As the simplest recipe I found, I decided to try this one first.
Ingredients:
4 tbsp dry lentils - I used red lentils, but any kind of dal will do
water to soak
Method:
Soak the lentils overnight (or until hydrated), and then use enough water and a whizzer to make them into a paste. Use like normal shampoo.
This is incredibly easy to make. I left it on longer than regular shampoo - I figured the longer the better. It smells very fresh (and lentilly) and did a surprisingly good job of cleaning my hair. The main drawback is that it took ages to get all the bits of lentil out of my hair - in the end I let it dry and combed them out. On the up side, because they weren't too small they did come out easily.
Verdict:
Pretty good considering it costs next to nothing, but not something to use when you're in a hurry.
Living the Good Life
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Dry skin, acne, carrots and Vitamin A
As alluded to in my olive oil posts from earlier this year, I used to have horrendous skin. Bad acne, greasy T-zone, the lot. Since then, my skin seems to have swung the full width of the scale and is now incredibly dry - so much so that I can put hand cream on my face in the morning, and still have dried-out skin by midday. Unfortunately the acne hasn't completely gone away, and at the age of 29 I am still tied to using medicated face washes. In short, since about the age of 11 I have had fairly rubbish skin, as I just haven't known how to deal with it. And I am fed up with it.
A while ago I bought a book about adult acne, which told me that the three chemicals I need to look for in products are retinol (vitamin A), salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide. Since learning that without one of these chemicals it's unlikely that there will be much improvement in my skin, I was amazed at how few of the marketed products actually contain ANY of them! I have succeeded in locating a few that contain salicylic acid (and only 1 at a significant percentage), none that contain benzoyl peroxide, and a couple of very expensive beauty creams that contain retinol.
The latter of these I find extremely interesting, as it seems retinol also has a widely mentioned effect on wrinkles and other skin imperfections. Excellent! But I'm not spending £12 on a teeny bottle of moisturiser.
So having done some more research I discovered that there are a few vegetables that have high levels of vitamin A: carrots, sweet potatoes, broccoli and butternut squash. So while I can't afford expensive creams I do normally have a carrot or two knocking around in the fridge which I can add to face masks. Other good sources are dairy products and meat - especially liver.
While I'm not up to a Victoria Beckham-style meat mask, I can very easily combine some grated carrot and yoghurt. I often use yoghurt on its own as a face mask as it really makes my dry skin soft, but the addition of vitamin A should help not only my spots but my encroaching wrinkles too. I've been using the recipe below every other day, and my skin seems to be responding well. Hopefully this increase in skin care will mean I can cut down on the money I spend on cosmetics too!
----
Super face mask for dry, acne prone skin:
1 tsp grated carrot/ sweet potato/ squash
1 tsp natural yoghurt
1/2 tsp honey
1/2 tsp oatmeal
Leave on for 10 minutes, then rinse off with water and moisturise.
A while ago I bought a book about adult acne, which told me that the three chemicals I need to look for in products are retinol (vitamin A), salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide. Since learning that without one of these chemicals it's unlikely that there will be much improvement in my skin, I was amazed at how few of the marketed products actually contain ANY of them! I have succeeded in locating a few that contain salicylic acid (and only 1 at a significant percentage), none that contain benzoyl peroxide, and a couple of very expensive beauty creams that contain retinol.
The latter of these I find extremely interesting, as it seems retinol also has a widely mentioned effect on wrinkles and other skin imperfections. Excellent! But I'm not spending £12 on a teeny bottle of moisturiser.
So having done some more research I discovered that there are a few vegetables that have high levels of vitamin A: carrots, sweet potatoes, broccoli and butternut squash. So while I can't afford expensive creams I do normally have a carrot or two knocking around in the fridge which I can add to face masks. Other good sources are dairy products and meat - especially liver.
While I'm not up to a Victoria Beckham-style meat mask, I can very easily combine some grated carrot and yoghurt. I often use yoghurt on its own as a face mask as it really makes my dry skin soft, but the addition of vitamin A should help not only my spots but my encroaching wrinkles too. I've been using the recipe below every other day, and my skin seems to be responding well. Hopefully this increase in skin care will mean I can cut down on the money I spend on cosmetics too!
----
Super face mask for dry, acne prone skin:
1 tsp grated carrot/ sweet potato/ squash
1 tsp natural yoghurt
1/2 tsp honey
1/2 tsp oatmeal
Leave on for 10 minutes, then rinse off with water and moisturise.
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Writing up
This article was originally published for Cambio Ltd. on 17-12-2012. Access it here.
On my official forms it says I have a minimum of 3 years and maximum of 4 years to complete my studies. I would be interested to know what the average time taken to complete a PhD is, because I know people who have had to wait for their 3 year ‘minimum’ in order to submit, and others who still have not submitted after 5 years. I am also a little dispirited by the number of academics who have said to me that you need to be extremely lucky to complete your studies within the 3 years.
For me luck has not been hugely forthcoming, owing to my PCR frustrations. However, ever the optimist, I am hopeful that I will find sufficient funding to sequence the ~1000 strains I have, and thus be well on my way to making my original scientific discovery. I am very aware that data is only part of the story though: I’ve been on enough science communication courses by now to understand that research is only useful if you can tell other people about it. A PhD is nothing without a written thesis.
A couple of weeks ago I was lucky enough to go on a GRADSchool course run by Vitae*. Towards the end of the week we did some goal setting, and gave ourselves targets towards getting where we want with our careers. Some people were going to sign up for training courses, some were going to investigate non-academic career options. Me, I was struck by our group leader’s definition of a good PhD thesis, which was simply a finished PhD thesis. With this in mind, and the end of my third year looming, I decided that the most constructive thing I can do, no matter my career choice, is to get the darned thing written. Seventy thousand words ain’t going to happen by magic!
So I’ve set myself a target to have 30,000 words written by my birthday in September, which coincides with the time my funding runs out – an extremely good motivator! This works out at about 700 words a week, and being a very visual learner I have of course set up a spreadsheet to keep me on track. I’ve also moved my working week around so that I have a day just for writing, which suits me much better than fitting it in around lab experiments. So far, so good: I have 7% of a thesis.
My only problem is that I am not a natural in the scientific lingo. Other forms of writing feel quite natural, but I am still getting my head around how scientific language works. It is a fine art, and in my experience there is a thin line between very good and very bad writing. The skill is to be technical and succinct without being grandiloquent or using too much jargon. The most helpful tip I’ve had is to write a sentence, then read the first 10 words: if you’ve not said anything useful, rewrite it.
Obviously the only way to improve at anything is practice, so all the more reason to get writing now – it’s easier to play around with badly written sentences than no sentences. I’ve heard repeatedly that “writing up takes longer than you think!” – so get writing!
* Having spoken to a number of people there (being a gregarious soul) I think I may have been the only person there of my own volition rather than ‘because my supervisor wanted me to go’, but I don’t think I met anyone who felt their time had been wasted. If you are a PhD student and your supervisor suggests you go, do.
On my official forms it says I have a minimum of 3 years and maximum of 4 years to complete my studies. I would be interested to know what the average time taken to complete a PhD is, because I know people who have had to wait for their 3 year ‘minimum’ in order to submit, and others who still have not submitted after 5 years. I am also a little dispirited by the number of academics who have said to me that you need to be extremely lucky to complete your studies within the 3 years.
