Your next Saturday night takeaway could be brought to you by a robot after a major food delivery company announced plans to use automated vehicles to transport meals. Europe's biggest online takeaway food company Just Eat has partnered with Starship Technologies to deliver food with robots on the streets of London later this month. “Nobody has ever done deliveries with land-based robots,” said Allan Martinson, the chief operating officer of Starship.

    The robot courier can travel up to 4 miles per hour for about 10 miles. It uses a GPS signal and nine cameras to navigate(确定方向). Instead of a person arriving at their door, customers could find themselves receiving a notification(通知) on their phone that says a robot is on its way and a code to unlock the automated courier. “Put the code in, the robot opens up, and there's your food,” said David Buttress, chief manager of Just Eat.

    The robot, which has so far been tested in Greenwich, Milton Keynes and Glastonbury, costs ￡1 to transport within 3 miles, compared with the ￡3 to ￡6 it costs for a human courier. To date 30 robots have driven nearly 5,000 miles without getting into an accident or finding themselves picked on by passers-by. They have driven in more than 40 cities around the world, including London and Tallinn, Estonia.

    An initial worry was how the public would react to robots. But Martinson said the public has been calm when passing the delivery machine on the streets. “The most surprising reaction has been the lack of reaction,” said Martinson.

    Another significant fear was that people would disrupt(扰乱) the robots, or try to steal them and their contents. To prevent this, the robot is fitted with nine cameras, two way audio, and movement sensors that send a warning if it is lifted off the ground. And it opens only with a pass code provided to the customer via a notification. “It's much easier to shoplift than it is to steal a robot,” said Martinson.

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    Last spring, I was fortunate to be chosen to join in an exchange study program. The moment I arrived in Paris, I was greeted by a nice French couple who would become my host parents. The bit of French I had taken in high school began coming out of my mouth; speaking the language would only become more natural over the course of the term. At the airport, we all got into the couple's car and began the journey to their townhouse. We talked the whole way, getting to know one another.

    Every day afterwards, I would eat breakfast with the two of them, and then we'd all go our separate ways for the day. In the evening, my host mother would make delicious dinners for the three of us. My experience was exciting until I received some shocking news from my program coordinator（协调人）: There had been a death in my host parents' family and they would have to go away for several weeks to deal with all the business that arises from the death. That afternoon, I had to move out of one family's house and into another.

    The coordinator told me I'd have a roommate and asked whether I would mind sharing a bedroom with an English speaker. To avoid speaking my native language, I asked not to be placed with an English-speaking roommate. When I got to my new room, I introduced myself to my new roommate Paolo, a Brazilian（巴西人）, the same age as I, whom I was surprised to find playing one of my favorite CDs on his computer! In just a few hours, we knew we'd be good friends for the rest of the term.

    I left France with many stories, so when people ask me what my favorite part of the trip was, they always hear about my Brazilian friend Paolo and the weekdays in class, weeknights on the town, and weekends exploring France we enjoyed together. I would recommend an exchange program to anyone who wants to experience foreign cultures and gain meaningful friendships.

    One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: I was to walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more weapon for her to defeat my strange problem—inability to read.

    In the library, I found my way into the “Children's Room.” I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the shelf at random. The cover of a book caught my eye. It presented a picture of a beagle. I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal companion I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer, but one morning, he was gone, given away to someone who had the space and the money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle.

    There on the book's cover was a beagle which looked identical(相同的) to my dog. I ran my fingers over the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. Unknowingly, I had read the title. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.

    Under the shade of a bush, I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. Though pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story about a dog who, like mine, had been separated from his family and who finally found his way back home. That dog was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, my mind continued the final scene of reunion, on and on, until my own lost dog and I were, in my mind, running together.

    My mother's call returned me to the real world. I suddenly realized something: I had read a book, and I had loved reading that book. Everyone knew I could not read. But I had read it. Books could be incredibly wonderful and I was going to read them.

    I never told my mother about my “miraculous(奇迹般的) ” experience that summer, but she saw a slow but ramarkable improvement in my classroom performance during the next year. And years later, she was proud that her son had read thousands of books, was awarded a PhD in the literature, and authored his own books, articles, poetry and fiction. The power of the words has held.

Shakespeare's Sister

    Let us imagine, since facts are so hard to come by, what would have happened had Shakespeare had a wonderfully gifted sister, called Judith.

    Shakespeare himself went, very probably — his mother was an heiress — to the grammar school, where he may have learnt Latin — Ovid, Virgil and Horace — and the elements of grammar and logic. He was, it is well known, a wild boy who poached (偷猎) rabbits, perhaps shot a deer, and had, rather sooner than he should have done, to marry a woman in the neighborhood, who bore him a child rather quicker than was right. That escapade sent him to seek his fortune in London. He had, it seemed, a taste for the theatre; he began by holding horses at the stage door. Very soon he got work in the theatre, became a successful actor, and lived at the centre of the universe, meeting everybody, knowing everybody, practicing his art on the boards, exercising his wits in the streets, and even getting access to the palace of the queen.

