintaining and retaining what matters – as Fanthorpe puts it: “the permanently rickety elaborate structures of living”. From the relationships we maintain to the institutions we rely on, this kind of invisible labour shapes our lives in ways we don’t acknowledge and value as much as we ought.

Through ethnographic research with people engaged in the work of preservation, we’ve come to see that maintenance isn’t always passive. The more things change, the more it takes work to keep things the way they are. Often this is deliberate, thoughtful – and sometimes it’s profoundly difficult.

Discipline, not creativity

Stonemasons value discipline over creativity in their work. The real difficulty, they explain, is doing the same thing over and again: staving off boredom, keeping your mind on the task, carrying on when your fingers are numb with cold, repeating the same action, even when threatened with distraction.

Conservation architects describe their work in similar terms. One, who works for the national conservation agency in Scotland, contrasted his current role with previous work as a commercial architect. “Humility matters,” he said. “It’s important that you try and just ease back, because if you are quite an egotistical person, then that can cloud your decisions … you’ll cloud that by actually saying, ‘me, here’s my mark on the building!’”

The same orientation appears in other unexpected contexts. Think of the work involved in maintaining a functioning institution, like a school: the administrative and volunteer labour of a range of different types of people, the relationship-building between teachers and parents through parent teacher associations, the training of new staff in established practices and even something as basic as the repair of old equipment. None of that work shows up in political discourse as “reform”, “innovation”, or “progress”. It doesn’t change things or build anything new, and is often directed precisely at keeping something running more or less as it always has.

Many of us who’ve worked in institutions know that keeping something going can involve a great deal of time, effort, judgment and expertise.

Continuity and social life

The work of continuity also matters for our personal politics and social life. What would political discourse look like if we valued continuity as highly as innovation?

On both left and right, our political language is dominated by reform, progress, disruption and revolution. We lack an equivalent vocabulary to describe the deliberate work to keep things as they are. We tend to undervalue this work, in part because we fail to see when it happens. This is particularly so in the current moment, when narratives of broken Britain and general disaffection with the way things are, directs hope towards widespread, radical change. Even on the right, conservative political philosophies are increasingly presented as routes to profound transformation, whether as reform or restoration.

Preservation isn’t morally superior to reform, and this is not an argument against political change. Nor is it an argument for maintenance as inertia or inaction. Clearly feelings about broken Britain reflect real frustrations with dysfunctional institutions. Yet there is much about our political and social life that almost all of us would wish to preserve and sustain. Our point is precisely that such preservation can be active. Indeed, the more that things break or wear out, the harder and more necessary this work becomes.

Political and social life involves making choices about what to change and what to sustain. But when we only celebrate (or attack) transformation, creativity, and innovation we overlook the skilled, thoughtful work done with the aim of leaving (some) things as they are. Often, movement is needed in order to remain still. And if all we are offered is either disruptive change or wholesale reactionary resistance, we miss this.

A lack of change is not inherently a failure or an absence. Stonemasons have consciously and skilfully cultivated the ability to not innovate. Their work is difficult and important. But they are clear that its value is not captured in the language of “creativity”. They’ve learned something our innovation-obsessed culture has forgotten: that some of the most valuable human work lies not in making things new, but in the patient, humble, disciplined practice of helping what matters to endure.

Tom Yarrow received research funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Council and from a British Academy/Leverhulme small grant.

Paolo Heywood received research funding for part of this project from the European Research Council.

– ref. Should you embrace your inner stonemason? Why our constant desire for change needs a rethink – https://theconversation.com/should-you-embrace-your-inner-stonemason-why-our-constant-desire-for-change-needs-a-rethink-274239

Source: The Conversation – UK – By HaDi MaBouDi, Research fellow, University of Sheffield

Even advanced technology can struggle when the real world becomes unpredictable. In April 2026, a Waymo robotaxi in San Antonio, Texas, drove into a flooded lane during severe weather, prompting the company to recall about 3,800 vehicles for a software fix.

No one was injured, but the incident exposed a deeper challenge: intelligence is not just about processing data. It is about knowing where to look, what to notice, when to act and how to use previous experience when conditions change.

AI researchers are now looking at bees and other insects to help them design machines and robots that can make better decisions.

My research explores how bees learn, from identifying simple visual patterns to mastering high-level concepts, and how they adapt their behaviour when conditions change.

By combining behavioural experiments, neural recording (for example, measuring signals from the brain) and neuromorphic computing (an approach to computing inspired by the animal brain), my goal is to uncover the biological code that allows tiny brains to navigate a complex world and make efficient decisions. I have also worked in industry to translate these biological discoveries into robotic applications – bringing the intelligence of the hive to machine intelligence.

