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The Very Hungry Pupperino

UntitledOn Monday, the Very Hungry Pupperino ate a sofa.

On Tuesday, the Very Hungry Pupperino ate a set of six mahogany dining chairs.

On Wednesday, the Very Hungry Pupperino ate a small semi-detached ex-Local-Authority house in Cromer, Norfolk.

On Thursday, the Very Hungry Pupperino ate the award-winning Georgian market town of Holt, Norfolk.

On Friday, the Very Hungry Pupperino ate 4,000 Holes in Blackburn, Lancashire.

On Saturday, the Very Hungry Pupperino ate the Chernobyl nuclear power station and acquired remarkable superpowers.

On Sunday, the Very Hungry Pupperino ate Vladimir Putin, and there was Much Rejoicing.

On Monday, the Very Hungry Pupperino visited the vet who made her sick it all up again. After that she felt much better.

(Picture by Denise Reynolds at Glaven Veterinary Practice, Holt. With apologies to Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar).

Posted in Apparitions, Blog Norfolk!, Silliness, The Very Hungry Caterpillar | Comments Off on The Very Hungry Pupperino

In which my lab is a garden

purple crocuses

It’s a grey afternoon, the light already fading. R. and I have just done a circuit of the back garden – ‘inspecting the troops’, we call it.

The entire space is dishevelled, as it always is this time of year: the brown skeletal remains of last year’s growth tangled in with the green perennials, most of which are in dire need of a prune. The lawn is more mud than grass, and everywhere the bulbs are pushing upwards. Hellebore already blooms in the train-wreck of our unweeded herb garden, along with the snowdrops, rosemary, winter jasmine and the first crocuses. There are even a few of last autumn’s roses unfurling, having powered through several weeks of hard frost to put on their last-gasp performance. Magnolia trees display furry pods that you can’t resist stroking, and the bird cherry in the back hedgerow – always the first to kick off – is studded with hundreds of tiny white buds. Wild onions – the bane of R.’s existence – seem to reproduce in real time, spewing out ten clumps for every one he yanks up. I’m sure our well-meaning predecessors (largely sensible in most of their other horticultural choices) had no idea what a cursed epidemic they were unleashing.

Our overwintering shallots, garlic and broad beans are doing well, but our greenhouse needs a good clear-out, to prepare for the dozens of seedlings that are already germinating indoors in heated propagators under industrial LED light panels. After last year’s aphid infestation, it probably needs a good fumigation too.

Earlier today after J’s rugby practice, we skulked into the local park and dug up a few lush cow parsley crowns, taproots squirming with fat earthworms, from the weedy verge, which I transplanted along the back garden wall. Our hedgerow has turned into a little woodland, and I think every woodland needs cow parsley on its sunny edges. If try hard enough, I can almost smell the shimmering springtime haze of a field of cow parsley in bloom.

As if on cue, R. has just put a cocktail into my hand made from rum and pulverised blackberries picked last August and stored in the chest freezer since. A little bit of summer in an ice-cold glass.

Things are going well at work – which sometimes resembles an untidy garden of its own, old and new all entwined, everything coming and going. We published a paper in the first week of January, have another with minor revisions which should soon see the light of day, a second one close to submission, and several more taking shape. I’ve nearly finished the second of two major grant applications already submitted this year. Meanwhile, three grants are pending with outcomes expected soon. I’m advertising for a PhD student, just in time for one of my existing ones to take his viva. A postdoc has joined to start a project, while another has just moved to a new position abroad. All the various strands of what are euphemistically known as “output”, but are really human beings and their amazing achievements, bits of the cycle shooting here, blooming there, or blowing away like feathery seeds to take root somewhere else. And me in the middle, a smudge of mud on my forehead, reading glasses shoved onto the top of my head, wielding a spade and secateurs, half proud, half bemused as it all takes shape.

Posted in academia, Domestic bliss, Gardening, Research, The profession of science, work-life balance | Comments Off on In which my lab is a garden

Inequity and Research Culture

Research culture remains a topic that is of concern to many, because it can be so very far from ideal. You don’t have to be from a minority background – of whatever kind – to find yourself in an environment that doesn’t bring out the best in you. Can anything be done because, if it can, it is likely to help all those who are ‘othered’ by their personal characteristics even more? A recent report from the University of Oxford identifies many areas where processes about the whole research system could be improved for people who fit into the category of ‘marginalised researchers’, which covers women and racialised minorities, people with disabilities and those identifying as LGBTQ+. As the report says

‘A growing body of evidence underscores that academia is not a meritocracy. In academia, as in the rest of society, systemic barriers remain to limit the success of researchers in many marginalised groups.’

