Manifest limitations

I'm a late developer. I got my degree in my 30s, and my masters in my forties. Will I get my doctorate in my fifties? Tim Harford quotes his tutor in The Independent:

"You seem to have everybody out there fooled about your abilities, so I don't think you should come here to demonstrate your manifest limitations."

Mastering full-time study

Spent the week, like my son, trying to work out new life and new work. Unlike him I don't get lectures, but the Masters in Research does involve a lot of reading and writing. I have to study

• Module A - basics about research methods
• Module B - qualitative methods
• Module C - quantitative methods

and a choice of advanced qualitative or quantitative. There are two 3000-word assignments to write for each module, and two two-hour F2F tutorials.

I also have to study a specific course for the OUBS on business research methods, and that looks really interesting, plus the university provides a set of work shops on the basic skills that a post-graduate needs. That has three assignments.

Finally, I have to write my 12,000-14,000 word dissertation (Public Accountability for the Use of External Consultants) by next September.

So lots to do. And I still have some OU work to finish, so must go now. Sort out out car, and drive to brother's before training to Leeds for work tomorrow.

Master in Research

Mixed emotions: glee and trepidation.

I registered on Monday, and there was induction on Tuesday and Wednesday. Now, Thursday, I'm left to my own devices, with my first meeting with my supervisor in half an hour. I've planned a very flexible agenda hoping to discuss literature but also having a thousand mixed up ideas, and a lot of doubt that anything is every possible.

Watch this space.

At least watch it until I decide to set up a separate blog for reflections on this study because I really want to share ideas and experiences with other trainee researchers.

Grumpy Granny goes to Rome.

First day, Monday, was horrendous.

• Plane late.


• Rome airport loos queued full and dirty.


• Baggage an hour late, and on wrong carousel.

Bad start.

Bus journey into city past rubbly graffiti daubed hovels to more intense traffic jams. Find bullying receptionist who wants my signature on a blank form, and then shows us to the tiniest room, above the roar and fumes of traffic at the roundabout below.


Have headache. It rains. Go to St Peter's square to find more queues and an ice cream. Fall asleep. Walk. Have coffee. Fall asleep again.


Conclusion : bad first 12 hours.

Recommendations :

1. Don't come to Rome


2. Try another hotel.


3. Avoid planes


4. Allow more time for breakfast at airport.

Tuesday was almost as exhausting as we visited:
Bookshop, Florence paper shop, Trevi fountain, Vittoriana for coffee, Piazza Colonna, Via Corso, Forum, the Piazza Navona, theatre for a guitar concert (Amadeus duo) and the Pantheon - a big circle with a roof with a hole in it.

Photos below:

Roman ruins. There were lots of ruins.	Roman graffiti was everywhere.
They use an old sewer pipe as a passage way.	There were too many people around to get near enough to throw coins into the Trevi Fountain, so I guess I'll not be coming back.
You needed the fan in our hotel room. It was too hot to close the window against the noise and pollution of the traffic three floors below.	See the scooters in the traffic jam one evening outside the hotel.
Took this photo when we had already got half way through the queue for the Vatican museum.	This was a copy of the Laocoon sculpture.
The queue to see the Sistine Chapel was long and slow, but you could sit in there for as long as you liked, and just look, and listen to your audio lecture. The blue of the frescos was beautiful. The Last Judgement was impressive, and the matching pictures of Jesus life opposite scenes from Moses life were fascinating.	Queue again, this time for old Roman graves, aka the catacombs.
Stop sight seeing and taste the local produce.	The weather was warm. The transport was frequent. The food was delicious especially at the Taverna Romana, and we found two guitar concerts to go to, including one with John Williams!

Wedding well

Step daughter number 2 married last week. She looked so happy. See our family web site for photos.

