PhD student

...and they lived happily ever after! Sometimes I like happy endings. Where they get each other. And me and Rob just did. All the necessary signatures are on the form! It's official. I'm now his fourth supervisor...

How did that happen? Rob had three: Roland, Wil and Dan, who hasn't featured so much on this blog. Dan went to Exeter around the time I came to Plymouth. He is a specialist in testate amoebae. Rob's PhD is on using foraminifera (Roland) and testate amoebae (Dan) as sea level indicators in Norwegian sediments. Roland is the man who has the overview. And I'm in the lab a lot.

I don't know anything about testates. But most other things Rob works with I have done before. So often he asks practical things. Or even things concerning planning or fieldwork and such things. And often I stick my nose in on my own initiative. I'm often just curious what he does, but quite often I have something useful to comment when I see him doing things. I might ask things such as "why do you take such large samples? Wouldn't you want to label the lids of these sample containers too? Have you seen this paper?"

And then there's foram taxonomy. There's thousands of different species. And the lab has a really limited reference collection, a very limited library, and no access to the online foram encyclopaedia. So learning these all in that lab is very tricky, and two know more than one. So I often try to help. On top of all that I went with Rob on fieldwork.

Rob in the field

Then Hugh appeared on the scene. He is one of these people who has a sharp eye for career boosting. He noticed I was investing quite some energy, but other people would get the credits. But not on his shift! He kicked me in the arse, saying I should discuss this with Rob; maybe I could be added to the list of supervisors. So I did. And Rob greeted the idea with enthusiasm. My next step was talk to Roland; nothing moves in such fields unless he wills it. And he thought it was a great idea too! We weren't sure if it would be in line with university policy; maybe it would be too late. Maybe one can only have three supervisors. At some universities one can only have a PhD student while having a permanent contract oneself, but we knew that wasn't the case here; Wil is only a postdoc as well. But with the remaining questions I went to the Graduate School Research Administrator, who got back to me within minutes with the news that there was no objection to such procedure. And today I got the email confirming all paperwork had been done, and it was official! I have a PhD student, and not just any!

I love Rob to bits; I think he's most splendid. We get on like a house on fire. And he's dedicated and smart, so any supervision will be but a pleasure. I'm chuffed! And now I'll have to try not to take myself too seriously. Even though on Facebook our Spanish PhD student already announced she wants me too, either as a supervisor, or an internal examiner! Blimey. If you're looking for me: I'm somewhere in a central place, looking quite satisfied with myself! And with my marvellous student. Prepare to be amazed while we conquer the world!

better than repair

I know how unfriendly I tend to be with mobile electronics. And then I mean the sort you can have in your pocket; a gentleman once wanted to keep me away from his laptop as he had heard of my reputation, but I wouldn't take his laptop (or mine) down a mine or onto Dartmoor or into the high Alps. But as I might do such thing with my phone (well, without the taking it down a mine) I decided to also buy a screen protector. When Tasha heard that she immediately said: "you need one!"

When you buy one for your phone you actually get two; by the looks of it, one for an iPhone 3 and one for a 4. But I only bought one phone! Then I figured I could cut up the other sheet of protective material and use it for items that are expected to suffer some wear and tear. Items that actually come underground with me. So I coated the LCD screen of my waterproof camera, and the display of my new waterproof watch! That may keep them in business a bit longer...

You can't really see it, but trust me! They both now have screen protection...

Mine familiarisation

Those likely to get into trouble underground are also those who are likely to get one out of trouble underground. It’s those that hang around underground all the time that make up the cave rescue team. One could say the rescue team comprises of two halves: those from the Plymouth Caving Group (PCG), which, in spite of its name, focuses on visiting mines; and those from the Devon Speleological Society (DSS), which is true to its name and visits natural caves. Accidents can happen in either underground space, so the rescue team should be comfortable in both. We regularly drag victims on stretchers through caves, but we should also be able to do that in mines. And in order to do that we should also be comfortable with them.