Research on honeybee decision making has shown that bees make rapid and accurate choices about whether to accept or reject flowers. They do not need perfect information. Instead, they combine sensory evidence, past experience and the likely value of a reward (for example, how much nectar they might gather).

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Many autonomous systems need to be able to do this. A robot exploring a greenhouse, warehouse or disaster zone cannot wait for perfect data. Bees offer a model based on flexible decisions and useful shortcuts rather than huge computation.

With brains smaller than a sesame seed, bees navigate long distances, move through cluttered landscapes, identify rewarding flowers, avoid danger, communicate with nestmates and make rapid decisions. They achieve this with a tiny fraction of the energy used by modern computers, and can learn after only a few experiences that a new colour, scent or pattern predicts food.

This makes the bee an unlikely blueprint for low-power, robust AI and autonomous systems that can cope with the real world.

Bees can multitask

Many AI systems are designed to do one task well, such as recognising an image, following a route or detecting an object. Robotics has a harder ambition: compact machines that handle many tasks in unpredictable environments while using little power.

Bees offer a working example. During one foraging trip, a bee must find food, stay orientated, avoid danger and update its choices from experience, all with a brain containing around one million neurons. They do this by combining vision, smell, touch, vibration and airflow. Rather than processing every detail, they fuse information streams and extract what matters for survival.

Bees are valuable for robotics because they show how a small system can coordinate many tasks without huge computing power. That principle could guide low-power autonomous systems for agriculture, search and rescue, environmental monitoring and planetary exploration.

Bees also show that intelligence depends not only on what an animal senses, but also on how it moves to gather and shape information. This idea, known as active sensing, could transform robotics. When a bee approaches a flower, it does not take a still image like a camera. It moves its head and body; changes angle and creates patterns of visual motion across its eyes. These movements help useful information stand out, allowing the bee to ignore irrelevant details. This is why bees do not need to remember a flower as a detailed image. They only need to learn the key cues that help them recognise it again. Movement becomes part of sensing.

That is different from many machine-vision systems, which passively analyse images. A small robot using the bee’s strategy would not need to process every pixel. It could move to make the scene easier to understand, shifting position to judge distance, turning to improve contrast or using motion to detect obstacles.

The lesson is simple: intelligence is less about processing everything and more about using the right strategy to find the right information at the right time.

For a foraging bee, a bad decision can be costly. Visiting the wrong flower after a long journey wastes time and energy. Taking too long can mean losing an opportunity or being exposed to danger. To solve this, bees use relatively simple neural circuits to make rapid, accurate and risk-aware decisions. They do not need a huge brain or vast computing power. Instead, this minimal circuit helps them quickly decide whether to reject a flower or land on it safely.

Navigation without a map

Navigation is another area where bees inspire engineers. Bees can travel several kilometres from the hive to food sources and return home using visual landmarks, distance estimates and memory. New research inspired by honeybee flights has shown how tiny drones could navigate using very small neural networks. In the study, a bee-inspired system called Bee-Nav allowed small robots to travel away from home and return using only a compact neural memory. Therefore, future drones may not need GPS, detailed maps or large onboard computers.

Instead, they may use compact memories of important views and simple movement rules. Such systems could be useful where GPS is unreliable, such as in forests, tunnels, greenhouses or collapsed buildings.

Many future machines, from small drones to farm robots and environmental sensors, will need to act without heavy batteries or constant cloud computing. Like bees, they will need simple navigation strategies that work with limited energy, memory and information.

The real lesson is broader: intelligence does not always require scale. As AI becomes more common in daily life, the bee offers an elegant answer to rising energy demands. For decades, the ambition of AI was to build systems that match the human mind, but the bee shows that smart does not have to mean big.

By mimicking the bee’s ability to learn fast, navigate without maps and integrate multiple sources of information, we may build technology that is more efficient, flexible and resilient.

HaDi MaBouDi does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. What AI taxis and robots can learn from bees – https://theconversation.com/what-ai-taxis-and-robots-can-learn-from-bees-283089

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Angus Harrison, Senior Lecturer in Law, The University of Law

The 46 countries bound by the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) have signed a new declaration on migration, setting out how they believe human rights law should apply to migration issues.

With the ECHR playing a contentious role in immigration discourse in the UK, the UK government trailed this declaration as a “more modern interpretation” of the ECHR that would help “restore order and control”. Yet the declaration may not change very much in practice.

The ECHR is a key human rights treaty signed by almost every European country, binding them to respect a list of fundamental rights. The European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg has the final say in interpreting what these rights require in practice.