Carrying on

Son has wonderful results and is going to Oxford, Hertford College. Daughter did well at GCSEs: 7 As, 2 A* and a B. She was almost surprised, despite the enormous amount of work she put in, especially to English and geography after Hockerill offered her that place. My many thanks go to that school, just for encouraging her. Although I am happy that she be in a local school, Hockerill, as a state boarding school (state boarding schools are awell-kept secret ) would have been good for her. However, it was high risk:

1. the International Baccalaureate required a wider spread of effort than I thought D would do,
2. the universities (until June this year) required more points from the IB,
   
3. the £8000 a year was money I needed for S to go to uni, and for me to do my doctorate.

S is enjoying the late summer, planning a camping trip, and working on some of the maths that Oxford have sent him to do before he starts.

D started at her new sixth form today. I'm waiting for her to come home any minute....

15 August 1987

Nineteen years ago we (R & I) were doing this pregnancy test after six years of trying, drugs, operations and infertility.


The test proved positive. :)

Expected results

Son is so nervous. The A level results come out on Thursday and he is dying to know, and so worried that perhaps he'll have a B on his history and he won't be able to go to Oxford to read physics and philosophy.

So what? His second choice is Imperial to read physics - and that is really good; it's first choice for a lot of people. Nevertheless, I think he'd enjoy doing the philosophy component if he can get into Oxford. And then he'll be nearer home, and Oxford must be cheaper than London. He likes the easy access to the country from there too. If he just misses the history, he should ring the tutor at Oxford to see what can be negotiated.

We're away the following week when daughter's GCSE results come out. At least, assuming no more cancelled plane flights, we're away. I wish I'd booked the train but I didn't think of the train going to Grenoble until a month after I'd booked the plane. It's a bit odd, flying to go camping. We have to have very light luggage and now have lost the 10kg that we'd normally be allowed as hand luggage. Ah well! It must be safer now, for all this fuss.

And we are luckier than the Lebanese. Imagine if the Americans said that for their security they were going to bomb the parts of Britain where the terrorists were, like Israel bombs Hezbollah in the Lebanon.

New Forest - Xmas round robin report

Had one fun day on Wednesday. Camping in the New Forest with daughter, at breakfast, two ponies came to inspect - walked right between daughter and me, then strolled over to a neighbouring huge tent, where they'd left the back open as well as the front. Pony thought 'that looks interesting', bent its head and walked right in! Squeals of 'Mum!' emanated from tent, and dad came to shoo pony out! "I ate orses" the mum told me.

Daughter took me for a long walk through the forest - must have been six or seven miles, and she was quite happy. Hot, I bent to cool my hands in a stream. "Wait!" she warned. "There's an animal." It was a slim brown snake with a yellow marking on its head that slid out from the sandy bank and across the stream.

Then we drove over to the Moors Valley 'GoApe' adventure course. That was terrific. They give you lots of instruction, dress you up with the ropes and the carbiners (or something), get you to practise, let you back out or GO FOR IT! We went. We zipped down wires into nets, we traversed at a hundred feet above ground on a wire, or on trapezes. My mouth was dry with fear, but I knew it was okay. Daughter showed no fear at all - in fact a lad that we were going round with said, "Your daughter isn't afraid at all." He was quite impressed.

Okay - no boring Xmas round letter is coming, but this one day of the summer holiday would have made my news.

I didn't give up

I applied for a place on an Open University Business School Masters in Research Methods, which is a one year course, and then you do three more to do a doctorate. I've just received an email:

I'm very pleased to tell you that, following your chat with CC and the receipt of two excellent references, we would like to make you an informal offer of a place on our full-time MSc programme. The programme will start on 1 October 2006 and you will receive a maintenance grant of £13,300 and you will not need to pay fees.

I am so thrilled. And incredibly grateful to my referees for their encouragement. I've wanted to do this for years and they pointed me in the right direction to take this first step towards a doctorate.

Stress

Son is soooo stressed. He has had two exams today, both at 9.30, so had to take one, then go into isolation and take the other in the afternoon. You could see at breakfast that he was too tense to do himself justice. And this is the exam that his offer at Oxford depends on so I wasn't surprised when he came home saying how bad he felt. He keeps remembering things that he didn't write on his history paper, tells me how he mistimed questions and looks really glum.