When a regular training was cancelled due to some circumstance or other, Lionel and Finbar decided to give the DSS’ers a chance to play around in a versatile mine. And so it happened! This mine has both a vertical and an inclined shaft, and had all sorts of gaping holes, scrambles and flooded bits underground to give people an idea of what you can encounter in a mine. And then next time we should really have a victim on a stretcher. So we started out rigging the vertical shaft for some rope work practice while the others rigged the inclined shaft in order to practice hauling.

Lionel down the shaft

Lionel went down first, but he was back up soon: the actual mine was flooded. I went down as well, only to practice turning around on a rope without touching the ground. And then we were on our way to the other shaft. We went down, and found familiar water depths. This part of the mine is much better drained... we explored every nook of this nice little mine. For me, the highlight was a good swim. I was the only one in a wetsuit, so the only one who wanted to see how far you could get at the far end of the mine before the water touches the ceiling. There’s something about underground swimming...

Lionel getting past the deviation

Me putting on my gloves before going down

We really need to do a proper rescue training underground, with a real fake victim. We’ve never done that in my time! And Lionel already pointed out one day that in our region, there’s hundreds of mines for every cave... one day we’ll need these skills!

Me going down the inclined shaft

Rich balancing on a beam above a gaping hole

Me with two sturdy chaperones in tomato soup

The soup got deeper and more watery!

Rich climbing out of the inclined shaft

Time for repair by proxy

"Excuse me, but it's raining in my bathroom!" If you're a hard-working nurse that may not be what you want to hear on your Wednesday evening, but it had to be said.

In recent times I had sometimes been confronted with a soaking bath mat. The first time I had just dismissed that as something for which there must be a logical and quite non-urgent reason, and, to be honest, maybe also the second time, but when it happened again I figured some investigation was in order. It wasn't anything to do with my plumbing, as far as I could see. So I looked up. To a stained ceiling! And the staining was recent. I had the culprit. So I phoned the landlord.

Then, for a while, nothing happened; no discernible action from the landlord, but no leaking ceilings either. Until I came home Wednesday evening. The water worryingly came down the bathroom lamp, and had already made quite a puddle. So I immediately walked up the stairs, to see if perhaps the upstairs neighbour was doing something watery. She answered, somewhat disturbed, in her dressing gown. And wasn't aware of anything amiss...

This is not what it's supposed to look like!

Closer scrutiny revealed water next to her washing machine, which she had just used. The water evidently immediately leaked into my house without leaving much of a trace in hers! So therefore she had never noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Diagnosing the problem, though, is one thing. Solving it is another. As I said; she's a hardworking nurse, and she doesn't have much time to stay home and show repairmen the way. But I trust she'll manage. And then I can enjoy a dry bathroom again...

21st century: getting there!

If you try to impress people with a new trick, make sure that it works! I wanted to show off my new phone to Tasha, but I had only charged it before heading off to Oxford, and not activated it, so that didn't work. On my return I found that when the phone asks you to connect it to iTunes it isn't joking; without that nothing will happen! Nonsense. Why would you have to stick your telephone in a radio before you can make a phone call? But if that's what it takes...

So then I had a working phone. That evening I had a phone with my old number. We were getting somewhere. And before I could possibly get as destructive with it as I am with my cameras I added a screen protector - I think I need that.

Neil had spent months moaning that I should get me a smartphone so we could exchange pictures without using email, so I figured next I'd try to impress him. And sent him a text with an image.

I touched the wrong button, so my first message only read "s". A cryptic message if there ever was one! And then the phone refused to send the attached message. So one can imagine how impressed Neil was. "Find a man and ask for help!" I found some men, but none that could resolve that issue. I did find one, though, that spontaneously set up my email on my phone. (Thanks Paul!)

A few days later, after having consulted the manual which claimed it should just work, I gave it another try. And now it worked! Neil still wasn't impressed though. I had just sent a rather boring picture, taken in the mirror, of me with the phone. His response: "Freak!"

So the impressing wasn't getting anywhere, but the phone evidently worked. More people to impress! I decided to send Jon, who has an iPhone himself. And who, togteher with Tasha, was one of the main inspirators to this move. His response on my announcement of a picture: "Cool! Will you send it by text or email?" Oi! It already sat proudly in  my outbox. So why hadn't it reached him?