As I do with many such reports, I started off by reading the recommendations. I found these, at first sight, rather disappointing. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but they seemed to be treading along familiar paths and it didn’t strike me they were likely to lead to much change. Equally, this had been my initial reaction, and this still holds, to the 2021 BEIS People and Culture Strategy document, about which I wrote

‘full of laudable sentiments though the strategy is, it appears to lack any clear indication of the path from where we are now to where BEIS aspirations would take us.’

Eighteen months on from the publication of that BEIS strategy, I’m not convinced there has been much progress.

However, when I read the full Oxford report, I felt rather differently about what it had to say. Not because I feel the recommendations are particularly novel or ones which will immediately change the landscape, but because the way they are put into context is very powerful. It identifies exactly how the current system introduces inequity for different parts of the researcher population, ranging from the less confident (who may find an interview intimidating and lead them to underperform) to those with a disability, who may have problems accessing or completing forms.

There are certain of their recommendations which really should be easily put into practice, for instance by funders. In particular, I would highlight the timing of closing dates for grant applications, so they do not fall immediately after the main holidays. It should be obvious that a closing date of early January is likely to impact more severely on those with caring responsibilities than those without, who may in fact just have had several weeks without the normal teaching or committee loads so making grant-writing easier not harder. Funding calls which are only open for a few weeks are also likely to be detrimental to carers, but these are far from uncommon.

The issue of confidence I allude to above is a more tricky one. Firstly, because having the confidence to give a convincing conference presentation is a relevant skill for success, and may feel as pressured as an interview. Consequently, I believe such skill is not entirely divorced from the ability to conduct a successful project. Nevertheless, I am sure all readers will have encountered the brash or arrogant candidate. If they come across as patronising to their audience it may cause uncertainty about how well they would do in running a group or giving an undergraduate lecture. I well recall one man, smartly turned out in a pinstripe suit that would not have been out of place in a bank (yes, I know, I should not be prejudiced against someone because of the clothes they wear), who – as part of an interview process for a lectureship position – gave a seminar that was positively intimidating in the way the audience was addressed. It was full of chutzpah. I was less convinced it was full of content, but others on the interview panel seemed not to spot this. I argued that an undergraduate faced with such a style of lecturing would not have received it well. That seemed to me a significant part of the reason for requiring a candidate to give a seminar. Again others (almost certainly all male, although it is so long ago I cannot swear to that) did not seem to be as put off as I was.

That level of ‘confidence’ I believe is dangerous. Someone can come across as persuasive and on top of things, when actually it’s simply a smokescreen of performance. Any successful leader should understand their audience and never give off an air of intimidation. At least that’s my view. Shyer people may stutter a little, in a presentation or an interview, but not giving glib answers to questions may indicate deep thinking and knowledge and not ineptitude. It is my belief we are, collectively, too easily swayed by style of delivery rather than actual content. It is totally appropriate that such an issue should be highlighted, as the report does.

Other types of bias may be well-known, but nevertheless still prevalent. The statistics about ethnic minorities is particularly dispiriting. The report cites Wellcome data which shows that the success rate for Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic applicants is 6 percentage points lower than that for white applicants (8% compared with 14%), with precisely zero awards made to UK-based applicants reporting their ethnicity as Black or Black British in 2019/20. The fact that there are hardly any black professors in the sciences across the UK is obviously directly related to this. What the report makes clear is how many different parts of the system disadvantage such people, from lack of mentors and sponsors, to internal sift systems as well as grant-giving panels which fail to overcome their biases. A black woman who speaks up may be classed with the standard trope of ‘angry black woman’ when behaving in exactly the same way as a white man, who is simply seen as confident and assertive.

The report spells out the dismal situation many researchers face, identifying the different key stages where problems occur. I found it salutary reading to look far beyond those areas of disadvantage I am familiar with from my work regarding women. Not that I think we have by any means overcome those hurdles more familiar to me, but it is important to recognize that different groups face disadvantage from many different parts of the system and that all of these need to be identified and addressed.

