Great Scott!

One of my most recent librivox downloads was 'War of the Worlds' by HG Wells. I've actually become somewhat of a Wells fan of late, despite my inital misgivings from being forced to read The Time Machine when 12. I'll talk about The Island of Dr Moreau later, but with both that novel and WotW I couldn't help but notice how frightening and even relevant they still are. In the best tradition of science fiction, Wells uses seemingly fantastical situations to comment on the climate, acheivements and fears of the time. The only real demonstration of the age of the original is that even neighbouring villages to the scene of the initial carnage refuse to believe the stories until it happens to them in turn due to the lack of communication technology and media at the time.

Reading this, all I could think was that if it were to happen in Britain today, shaky mobile phone footage of hooded kids happy-slapping the martians would be on youtube before the BBC even got to the scene. God bless the technological revolution that has made each and everyone one of us a potential journalist/criminal!*

*But is this the same thing? For further discussion see the Diana Inquest, everywhere, constantly.

'Who said you could activate the stem cell heart?'

Although the above phrase appears to have come straight from some American B-movie involving hammy scientists running around a deserted lab in a thunderstorm, it is in fact taken from a recent ITV drama. Which involved scientists running around a deserted lab in a thunderstorm.
Yes, I made the mistake of watching the ITV 're-modelling' of Frankenstein on Wednesday night. 'Oo goody!' thought I, 'A modern update of one of my favourite stories, with the added bonus of genetic engineering thrown in!'. My only concern was that it would show science acheiving things it could never do in a way that would make less, englightened, members of the viewing public even more against genetic engineering and scientists in general than they already are*.

Oh, if only I'd known how unfounded my fears were. Anyone who believed that the programme showed an accurate portrayal of science today is defying evolution themselves by having managed to live this long. Scientists ran about in some abandoned mill, storms raging overhead and various body parts lying around the lab with an apparent disregard of health and safety regulations. This is forgivable- it IS a horror story - but worse was to come. Every experiment appeared to have to take place in what appeared to be a flotation tank full of blood, and the only equipment shown to be used were the kind of pipettes you might measure medicine for a household pet in, rather than the fancy looking things you see on news reports**. (I suppose it might have been NHS funded research...)

We were expected to believe that by squirting a pipette full of what I assume was DNA solution (but may as well have been fairy dust for all the sense the plot made) into what appeared to be one of these blood filled tanks some kind of mutated fetus could appear in 24 hours, and then escape and grow to be 8 foot tall the next day. Said mutant then went on a killing spree, was captured and in potentially the least subtle homage to the previous incarnations imaginable (only relevant to the three people watching who didn't think ITV created the idea) attach 'bolts' to it's neck that control it via some kind of bluetooth/infrared. Interestingly, ITV chose not to explore the idea that the monster could there by be controlled by mobile phones, and would have a hell of a time on public transport.

The mutant was created from the DNA of leading scientists son who had died of an unanmed disease that involved all his organs failing at once despite looking perfectly healthy in flashbacks to the recent past. Interestingly, once he was dead no one really ever mentioned him again, and there appeared to be some kind of champagne fueled party attended by the parents shortly afterwards. Oviously, the monster loved it's 'parent' and a nice bond was created, until it got out again and ran around on the roof in a completley incomprehensible scene that then switched to everyone on some kinf of seaside holiday. Becoming dafter by the minute, the father was shot for no apparent reason and we end up with our mother and 'son' in a research lab being observed by a Shady Government Scientist (TM). In a move clearly designed to show just how clever the programme really was, the closing lines ask whether the monster will love or hate it's creator when it finds how much fear he himself inspires. Sadly, I had stopped caring.

I actually found some ideas raised within the programme truly interesting - the monster clothed itself as soon as it escaped, siuggesting it was ashamed if it's nudity. It also recognized it's 'mother': is this a suggestion that children are born with innate ideas, or that it inherited memories along with the dead boy's DNA? Sadly, I can't help but think these were byproducts of a poorly developed plot rather than an attempt to inspire genuine philosphical debate.

The metro review called it a sensitive drama bringing up interesting questions about the morals of genetics engineering, which in my view is about as accurate as calling the metro a newspaper.

* I'm not being unfair here. I have been asked, at various points in my scientific career, when DNA was invented and if I cloned sheep in my lab sessions. The answer to these questions are quite clearly: James Watson invented DNA in 1873 and we didn't clone sheep in our lab sessions, we had to use squirrels as they are easier to handle.