Two ECHR rights are particularly important when it comes to immigration: Article 8 (the right to respect for private and family life), and Article 3 (the right to freedom from torture or inhuman treatment). This new declaration, signed in the Moldovan capital of Chișinău, follows a campaign by some countries, including the UK, to change the interpretation of these rights to make removing migrants easier. It does not remove the authority of the Strasbourg court on these issues, but is likely to influence it.

The right to family life

Article 8, the right to family life, is known as a “qualified right”. This means that governments can make decisions that interfere with it (such as deporting someone with family in the UK) to pursue aims like immigration control – so long as their actions are “proportionate” to their aims.

The UK government wants a “rebalancing” of this right, giving more weight to the “public interest” and less to offenders’ family ties. The Chișinău declaration says that Strasbourg should respect national governments’ views, intervening only very exceptionally.

In reality, however, the Strasbourg court has already been doing this for years. In 2017, the court held that as long as ECHR countries carefully weighed up all relevant factors, such as the extent of the person’s family life and nature of their offending, then, “it is not for the court to substitute its own assessment”.

The perception that Strasbourg hinders the UK on family life matters is aided by misinformation – for example, the extensively reported case of a criminal migrant who was supposedly allowed to remain in the UK because his son disliked the chicken nuggets abroad. This was, however, never the basis of the decision. The declaration may fuel headlines about closing a “chicken nugget loophole”, but no such loophole really existed.

Inhuman treatment

The other right up for reinterpretation is Article 3, covering torture or inhuman treatment. This is an “absolute” right, meaning states are forbidden from such treatment under any circumstances.

Strasbourg’s interpretation of this right in migration has caused a genuine problem for governments. An example is the recent case of Nicolas de Brito, who was wanted on murder charges in Brazil. After fleeing to the UK, he successfully challenged extradition because prison conditions in Brazil fell below Strasbourg’s standards for inhuman treatment, due to overcrowding. He was released to live and work in the UK, and the murder case in Brazil had to be shelved.

In my forthcoming research, I argue that results like this arise from a crucial mistake made by Strasbourg. The problem began with a case in 1989, when the court first considered a new question: can a European state extradite someone if they might suffer inhuman treatment in the country receiving them?

The court’s judgment was ambiguously written. In my view, it is best read as saying that the ECHR does not normally govern what another state outside Europe does after extradition. However, removal should be blocked if there is a risk of exceptionally grave treatment.

In subsequent cases, though, Strasbourg arguably misinterpreted this. Instead of holding that only the most serious forms of mistreatment should prevent a person’s removal, it began holding that anything that would breach Article 3 should prohibit a person being extradited, if it might happen abroad.

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When “inhuman treatment” was later expanded to include overcrowded prisons, this created a difficult situation for governments trying to extradite people. If a European country’s own prison systems are found to fall below acceptable standards, they can respond by changing them. However, they cannot control prisons in countries like Brazil. This means that in a case like de Brito’s, they are forced to release him regardless of the murder charges, as this is the only way to ensure he does not enter these conditions.

The solution is to recognise that while the ECHR should still bar European governments from imposing inhuman prison conditions themselves, the position must be different when it comes to conditions in another country. Then, only the most serious matters should block extradition. This is not because someone in de Brito’s situation has inferior rights to a prisoner in Europe, but because it is Brazil, not the UK, that is responsible for fulfilling his rights.

While the new declaration made in Moldova expresses that states are “concerned” about the implications of this issue, it otherwise again simply restates the law as it already is. This is a missed opportunity to untangle the knot in which the court has tied itself.

Finally, in a section on “new approaches to migration”, the declaration says that European states are allowed to process asylum seekers’ claims in another country. This could include schemes like the UK’s now-abandoned Rwanda plan.

However, this is not a new position. The UK’s plan wasn’t blocked because countries could not process asylum claims abroad in principle. Instead, it was because the UK’s specific scheme failed to ensure these claims would be properly dealt with. This remains the case: the declaration says that states’ power to operate such schemes applies only “provided that they continue to fulfil their [ECHR] obligations”.

Overall, then, the declaration does very little to change how countries may legally approach immigration control. It spends much time restating existing law, while missing a chance to meaningfully engage with the hardest issue.

Rights groups worried that the declaration would weaken protections for migrants. Their concern should not be with the declaration itself, but the wider political context in which it originates – and that debate is set to rumble on.

Angus Harrison does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. European countries reach new agreement on human rights – here’s what it means for the UK’s immigration debate – https://theconversation.com/european-countries-reach-new-agreement-on-human-rights-heres-what-it-means-for-the-uks-immigration-debate-281827

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Eva Cheuk-Yin Li, Lecturer in Screen Industries, King’s College London

Set in 1930s Taiwan under Japanese colonial rule, Taiwan Travelogue follows fictional Japanese novelist Aoyama Chizuko and her Taiwanese interpreter, Ō Chizuru (or Ông Tshian-ho’h), as they journey across colonial Taiwan by rail, encountering its diverse local food cultures. But Taiwan Travelogue is far more than a historical travel narrative. Through meals, translation and silences, Yáng explores colonial power, intimacy and the limits of empathy.