Posted in disability, Equality, ethnicity, marginalised researchers, research funding, Science Culture | Comments Off on Inequity and Research Culture

What I Read In January

Screenshot 2022-12-31 at 15.28.51 Penelope Fitzgerald: The Bookshop It is 1959, and widowed Florence Green opens a bookshop in the sleepy Suffolk town of Hardborough. Discovering a strain of quiet obstinacy she doesn’t know she has, she ignores or attempts to sidestep the  polite yet determinedly ruthless opposition of a town with minefields of unwritten social rules and hierarchies that will not be gainsaid. I left this in a state of righteous indignation on Mrs Green’s part, for all that she appears to have brought much of her woes upon herself.

 

 

 

 

Screenshot 2023-01-07 at 17.19.31Neil Gaiman (ed). Unnatural Creatures Having run out of original Neil Gaiman books to read (though one or two might have escaped my notice) imagine my pleasure at running across this anthology of tales curated by the man himself. It’s hard to pick favourites from a diversity of authors that includes Anthony Boucher and Saki, Nalo Hopkinson and Gahan Wilson, but I feel bound to reserve that honour for Gaiman’s own story The Sunbird, which he says was inspired by E. Nesbit but written in the style of R. A. Lafferty. If the tales have anything in common it is that if the tales themselves do not always have the air of fairy-tale whimsy, it lurks not too far beneath. Delightful.

 

 

 

 

Screenshot 2023-01-14 at 20.30.41Peter Frankopan: The New Silk Roads It must be awfully frustrating, being a modern historian like Peter Frankopan. No sooner than you publish a revised version of your 2015 best-seller The Silk Roads, than the world changes again. For this snapshot of the world in 2019 seems already out of date. His analysis of geopolitics centres on the ‘spine’ of Eurasia (between the eastern Mediteranean and China) and contrasts the ‘Belt and Road’ initiatives of China with the chaos of the Trump administration. But that was then. Trump has now been replaced with Biden, and the world has been reshaped once more by COVID. The New Silk Roads reads like a three-year-old feature in The Economist. Nothing wrong with that, but I expected more from a book that promises a glimpse into the future to say more than it was unpredictable and volatile. Because I knew that already.

 

 

 

Screenshot 2023-01-21 at 12.51.35Carl Chinn: Peaky Blinders The Real Story You will  both probably be familiar with Peaky Blinders, a stylish and violent televisual emission dealing with the fictional Birmingham bookmaker and gangster Tommy Shelby and his family in the years after the First World War. Shelby leads a gang called the Peaky Blinders, called after their habit of seeing razors into the brims of their peaked caps for use as weapons. Social historian Carl Chinn, descendant of Brummie backstreet bookies himself, shows that almost everything in the TV series is a myth. The peaky blinders were assorted Birmingham toughs who terrorised the poorer districts of Brum in the 1890s (by 1918 they were all but extinct); nobody sewed razors into peaked caps; and the real story is one of social deprivation, squalor and general thuggery, told here as one long litany of barely digested gobbets of court reports from contemporary newspapers.

 

 

Screenshot 2023-01-28 at 16.13.19Gary Gibson: Stealing Light I was in the mood for a good old-fashioned space opera, and, having read everything that Iain M. Banks and Alastair Reynolds have had to offer, was casting around for something new but in that similar post-gothic vein. Glasgow-based Gary Gibson is a new author for me and on the strength of Stealing Light I’ll be in the market for more. The author has clearly thrown everything into the sensawunda electric kitchen sink — apocalyptic weapons, incomprehensibly ancient alien civilisations, amazing technology, a majestic plot, exotic sex, lashings of violence, and a feisty but flawed heroine who never gives up. Wonderful stuff. If you like that sort of thing. Which I do.

Posted in cal chinn, gary gibson, neil gaiman, peaky blinders, Penelope Fitzgerald, Peter frankopan, Science-fiction, space opera, stealing light, Writing & Reading | Comments Off on What I Read In January

The Last Question

In his 1956 story The Last Question, Isaac Asimov has human beings ask computers of increasing power the Ultimate Question. You know, the one about Life, The Universe, and Everything. And the question goes something like this —

HOW CAN THE ENTROPY OF THE UNIVERSE BE MASSIVELY DECREASED?

In six scenes, in which humans evolve and their computers get more and more sophisticated, the answer always comes back something like this. No, not ’42’, but

INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER

Eventually, in the Universe’s dying gasp, the very last human asks the gigantic mega cosmic hyper computer this same question, and … but I’d be spoiling it.

