Too busy today (again) for anything else so I’m going to resort (again) to the Cavendish Problems in Classical Physics. I think I’ll eschew the multiple-choice format for this one, but will say that there is a small hint in the fact that the question is split into two parts:
The Eiffel Tower is 300m high and is situated at a latitude 49° N. What are the magnitude and direction of the deflection caused by the Earth’s rotation to:
the bob of a plumb-line hung from the top of the Tower;
the point of impact of a body dropped from the top?
Please give your answers, with reasons, through the comments box below. For legal reasons I should make it clear that you are not expected to perform either experiment.
So. Today I finally finished a stack of things I should have done weeks ago, including compiling the teaching timetable for next semester (when I won’t even be here) Anyway, that means I can now move onto the next stack of things that I should also have done weeks ago, after I’ve finished marking the batch of 100 second-year coursework scripts sitting on my desk. There’s no rest for the <insert appropriate adjective>.
Anyway, it’s now just a couple of months before I shuffle off the coil of Cardiff, and the enormity of the impending move becomes more apparent every time I go into my office and observe the quantity of books and papers filling the groaning shelves. Today, however, I made a decision that will make moving simpler: I decided to ditch all the drawer-loads of correspondence marked “Other”, i.e. all the unsolicited letters and manuscripts I’ve accumulated over the years about “alternative” theories of cosmology and whatnot. Here’s an example:
I can’t really make head nor tail of this one, but sometimes have a vague feeling that it might just be a sort of cosmic Rosetta Stone, offering up the Secrets of the Universe in diverse languages. Sadly, however, it’s more likely that the languages involved are Balderdash, Gibberish and Gobbledegook.
I regret to announce, therefore, that the plethora of papers telling me why Einstein was wrong, how the Universe is really in the shape of a spiral, how the Great Pyramid of Giza explains the Higgs Boson, and why the Big Bang couldn’t have happened, will have to go to the Great Shredder in the Sky (if that’s where it is).
Anyway, to all my correspondents all I can say is that I’ve enjoyed reading your letters – you must be very fond of your old typewriters – and I’m grateful for the time you took to draw the diagrams by hand in so many lovely colours. And I’m impressed by your qualifications as Electrical Engineers. Really. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to you all individually, but I just didn’t have the time. And now it pains me to realise I don’t have the space either…
It’s a dark and wet Monday morning in November and I’m up early again for my nine o’clock lecture. Before I go however I couldn’t resist a quick post to mark the England cricket team’s splendid victory in the 2nd Test Match in Mumbai, India. It’s an especially good result because it comes after a weak performance in the First Test in which they were comprehensively beaten.
I know I wasn’t alone in thinking that it was madness to have gone into the First Test with Graham Swann as their only spinner. That, some inaccurate bowling by the other bowlers, and poor fielding led to England conceding over 500 runs in India’s First Innings. I was relieved, therefore, that the selectors saw sense this time and put Monty Panesar in the team. He bowled beautifully, achieving exceptional bounce and turn from Day 1. Here you can see a few examples of his bowling in India’s First Innings.
I’ve always liked Monty, actually. It’s not just that he’s a fine spin bowler, and I always enjoy watching a good spinner. Nor is it his infectious, almost child-like, enthusiasm. Most of all it’s the fact that he’s clearly by no means a natural athlete; he’s a man who has had to work very hard at his game to get where he is. We’ve always known he could bowl, but when he started out he was a truly hopeless fielder. He subsequently put long hours in during practice and is now at least competent. As for a his batting, he’s a genuine No. 11 but he tries hard at that too. And of course there was that memorable day in Cardiff in 2009 when he and Jimmy Anderson held on (somehow) to save the First Ashes Test against Australia.
So from a cold and gloomy morning in Wales, here’s a heartfelt “thank you” to the England team, and especially to Monty Panesar, for bringing us a bit of sunshine from the sub-continent. Now I’m looking forward to the remaining two test matches in what is already a fascinating series.
P.S. Apologies if you thought this post was going to be about jazz clarinettist Monty Sunshine.
The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain —
They are with us like a disease:
They worry the heart, they work the brain,
As they shoulder and clutch at the shrieking pane,
And savage the helpless trees.
What does it profit a man to know These tattered and tumbling skies A million stately stars will show, And the ruining grace of the after-glow And the rush of the wild sunrise?
Ever the rain — the rain and the wind! Come, hunch with me over the fire, Dream of the dreams that leered and grinned, Ere the blood of the Year got chilled and thinned, And the death came on desire!
It’s Sunday and once again I have to go into the office in order to get next week’s teaching sorted out, so no time for one of my long boring weekend specials. However, I thought I’d continue the theme of yesterday’s offering (?) with this clip of Jackson Jeffrey Jackson demonstrating his unique trumpet style after a short interview with the great Louis Balfour. Nice. Don’t ask me what the tune is though. After all, this is Jazz!
Yesterday we hosted a seminar by João Magueijo from Imperial College. It was a really interesting talk but the visit also a number of staff and students, including myself, the chance to chat to João about various things. In my case that primarily meant catching up on one another’s news, since we haven’t talked since early summer and a lot has happened since then. Then we had drinks, more drinks, dinner, drinks and then cocktails, finishing about 2am. A fairly standard night out with João, actually.
