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Term’s Ending

Posted in Biographical on December 18, 2010 by telescoper

Well there we are. After a clutch of meetings and the ritual handings-in of interim project reports by students, as of yesterday teaching term is now officially over. Most of the students left yesterday afternoon (to try to beat the inclement weather) and most of the rest will be departing this weekend. A merry Christmas to one and all.

Now we have a week until Christmas itself, and then a break until 10th January when teaching resumes. The first week back is “guided study week” and is immediately followed by examinations. Teaching proper doesn’t start again until Monday 31st January, so those of us who won’t have exams to mark (yay!) will have a relatively gentle reintroduction to termly life.

Monday 20th December is our departmental Christmas lunch – a notoriously boozy affair which usually wipes out the whole afternoon and usually involves senior members of staff disgracing themselves – but after that I think there should be time to finish a couple of papers that have been waiting on my desk for quite a while, awaiting revisions and responses to referees. I am also supposed to give a talk at a meeting of the Wales Institute of Mathematical and Computational Sciences (on Tuesday), if I can find out where it is.

I’m going to see my folks in the Frozen North for Christmas itself, or at least I’m going to try. The way things are at the moment it’s not looking hopeful. Snow fell overnight in Cardiff at an even greater rate than English wickets in Perth and I’d say there was a good six inches of the stuff on the pavements when I went to get the paper this morning. Still, there’s a week for it to clear so hopefully things improve before I actually have to travel anywhere.

The day after Boxing Day I’ll be back here in Cardiff ,trying to get on with some writing, with a short pause for New Year. Holidays are the best time to get some proper work done, and I’m looking forward to finishing off a book project I’ve been working on for ages. I doubt if I’ll have time to blog much until the new term starts, but we’ll see how much I need a displacement activity.

I was hoping to be able to pass on news about the funding situation for STFC, which I was expecting to hear about yesterday, but apparently the latest rumour is that no announcements will be made until next week at the earliest. The final Astronomy Grants Panel plenary session, at which we should wrap up this year’s recommendations, now isn’t going to take place until 25th January which means a lot of people are going to have a long anxious wait. It’s hardly a satisfactory situation, but there you have it.


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Messiah

Posted in Biographical, Music with tags , , , on December 12, 2010 by telescoper

Just back from St David’s Hall, Cardiff, where I’ve been listening to a performance of Handel‘s great oratorio Messiah by the Orchestra, Soloists and Chorus of Welsh National Opera under the baton of Conductor Lothar Koenigs. I haven’t got time to write much (as I’m famished), but I enjoyed the concert so much I wanted to write something before the buzz disappeared.

I don’t mind admitting that Messiah is a piece that’s redolent with nostalgia for me – some of the texts remind me a lot of Sunday School and singing in a church choir when I was little and then, a bit later, listening to the whole thing at Christmas time at the City Hall in Newcastle. I loved it then, and still do now, almost 40 years later. I know it’s possible to take nostalgia too far – nobody can afford to spend too much time living in the past – but I think it’s good to stay in contact with your memories and the things that shaped you when you were young. I haven’t seen Messiah live for a very long time, and tonight was like meeting an old friend after a long absence, and discovering that he’s just like you remembered him all those years ago.

Setting aside the wistful reminiscences it brought to mind, tonight’s performance was in any case exceptional. The Orchestra of WNO was on top form, and Lothar Koenigs directed them with great skill and vision. The tempo might have been a bit brisk in places for some tastes – or so I was told in the bar at the interval – but I thought the pace was excellent. Soprano Laura Mitchell and tenor Robin Tritschler both sang with crystal clarity, and bass baritone Darren Jeffrey was in fine voice too. Mezzo Patricia Bardon seemed to struggle a little bit to assert herself; her chest tones have a slightly woolly sound which at times got lost in the undergrowth of the orchestra’s string section, but that was only a problem in a few places.

The centerpiece of the performance, however, was a magnificent display by the WNO chorus. They were kept under a pretty tight rein for most of the time by Chorus Master Stephen Harris, who had them holding back enough in reserve that when they unleashed the full fortissimo the dramatic effect was truly thrilling. Little surprise that they got such warm applause at the end; I thought they were magnificent.

The one thing I wasn’t sure about before the concert started was whether and to what extent the folk at St David’s Hall would observe the tradition of standing during the Hallelujah Chorus. I’ve never been sure how widespread this practice was; it was definitely accepted (and indeed expected) way back when in the City Hall, Newcastle, but I fear many in the rest of the UK think of us Geordies as uncivilised rabble and for all I knew the posher parts of England might have abandoned this quaint practice decades ago.

