Author: sheona

Yesterday we were privileged to visit the new Laboratory of Molecular Biology in Cambridge, opened by the Queen last month.

http://www2.mrc-lmb.cam.ac.uk/

It is a very impressive building indeed, designed to look like a chromosome from the air. (I of course would not recognise one from any angle!) Our names and car registration had to be provided in advance and we were issued with visitors’ ID at reception and warned not to stray from our host. Scientific espionage is presumably prevalent.   The money for the building was provided by the Medical Research Council from its income from patents.  Many of these discoveries were made in the LMB on its old site.  “A Nobel Fellow on every floor” is the title of a book about the nine Nobel prize winners from this one laboratory, though most are now dead or retired.  The spaciousness of the whole place, not just the atrium, was beautiful.  There are even spaces for people to meet and sit and think and talk about science – or have parties, as empty wine bottles testified.  There are rows of cupboards full of equipment to be used as required.

Outside wild flower seeds were scattered, now providing beautiful natural meadows to cover the bare earth and builders rubble.  The most impressive thing to me was that not a penny of tax payers’ money was used to build this.  Britain should be proud of what its scientists can achieve and I hope the Open Day on Saturday will be well attended.

 

… with apologies for the sea ingress, it wasn’t my fault, honest.

Two weeks ago we spent a few days on Santorini, famed for its massive caldera.  It was the eruption of circa 1500 BC that destroyed not just parts of Santorini but also the Minoan civilisation on neighbouring Crete.

Continue reading “A caldera for Christina”

I knew I’d find it some where.  Originally published in February 2010

Leaving the apartment complex this afternoon we found a seagull on the pavement with a badly damaged wing. While we were wondering what had happened to it,  the answer flew past us to perch on a fence nearby. A bird of prey and a very attractive one too. Some research on Wiki suggests it might have been a merlin. They winter in North Africa and it may have been starting on its journey back north to its breeding grounds, stopping off in Gibraltar for a quick snack. The seagull was bigger than its attacker, but had obviously been hit in mid-flight. There was nothing to be done but to move on and let nature take its course. I was not looking forward to walking past the scene on our return, but there was no trace of anything. Could that merlin have moved its prey elsewhere to feed?

Today’s edition of Nice Matin has a short report on the Hotel Martinez in Cannes.  For the second year the hotel has called on a falconer and his team of ten Harris Hawks to patrol the garden in order to discourage the local seagulls, who have no qualms about helping themselves to food from guests’ plates.

http://www.nicematin.com/cannes/au-martinez-des-faucons-pour-proteger-les-clients-des-goelands.1274945.html

But what happens if one of the hawks is tempted beyond endurance by a tasty morsel on one of the plates and the gamekeeper turns poacher?

There is a short article in DT by Jane Shilling about the Britons’ love of living in cul-de-sacs and it brought back memories of my childhood in a “no through road” in Aberdeen.  It was unfortunately not signposted as such, so we did occasionally get lost motorists, who then had to do a three or more point turn in a very steep and steeply cambered street.  Entertaining to watch, as were all the learner drivers brought to practise in this particular purgatory.   I don’t think the milkman’s horse was too keen on it either, though he was regularly rewarded.  Taxis used to refuse to come down it in snowy weather.

But the best point of our cul de sac was that it ended in an entrance to a park, “our” park.

http://www.aboutaberdeen.com/victoria_park_gardens_aberdeen.php

At that time there was no conservatory or greenhouse in the park and not many visitors, but there was a small eminence that had been designed to look like a grotto and planted with rhodedendrons and other sizeable shrubs and which was ideal for childrens’ games.  We were in ignorance of the fountain’s history, but it was great for paddling in the summer.  This was our playground and we didn’t bother the neighbours. Very few children from other nearby streets ever came to it, so it was definitely “ours” and our parents knew we were safe there.

Now I live in another cul-de-sac and the driving instructors still bring their pupils to practice three point turns, but there is no camber to speak of and the entertainment is not the same.