For me luck has not been hugely forthcoming, owing to my PCR frustrations. However, ever the optimist, I am hopeful that I will find sufficient funding to sequence the ~1000 strains I have, and thus be well on my way to making my original scientific discovery. I am very aware that data is only part of the story though: I’ve been on enough science communication courses by now to understand that research is only useful if you can tell other people about it. A PhD is nothing without a written thesis.
A couple of weeks ago I was lucky enough to go on a GRADSchool course run by Vitae*. Towards the end of the week we did some goal setting, and gave ourselves targets towards getting where we want with our careers. Some people were going to sign up for training courses, some were going to investigate non-academic career options. Me, I was struck by our group leader’s definition of a good PhD thesis, which was simply a finished PhD thesis. With this in mind, and the end of my third year looming, I decided that the most constructive thing I can do, no matter my career choice, is to get the darned thing written. Seventy thousand words ain’t going to happen by magic!
So I’ve set myself a target to have 30,000 words written by my birthday in September, which coincides with the time my funding runs out – an extremely good motivator! This works out at about 700 words a week, and being a very visual learner I have of course set up a spreadsheet to keep me on track. I’ve also moved my working week around so that I have a day just for writing, which suits me much better than fitting it in around lab experiments. So far, so good: I have 7% of a thesis.
My only problem is that I am not a natural in the scientific lingo. Other forms of writing feel quite natural, but I am still getting my head around how scientific language works. It is a fine art, and in my experience there is a thin line between very good and very bad writing. The skill is to be technical and succinct without being grandiloquent or using too much jargon. The most helpful tip I’ve had is to write a sentence, then read the first 10 words: if you’ve not said anything useful, rewrite it.
Obviously the only way to improve at anything is practice, so all the more reason to get writing now – it’s easier to play around with badly written sentences than no sentences. I’ve heard repeatedly that “writing up takes longer than you think!” – so get writing!
* Having spoken to a number of people there (being a gregarious soul) I think I may have been the only person there of my own volition rather than ‘because my supervisor wanted me to go’, but I don’t think I met anyone who felt their time had been wasted. If you are a PhD student and your supervisor suggests you go, do.
Monday, 17 December 2012
No 'poo #2
Earlier this year I attempted to go without shampoo for a month, instead using bicarb and vinegar.
It did not work.
I don't know if it's because of the hard water where I was living, the way I was doing it, or my hair itself that was the problem. Either way, after a couple of weeks the crown of my head was permanently greasy and more than a bit gross. I may be a bit of a hippy, but I do care about my appearance. So out came the bottle of shampoo...
In an attempt to save my growing hair I also cut back how often I wash my hair to twice a week, and try not to use elasticated hair ties so much. But my hair remains unhappy, so it's time for me to try something different again.
Using the experience I gained I will be doing things a bit different this time. I think a more appropriate name for this experiment may be "no detergent" - I intend to try out a variety of 'traditional' shampoos, and report back on how they have worked for me.
My hair is now quite long and remains very thick, very fine (as per a chinchilla) and a bit greasy - I can go 3 days without a wash, but the fourth always requires dry shampoo (for which I use cornflour and a lot of brushing). I long ago stopped using chemical dyes, and rarely blow dry my hair. But because it is so fine it quickly gets very knotty, and because it grows so slowly it also tends to get ratty at the ends.
The first experiment showed me a few things that really did help with these last two things:
1) vinegar and lemon juice make excellent conditioners. I now keep an old washing up liquid bottle containing 1 part cider vinegar, 1 part lemon juice, 10 parts water and a cinnamon stick in the shower to rinse my hair after washing. It really softens my hair and makes it feel much less dry.
2) olive oil is also an excellent conditioner and detangler. I run a tiny amount through the ends of my hair by hand or by rubbing this small amount of oil onto my hairbrush. My ends seem much healthier, and less knotty as a result.
3) henna is amazing! I have more than a few grey hairs now, and it also helps with this. At about £7 for a block of Caca Rouge from Lush, it works out at just over £2 per dying session - much cheaper than chemical dyes, and much better for my hair. Obviously only useful if you have dark hair!
My main priorities with finding an alternative to standard shampoos is that it should be cheap, easy and not reliant on fossil fuels for its production; I am reluctant to use the words 'sustainable', 'green' or 'ecological', but these would also be relevant. If I can find it in my kitchen cupboard, so much the better.
Let the experiments commence!
It did not work.
I don't know if it's because of the hard water where I was living, the way I was doing it, or my hair itself that was the problem. Either way, after a couple of weeks the crown of my head was permanently greasy and more than a bit gross. I may be a bit of a hippy, but I do care about my appearance. So out came the bottle of shampoo...
In an attempt to save my growing hair I also cut back how often I wash my hair to twice a week, and try not to use elasticated hair ties so much. But my hair remains unhappy, so it's time for me to try something different again.
Using the experience I gained I will be doing things a bit different this time. I think a more appropriate name for this experiment may be "no detergent" - I intend to try out a variety of 'traditional' shampoos, and report back on how they have worked for me.
My hair is now quite long and remains very thick, very fine (as per a chinchilla) and a bit greasy - I can go 3 days without a wash, but the fourth always requires dry shampoo (for which I use cornflour and a lot of brushing). I long ago stopped using chemical dyes, and rarely blow dry my hair. But because it is so fine it quickly gets very knotty, and because it grows so slowly it also tends to get ratty at the ends.
The first experiment showed me a few things that really did help with these last two things:
1) vinegar and lemon juice make excellent conditioners. I now keep an old washing up liquid bottle containing 1 part cider vinegar, 1 part lemon juice, 10 parts water and a cinnamon stick in the shower to rinse my hair after washing. It really softens my hair and makes it feel much less dry.
2) olive oil is also an excellent conditioner and detangler. I run a tiny amount through the ends of my hair by hand or by rubbing this small amount of oil onto my hairbrush. My ends seem much healthier, and less knotty as a result.
3) henna is amazing! I have more than a few grey hairs now, and it also helps with this. At about £7 for a block of Caca Rouge from Lush, it works out at just over £2 per dying session - much cheaper than chemical dyes, and much better for my hair. Obviously only useful if you have dark hair!
My main priorities with finding an alternative to standard shampoos is that it should be cheap, easy and not reliant on fossil fuels for its production; I am reluctant to use the words 'sustainable', 'green' or 'ecological', but these would also be relevant. If I can find it in my kitchen cupboard, so much the better.
Let the experiments commence!
Monday, 26 November 2012
Building real friendships
I've just returned from a GRADschool course in Windermere run by Vitae (and paid for by SGM - THANK YOU!!) which I was warned might change my life, and has indeed done so.
Aside from boosting my confidence no end and giving me some very firm nudges in the right direction career-wise, it has reaffirmed my desire to live a life that I find fulfilling, nourishing and challenging. It also highlighted to me that I am a very people-oriented person. I just love caring for and bringing the best out of people, getting to know them, supervising projects so that everyone does their bit (it turns out I'm a Belbin co-ordinator) and making sure everyone knows how vital they were in getting stuff done.
So whilst evaluating my time there, one thread that stood out was my pain at not keeping in touch with my friends better. Every time I miss a birthday or a marriage or a birth I cringe. How do I not know my friend's addresses, mobile numbers... birthdays?!
Unfortunately a large part of the answer lies in Facebook.