Well, what with the current fuss and brouhaha over quasi-intelligent wordybot ChatGPT, I thought I’d try it out. This is what happened.

entropyScreenshot 2023-01-25 155806

… from which I learned that ChatGPT doesn’t quite have the succinct elegance of a professional SF writer.

It doesn’t have much of a sense of humour either. When I asked it

HOW MANY BEANS MAKE FIVE?

the answer came back

beanzScreenshot 2023-01-25 155919

Which suggests that the way to tell the difference between true intelligence and a simulacrum is to tell it a joke.

Posted in ChatGPT, Humour, Isaac Asimov, Science-fiction, Silliness, The Last Question | Comments Off on The Last Question

I am evangelical about this

PhD students should* consider industry roles; academics should not dissuade them.

Ten years ago today I began what I now refer to as my industry detour, a decade spent as a statistical consultant in the pharmaceutical industry. I went directly: I submitted my doctoral dissertation on a Friday, went clothes shopping on the Saturday and started my new gig on the Monday. I moved house the following Thursday, in order to cut my commute down by the order of one cross-London Tube journey.

Academia, and academics, can be hostile to this sort of hijinks. After I left Imperial and UCL and went to industry, I missed academia. In the intervening years I figured out how to talk my way into many free-or-cheap-to-register seminars, workshops and other academic events related more or less tangentially to my day job, only to realise I am overdressed, too direct with my language, and do not belong at all in those dusty lecture halls anymore.

Erika with the GSK pride group ready for the parade to start in 2016.

A statistician who has never felt more awkward: the one time I relented and put on a company-branded T-shirt, at London Pride in 2016.

In corporate life, one was supposed to carefully plan one’s conference attendance for the year during January, jointly with one’s line manager, but I was line managed two layers up from the US. Because time zones I could usually get away with it, especially if I could find a quiet corner of a conference to dial into any important meetings. Don’t get the wrong impression of working industry life: whilst the work-life balance is, in general, compared to academia, more reasonable, it varies over time and career stage as it does in any profession. The flexibility I was granted with my working hours is by no means a given. I earned trust through the Seattle gig among others, ask me in the pub about that and I’ll tell you. I could turn the handle when needed and was committed: I used to wire my work laptop to my personal mobile data connection and once turned out a suite of graphs on a train from Sheffield to London after convincing my manger to let me go there. To talk about careers. I wanted to go, because, same topic as this blog post.

Why? Industry suits some people better. In concrete terms: academia is a zero-sum game. I get the grant, you do not get it. I scoop you, I get the kudos. There are finite prizes, and limited resources. Fighting for academic karma points becomes the raison d’etre. I am reminded of Sayre’s law as applied to academia in a quotation usually attributed to Kissinger and rephrased to me as

In academia, the fights are so bitter because the stakes are so low.

In industry, the stakes are different. The whole ship is at stake; if one of us goes down, we take others with us. Humans are still humans and whilst turf wars and latent power struggles and empire building and all the rest of it do go on, the overall winners are not always the ones who fought to be first author. The goal such as there is one is to navigate the whole team through current, concurrent economic, scientific and political cycles safely, with the minimium of carnage, and, in pharma, hopefully along the way to play our incremental parts in the process of making a medicine. One goes from being master of one’s destiny with an outcome to an extent proportionate to time spent at work, to a tiny, tiny cog in a hundred-thousand person machine. There are roles for everything, including things that you have never heard of. So I was the statistician who supported the pre-clinical scientists in one or more areas of biology, or one or more technologies; at one point I was the in-house go-to person for the statistical design of transcriptomic studies; another the stats point person to Immunology. A niche within a niche, as it were, but I was perceived to add value nonetheless. If this had not been the case, my role would have been made redundant eventually.

Corporate adjustment, the change in ways of being and doing from academia to industry is painful. I observed over the years that the transition needed to be made judiciously and with a degree of self awareness. The move looks to be possible at two stages although of course there are always exceptions. One can move, as I did, fresh from a masters or doctorate or perhaps a short postdoc just to make sure one was not at home in academia. At this stage one is malleable, still relatively young and able to learn new things quickly, and not yet quite so wedded to the ideals so important mid-career. The other people who arrived who were successful were professor-level and brought something specific. In my field this was usually technical expertise. If these people came willingly they commanded respect straight away, especially if they were known from the literature and conference circuit.