 

We’ve just returned to France after a few days in Italy, no thanks to French railways. Normally we accept that as soon as we set foot on an Italian train, the entire railway system collapses.  Not this time.   Arriving at our local French station to catch the 9.24 train to Ventimiglia we found a scene of chaos.  There was a local railways strike and some idiot had left a case in the middle of the concourse to boot.  Station staff were thinking of evacuating the station, so we rushed on to the platform before they could chuck us out.  Time passed and the 9.24 disappeared off the board.  Lots of would-be passengers simply went home, giving up any idea of travelling that day.  When we finally got to Nice about an hour later, we learned that the next train to Italy would be in four hours time.  That’s the EU in action! Do not hesitate to cause problems for other member states! Continue reading “Passenger profiling and the Schengen agreement”

I’ll stand your sixpence, Ferret.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/margaret-thatcher/10018982/Baroness-Thatchers-funeral-cost-us-6p-each.html

I found mention of this new trend in Paris in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung.

http://www.faz.net/aktuell/gesellschaft/umweltschutz-in-paris-tierische-rasenmaeher-erobern-paris-12157294.html

Sheep have been brought in to keep the grass short in public spaces in Paris, at the behest of the present socialist mayor, Bertrand Delanoe.  The original article on this in Le Figaro, now behind the paywall, mentions 170 of the fleecy lawnmowers.   FAZ  mentions four sheep dealing with 2000 square metres of grass in the 19th arrondissement.  What I have not discovered so far is what protection is provided for the sheep.  Fences to keep them out of the traffic?  Shepherds to prevent them disappearing to the nearest halal butcher?  Face masks to protect them from traffic fumes?  Seems a very trendy “green” idea, but not very healthy for the animals themselves.

I realise this may be coals to Newcastle for many cherished colleagues, but for me my first visit to the Wallace Collection yesterday was a real eye-opener.  The venue was suggested by the friend I was meeting who recalled having been taken to see the collection at the age of nine.  Despite having taken her degree in art history, she had never visited it again.  Admission is free, though donations are gratefully received, and this makes it an ideal art gallery to visit if one is in central London with just an hour to spare.  The collection is in Hertford House on Manchester Square, just behind Selfridge’s.

http://www.wallacecollection.org/

This link gives an idea of some of the exhibits; not just paintings, but china, glassware, weaponry, and other objets d’art.  Continue reading “The Wallace Collection”

I have just read this book, having often come across the title  and the name of the author.  A record number of “westerns” have been based on his work, however loosely.  It took a sale offer from Amazon to persuade me to download it on to my Kindle. ( Yes, you can take the girl out of Scotland, but you can’t take Scotland … )

The story is set in Utah around a Mormon community in the 1870s and does not paint a very flattering picture of the followers of Joseph Smith.  Their attitude to women closely resembles that of Muslims, which is not a compliment to anyone.  In fact Grey’s publishers originally edited it very considerably in order not to offend. (Sounds familiar.)  The brutal Mormon elder is ready to stoop to any crime to force the heroine to become wife number X and his band of god-fearing Mormon thugs terrorises the local community into helping him.  As the story unfolds, we discover just how appalling these self-appointed “bishops” and “elders” can be when they set eyes on a woman who attracts them.  Mormonism seems to be or at least have been a licence to rape.  What is pleasant in the book is the description of the countryside and the animals, with some passages of “purple prose” –  no pun intended.

The author was christened Pearl Zane Grey, so it’s understandable that he dropped his first name.  (What is it with the inhabitants of Ohio?  John Wayne was originally christened Michael Marion.)  Grey trained as a dentist, married a graduate in English who was able to help him with his work, and had his first book published in 1910.  Having always associated him with cowboy films,  though one gets some good storylines there, I was impressed with this book and I may even go back to Amazon and splash out another 99p. But if anyone comes round to the door to proselytise for Mormons, they will get an earful.  It seems they have not changed.  Our niece in Colorado is married to a former Mormon, who refused to obey orders and no longer has contact with his family.  Still, the lucky girl doesn’t have to deal with a mother-in-law.