At first glance, the novel almost resembles a cookbook. Each chapter is named after a meal shared by the two women. Taiwan Travelogue’s prose lingers over the preparation of meals, unfamiliar ingredients and the rituals of eating together. Food is not simply decorative detail, but a way of unfolding history and negotiating power.

Readers expecting a gentle culinary novel may initially miss how carefully constructed the book really is. Nearly every detail acquires new meaning in retrospect. The novel rewards rereading because Yáng quietly plants clues throughout the text, allowing seemingly ordinary moments to gather emotional and political weight over time.

Despite its engagement with colonial violence and historical trauma, Taiwan Travelogue never feels emotionally heavy handed. Much of the pleasure of reading the novel lies in its warmth and humour: the fragrant descriptions of food, the characters’ banter and their small moments of laughter and companionship. Yáng has a remarkable ability to smuggle larger political questions into scenes of everyday intimacy. Reflections on empire and power emerge gradually through conversations about local dishes, cooking techniques or dining etiquette.

One of the book’s most striking features is its meta-fictional structure, which layers a fictional author, a fictional translator and a fictional contemporary introduction, written as though by a real person. This is not merely stylistic play, but a structural argument about mediation: who is authorised to produce knowledge, whose voice is foregrounded and whose remains partial or silent. Unreliability here is not a narrative flaw but a reflection of how colonial power shapes what can be known and said.

This framing matters because the novel is deeply concerned with who gets to speak, who gets represented, whose feelings are recognised and whose knowledge remains hidden. Chizuko, the Japanese “mainlander” novelist, may appear to guide the narrative, but much of the novel’s emotional and political force lies in what the Taiwanese “islander” interpreter Chizuru chooses not to say.

One of the most striking aspects of the novel is how it handles intimacy between the two women. Their relationship is never explicitly named. Instead, Yáng renders undercurrents of queer desire through shared meals, gestures and unfinished conversations.

The restraint is precisely what makes the relationship so affecting. The novel captures how intimacy can emerge within unequal structures of power. But it never allows readers to forget the colonial conditions shaping these encounters.

This subtle treatment of queer intimacy is characteristic of Yáng Shuāng-zǐ’s wider body of work. In the Sinophone world, Yáng is already well known for writing in the yuri (sappic/lesibian) genre, often blending queer desire with historical settings and literary imaginary worlds. Taiwan Travelogue introduces Anglophone readers to a writer whose work has long occupied an important place within Sinophone queer literary culture.

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One line in particular lingered with me long after finishing the novel:

There is nothing in the world more difficult to refuse than self-righteous goodwill.

The sentence speaks not only to colonialism in 1930s Taiwan, but also to contemporary forms of neocolonialism or liberal benevolence that leave little room for refusal or disagreement. Yáng never forces present day parallels onto the reader, but the connections feel unmistakable.

The International Booker Prize recognises both author and translator. Lin King’s translation is central to the novel’s achievement. King preserves the novel’s shifting textures and layered voices while guiding English-language readers through its historical and linguistic complexities – not just Mandarin Chinese, but also Japanese and Taigi used throughout the book. Even names and terms appear in several transliterations, tracing the complex linguistic legacy produced by Taiwan’s multiple colonial histories.

As King noted in her acceptance speech, translators are often deemed successful when their presence is rendered invisible within the text. Yet her work resists that invisibility. Through carefully placed footnotes and subtle contextual guidance, she makes translation feel less like a transparent bridge and more like an ongoing process of cultural negotiation and interpretation.

What makes Taiwan Travelogue stand out is the subtlety of its political vision. Yáng avoids dramatic revelations or moral certainty. Instead, she asks readers to sit with ambiguity: with partial understanding, unequal intimacy and the uneasy coexistence of everyday banter, affection and colonial violence.

It is this quiet complexity that makes the novel so memorable. Taiwan Travelogue begins as a richly sensory journey through food and travel, but gradually opens into questions of identity, history and geopolitics. Though set in colonial Taiwan, its reflections on cultural power, democracy and whose stories get told feel strikingly relevant today.

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Eva Cheuk-Yin Li does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Taiwan Travelogue wins 2026 International Booker – a deftly translated tale of food, love and history – https://theconversation.com/taiwan-travelogue-wins-2026-international-booker-a-deftly-translated-tale-of-food-love-and-history-283393