    Meanwhile his extraordinarily gifted sister remained at home. She was as adventurous, as imaginative, as curious to see the world as he was. But she was not sent to school. She had no chance of learning grammar and logic, let alone of reading Horace and Virgil. She picked up a book now and then, one of her brother's perhaps, and read a few pages. But then her parents came in and told her to mend the stockings or mind the stew(炖锅) and not moon about with books and papers. They would have spoken sharply but kindly, for they were practical people who knew the conditions of life for a woman. Soon, however, before she was out of her teens, she was to be engaged to the son of a neighboring wool stapler(经销商). She cried out that marriage was hateful to her, and for that she was severely beaten by her father. Then he ceased to scold her. He begged her instead not to hurt him, not to shame him in this matter of her marriage. He would give her a chain of beads or fine dresses, he said; and there were tears in his eyes. How could she disobey him? How could she break his heart?

    The force of her own gift alone drove her to it. She made up a small parcel of her belongings, let herself down by a rope one summer's night and took the road to London. She was not seventeen. The birds that sang in the woods were not more musical than she was. She had the quickest fancy, a gift like her brother's, for the tune of words. Like him, she had a taste for the theatre. She stood at the stage door; she wanted to act, she said. Men laughed in her face. The manager — a fat, loose-lipped man — howled with laughter. He roared something about puppies dancing and women acting — no woman, he said, could possibly be an actress. She could get no training in her craft. Could she even seek her dinner in a bar or roam (游荡) the streets at midnight? Yet her genius was for fiction and lusted to feed abundantly upon the lives of men and women and the study of their ways. At last — for she was very young, oddly like Shakespeare the poet in her face, with the same grey eyes and rounded brows — at last Nick Greene the actor-manager took pity on her; she found herself with child by that gentleman and so — who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and confined in a woman's body? — killed herself one winter's night and lies buried at some cross-roads where the omnibuses (公共汽车) now stop outside the Elephant and Castle.

    That, more or less, is how the story would run, if a woman in Shakespeare's day had had Shakespeare's genius.

    I have received many Christmas gifts over the years. The best gift I ever received was presented to me by a stranger. I never even knew his name and I only had contact with him for less than 60 seconds. His Christmas present to me changed the way I had thought about people and Christmas.

    It was several years ago when my wife asked me to meet her at the local department store on Black Friday morning. They had advertised a child's bike that she wanted to purchase for our son. We stood with a very large crowd, waiting for the manager to blow the whistle. After a while, the whistle blew. It was like throwing a bucket of fish into a tank of sharks. I told my wife that if we obtained a bike, fine, but we did not, I was OK with that too,

    As the shelf of bikes began to gradually decrease in size, I saw my polite opportunity to wrap my hands around the corner of one of the boxes. I lifted it off the box and suddenly felt some mild resistance. I looked up to see one of the largest gentlemen I had ever seen in my life. Threat was not the word to describe his presence. He was decorated with numerous belts of metal pointed leather around both arms and even his neck. Tattoos(文身) were an obvious passion of his.

    I started to return anxiously the box but he gently pushed it back in my direction and back into my hands. He then directed it into my shopping cart. He look d at me, smiled, and said, “Merry Christmas. ”My wife and I went to the checkout, paid for the bike and went home. All the way home I was thinking that this moment was by far the best Christmas gift I had ever received. The kindness of a stranger that broke all previous views I may have had of stereotypes and prejudices. I will never forget the tenderness of a human heart in a simple act.

    Recently, as the British doctor Robert Winston took a train from London to Manchester, he found himself having to listen to a loud conversation of a fellow passenger woman. Boiling with anger, Winston took her picture and sent it to his more than 40,000 followers on the Tweet. By the time the train reached the station in Manchester, some journalists were waiting for the woman. And when they showed her the doctor's messages, she used just one word to describe Winston's actions: rude.

    Winston's tale is a good example of increasing rudeness, fueled by social media in our age. Studies show that rudeness spreads quickly and virally, almost like the common cold. Just witnessing rudeness makes it far more likely that we, in turn, will be rude later on. Once infected, we are more aggressive, less creative and worse at our jobs. The only way out is to make a conscious decision to do so. We must have the courage to call it out, face to face. We must say, "Just stop." For Winston, that would have meant approaching the woman, telling her that her conversation was frustrating other passengers and politely asking her to speak more quietly or make the call at another time.

    The anger we feel at the rude behavior of a stranger can drive us to do out-of-place things. Research discovered that the acts of revenge (报复) people had taken ranged from the ridiculous to the disturbing. Winston did shine a spotlight on the woman's behavior—but in a way that shamed her.

    When we see rudeness occur in public places, we must step up and say something. And we can do it with grace, by handling it without a bit of aggression and without being rude ourselves. Because once rude people can see their actions through the eyes of others, they are far more likely to end the rudeness themselves. As this wave of rudeness rises, civilization needs civility (举止文明).