It has become my crutch. Where I once had an address book I now just send people messages online. I decided this won't do, so tonight I culled about 100 people off my friend list. I began with people I haven't spoken to in the last year - which was a surprising number; most of these I haven't really spoken to since I joined Facebook back in 2006. Once the ball was rolling, it was easier to remove people who I am awkwardly friends with through other friends, people I went to school with, and people who generally just make me feel shite about myself. Now I'm down to 146 friends, which still seems an awful lot.
Since I became friends with my mum, my aunties and my vicar, I have to say I've been putting a lot less stuff on my page (!), but the weird thing is that online etiquette has changed in recent years, and I've become accepting of some seriously detrimental things. Since when was it ok for people I barely know to write upsetting things in my personal space? Since when do I need to share my personal details with people I haven't really spoken to in 15 years, or with friends of friends? It's bizarre, and I can understand how Facebook has been found to have profound mental implications. I know far more intimate details about certain conference contacts than I do of some of my work colleagues.
So I've chopped my social sphere down to people I like and want to stay in touch with, which surely is what Facebook should be for. Who knows, I may yet give it all up completely... but for now I'm happy to have a bit more control over who can see my personal stuff, and begin making a proper address book.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Diversity
This article was originally published for Cambio Ltd. on 14-11-2012. Access it here.
In my original project description there is a very innocuous sentence that reads “rhizobia diversity will be assessed by PCR fingerprinting with REP/ERIC/BOX PCR”.
The problem is, it won’t.
Unfortunately, neither will RP01, RP04 or RP05 RAPD primers, or NodA or GyrB primers, as 2 years of tweaks and frustration have shown me. It would seem I’m at a dead end. So with a year to go, 1000 strains and a £2,000 budget I am faced with the dilemma of how to address my project title of “Rhizobia Diversity in Farm Soils”. Hum.
One of the main problems of this is the more I delve into the topic, the more I wonder what ‘diversity’ means. A quick look in my Chambers dictionary yields the definition:
n diverˈsity state of being diverse; difference; dissimilarity; variety.
But how much difference? How much dissimilarity? How much variety?
I’m beginning to see why I will be a doctor of philosophy…
My original hope was to use banding patterns to identify my strains. My NodA assay very reliably gives me two very different banding patterns for the two bacteria I work with: Rhizobium leguminosarum bv. trifolii and Sinorhizobium meliloti. But it doesn’t give me any finer resolution, and I can already identify with some reliability to the species level because of the plant I’ve isolated them from in the first place. And I must say looking at a plant is a much quicker way of discerning that level of diversity!
So discernment to a species level is pretty easy when you’re coming at it from the direction I am. If it comes off an alfalfa plant, chances are it’s S. meliloti. No need to spend a week showing that molecularly. But my project is aimed at discerning more subtle differences that might have been responsible for crop failures in a previous project: perhaps changes in a gene that affects nodulation ability under low pH, or desiccation, or Ca deficiency. Or something that improves N-fixation ability. Or, or, or… something!
So how do I find that difference?
There are currently 92 species of ‘true’ rhizobia in 12 genera, though it sometimes seems that these classifications change on a bi-weekly basis. I think I’m right in saying that they’re based on 16S rRNA profiles: differences in sections of housekeeping genes that are similar, but whose differences merit their classification as a separate species.
This week I had my first lesson in metagenomics and phylogeny, a combination of brain-crunching pain and excitement at delving into the private lives of my bacteria. Using the 16S rRNA sequence data for 4 wild-type strains of S. meliloti, including its sister strain S. medicae, I crunched them in BioEdit and found… very little difference.
16S is clearly not the gene I will be using for this method.
There are other options though, and with the age of next-generation sequencing upon us it is much easier to analyse diversity at a very fine level using this method: it is clearly the way forward. The problem is the cost. I have almost 1000 strains, far more than I can afford to sequence. My alternative is RFLP, which is cheaper but a nightmare to analyse for that many samples, and won’t give me such fine detail. So I am left with a dilemma that must be familiar to a lot of university-based researchers: how do I squeeze the best value out of my funding? How can I get some original, publishable, rigorous results? At this point I’m considering paying for the sequencing myself!
In my original project description there is a very innocuous sentence that reads “rhizobia diversity will be assessed by PCR fingerprinting with REP/ERIC/BOX PCR”.
The problem is, it won’t.
Unfortunately, neither will RP01, RP04 or RP05 RAPD primers, or NodA or GyrB primers, as 2 years of tweaks and frustration have shown me. It would seem I’m at a dead end. So with a year to go, 1000 strains and a £2,000 budget I am faced with the dilemma of how to address my project title of “Rhizobia Diversity in Farm Soils”. Hum.
One of the main problems of this is the more I delve into the topic, the more I wonder what ‘diversity’ means. A quick look in my Chambers dictionary yields the definition:
n diverˈsity state of being diverse; difference; dissimilarity; variety.
But how much difference? How much dissimilarity? How much variety?
I’m beginning to see why I will be a doctor of philosophy…
My original hope was to use banding patterns to identify my strains. My NodA assay very reliably gives me two very different banding patterns for the two bacteria I work with: Rhizobium leguminosarum bv. trifolii and Sinorhizobium meliloti. But it doesn’t give me any finer resolution, and I can already identify with some reliability to the species level because of the plant I’ve isolated them from in the first place. And I must say looking at a plant is a much quicker way of discerning that level of diversity!
So discernment to a species level is pretty easy when you’re coming at it from the direction I am. If it comes off an alfalfa plant, chances are it’s S. meliloti. No need to spend a week showing that molecularly. But my project is aimed at discerning more subtle differences that might have been responsible for crop failures in a previous project: perhaps changes in a gene that affects nodulation ability under low pH, or desiccation, or Ca deficiency. Or something that improves N-fixation ability. Or, or, or… something!
So how do I find that difference?
There are currently 92 species of ‘true’ rhizobia in 12 genera, though it sometimes seems that these classifications change on a bi-weekly basis. I think I’m right in saying that they’re based on 16S rRNA profiles: differences in sections of housekeeping genes that are similar, but whose differences merit their classification as a separate species.
This week I had my first lesson in metagenomics and phylogeny, a combination of brain-crunching pain and excitement at delving into the private lives of my bacteria. Using the 16S rRNA sequence data for 4 wild-type strains of S. meliloti, including its sister strain S. medicae, I crunched them in BioEdit and found… very little difference.
16S is clearly not the gene I will be using for this method.
There are other options though, and with the age of next-generation sequencing upon us it is much easier to analyse diversity at a very fine level using this method: it is clearly the way forward. The problem is the cost. I have almost 1000 strains, far more than I can afford to sequence. My alternative is RFLP, which is cheaper but a nightmare to analyse for that many samples, and won’t give me such fine detail. So I am left with a dilemma that must be familiar to a lot of university-based researchers: how do I squeeze the best value out of my funding? How can I get some original, publishable, rigorous results? At this point I’m considering paying for the sequencing myself!
Thursday, 8 November 2012
Free stuff, w00p!
I read in a Lawrence D. Hills book that "there is no honour amongst gardeners" and I'm inclined to agree. Over the past year or two I have become used to finding random vegetables amongst my plants, where people have clearly flung their unwanted stuff. Quite what is wrong with their compost heaps I don't know, but the bizarre thing is that most of the time it seems fine to me. Free veg, great!
Today I went to our Reading allotment where I am continuing to strip it down as we now have *the new allotment*. As it's autumn time it's time to take the beans down - and on arrival at the beans I discovered a whole pile of someone else's bean plants (which just seems plain cheeky).