Among the topics discussed in the course of an increasingly drunken conversation was the fact that physicist Stephon Alexander had recently moved to Dartmouth College, a prestigious Ivy League institution in New Hampshire. I don’t know Stephon very well at all as I don’t really work in the same area as him. In fact, we’ve only ever met once – at a Cosmology School in Morocco (in 1996 or thereabouts); he was a graduate student and I was giving some lectures. On the left you can see a snap of him I took at that time. Can that really have been so long ago?
Anyway, I’ll resist the temptation to bemoan the passage of time and all that and get back to the point which is the connection that formed in my head between Stephon, yesterday’s post about the trials and tribulations facing prospective PhD students, and an older post of mine about the importance of not forgetting to live a life while you do a PhD.
The point is that although there are many things that may deter or prevent an undergraduate from taking the plunge into graduate studies, one thing shouldn’t put you off and that is the belief that doing a PhD is like joining a monastery in that it requires you to give up a lot of other things and retreat from the outside world. Frankly, that’s bollocks. If I’m permitted to quote myself:
I had plenty of outside interests (including music, sport and nightlife) and took time out regularly to indulge them. I didn’t – and still don’t – feel any guilt about doing that. I’m not a robot. And neither are you.
In other words, doing a PhD does not require you to give up the things that make life worth living. Actually, if you’re doing a physics PhD then physics itself should be one of the things that make life worth living for you, so I should rephrase that as “giving up any of the other things that make life worth living”.
Having a wide range of experiences and interests to draw on can even help with your research:
In fact, I can think of many times during my graduate studies when I was completely stuck on a problem – to the extent that it was seriously bothering me. On such occasions I learned to take a break. I often found that going for a walk, doing a crossword, or just trying to think about something else for a while, allowed me to return to the problem fresher and with new ideas. I think the brain gets into a rut if you try to make it work in one mode all the time.
I’d say that to be a good research student by no means requires you to be a monomaniac. And this is where Stephon comes in. As well as being a Professor of Theoretical Physics, Stephon is an extremely talented Jazz musician. He’s even had saxophone lessons from the great Ornette Coleman. I have to admit he has a few technical problems with his instrument in this clip, but I’m using him as an example here because I also love Jazz and, although I have a negligible amount of talent as a musician, have rudimentary knowledge of how to play the saxophone. In fact, I remember chatting to him in a bar in Casablanca way back in ’96 and music was the sole topic of conversation.
Anyway, in the following clip Stephon talks about how music actually helped him solve a research problem. It’s basically an extended riff on the opening notes of the John Coltrane classic Giant Steps which, incidentally, I posted about here.
Exhausted near the end of an exceptionally busy week, I found myself taking a short break after a two-hour lecturing session when a student knocked at my door to ask for some advice about applying for PhDs. I was happy to oblige, of course, but after he’d gone it struck me how much tougher things are for today’s generation, compared with how easy it was for me.
I got a scholarship to the local grammar school (The Royal Grammar School in Newcastle upon Tyne) by passing the 11+ examination back in 1974. I got a good education that most pupils at the School had to pay for (or at least their parents did). I got good 0 and A levels, and then passed the post A-level examination to get me into Cambridge. Through contacts at school I got a job for nine months working for a British Gas research station in Cramlington, during which time I earned a nice wage. I went to Cambridge with a healthy bank balance on top of which I received a full maintenance grant. There were no tuition fees then either. When I graduated I was solvent and debt-free.
When I applied for PhDs I did so with no real idea about what research I might do. I wasn’t an outstanding undergraduate student and my personal statement was vagueness personified, but I got a place nonetheless. The stipend was modest, but one could live on it. I never had money worries as a PhD. Nor have I since. It all seems so simple, looking back.
Today’s students have no such luck. The Direct Grant system that paid my school fees was discontinued shortly after I benefited from it. I’m sure I wouldn’t have got into University had I gone to the local comprehensive. Then maintenance grants were discontinued and fees introduced (then rapidly increased from £1000 to first £3000 and then £9000). Graduates now are usually burdened with huge debts. Moreover, when students apply for postgraduate study are nowadays often expected to not only to know precisely what they’re going to do but also be outstandingly good
The pressure we put on graduates now is out of all proportion to what I experienced. The reason? There are more of them overall, so there are more with first-class degrees chasing PhD funding. Many students who are much better than I was at the same stage of my career won’t make it just because of the arithmetic. Many will be discouraged by the finances too. It’s tragic that talented young people should be denied the chance to fulfil their ambitions by not having wealthy parents.
I’m often impressed (and even inspired) by those students who show a determination to pursue academic ambitions despite all the difficulties, but at the same time I feel guilty that it was so much easier in my day. Mine is the generation that decided to transfer the cost of higher education onto students and their families. Mine is also the generation that wrecked the economy by living beyond our means for too long.
To all those young people whose ambitions are thwarted by circumstances beyond their control all I can say is I’m sorry we oldies stole your future.
I almost forgot to post something to mark this very special day which is celebrated throughout the civilised world. Yes, of course, it is the Feast of St Cecilia. And not only that, it is Benjamin Britten‘s birthday. So why not kill two birds with one stone? And I don’t mean turkeys…
No sun–no moon! No morn–no noon! No dawn–no dusk–no proper time of day– No sky–no earthly view– No distance looking blue– No road–no street–no “t’other side this way”– No end to any Row– No indications where the Crescents go– No top to any steeple– No recognitions of familiar people– No courtesies for showing ’em– No knowing ’em! No traveling at all–no locomotion– No inkling of the way–no notion– “No go” by land or ocean– No mail–no post– No news from any foreign coast– No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility– No company–no nobility– No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member– No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds– November
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