See! Three apps! I'm using that phone to the max...

I don't think I'm born for modern electronics. But I sure now can pick up my email at random places. And when I wonder about an exotic word I can look it up, even if there is no dictionary anywhere near!  I've even personalised my phone with a wallpaper. And I installed three apps already; one that gives me information on the account I have with my phone provider (boring!) and two words of the day. So though it's slow, creaking, faltering progress, I'm sure turning into a modern, communicating citizen!

Inside the picket line

Economies are staggering and toppling over left and right! Old certainties have faded, We all have to tighten our belts, and get ready for hard times. And, ideally, do the tightening in a fairly distributed way. Is the UK government doing its best to spread the burden over British shoulders? I don't know, really. But on Wednesday the UK streets were clogged with people who think they do know. And they think the answer is no.

This is what it's all about

There were strikes all over the country. I didn't strike; firstly, I'm not a member of a union, so I'm not even allowed. Secondly; I haven't bothered to form an opinion on government policy on that front, so I can't say if I agree with it. And thirdly; I'm always sceptical when there clearly is a need for belts need to be tightened, and people flock to the streets to argue it should be someone else, not them, who carry the burden. And there is, of course, a fourthly; if I strike I only have myself with that. Will the government really change its way if they realise that otherwise a few forams don't get counted? Of course not. Do I care about these counted forams? Hell yeah!

So on Wednesday I was an official scab. I wondered if I should go to the picket line and get beaten up; I have vague memories of the famous miners' strikes in the 80's, so I sort of think that's the proper English way. But I did no such thing. And I think a handful of academics are less likely to be willing to grant you such experience than hordes of furious miners.

The university picket line, seen from behind

During lunch, one of my colleagues explained he would lose out on £200.000 worth of persions. That sure sounds disproportional. Still, he had voted against a strike. He figured that way you make the wrong people suffer: the students. I feel sympathy for this. On the 10 o'clock news they interviewed a protester: he was striking because he would lose out on £1000 a year worth of pensions. That's less than £100 a month! That's exactly what I have against such protests: there really is less money to go around; live with it. Do your part.

I don't know if it's the right thing to not be a union member and find out what's really going on. But if not I'll just live with that. I have forams to count, after all...

Oxford

Durham: been there. Bristol: been there. Southampton: been there. Liverpool: been there. Plymouth: live there. Oxford: hadn’t been there! So when we got together for the kick-off meeting of iGlass, which has scientists from all these places, I was glad that Eelco, the project leader, had chosen the rather centrally located Oxford University as the venue.

On a sunny Sunday I got into the train with Roland, emerging into a dark Oxford. Less than an hour later, we were in a pub, meeting up with Tasha. That pub was Oxford’s most famous one, and, quite likely, also the least conspicuous: the Turf. We decided to dine there too, and then Roland already called it a day. Needless to say we hadn’t seen much of this famously beautiful town! As we had had a quieter night the previous day, Tasha and I decided to add one more pub and a few hundred metres more of Oxford streets to our repertoire: we had a last pint in what allegedly was Oxford’s oldest pub: the Bear. When we came in the first thing we saw was an elderly gentleman in a scholarly gown, reading the newspaper over a pint. We couldn’t have gotten a more Oxfordian reception...

Only when behlding this picture at full size will one see the little sign "Turf Tavern"; that's all that hints at its location!

The Turf itself! Notice the reassuring blue glow of Roland's coat inside; its owner is ordering us a pint...

We got back at a reasonable hour, so I decided to get up early the next morning, and have a stroll around town in daylight, before the meeting would start. As soon as the meeting would finish Roland and I would have to go to the railway station in order to still be able to make it home. So when the sky was still pink and the grass white I strolled around, with my camera ready. It is indeed very pretty! It’s almost becoming a series: Margot explores the prettiest town in the UK in around an hour...

Mansfield College

Frost in the park

Melancholy trees along the river

The Earth Sciences building

Keble College

The St Mary Magdalen; cute little church in the middle of the shopping area

Courtyard of the Bodleian Library

The Radcliffe Camera in the sunrise

Rather random and very old looking alley