The thing was, amongst the 'waste' there were absolutely loads of beans. It was here that I decided once and for all that people in this country are mad. We just have too much cheap food - otherwise why would you throw away perfectly good protein in the form of beans?
Personally I will be storing them to grow next year. There's all sorts of runner bean varieties and a few borlottis for good measure. But there may just be too many to grow, in which case, that's some free food.
Thank you wasteful person!
Friday, 12 October 2012
Certainty
This article was originally published for Cambio Ltd. on 11-10-2012. Access it here.
So, it’s the beginning of a new year, and campus is once again filled with students venturing into the world of university. I will confess I seem to have reached an age where I find myself thinking “Pull your trousers up! And get a haircut!” But the beginning of term always gets me thinking about when I started uni, and how much I felt I knew when I left. Everything I learned seemed certain.
But you only need to view comments on YouTube to appreciate the certainty of teenagers. I remember being accused of “acting like I knew everything”, and if challenged I probably would have agreed that this was the case. Having seen something I disagreed with it was pretty easy to conclude that the opposite must be the better option, e.g. I disagreed with how animals were slaughtered so became a vegetarian.
This certainty was only reinforced by what I was taught in school. By the end of A-level I was fairly sure I understood the basics of genetics: DNA, chromosomes, selection, punnet squares. Then I went to university and learned some more information – it was harder, but still delivered with a lot of certainty: genes, PCR, GM. It’s great – you come out of your course feeling you know a whole bunch ‘o’ stuff.
These days, if I’m asked by a student what something is, or why their experiment hasn’t worked, I can no longer answer their question with any certainty – despite the fact that my knowledge base is much larger than it used to be. I find myself saying things like “well, it’s probably because of…” or “maybe it’s this… show me what you did”. I remember demonstrators being like that when I was a student, and it drove me mad! I’d be thinking “you’re meant to be smarter than me, how come you don’t know?!” When I start answering a question I can hear 19-year-old me shouting these things in my head, but I just can’t respond any different. I can see now that being ‘smart’ or knowing more just makes you aware of all the uncertainties and things that can go wrong.
I also wonder if teaching science with certainty is a useful thing. I have friends who seem to think that ‘science’ holds all the answers, when in reality, science is really just a collection of probabilities. If something happens more than 95 times out of 100, it’s probably right. But there’s a still a 5% chance it’s wrong. I used to believe that if a paper showed a result, it was certain. Sadly, now I realise that while X, Y and Z studies found a result, they may each have had different equipment, protocols or sample sizes – while studies A, B and C may have found the opposite result with the same equipment, protocols and sample sizes. I can only make my best judgement and pray that other academics think the same way!
I miss certainty. It made me feel clever and knowledgeable. I often take solace in Socrates quotation that “the only thing I know is that I know nothing” (although, on investigation it seems that this quotation is not certain*) as he was by all accounts a rather clever chap. However, whilst a lack of certainty is certainly a cause of my stupidity conundrum (see previous posts) I also think it’s kind of liberating: that nothing is certain means anything is possible. I like that.
*According to the great oracle, Wikipedia, the correct quotation is “I am wiser than this man, for neither of us appears to know anything great and good; but he fancies he knows something, although he knows nothing; whereas I, as I do not know anything, so I do not fancy I do. In this trifling particular, then, I appear to be wiser than he, because I do not fancy I know what I do not know.” I know which version I prefer.
So, it’s the beginning of a new year, and campus is once again filled with students venturing into the world of university. I will confess I seem to have reached an age where I find myself thinking “Pull your trousers up! And get a haircut!” But the beginning of term always gets me thinking about when I started uni, and how much I felt I knew when I left. Everything I learned seemed certain.
But you only need to view comments on YouTube to appreciate the certainty of teenagers. I remember being accused of “acting like I knew everything”, and if challenged I probably would have agreed that this was the case. Having seen something I disagreed with it was pretty easy to conclude that the opposite must be the better option, e.g. I disagreed with how animals were slaughtered so became a vegetarian.
This certainty was only reinforced by what I was taught in school. By the end of A-level I was fairly sure I understood the basics of genetics: DNA, chromosomes, selection, punnet squares. Then I went to university and learned some more information – it was harder, but still delivered with a lot of certainty: genes, PCR, GM. It’s great – you come out of your course feeling you know a whole bunch ‘o’ stuff.
These days, if I’m asked by a student what something is, or why their experiment hasn’t worked, I can no longer answer their question with any certainty – despite the fact that my knowledge base is much larger than it used to be. I find myself saying things like “well, it’s probably because of…” or “maybe it’s this… show me what you did”. I remember demonstrators being like that when I was a student, and it drove me mad! I’d be thinking “you’re meant to be smarter than me, how come you don’t know?!” When I start answering a question I can hear 19-year-old me shouting these things in my head, but I just can’t respond any different. I can see now that being ‘smart’ or knowing more just makes you aware of all the uncertainties and things that can go wrong.
I also wonder if teaching science with certainty is a useful thing. I have friends who seem to think that ‘science’ holds all the answers, when in reality, science is really just a collection of probabilities. If something happens more than 95 times out of 100, it’s probably right. But there’s a still a 5% chance it’s wrong. I used to believe that if a paper showed a result, it was certain. Sadly, now I realise that while X, Y and Z studies found a result, they may each have had different equipment, protocols or sample sizes – while studies A, B and C may have found the opposite result with the same equipment, protocols and sample sizes. I can only make my best judgement and pray that other academics think the same way!
I miss certainty. It made me feel clever and knowledgeable. I often take solace in Socrates quotation that “the only thing I know is that I know nothing” (although, on investigation it seems that this quotation is not certain*) as he was by all accounts a rather clever chap. However, whilst a lack of certainty is certainly a cause of my stupidity conundrum (see previous posts) I also think it’s kind of liberating: that nothing is certain means anything is possible. I like that.
*According to the great oracle, Wikipedia, the correct quotation is “I am wiser than this man, for neither of us appears to know anything great and good; but he fancies he knows something, although he knows nothing; whereas I, as I do not know anything, so I do not fancy I do. In this trifling particular, then, I appear to be wiser than he, because I do not fancy I know what I do not know.” I know which version I prefer.
Friday, 21 September 2012
A different kind of stupid
This article was originally published for Cambio Ltd. on 20-09-2012. Access it here.
Take one reasonably intelligent person. Persuade them to do an undergraduate degree in a subject they declared as a child to be boring. On completion let them out into the real world to realise that a job isn’t much cop, and that their intellect is rotting in an office environment. Guide them to decide to return to university and spend £6K on a master’s degree rather than accept a manager’s job paying £30K. Three months into this course, get them to apply for a PhD in a subject area loosely connected to their university training. Conspire with fate for this person to be accepted for both the course, and the funding grant before they know what’s happened. Stand back.
Whoever decided this little scenario for me, I don’t know if I want to hurt or hug them. True, I was going stir-crazy working in an office, but I felt stupid because I was bored rather than because I had to regularly confess I didn’t understand basic biochemical concepts/ anyone else’s research project/ my own research project/ what possessed me to undertake a PhD. Also, my day-to-day tasks generally gave me the outcome I anticipated rather than a completely different one. When I went to a meeting I generally spoke to other people about a pre-arranged topic rather than, for example, turning up to discover that I was actually due to give a talk to members of the Royal Society on string theory (I know nothing about string theory). This latter scenario is how scientific research feels to me.