If what I am saying makes sense to you, and you are a life sciences graduate who can program in R, has a degree of intuition for the philosophy of statistics and a doctoral thesis in applied statistics; or the other way around, if you are a maths or statistics postgraduate with due awe and respect for the almost and not quite overwhelming stochasticity of biology; this is your job listing. For other scientists, there are other roles, companies and routes. A year in industry is a good bet, for example. As you wish, ask me and I will point you in an appropriate direction if I can.

Enjoy.

* I don’t really believe in “should”, said breezily with a wave of the hand, used to be one of my maxims. My vocational transition is about as much fun as it sounds.

Posted in alternative careers, career, careers, conferences, Life, PhD, science careers | Comments Off on I am evangelical about this

Computers these days

When I was in primary school, in the early nineties, Tesco ran a scheme called Computers for Schools. Shopping at Tesco earned paper vouchers which were collected by local schools. When a school had collected enough vouchers, they could spend them on computer equipment.

The window of time when I was in love with technology began when I was five or six years old. My primary school employed the father of one of the kids to teach us the basics on the suite of Acorn computers my school had bought using Tesco vouchers.

The IT teacher taught us two maxims:

  1. It is very difficult to break a computer, aside from using a hammer. This teaching was designed to encourage us, as we learned the rudiments of BBC Basic or word processing, to experiment, to wonder what this button does.
  2. Computers are stupid. They do what humans tell them, and nothing else. If someone’s machine did something unexpected and the teacher was called to investigate, the whole class would carry out a call-and-response exercise:

Mr IT: Computers are…?

Class: Stupid!

I progressed from Acorn computers to Windows. At home we always had a modern PC, cast off from my father’s place of work. Their tech was being upgraded annually to keep up with the demand of that field. I remember vividly the day dad came home and told us kids solemnly that this new computer had a gigabyte of memory.

Wow, Dad.

I said.

What’s a gigabyte?

In preparation for my undergraduate studies, I pored over PC World magazine before picking out a Dell desktop, a gift from my father. I took immense care of it, and used to open up the case to add RAM, virus-check it often, and back up my work to a series of DVDs every month(!). At the start of my MSc I won a MacBook in the essay escapade and became a Mac convert; I worked primarily across UNIX and Mac for the next four years. As well as the trusty MacBook I was furnished with a beautiful 27-inch iMac and a UNIX box with NVIDIA GPUs for my PhD, with thanks to the Wellcome Trust for their generous funding. Further I had access to Imperial’s incredible High Performance Computing service for anything my own tech could not handle – quite the privilege.

On my first day in my first job post-PhD, the hiring manger handed me a laptop with the apology that it ran Windows 7, meaning that the company’s Windows 8 upgrade was still in progress. I replied dryly that I was sorry that it was Windows at all, perhaps the first indication that corporate Erika was not going to be an authentic edition of the self. I installed emacs to do my work in R, and got hauled up by IT whose virus-scanner had picked up one of the extensions I had installed, which makes emacs keybindings work in Microsoft applications and reads to a virus scanner as a keylogger. Oops.

Working with corporate IT is different to working with academic tech, where I had been largely left to my own devices. As the years passed I came to learn that it was in my best interests to get on with the job in hand, and that it was not my job to try to understand what was going on under the IT hood. Outside of work, I had a succession of iGadgets and was aware that I was becoming less and less au fait with how the whole thing chained together.

But it’s not just me. Richard once told me “you have tech chops” and that is probably still true to an extent, but I don’t think Maxim Two holds anymore. iGadgets and their ilk now hoover data up furiously. Behind your back they mine email, social media, calendar, text messages and photos. Your friends end up tagged, your geography monitored, memories and suggestions are supplied to you unbidden. If you have had a turbulent few years involving the loss of the husband, marriage, home, career and worldview that you once treasured, this is a cruel system, worse than human memory that can blindside you with a once-familiar perfume or train station, say. No, I do not want to see a photograph of my honeymoon today, thank you very much.

That window of time has closed, then. Yet another important aspect of my life that my perspective has changed on. Weird.

Posted in Apple, Computers are stupid, Life, Mac, Meta, Tech, Windows | Comments Off on Computers these days

Where is Social Mobility Heading and for Whom?