Cardiff is actually a bit like Newcastle in some ways, but the tradition of music making is much stronger here in Wales. On the other hand -as one of my former colleagues from London days warned me when he heard I’d decided to move here – Cardiff is also a bit old-fashioned. I know what he meant, and I think he was right, but I don’t think it’s at all the worse for being so.

Anyway, I was delighted that, when the time came for the Hallelujah Chorus, the entire audience rose as one to its feet to hear a stunning rendition of this most majestic piece of music. It was King George II’s decision to stand in acknowledgement of Handel’s genius that initiated this ritual, and there’s a very special feeling knowing that you’re celebrating something that’s been celebrated the same way for over 250 years and is still something that’s completely exhilirating to listen to.


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Snowy Saturday

Posted in Biographical, Sport with tags , , , on November 27, 2010 by telescoper

Up early this morning, cold notwithstanding, to take part in an all-day workshop on Public Attitudes to Science conducted by the market-research organization IPSOS-Mori on behalf of the Department for Business Innovation and Skills (BIS) I can’t really say much about what happened since it’s an ongoing research project, but it was very interesting and particularly nice to talk to the participants (who were aged 18-24). My role was as a “science expert” so my job was to explain a bit about how the kind of science I do actually works in practice, compared with what they thought before the event.

On the way home I had to find my way back through the crowded streets of Cardiff. Today was the last day of the autumn rugby internationals, and Wales were playing New Zealand at home. There was a fantastic atmosphere in the city, as always on match days, although the combination of a rather boisterous rugby crowd with large numbers of Christmas shoppers did slow down my journey home. The game just ended, Wales 25 New Zealand 37; not as one-sided as many feared and a much better spectacle than last week’s awful match against Fiji.

I took a few pictures of Bute Park on my way to the event this morning. It looked very beautiful, but it wasn’t half cold early on. I doubt if there’ll be much rugby played on the sports fields for a while, because the ground is frozen solid at the moment!


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Ways of Thinking

Posted in Biographical, The Universe and Stuff with tags , , on November 25, 2010 by telescoper

I’m putting one more Richard Feynman clip up. This one struck me as particularly interesting, because it touches on a question I’ve often asked myself: what goes on in your head when do you mathematical calculations? I think I agree with Feynman’s suggestion that different people think in very different ways about the same kind of calculation or other activity.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve become slower and slower at doing mathematics as I’ve got older, and probably less accurate too. I think that’s partly just age – and perhaps the cumulative effect of too much wine! – but it’s partly because I have so many other things to think about these days that it’s hard to spend long hours without interruption thinking about the same problem the way I could when I was a student or a postdoc.

In any case, although much of my research is mathematical, I’ve never really thought of myself as being in any sense a mathematical person. Many of my colleagues have much better technical skills in that regard than I’ve ever had. I was never particularly good at maths at school either. I was sufficiently competent at maths to do physics, of course, but I was much better at other things at that age. My best subject at O-level was Latin, for example, which possibly indicates that my brain prefers to work verbally (or perhaps symbolically) rather than, as no doubt many others’ do, geometrically or in some other abstract way.

Another strange thing is the role of vision in doing mathematics. I can’t do maths at all without writing things down on paper. I have to be able to see the equations to think about solving them. Amongst other things this makes it difficult when you’re working things out on a blackboard (or whiteboard); you have to write symbols so large that your field of view can’t take in a whole equation. I often have to step back up one of the aisles to get a good look at what I’m doing like that. Other physicists – notably Stephen Hawking – obviously manage without writing things down at all. I find it impossible to imagine having that ability.

But I endorse what Richard Feynman says at the beginning of the clip. It’s really all about being interested in the questions, which gives you the motivation to acquire the skills needed to find the answers. I think of it as being like music. If you’re drawn into the world of music, even if you’re talented you have to practice long for long hours before you can really play an instrument. Few can reach the level of Feynman (or a concert pianist) of course – I’m certainly not among either of those categories! – but I think physics is at least as much perspiration as inspiration.

In contrast to many of my colleagues I’m utterly hopeless at chess – and other games that require very sophisticated pattern-reading skills – but good at crosswords and word-puzzles. Maybe I’m in the wrong job?


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Observances

Posted in Biographical, History with tags on November 11, 2010 by telescoper

Just for the record, I sneaked back to my office a little early from this morning’s coffee break, closed the door, and at 11am precisely stood alone for the two minutes’ silence that marks Armistice Day. Cardiff University organised a collective Act of Remembrance in which the two minutes’ silence was preceded by prayers and to which all staff and students were invited. I am, however, not a Christian and the religious dimension means nothing to me, so I did what I prefer to do as long as circumstances permit and marked the occasion on my own.

