Richard P Grant
Scientist, poet, gadfly
Creator and sustainer of
Email: rpgrant at gmail.com
- A momentary lapse of reason
- Don't try this at home
- Friday afternoon
- Ill-considered rants
- Lab ratting
- Public Engagement
- Science is Vital
- Science-less Sunday
- The stupid, it burns
- War stories
Author Archives: rpg
Apparently it’s (still) #WorldPhotographyDay. To celebrate, here’s a photograph from our bedroom window this morning, not taken with my iPhone. In fairness to Stephen it was taken in ‘P’ mode, but I’m going to start experimenting with ‘M’. And yes, … Continue reading
For most of my first 17 years I lived on, or very close to, one of a number of airbases in England and Germany. Just about every day was airshow day, at least for a somewhat limited and specialist class … Continue reading
We’re still here. No need to send a search party… yet.
From the “Making dreams come true” department, we recently had a sauna installed at the new gaff. Warming up It’s very nice, and you should know that South Eastern trains have a special, hidden, weekend fare that lets you use … Continue reading
Six years ago I found to relatively easy to tell my mother what I did for a living, if not exactly explain it. I could wibble on about actin polymerization and spaghetti, or messenger RNA export, or why I’d spent … Continue reading
Thirty years ago—plus or minus a week—I visited Berlin for the first time. It was a school trip, organized by our physics teacher. We rode a train from Braunschweig to Helmstedt, where we picked up an East German engine and … Continue reading
Jenny and I took some friends around the Rotherhithe peninsula yesterday, cutting through Russia Dock Woodlands and finally climbing Stave Hill. From the top of Stave Hill you can appreciate just how flat London geography really is. The Hill’s not … Continue reading
You can take the rat out of the lab… … but you can’t complete translation without a ribosome.
Jenny is putting the finishing touches to a revised manuscript. I’m reading about a very interesting paper in my old field—and telling her about it. Joshua is doomed, isn’t he?