Levelling up may have been a phrase that tripped off Boris Johnson’s lips more than other politicians, but whether or not the phrase is politically dead, the concept is as important as it ever was during his prime ministerial tenure. Andy Burnham, Mayor of Greater Manchester, certainly thinks so, having said recently

“I’ve always been clear since I came into this role that in the end Greater Manchester’s devolution will be judged by what it can do for Oldham and Rochdale. This is us levelling up Greater Manchester ourselves.”

Parts of Manchester are wealthy;  many other parts – such as Oldham and Rochdale – are anything but. Trying to bring new jobs, industry and money to these deprived areas will be a challenge, which the Innovation Accelerator funding, announced in the Levelling Up White Paper should help, but there is only so far the allocated £30M will go in transforming the local economy.

Inequality does not just exist in major urban settings though. Whereas my home city of Cambridge may look like a booming economy, possibly even overheated and certainly reaching the limits of expansion unless its infrastructure is urgently sorted out, it is hardly uniformly wealthy. Marked out as the most unequal city in the country, according to the Centre for Cities, there is much that needs to be done. However, unlike Burnham in Manchester, its devolution deal lead to a mayor responsible for the three utterly disparate regions of Cambridge, Peterborough and the fenland surrounding rural areas. It is inevitably hard to find solutions that fit all, and its transport links between these different constituent regions are woeful. World-class research within the University of Cambridge and the many research institutes, may seem a world away from the lived experience of the 14-year-old in the fens. Or even from the experience of a 14-year-old in one of the further flung council houses within the City, who may never have set foot in a Cambridge college, or visited one of the city’s wonderful museums. Social mobility across these societal divides needs to form a central part of levelling up.

How well is the Government addressing these issues? This brings me back to Oldham, with the Principal of Oldham College (a further education college), Alun Francis, taking over from Katherine Birbalsingh as (Interim) Chair of the Social Mobility Commission (he was formerly Vice Chair). In their joint response to the autumn statement, the pair have previously said, with concern at the lack of attention directed towards the issues,

“How early years [education] is delivered and how skills are taught are both extremely important areas of interest for us.”

So they should be. Middle class children may get to school already familiar with the idea of books as a source of pleasure; those less advantaged may barely have seen one. Early years are crucial in getting a child onto a firm footing to traverse the subsequent education system. A child who falls behind then may never catch up.

Birbalsingh herself may be head teacher of one of the most academically successful secondary schools in England, one in a pretty deprived part of London, but she came in for a great deal of flak (not least from me) when she pronounced, to a Commons Select Committee, that

“From my own knowledge of these things, physics is not something that girls tend to fancy. They don’t want to do it. They don’t like it….There is a lot of hard maths in there that I think that they would rather not do.”

She later admitted this was ‘a guess’. To my mind, and I would suspect to many in the STEM community, probably including the Institute of Physics, attitudes such as these should disqualify someone from being responsible for social mobility. By casual statements such as these – ones not based on evidence – she is condemning some of her pupils to feeling their dreams are unattainable, shutting down avenues for their future study and careers. (The title of the IOP’s 2013 Report, Closing Doors, says it all. And, as the report spells out, doors can also be closed for boys in other subjects due to a school’s culture reinforcing outdated stereotypes.)

Those skills, that Francis and Birbalsingh stress in the comments I quote above, may well require the numeracy and grasp of physical concepts that an A Level in maths or physics (or equivalent BTECs or T Levels) could confer, even if a student has no intention of studying the subject at University. To be a qualified electrician or machine shop operator, helping to rebuild a manufacturing hub in Manchester, as Burnham aspires to, or to support the thriving technology industries around Cambridge, needs this kind of numerical and conceptual competence and confidence. A head teacher who closes doors to 50% of the population by out-of-date attitudes may well be ‘doing more harm than good’ coming with “too much baggage to be as effective as I would like to be as Chair”, as she put it in her resignation letter. Her comments regarding girls and Physics would seem to confirm this, although she will also have been referring to many other of her outspoken views.

So, Alun Francis, principal of an FE college in one of the left-behind parts of Manchester, now has the opportunity to shape social mobility and to facilitate local and national levelling up. His task will be all the harder, for the very reasons the pair stated in the autumn: there is little cash or attention being directed towards either early years’ education or FE and subsequent skills development for young adults, and upskilling for adults. Whereas the last Labour government put money into Sure Start, to try to overcome the early years’ hurdles for the less advantaged, this government has lost that focus and cut that programme right back. FE has been the poor relation in the education system for decades and, as a recent Sutton Trust report on apprentices highlighted, the fall in apprenticeship starts has been much greater in the more deprived regions compared with the better off and, in the total number of starts, there has been a shift towards degree apprentices for the latter group.