As I stood in my office looking out over the road, I could see a small group of young people, presumably students, standing outside in silence with their heads bowed. I don’t really understand why but a solitary tear fell from my eye as I watched them.

At 11.02 I went back to work.

Lest we forget.


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Our Place in the Universe

Posted in Biographical, The Universe and Stuff with tags , , on November 10, 2010 by telescoper

Just a quick post to plug a forthcoming lecture entitled Our Place in the Universe by my former PhD supervisor, Professor John D. Barrow.

This lecture is one of a series held jointly between the University of Bath and the William Herschel Society. In fact, I gave the corresponding lecture last year on The Cosmic Web, a podcast of which is available here. It doesn’t seem like a whole year has passed since I blogged about that event!

John Barrow’s lecture will take place at 7pm on Thursday 11th November, at the Claverton Campus of the University of Bath. For further details, see the link above. I realise that it’s a bit far for local Cardiff people to get there and back in the evening, but there might be a few readers of this blog who can make it there. John is an excellent public speaker and I’d encourage anyone who can go to do so, as I’m sure it will prove very rewarding.


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Business Class

Posted in Biographical, Science Politics with tags , , , , , on November 9, 2010 by telescoper

I’d never heard of Cardiff Business Club until Friday afternoon, when I received a message that they were hosting a lecture by Dr Lyndon Evans, the Director of the Large Hadron Collider experiment at CERN in Geneva, followed by a dinner, and had sent a bunch of invitations to the School of Physics & Astronomy at Cardiff University, where I work.

Given the short notice it was a bit of a scramble to get a group together, but in the end eight of us – 3 staff and 5 students – headed off in taxis yesterday to the swish St David’s Hotel in Cardiff Bay for the welcoming reception.

Earlier in the day I’d been in contact with Alun  Davies, the Secretary of Cardiff Business Club, who had asked me  if I would deliver the vote of thanks at the end of Dr Evans’ lecture.  Naturally, I agreed to do the honours. I’m not actually a particle physicist, of course, but I was the closest thing available. This all meant that, instead of joining my colleagues at the reception, I went off to meet the speaker and various officers of the club in a private lounge where we were plied with drinks and canapés. As well as meeting Lyn Evans, I also got the chance to chat with the Club Chairman, legendary former rugby international Gerald Davies who is an extremely friendly and charming bloke.

Thence it was downstairs to the lecture, during which I sat on the platform, facing the audience, from where it was extremely difficult to see the speaker’s slides. It was a 30-minute overview of the science, technology, and even politics behind the LHC, which went down extremely well. I remember this quote in particular

The greatest economic benefits of scientific research have always resulted from advances in fundamental knowledge rather than the search for specific applications.

It’s  particularly interesting, in the light of  government suggestions that we should  focus science funding more on applied sciences and technology, to note that this remark was made by Margaret Thatcher.

At the end I did my best to keep my vote of thanks as brief as possible – brevity has never been my strong suit, I’m afraid – and we then went off to dinner, with me rejoining the physics crowd at their table in a far-flung corner of the room.

Not surprisingly, the dinner turned out to be quite a formal affair – preceded by grace and followed by the loyal toast – which I think made some of our party feel a little bit uncomfortable, but at least it was all free! The room was dominated by men in suits who all looked like they were used to going everywhere Business Class. We academics usually travel by  Economy Class only.

Proceedings drew to a close quite early, at 10pm. Unfortunately, the temptation to adjourn to the pub for a “quick drink” proved too strong to resist.

I got home at 2.30am.


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Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow..

Posted in Biographical, Literature with tags , on November 1, 2010 by telescoper

Gearing up for another stint in Swindon for the STFC Astronomy Grants Panel this week, I was trying to think of an appropriate theme for a blog post. The following short soliloquy from Macbeth somehow came up in a conversation in the pub last week, so I thought I’d post it here.

We actually “did” Macbeth at school and I was lucky enough to be cast in the best part, Lady Macbeth. No jokes please. I went to an all-boys school and, anyway, in Shakespeare’s time all the female roles were actually played by boys. I still remember quite a lot of the speeches I learned then, including all of Lady Macbeth’s famous Act I soliloquy The raven himself is hoarse. I’ll keep that for another post, so that no compunctious visitings of nature distract me from reading grant applications.