This week has not gone well. After spending the best part of 6 months getting my PCRs working reliably, they have now stopped doing what they should. I put in my standard mixture, and out comes something new and surprising. Unlike what I read at A-level, my experiments do not generally work, and they do not give me results that I can easily interpret. My gels go wobbly. Bands disappear inexplicably. I have to re-run my samples changing one of my 6 ingredients each time, then alter the PCR programme, the gel concentration, the voltage I run the gel at. This easily eats up a week. Then I discover that the PCR machine is running strangely, that the lids of my tubes are inexplicably popping open (despite my cramming them on with force not that short of hitting them with a hammer) – resulting in my samples evaporating. Then I find that someone used the last of my PCR strips and didn’t re-order any. With my lack of a biochemical background, I am generally forced to bug my lab mates for help and advice, or face the disparaging gaze of my supervisor. I feel stupid about 90% of the time.
Why did nobody warn me about this?!
I recently read a very good article entitled “The importance of stupidity in scientific research” (accessible here – or Google it) which was published in The Journal of Cell Science. At the start, the author describes meeting up with a PhD friend many years later, only to discover that she didn’t complete her course. Why? Because she was fed up with feeling stupid all the time. I feel her pain. But this is what scientific research is all about –after all, the reason you’re doing it is because no-one knows the answer. I’ve found this especially hard as I’m a super trendy inter-disciplinary student. So not only do I have the fun of diving into the unknown, I also have my arms and legs being pulled in 3 different directions. Deal with that Tom Daley!
But for all of this, there is no way you could drag me back to that office. My PhD winds me up, it makes me cry, it makes me question my sanity – and it makes me feel very, very stupid. But there’s a strange kind of freedom in the challenge, in knowing that realistically there are very few people who could do what I’m doing. In the end, no-one else will understand my subject as thoroughly as I do.
It beats working in an office any day.
Take one reasonably intelligent person. Persuade them to do an undergraduate degree in a subject they declared as a child to be boring. On completion let them out into the real world to realise that a job isn’t much cop, and that their intellect is rotting in an office environment. Guide them to decide to return to university and spend £6K on a master’s degree rather than accept a manager’s job paying £30K. Three months into this course, get them to apply for a PhD in a subject area loosely connected to their university training. Conspire with fate for this person to be accepted for both the course, and the funding grant before they know what’s happened. Stand back.
Whoever decided this little scenario for me, I don’t know if I want to hurt or hug them. True, I was going stir-crazy working in an office, but I felt stupid because I was bored rather than because I had to regularly confess I didn’t understand basic biochemical concepts/ anyone else’s research project/ my own research project/ what possessed me to undertake a PhD. Also, my day-to-day tasks generally gave me the outcome I anticipated rather than a completely different one. When I went to a meeting I generally spoke to other people about a pre-arranged topic rather than, for example, turning up to discover that I was actually due to give a talk to members of the Royal Society on string theory (I know nothing about string theory). This latter scenario is how scientific research feels to me.
This week has not gone well. After spending the best part of 6 months getting my PCRs working reliably, they have now stopped doing what they should. I put in my standard mixture, and out comes something new and surprising. Unlike what I read at A-level, my experiments do not generally work, and they do not give me results that I can easily interpret. My gels go wobbly. Bands disappear inexplicably. I have to re-run my samples changing one of my 6 ingredients each time, then alter the PCR programme, the gel concentration, the voltage I run the gel at. This easily eats up a week. Then I discover that the PCR machine is running strangely, that the lids of my tubes are inexplicably popping open (despite my cramming them on with force not that short of hitting them with a hammer) – resulting in my samples evaporating. Then I find that someone used the last of my PCR strips and didn’t re-order any. With my lack of a biochemical background, I am generally forced to bug my lab mates for help and advice, or face the disparaging gaze of my supervisor. I feel stupid about 90% of the time.
Why did nobody warn me about this?!
I recently read a very good article entitled “The importance of stupidity in scientific research” (accessible here – or Google it) which was published in The Journal of Cell Science. At the start, the author describes meeting up with a PhD friend many years later, only to discover that she didn’t complete her course. Why? Because she was fed up with feeling stupid all the time. I feel her pain. But this is what scientific research is all about –after all, the reason you’re doing it is because no-one knows the answer. I’ve found this especially hard as I’m a super trendy inter-disciplinary student. So not only do I have the fun of diving into the unknown, I also have my arms and legs being pulled in 3 different directions. Deal with that Tom Daley!
But for all of this, there is no way you could drag me back to that office. My PhD winds me up, it makes me cry, it makes me question my sanity – and it makes me feel very, very stupid. But there’s a strange kind of freedom in the challenge, in knowing that realistically there are very few people who could do what I’m doing. In the end, no-one else will understand my subject as thoroughly as I do.
It beats working in an office any day.
Thursday, 20 September 2012
Goodbye granny
On the 2nd September 2012 my granny passed away
following a long battle with dementia. The trickle of brain cells that were
switching off finally resulted in her losing the reflex to swallow, and she eventually
died peacefully in her sleep.
I wanted to write something about this wonderful lady and
the impact she’s had on my life. Now that she’s gone I finally feel I’m allowed
to remember her as she was, rather than the shadow of herself residing in a
nursing home who I would always feel guilty for not wanting to visit when I went
home.
My granny was the most wonderful grandmother anyone could ever
hope for. As a child my brother and I would go to their house after school
until my mum would collect us after work. Dinner (always at 5pm) would invariably be
alphabites, turkey drummers and peas followed by one of those 10 for £1 ice creams
in a plastic tub – or a variant on this formula. She would help us spell things
out with the alphabites, and if the right letters weren’t available she’d get a
knife and turn E’s into C’s, L’s into I’s or X’s into V’s. Her attention to and
interest in people was phenomenal, and I only realise it now. If she was busy she'd tell me I'd have to wait for her attention, but it was always worth it when I got it as it would be undivided, and full of praise for my mediocre achievements. As kids we must
have been a right handful but I don’t ever remember being seriously told off by
her – she managed us so well.
I won’t list all the memories I have, as the list of things I
did with her is so long: painting, sewing, gardening, cooking, icing the Christmas
cake… thinking about it now she gave so much time to me. It gave me
confidence I didn’t get from anywhere else. And it gave me green fingers, for
which I can only thank her profusely.
Yesterday I helped clear out her wardrobe and
drawers. In some ways it was very sad because so many of her possessions had
been lost or damaged as a result of her decline with the disease (clothes and
books ‘altered’, items discarded for reasons I imagine she neither processed at
the time nor remembered afterwards). Some of the things I most closely
associated with her, and really wanted (her pot of face powder with its
‘grown up’ smell – bewitching as a child) were nowhere to be found.
It was however massively rewarding though, as the main item I have salvaged was a badge I made her when I was
about 7: it is 1 inch in diameter with a yellow background, and the word SUNDAY
and some stars across the middle in those black transfer letters I struggled so
hard to use when I was small. Whilst I don’t remember giving it to her, I do
distinctly remember her wearing it the next Sunday at church and me being really,
really proud. On being reunited with it I was struck by not only how it had survived,
but also how utterly DREADFUL it is. At the time I obviously thought I’d done a
good job at transferring the letters (I hadn’t – there are corners missing
everywhere) and decorating it with the stars (I hadn’t – there’s about 3
randomly flung around the place). It is naff. It really looks like a
child made it. But because I was so proud of it she wore it with pride,
and that only bolstered my confidence.
