About ten years ago, I had arguably the most fun one can have with their clothes on. I was cast in a semi-professional production of Monty Python’s Spamalot, complete with the French Taunter, a dead bloke who wasn’t dead, and a haphazard King Arthur on a quest for the Holy Grail.
Spamalot the musical is as bonkers as the comedy that spawned it. The opening number features an ode to Finland—a brilliant gag about the cast mishearing that the show was about a Knight in England. This, among other things, involved slapping each other with rubber fish. The refrain of that song, which is still seared into my brain after hearing it around 500 times during rehearsals, simply goes: “Finland, Finland, Finland… that’s the country for me.”
Back then, and until very recently, I had never been to Finland. But about six months ago, I received an invitation for a repeat of a fully funded trip there. The purpose? To take part in a global think tank aimed at reducing global drowning figures in support of the International Swim School Association. Unsurprisingly, I said yes.
Much like the first outing in Dubai in January 2024, twelve people from eight countries were thrown together in a room to figure out how to create a globally approved training centre network. The goal was to roll out a portfolio of educational and structured content on how to teach people to swim.
You might think that’s fairly straightforward—and in principle, you’d be right. That is, until someone suggests, “Well, of course, everyone needs to learn to swim in clean water.” Sounds obvious, right? Until Adérójú from Nigeria points out that drowning rates in Africa are off the charts, and there aren’t many swimming pools. In that context, teaching people in lakes and rivers is better than nothing.
My point is that what seems relatively simple in a developed country quickly becomes incredibly complex when trying to create something that works across multiple countries, cultures, and languages.
Achieving this in five days required not just highly agile working groups but also a little help from AI. And here we were, pushing it to its limits—drafting, amending, proofreading, and hacking our way through hundreds of documents. It was, without doubt, our most valuable player.
However, a word of caution: much like the genie out of the bottle moment when people realised social media companies knew everything about them, most free or low-cost AI engines want your data to improve their systems.
If you’re on a paid plan, there will be options in the settings to turn this off. I strongly urge you to do so.
When choosing your AI tool, you should also think long and hard about which company you trust, where they’re based, and who runs them. For example, much is being said about DeepSeek—a Chinese AI app developed for a fraction of the amount US firms are throwing at AI.
I’d encourage everyone to reflect carefully on who they’re comfortable giving access to their data. Just like posting a holiday photo online can let burglars know they have a few days to leisurely liberate you of your possessions, sending an AI company your franchise agreement to read—or that draft cease and desist letter—might not be ideal for protecting your intellectual property.
AI is an incredible tool, and it’s already changing the world, but I urge you to pause, take a breath, and ensure you don’t get caught up in the hype and regret it later. Check the privacy settings, think carefully about what you share, and consider which companies you truly trust to keep your data safe.
All of this probably sounds quite stressful—which, ironically, was one state I managed to avoid in Finland, despite the amount of work we accomplished.
Apparently, the Finns are the happiest people on Earth. I can see why: sparsely populated, quiet, beautiful, and with a penchant for dry wit.
Perhaps it is the country for me after all.