** A friend's lab was recently filmed for the regional news and after filming him pipetting, using PCR machines and so on for a while, the crew asked him to pour water from one beaker to another. This got used in the news report, apparently looking more like science than science does. All I could think of was the episode of the Simpsons in which the techies on a film set explain that horses don't look like horses on tv, you have to tape a bunch of cats together...

talking books

Being allowed to listen to my ipod whilst I do my menial an mind numbing tasks at work has 1) rapidly increased my productivity whilst decreaing my boredom and 2) lead me to the discovery of librivox.

Librivox is an 'acoustical liberation of books in the public domain' or rather, a library of audio books recorded by the public, that are out of copyright in the US. Free audio books! Brilliant.
Which it is, except they are read by members of the public. Mostly American members of public, and they are mostly British books. Having to hear a woman with a grating Southern accent mispronounce their way through Jane Austen novels is nothing short of painful, and Phantom of the Opera was even worse, thanks to one reader who read out every French word as it was spelt. Ouch. The English readers (and the many other nationalities that volunteer) can also be as bad. However, I am hugely grateful that these people have volunteered their time to contribute to this website. However much I may struggle to listen to the odd reading, none of these people are professionals and some do a bloody amazing job (one male American reader made me cry with his reading of Phantom of the Opera. He had a different voice for every character, put a huge range of emotion in and if he's not an actor already, is sorely wasted on whatever it is he does)
Thanks to this website, I'm 'reading' a book every day at work, and it's keeping me going! I also intend to volunteer myself once I've cured myself of my terrible habit of speaking far too quickly. (I'm practising this by reading to my boyfriend every night, from 'A Brief History of Time')

So yes, go to librivox, listen to some books and volunteer! Especially if you're Irish, I'm in love with the voice of the one Irish girl who I've heard so far......

Late night fever stricken web browsing..

..leads to a return of my ebay obsession. I seem to have developed some sort of unspecefied virus and as such can't sleep (also, am waiting for boyfriend to return from his late night dissertation panics, once you get used to sharing a bed with someone you can't sleep alone) and wandered onto ebay to have a look for a replacement for a dress I have managed to ruin. This was a mistake. Several hours in and I have searched through every bloody size 14 dress on there, have about fifty things on my watch list and have convinced myself that I reeallly need a rose print laura ashley skirt. And my glands are still up.

The afore mentioned longing for rose print garments may have something to do with the reappearance of twee in my life. I had a brief foray into noise, but I'm running back to belle and sebastian with my arms wide open. And if anyone wants to buy me a stars t shirt from the yellow bird project, that would be nice.

In other dull news, I'm addicted to tetris and I never finish any crochet I start.

After a short hiatus....

..I am back (to save the universe).

And what spurred me on to getting back to blogging? My hatred of crocs. Which now come in a fur lined option. Dear God.

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Ok, so they're comfortable. So are your boyfriends boxers and your dads walking socks but there's no need to start wearing them in public (though if the new 'melting pot' trend is anything to go by, perhaps there is). They are hideous. They can make grown men cry, and not in the good way. A man working at Nottingham University wears them with suits. SUITS. It's all I can do not to leap out of the bus and grab them off his feet in a bid to save him from himself.
Fashion isn't about comfort. It's never been about comfort. It's about putting yourselves through all sorts of ridiculous procedures in order to look nice, and crocs do not look nice. My feet are horrifically battle scarred from years of abuse through shoes that are too big/small/pointy/flat/high (and years of ballet) but who cares, no one sees my feet anyway because they are always covered by attractive shoes. In fact, my feet have been scarred since the age of about 7, when I had my first pair of 'proper' shoes (ie, not with a t-bar, which was the sign of being a grown up. Odd then that now I eally crave those gold t-bars from primark that I missed out on). I refused to take them off even when they had become far too small for me, resulting in my toes now not quite being straight. Start em young, that's what I say.
Anyway. Crocs. It's time to pin your colours to the mast and follow the lead of Manolo over at shoeblogs in stopping this crime against fashion once and for all. Just Say No.

Shameless plug...

If you are in London on these dates I urge you to go see this play: the writer has won awards and is all very good etc but most importantly, Becky Gunstone the designer is my best friend. She's incredibly talented: go see her work. And go see her play.

New Kid On The Block

So, thanks to a Blue Peter competition, there is a new Bash Street Kids gang member for that old children's favourite The Beano(I didn't even know it was still going, to be honest). He is called 'Wayne's in Pain' and is an accident prone chracter suffering from numberous injuries at any one time, created by 7yr old James Thompson from Sheffield.
On the BBC website James is quotes as saying: ""Wayne was based on the fact I went through a period of small accidents, which meant I had injuries."

Have you ever met a seven year old child that talks like this?