Dementia is a vile disease, and I really hope that by the
time I get to that age developments have been made that will make it an easier
journey for me and my family around me, assuming I get the genetic short straw. I spent a lot of time with my
grandparents around the time my granny was first diagnosed, and in recent years
I have occasionally wondered where my career would be had I decided to go for a
job in London after graduation rather than stay in my home town working in a
less than ideal job so I could visit my grandparents several times each week. Maybe
I’d have completed a PhD and be doing work ‘proper’ by now… who knows? But I wouldn’t
change it for anything.
My mum worried years ago that by having such a close
relationship with my granny it would be harder for me when she did finally die,
but she’s so completely wrong. Yes, it aches like hell, but I have absolutely
no regrets now she has gone – just lots of wonderful memories. Everyone has to
go sometime, and I’m just glad I got so much out of the relationship when I had
the chance.
When I was 6 she obligingly wrote in my autograph book (from
when I was meeting just SO many celebrities!), and what she wrote will stay
with me forever:
The kiss of the sun
for pardon,
The song of the birth
for mirth,
One is nearer to God
in the garden,
Than anywhere else on
earth.
…So get weeding!
I promise I will. I miss you granny.
Thursday, 23 August 2012
The limits of bacterial hitchhiking
This article was originally published on the Society for General Microbiology blog on 22-08-2012. Read the original here.
Bacteria are able to move across oceans, deserts and mountain ranges with relative ease, by hitching a ride in clouds of dust or water vapour. The rules that govern the dispersal, or ‘biogeography’, of larger organisms simply don’t apply to bacteria because they’re so small. So how do we know where they came from? And how do we know if a bacterial strain found in Alaska is the same as one found in Costa Rica?
A study published in the August issue of Microbiology has shed light on the dispersal of nitrogen-fixing rhizobia bacteria in North and Central America. By sequencing portions of six common genes from Bradyrhizobium strains, researchers at the State University of New York, Binghamton were able to compile phylogenetic trees which show how different strains are related to each other. Those that group together are likely to have evolved from a common ancestor.
The team found no evidence that any Bradyrhizobium strains had evolved from a common ancestor in any one region, but that the same strains were found simultaneously across North America. However, they also found that each location had its own distinctive population composition, suggesting some adaptation of each rhizobium to its environment and its legume host.
There was a trend towards higher diversity in genes from rhizobia in tropical regions: strains isolated from Panama had a significantly higher diversity than those from Washington State. This was not due to the number of legume hosts sampled in the study, or the considerably higher annual rainfall in lower latitudes. Of the genes analysed, nifD, which codes for an enzyme involved in nitrogen fixation, tended to have the greatest nucleotide diversity – double that of the other five genes.
One of the most surprising findings was the lack of community structure overlap in regions with similar characteristics, e.g. Washington State and the north-eastern US, yet overlap existed between dissimilar regions, e.g. north-eastern US and Chihuahua, Mexico. The two latter sites have distinct biotic communities (lowland temperate forest vs. mountainous evergreen oak-pine forest) with no common legume host species. However, previous studies have shown that these regions shared the same flora in the late Miocene era, which suggests the similarity may be a legacy of previous interactions.
The biogeography of legumes is affected by soil type, rainfall and temperature, meaning their distribution is not random. The dispersal of rhizobia, as symbionts of legumes, will be limited by these same factors, though perhaps not for the same reasons. The presence of rhizobia and legumes may also be limiting factors for each other.
This study provides some important insights into the biogeography of rhizobia, and emphasises a frustrating question in legume-rhizobia research: is legume distribution limited by rhizobia presence, or vice versa?
Bacteria are able to move across oceans, deserts and mountain ranges with relative ease, by hitching a ride in clouds of dust or water vapour. The rules that govern the dispersal, or ‘biogeography’, of larger organisms simply don’t apply to bacteria because they’re so small. So how do we know where they came from? And how do we know if a bacterial strain found in Alaska is the same as one found in Costa Rica?
A study published in the August issue of Microbiology has shed light on the dispersal of nitrogen-fixing rhizobia bacteria in North and Central America. By sequencing portions of six common genes from Bradyrhizobium strains, researchers at the State University of New York, Binghamton were able to compile phylogenetic trees which show how different strains are related to each other. Those that group together are likely to have evolved from a common ancestor.
The team found no evidence that any Bradyrhizobium strains had evolved from a common ancestor in any one region, but that the same strains were found simultaneously across North America. However, they also found that each location had its own distinctive population composition, suggesting some adaptation of each rhizobium to its environment and its legume host.
There was a trend towards higher diversity in genes from rhizobia in tropical regions: strains isolated from Panama had a significantly higher diversity than those from Washington State. This was not due to the number of legume hosts sampled in the study, or the considerably higher annual rainfall in lower latitudes. Of the genes analysed, nifD, which codes for an enzyme involved in nitrogen fixation, tended to have the greatest nucleotide diversity – double that of the other five genes.
One of the most surprising findings was the lack of community structure overlap in regions with similar characteristics, e.g. Washington State and the north-eastern US, yet overlap existed between dissimilar regions, e.g. north-eastern US and Chihuahua, Mexico. The two latter sites have distinct biotic communities (lowland temperate forest vs. mountainous evergreen oak-pine forest) with no common legume host species. However, previous studies have shown that these regions shared the same flora in the late Miocene era, which suggests the similarity may be a legacy of previous interactions.
The biogeography of legumes is affected by soil type, rainfall and temperature, meaning their distribution is not random. The dispersal of rhizobia, as symbionts of legumes, will be limited by these same factors, though perhaps not for the same reasons. The presence of rhizobia and legumes may also be limiting factors for each other.
This study provides some important insights into the biogeography of rhizobia, and emphasises a frustrating question in legume-rhizobia research: is legume distribution limited by rhizobia presence, or vice versa?
Thursday, 9 August 2012
Peat free compost
Considering the attention the destruction of peat bogs has received in recent years (e.g. this from the BBC gardening pages and this in the Independent from 1992!), and how devastating the impact of their destruction can be, I was recently surprised to find how much of the compost available to me contains peat.
On a recent trip to our local garden centre they had actually put the peat content of various composts on their signs...
First up, standard garden centre compost:
So standard compost is 60% peat. This is a no-go for me.
What about John Innes? That's good stuff right?
Good stuff it may be, but it's still 44% peat.
How about organic compost?
Nope, that's still 50% peat!
So it seems the only way to be sure is to buy stuff that EXPLICITLY says it is PEAT FREE!
The problem I find is that while the organic peat free stuff may actually work out quite cheap, it is also pretty rubbish. It seems that it is mostly just bark chippings that have been composted. And I'm pretty sure that if I did a pH test it would come up pretty acidic (it has a rather pine-y scent to it)
We've had a few fungus-related issues too...
Not to mention a couple of sudden-death incidents...
So if I'm honest, I just don't think peat-free compost is up to scratch just yet. It needs to compete with the peat-full stuff if it's to stand any hope of replacing it (before we run out of peat, that is!).
If you want to make a few bob I reckon there's a market opening up here!
On a recent trip to our local garden centre they had actually put the peat content of various composts on their signs...
First up, standard garden centre compost:
So standard compost is 60% peat. This is a no-go for me.
What about John Innes? That's good stuff right?
Good stuff it may be, but it's still 44% peat.
How about organic compost?
So it seems the only way to be sure is to buy stuff that EXPLICITLY says it is PEAT FREE!