The speech below is remarkable for two things, I think. One is that it’s where one of the central themes of the play is laid bare: the numbing of the moral sense. Lady Macbeth has just died, but Macbeth himself seems no longer to care. He’s indifferent to everything around him, as the events that his ambitions have set in motion carry him to his ultimate doom. The incessant, mechanical rhythm of the verse accentuates this sense of inevitability.

The other thing is that, with the exception of some passages from Hamlet, this short excerpt has a higher density of familiar phrases than just about anything else in Shakespeare. Titles of novels and TV programmes figure prominently throughout the text but somehow it has survived all that borrowing without any diminution of its dramatic effect.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

It’s almost as if the immortal bard himself knew what it was like to have to travel to Swindon over and over again…


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Azed 2000

Posted in Biographical, Crosswords with tags , , , , , , on September 26, 2010 by telescoper

I was up bright and early yesterday in order to get the train to Oxford where a lunch was held in honour of Jonathan Crowther, who, under the pseudonym Azed, has been setting cryptic crosswords in the Observer for the best part of 40 years. Today (Sunday 26th September 2010) sees the publication of the 2000th Azed puzzle, hence yesterday’s celebration. There’s also a special piece in the Observer today to mark the occasion. One of the authors of that piece, Colin Dexter of Inspector Morse fame (who has won the Azed competition more times than anyone), was at the lunch yesterday; he has a celebration of his own coming up, as he will be 80 years old next week.

I’ve blogged about my enjoyment of Azed‘s puzzles before and was particularly looking forward to the possibility of meeting the man himself and also being able to put faces to the names that often appear (mostly above mine) in the Azed Honours table.

I got quite an early train from Cardiff in order to give myself time to browse a few bookshops in Oxford before the lunch got under way with drinks at noon in Wadham College. There then followed a musical tribute to Azed in various parodies of Gilbert & Sullivan (I am the very model of a modern cruciverbalist, etc…) and others (Azed, Azed, give me your answer do….). Mingling with the other guests I got the chance to chat to some proper professional crossword setters. I’ve never actually tried to set an entire cryptic crossword puzzle but I think I’ll probably give it a go one day, just for fun. Based on what I heard, setting crosswords, even for the national broadsheets, is not something that one can easily make a living doing.  Aside from the professional setters – who seem to dominate the Azed prize list, not surprisingly – there were lots of ordinary folk who just enjoy doing the puzzles.

The lunch was quite splendid (scallops to start, followed by duck) and  lashings of nice wine. Afterwards there were various speeches and presentations, and the results of the last competition (No. 1997) were handed out. I got an “HC” for my clue to the word FADO:

It’s a transitory thing, love, for Portuguese folk (4)

(FAD+O); but once again the winning clues were much better than mine! Officially, HC stands for Highly Commended, but I always interpret it as Hard Cheese.

The guest speaker was Richard Stilgoe (remember him?) who gave a very droll and at the same time very interesting speech that included several things I hadn’t realised before. One is that TWELVE+ONE is an anagram of “ELEVEN+TWO”, perhaps the only example of an anagram that works with characters as well as numbers, i.e. 12+1=11+2. The other, more important, thing he mentioned that struck me was about Apple computers. As you all probably know I’m not a particular fan of Macs and the like, which together with my more general Luddite inclinations, probably explains why I didn’t know the origin of the Apple logo (an apple with a bite taken out from it) .

For those of you who don’t know, the reason why the Apple has a bite taken from it is a reference to Alan Turing, the British mathematician who did more than anyone else to pave the way towards the age of electronic computers through his work on cracking German wartime codes. Turing was gay, but  lived in a time when male homosexual behaviour was a criminal offence. When his sexuality led to a criminal conviction, the courts, instead of sending him to prison, decided to subject him to a barbaric medical “treatment” tantamount to chemical castration. The effect of unbalancing his hormones was to make him so depressed that he decided to take his own life. He knew that cyanide was a quick and effective way of doing this, but also knew that it tasted foul. He therefore made a solution of cyanide and injected it into an apple which he then ate. The bite out of the Apple logo is there as a mark of respect for Alan Turing.

That story is probably old hat to most of you, but I have to admit that hearing it for the first time has rather changed my view of Steve Jobs!

Anyway, after lunch we had the chance to mingle in the pleasant grounds of Wadham College, but I couldn’t stay too long as I had a train to catch. Although I was more than a little tipsy, I managed to get the train I had planned and made it back to Cardiff in time to cater for Columbo‘s insulin needs. On the way back I had a go at the tricky Araucaria puzzle in Saturday’s Guardian, which was of the alphabetical type I enjoy best. I’m glad to say I got it finished in order to clear the decks for today’s Azed 2000 puzzle. I haven’t started it yet, but at first glance it looks like a corker!


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