Social mobility remains a challenge. Cash for the education system overall remains a challenge. There is much to be done to enable cities across the country, not just Manchester and Cambridge, to thrive, but if our economy is to recover and thrive in the long term, that cash needs to be found.

Posted in Alun Francis, education, Equality, Further Education, Katherine Birbalsingh, Levelling Up, Sure Start | Comments Off on Where is Social Mobility Heading and for Whom?

It Has Not Escaped Our Notice

Screenshot 2023-01-04 at 10.25.57
This one contributed by my correspondent Professor Trellis of North Wales and received with thanks. Presumably the injunction does not apply to Residents.

Posted in it has not escaped our notice, Silliness | Comments Off on It Has Not Escaped Our Notice

Hard of Hearing

While researching a recent tome I discovered much about the wonder that is mammalian hearing. As the so-called mammal-like reptiles of the Triassic shrank, from the size of large dogs to small dogs to cats to mice to shrews, they also changed in shape. The tooth-bearing bone of the lower jaw (the dentary) expanded, kettling the other bones at the back until they left the jaw completely and were swept into the middle-ear. There, the bones of the jaw joint, specifically the articular (in the back of the jaw) and the quadrate (the bone in the skull with which it articulated) became respectively the malleus and the incus, joining the time-hallowed stapes to give a chain of three tiny bones (the ossicles) connecting the eardrum to the inner ear. Mammals have a new jaw joint, in which the dentary articulates with another bone in the skull, the squamosal.

The result was transformative. The ossicles allowed hearing of refined sensitivity and at much higher pitches than reptiles could manage. Even birds — which still hear with the reptilian system, and its single stapes bone — cannot hear pitches higher than about 10 kilohertz (kHz), for all their trills and tweets and coos. Yet small children can hear up to 20 kHz, and this is positively cloth-eared compared with dogs (45 kHz), cats (85 kHz) and dolphins (160 kHz).

It was as if the first true mammals discovered a door in the high hedge surrounding the dark and dense woods in which they lived and found a wide-open vista the existence of which they had not suspected.

I use the word ‘small children’ above advisedly. As we humans age, we tend to lose our ability to detect the higher pitches (I am now 60). Over the past few years my own sensitivity to higher pitches has declined, such that I am now affectionately known chez Gee as ‘You Deaf Old Bugger’. After months of resistance I was finally persuaded to get my hearing tested, which I did at an audiology branch of a well-known chain of optician. My audiogram showed significant loss of sensitivity to higher-pitched sounds, especially above 2000 Hz (2 kHz). It is these frequencies that define consonants in everyday speech. This hearing loss explains why when Mrs Gee asks me to send reinforcements as the Russians are going to advance, I think she is asking me send three and fourpence, the Russians are going to a dance. The family has had to endure regular subtitling on TV – either that, or volumes too high for the rest of the family to tolerate.

Although I have abused my hearing throughout my life with exposure to loud music, mild to moderate age-related hearing loss is very common. There might also be a genetic element. Close relatives younger than I have hearing aids. So, in the past week I have joined the ranks of the hearing-aided.

What a revelation it has been.

I cannot pretend it is anything like the experience of the first mammals. However, we can turn down the volume on the TV and radio here at chez Gee and subtitles aren’t always a must. My hearing aids are also equipped with bluetooth which is brilliant. I can listen to music or audiobooks as I engage on my daily round — something I was used to doing with earbuds. And there is an app for that (of course) so I can control my hearing aids from my phone.

It was rather disconcerting initially. For the first two days or so the world did seem rather ‘fizzy’ as I could hear ‘noisy’ and high-pitched sounds well for the first time in years. I didn’t realise how much birdsong there is, even in midwinter. But I learn that it takes time for one to learn to live with the experience and after a few days it settles down.

There are downsides – if I want too play music through studio headphones I need to take my hearing aids out. And, as I am one of the few people with sufficient sense left in the world to wear an FFP2 mask in crowded public spaces (one wonders if the NHS would be quite so burdened with flu and COVID cases were mask wearing compulsory in public spaces),  putting on and removing a mask is quite tricky when there are hearing aids in the way. But that’s an argument, perhaps, for another time.

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