The problem I find is that while the organic peat free stuff may actually work out quite cheap, it is also pretty rubbish. It seems that it is mostly just bark chippings that have been composted. And I'm pretty sure that if I did a pH test it would come up pretty acidic (it has a rather pine-y scent to it)
We've had a few fungus-related issues too...
Not to mention a couple of sudden-death incidents...
So if I'm honest, I just don't think peat-free compost is up to scratch just yet. It needs to compete with the peat-full stuff if it's to stand any hope of replacing it (before we run out of peat, that is!).
If you want to make a few bob I reckon there's a market opening up here!
Saturday, 4 August 2012
Tomato harvest
Today we had our first, long-awaited tomatoes. They were delicious.
We raised some from seed, but they just didn't put on the growth early in the season, and are miles behind the two plants we ended up buying from a local nursery (where these beauties came from). I suspect these latter plants have also had an advantage in being in pots near the house, where it's much warmer than on the allotment (and less swamp-like...). Next year I think we will buy in tomato plants rather than endure the emotional turmoil of massive seedling failure, as we just don't have the facilities to get them going well - and early enough - just yet.
I'll let you guess which one we found hilarious...
We raised some from seed, but they just didn't put on the growth early in the season, and are miles behind the two plants we ended up buying from a local nursery (where these beauties came from). I suspect these latter plants have also had an advantage in being in pots near the house, where it's much warmer than on the allotment (and less swamp-like...). Next year I think we will buy in tomato plants rather than endure the emotional turmoil of massive seedling failure, as we just don't have the facilities to get them going well - and early enough - just yet.
I'll let you guess which one we found hilarious...
Sunday, 29 July 2012
Down in the allotment doldrums
This year has been rubbish for the allotment. Lots of rain has meant our potato patch turned into a paddy field, the slugs have set up a regional HQ in our brassica patch, the alliums have all got a bad case of rust, and the corn is sitting there complaining about the general cold, as it's originally from Central America, doncha know.
Added to this, the rain has meant we have been rather less inclined to venture across town to our mud bath, so the weeds have come back with a vengeance, and I have become increasingly grumpy at the lack of sunshine (I blame my Mediterranean genetics - I'm not meant to be this far north!).
Operation grow-all-our-own-lettuce has been going quite well, but morale is definitely low. On such occasions Jon usually suggests a trip to the garden centre, and I generally resist, citing peat-based compost and excessive use of insecticides as a reason not to buy garden centre plants. However, we went, and I am OH so glad we did!
It would seem that as we're nearing the end of the main growing season, all the unwanted veggie plants are headed to the great compost heap in the sky, unless frugal chaps (and chapesses) like us snap them up.
I love trips like that because a) I love a good bargain and b) I love plants. Most of what we bought were (perennial) herbs and winter veg (though Jon currently has a bit of a pepper obsession, maybe it's a man thing). I will have to do a separate post on winter veg as it's currently my favourite thing, but I will mention that amongst our purchases were beets, kale, endives and chard. If anything it's a little early for some of these guys, but they'll do us well when we move to our new allotment. I also discovered once we'd bought it, that Italian radiccio lettuce also goes under the guise of chicory - an excellent winter veg.
The herbs are definitely my main success though. Next year I plan on having a lot more of them on the allotment, hopefully to deter some pesky pests, but also as we never seem to be able to grow enough herbs for the amount we get through! Fifty pence for 3 pots of thyme = a bargain in my books.
Hooray for the 'dead and dying' section of the garden centre!
Added to this, the rain has meant we have been rather less inclined to venture across town to our mud bath, so the weeds have come back with a vengeance, and I have become increasingly grumpy at the lack of sunshine (I blame my Mediterranean genetics - I'm not meant to be this far north!).
Operation grow-all-our-own-lettuce has been going quite well, but morale is definitely low. On such occasions Jon usually suggests a trip to the garden centre, and I generally resist, citing peat-based compost and excessive use of insecticides as a reason not to buy garden centre plants. However, we went, and I am OH so glad we did!
It would seem that as we're nearing the end of the main growing season, all the unwanted veggie plants are headed to the great compost heap in the sky, unless frugal chaps (and chapesses) like us snap them up.
I love trips like that because a) I love a good bargain and b) I love plants. Most of what we bought were (perennial) herbs and winter veg (though Jon currently has a bit of a pepper obsession, maybe it's a man thing). I will have to do a separate post on winter veg as it's currently my favourite thing, but I will mention that amongst our purchases were beets, kale, endives and chard. If anything it's a little early for some of these guys, but they'll do us well when we move to our new allotment. I also discovered once we'd bought it, that Italian radiccio lettuce also goes under the guise of chicory - an excellent winter veg.
The herbs are definitely my main success though. Next year I plan on having a lot more of them on the allotment, hopefully to deter some pesky pests, but also as we never seem to be able to grow enough herbs for the amount we get through! Fifty pence for 3 pots of thyme = a bargain in my books.
Hooray for the 'dead and dying' section of the garden centre!
Friday, 27 July 2012
Boring vegetarian food
I often get annoyed when people say vegetarian food is boring: that taking meat out makes the meal less interesting, or that it 'just isn't the same' without some animal protein in the dish. I've known a number of friends struggle with structuring a meal that doesn't have meat as the centre (them: "what's a lamb casserole without the lamb?" me: "why try to make a lamb casserole without the lamb?").
Now Jon and I aren't vegetarian. We do eat meat from time to time. But only if it's local, and only if it's good quality. I'd say 95% of our meals do not contain any meat. Quite frankly, around Christmas time, with the roast beef, pork pie, gammon, pigs in blankets and sausage rolls (no turkey in our house!), I generally feel sick - and tired. My body really struggles with breaking down meat. It makes me feel sluggish and slow, and I feel a million times better (and much less bloated) when I eat less meat.
I get really, really annoyed when people say tofu is bland. Yes, it's bland, but so is chicken if you boil it and eat it. If it tastes bland, you're not cooking it right! Fry it in some oil and soy sauce then eat it with sweet chilli sauce, and then say it's bland. It's like chicken, except it isn't tough and doesn't get stuck in my teeth.
To back my point up, here a some pictures of recent meals of ours. I seem to have developed a habit of going "hang on, I need to take a picture of my dinner!" before we tuck in.
Now Jon and I aren't vegetarian. We do eat meat from time to time. But only if it's local, and only if it's good quality. I'd say 95% of our meals do not contain any meat. Quite frankly, around Christmas time, with the roast beef, pork pie, gammon, pigs in blankets and sausage rolls (no turkey in our house!), I generally feel sick - and tired. My body really struggles with breaking down meat. It makes me feel sluggish and slow, and I feel a million times better (and much less bloated) when I eat less meat.
I get really, really annoyed when people say tofu is bland. Yes, it's bland, but so is chicken if you boil it and eat it. If it tastes bland, you're not cooking it right! Fry it in some oil and soy sauce then eat it with sweet chilli sauce, and then say it's bland. It's like chicken, except it isn't tough and doesn't get stuck in my teeth.
To back my point up, here a some pictures of recent meals of ours. I seem to have developed a habit of going "hang on, I need to take a picture of my dinner!" before we tuck in.
Favourite meal #1 Salad! On this occasion made with home grown lettuce, pepper and herbs, cashews, eggs, artichoke hearts and cous cous. Salads vary completely depending on what's available at the market/ in the garden/ on the allotment. My personal favourites for this year include violet leaves, columbine leaves, watercress and rose petals.