Leaving school

Son has only four more weeks of school. In 1994 when he started, he was fairly happy at first, but after a week or two, thought that perhaps he'd had enough now. He asked:
"Mum, do I have to go to school tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"And the next day?"
"Yes."
"And the next?"
"And the next?"
"Yes."
"And the one after that?"
"No, it's the weekend. You don't have to go for two days."
"Then do I have to go to school?"
"Yes."
"And the next day?"
"Yes."

He gave up asking. School looked like a life sentence to him. Yet now we can count the weeks until he leaves.

Bye bye daughter, till next week

Took daughter back to school this evening. This is the last trip back after a holiday; she leaves this year and won't be boarding for sixth form. Just as well, since her suit case was so heavy. She said it was full of books and she has been revising this holiday, which is admirable and a a relief for a worrying mother. However, she hasn't organised herself any work experience, and I haven't managed to find anything for her through my contacts, she'll be bored in the last week of June when the rest of her year are out experiencing work.

Busy

I'm so busy this year, but having 'flu has meant more pressure from family:
"Mum, can you ...?"
"You don't phone me any more." (This from my mum - sorry Mum).
"I've got you some xyz to cook for supper." (Kind, when I've just got in from work.)
"Mum's too busy to ..."

But

• two days a week of teaching,


• a day a week of advisory work,


• a day of studying and


• a day of tutoring

is a full time week, and leaves little time for mothering and housewife duties.

I'll do better soon because I'm losing three work contracts. Then I'll be time rich again.

Worst time of the year

Got flu at the start of March, so no posting for a bit while I catch up. There's something about March that makes people ill, depressed or just plain fed up. A number of staff at JCS were off sick, so those left got even more stressed at having to cover. What's the research that demonstrates how rotten people feel in March?

Moving neighbours

We went over to F, yesterday to a good bye party for A&D. They are retiring to Australia, to live somewhere 800 miles away from Perth. I hope the new life suits them, but I'm sorry they'll be so far away. It's like losing them for ever.

University union action

Over 17 years I've seen the OU change and change many things for the better;
I'll list them later.

But the OU has also changed my contract, and changed it for the worse. After 17 years tutoring with the OU, only my experience since 2002 counts. And for 16 of those years I could not contribute to a pension. Eventually, being so fed up, I joined the OUAUT and now the AUT is calling for strike action:

What is so ridiculous is that I'm teaching again, in a school, after 27 years . With less than three years teaching experience and those in a primary school, I am at the top of the main scale because my school recognises my 17 years of tutoring with the OU, years that the OU won't recognise. School teaching pays better than university tutoring.

My Not So Interesting Life

Son showed me this blog, written by a girl from the school next door to his. http://www.mynotsointerestinglife.blogspot.com/ It reflects son's life, his peer and age group, revealing sharp intelligence and the beginnings of maturity. It is highly amusing and presented using the right format for the medium. Enjoy.

Endoscopy

Son has now had letter from hospital telling him to contact hospital to arrange appointment to see consultant to discuss another appointment for the endoscopy. Son hasn't contacted anyone about going private because he's been very busy during the half term holiday. He's spent

• all mornings catching up with his sleep,


• most afternoons writing a very long piece of physics course work,


• some afternoons stripping the hall of wall paper or painting the bared walls, and


• the evenings watching the box.

Something else to worry about

Son has to have an endoscopy. Just as he is coming up to taking his A levels, he has to have an endoscopy. Not a blood test, not a breathe test, but an endoscopy. I am not happy.

He's been complaining about tummy and digestion problems for some months, went to see the GP in the autumn and got given antibiotics, which worked while he was taking them, but when he stopped taking them the problem returned, and muttering about H Pylori, the GP gave him more and stronger antibiotics, which worked while he was taking them, but when he stopped taking them the problem returned. So now the GP is getting him to see a consultant and booking him in for an endoscopy.

I wish I'd gone with him to the surgery so I could ask questions about alternatives and side effects. P said he didn't ask any questions because, "He's a professional, Mum!" "You ask questions of your teachers all the time! You don't believe them." "That's different."