Favourite meal #2 affectionally referred to as 'Japanese noodle soupy thing' as I'm not really sure what it is. I cook udon noodles in water with some soy sauce, chilli and other interesting cupboard ingredients. Fresh veg is chopped up and added for the final minute of noodle cooking time, then miso is stirred in at the end. I LOVE fried tofu, so this always goes in too, along with some home made kimchi, cashews and sesame seeds.
Lunch time! Cheese and coleslaw roll with marigold petals. Jon makes the most amazing coleslaw from cabbage, carrot, apple, walnut and yoghurt, alongside some magical seasoning that I can never replicate.
Pasta and pesto, our style. This one was actually vegan, as we made the pesto ourselves from wild garlic and hazelnuts (a completely free product if you ignore the gallons of olive oil required). All mixed up with homegrown heritage mange tout, broad beans and spinach - and a bit of red cabbage too. This looked so much better than the picture gives it credit for!
Stir fry with udon noodles. A bit like the soup, only without the soupy bit. Loads of fresh veg and tasty seasoning. Granted this isn't actually vegetarian owing to the pork balls on top which we had because we had a bunch of sausages to use up after a BBQ - but while they were nice, I really didn't think they added much to the meal. I much prefer the kimchi dumplings we get from the Korean shop occasionally, but to be honest it didn't need anything added. When you have that many fresh vegetables, and the right balance of seasoning, meat just seems crude and stodgy in comparison!
So, that's my compulsive obsession with photographing my dinner sated, I thank you for indulging me. As a final point I will add one more picture - of an amazing meal Jon and I had when we visited his mum last weekend.
Yes, just look at that steak! It was delicious, don't get me wrong: it was all local and fresh. Unfortunately for me, it just didn't stay down - I was up half the night as my body tried to rid itself of whatever had offended it. My best guess is that my body just couldn't handle the richness of the food. And the salad would have been delicious even without all that meat...
I am wondering if I should become a full-time veggie and part-time vegan for my own wellbeing. Whenever I eat too much meat - or cheese - or processed food - I can feel my energy levels slump, and my waistband expand. The joy of the moment is always replaced by sluggishness, tiredness and general lardiness. Could I give it up though? I'll keep you posted...
Saturday, 21 July 2012
Fried green tomatoes
I actually can't remember the last time I bought tomatoes from a supermarket. I lost my faith in supermarket tomatoes many years ago - they're kind of renowned for being less than inspiring...
Today Jon went to the farm shop with his mum, and came back with an assorted bag of tomatoes for us to do a taste test on (I'll grant you that this makes us more than a little geeky - but how can you not get excited by colourful food?!).
Much to my surprise, my favourite variety - and that of everyone else - was the green one! (the browny purpley one came a distant second) ...and before you ask, YES! It's meant to be green! It had a fantastic sweet and tangy flavour, and I was all up for trying to grow some last year (as the tomatoes have done so well this year, ha) but sadly Jon didn't make a record of the variety - and we ate all the seeds...
We suspect it may be a green zebra tomato, but if anyone has any better ideas, I would love to know!
Disclaimer: this post has nothing to do with fried green tomatoes. These tomatoes were delicious - unlike those in the film!
Today Jon went to the farm shop with his mum, and came back with an assorted bag of tomatoes for us to do a taste test on (I'll grant you that this makes us more than a little geeky - but how can you not get excited by colourful food?!).
Much to my surprise, my favourite variety - and that of everyone else - was the green one! (the browny purpley one came a distant second) ...and before you ask, YES! It's meant to be green! It had a fantastic sweet and tangy flavour, and I was all up for trying to grow some last year (as the tomatoes have done so well this year, ha) but sadly Jon didn't make a record of the variety - and we ate all the seeds...
We suspect it may be a green zebra tomato, but if anyone has any better ideas, I would love to know!
Disclaimer: this post has nothing to do with fried green tomatoes. These tomatoes were delicious - unlike those in the film!
Thursday, 19 July 2012
The UK dairy crisis
As I believe I've previously mentioned, we get our milk from the milkman in order to try and do the best ethical thing. But it seems harder and harder to do the right thing when it comes to big businesses.
Recently the UK dairy industry has begun to implode. Supermarkets and milk processors are squeezing farmers to the point where it costs farmers more to produce milk than they get when they sell it. It's ultimately unsustainable, but no-one seems to know what to do.
I wrote an article on Storify (the best way to put together stories from multiple online sources imho) about my experiences and ethical agonies in this. Please give it a read at http://bit.ly/MooIUfl (hee hee, moo).
Our dairy industry needs YOU!
Recently the UK dairy industry has begun to implode. Supermarkets and milk processors are squeezing farmers to the point where it costs farmers more to produce milk than they get when they sell it. It's ultimately unsustainable, but no-one seems to know what to do.
I wrote an article on Storify (the best way to put together stories from multiple online sources imho) about my experiences and ethical agonies in this. Please give it a read at http://bit.ly/MooIUfl (hee hee, moo).
Our dairy industry needs YOU!
Thursday, 12 July 2012
Lab fitness
This article was originally written for the Cambio Ltd. blogging competition (which I won!!). You can access it here.
In the first few months of my PhD I was convinced the stupid
police were going to come and get me. I was half expecting someone to arrive
and the lab and say “Excuse me Miss, but we’ve rumbled you. Collect your things
and be on your way”. But as the months went by I began to realise that this
wasn’t going to happen, as my (five) supervisors and funding body weren’t going
to let me escape that easily. I also began to realise that smart isn’t even
half the story when it comes to a PhD.
As I got into my stride in the lab I remember one supervisor
remarking on ‘lab fitness’ - how it can take a while to get used to the long
hours and manifold samples required for anything approaching reliable results.
At the time I chuckled and thought “I’ve done research projects for my BSc and
MSc, and a year working for a research institution – I know all about long
hours in the lab”. Needless to say this was naïve.
Granted much of the work was as I’d experienced before, but
no-one had prepared me for the subtle differences that PhD research entails.
The self-motivation, the lack of direction, the crippling self-doubt… The
biggest surprise for me though, was that my entire working life became split
between what I call “Stupid Time” and “Clever Time”, when I’m quite convinced that
sanity lies somewhere in the middle.
Stupid Time for me is carrying out the repetitive,
monotonous tasks required to get sufficient replicates for my experiments to
mean anything. A standard Monday goes thus: empty (~10 cm high) plant from tube
and remove growth media. Clear up mess. Measure plant’s height, rooting depth,
number of root nodules (yes, I work with legumes!) and weight. Pour agar
plates. Remove a 1 mm root nodule, sterilise it in ethanol, squash it and plate
this out on agar. Prep everything else for freezing. Repeat 48 times. The
process takes an entire day, by the end of which I can barely spell my own
name. It reminds me of factory work, though that may be more intellectually
challenging. It also probably pays better.
On the other hand Clever Time involves sitting at my desk
wading through piles of scientific papers trying to discern the salient info and
make sure what I’m doing is new, or getting my head around new scientific
concepts, or trying to work out a way to conduct an experiment that no one
seems to have done before (or have they, and I just haven’t found the paper
yet?!). The effect on me at the end of the day is similar.
It’s taken me 18 months to realise that tenacity, a Kevlar
work ethic, an ability to make decisions and sheer bloody-mindedness seem to be
the qualities required if I want to finish my PhD on time. Perhaps the stupid
police should come get me for not realising sooner…
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