Tom Roper's Weblog

The Stewards Cup at Goodwood

Events, dear boy, events, have kept me away from taking an interest in racing recently. I did manage to pick Harbinger to win the King George VI & Queen Elizabeth at Ascot last Saturday, but until today could not take an informed interest in Goodwood. However, today I have the leisure to try to solve the three-pipe problem that is the Stewards Cup. The answer, Watson, is Hitchens.

Goodwood 230: Sea Lord
Goodwood 305: Stacelita
Goodwood 340: Hitchens

I see my former trade union, Unison, former as they don't allow unemployed members, which I suppose makes sense, are sponsoring the afternoon meeting at Doncaster.

The Kübler-Ross model: the five stages of grief

Ladies and gentlemen, I offer you my interpretation of the five stages of grief, from Elisabeth Kübler-Ross's On Death and Dying.

Denial

Anger

Bargaining

Depression

Acceptance

Library day in the life 5: Thursday

(Sorry if you came here earlier this evening to read this post. Internet gremlins stole my post)

The main event of the day, which somewhat overshadows everything else, is that I've been made redundant. I hope this is the only time someone has to pass on this news during library day in the life.

Contrast my departure, with the statutory minimum redundancy payment for two years service, to that of the CEO of the Learning and Skills Council, who left with a bonus of £36,000 and a pay-off of £120,000, according to the TES, or Tony Hayward's package from BP.

Library Day in the Life 5

Now recalled by popular demand for a fifth session, Library Day in the Life is this week. The aim of the project is to give those outside the profession some idea of how we spend our days by blogging or tweeting. Predictably, the Twitter feed is more used than blogs, at least so far. Let me squeeze the first three days of the week all into one post.

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I'm Head of Learning Resources at a London further education college. It's an interesting week. A departmental restructuring shudders to a halt on Thursday with interviews for 'my' job; I and a colleague are competing. It's unclear what happens to the loser. And it's the last week we're known as Learning Resources. Next week we absorb print services and reprographics and become known, as we should be, as Libraries and Learning Resources; we already manage audio-visual services for the college.

Most of the staff are term-time only, but there's quite a lot of us still around. Apart from regular summer jobs such as stock-moves and end of financial year stuff, we stay open to serve an English language summer school, and have recruited two dedicated, in every sense of the word, temporary staff, Ros and Michelle. And this summer we change library management systems, going from Olib to Heritage, and move our VLE from Moodle to Blackboard. Apart from that, not much is happening.

Monday: the day should start, as always in the vacation, with morning prayers, a quick meeting where everyone who's in gets together and we go round the table, bringing each other up to date with whatever we're up to. We have to delay the meeting because of transport difficulties; this is after all London in 2010, so one of the world's biggest capital cities can't be expected to get its workforce to work without fuss or delay. I spend a lot of the day throwing away bits of paper, a regular summer job, and some of it buying more e-resources for the 800 HE business students who descend on us in September in an arrangement with the University of Cumbria (not our nearest neighbours, I know, but it make a sort of sense). I also have a tricky HR issue to deal with which I can't describe, only to say that I don't think it has been resolved.

Tuesday: morning prayers again, and today we have Julia from the Merton campus with us. More paper-shuffling and a last line management meeting with my manager, who's leaving. I've been here just over two years and he's the fifth manager I've had. Do I break them?

Wednesday is enlivened by a a fire alarm and evacuation. Our assembly point, appropriately enough, is the cemetery at the side of the college. Then I have a meeting with the new Head of IT to discuss how our computer access control system will or won't work with our new catalogue. Another issue surfaces; will Shibboleth work for all our sites, with the fragmented staff and student directories? Then I have a line management meeting with one of my direct reports, Ewa, the E-Resources Co-ordinator. We try to sort out her access to the JISC Collections website and the day ends with me trying, and failing, to log into our new e-procurement system.

On note taking

The techniques of study are endlessly fascinating, though a good way to divert one's attention away from actually doing any work towards the way in which one might do some work if only one had the right pen/notebook/computer/time management system.

Two things caught my eye recently:

Keith Thomas in the London Review of Books, discussing a historian's note-taking techniques

Tara Brabazon, in Times Higher Education, with very practical advice on editing essays and not-taking

Market Rasen, Newbury and Newmarket

Some interesting racing today, with the biggest intellectual puzzle posed by the Weatherbys Super Sprint at Newbury. In a field of twenty-five two-year olds, six are trained by Richard Hannon, but I favour Tom Dascombe's Ballista, whose two races so far consist of a win and a place.

215 Newbury: Markab
230 Newmarket: Cill Rialaig
320 Newbury: Ballista
335 Market Rasen: Tempsford
355 Newbury: Prince Siegfried  

The worst meal I ever had

A comment by Mrs Angry, whose Broken Barnet blog should be required reading for all politicians and senior council officers in that benighted borough, prompted me to remember the worst meal of my adult life. I mean here the worst paid-for meal of my adult life. I shall not mention domestic dishes like the liver curry I used to prepare, or the dish of hearts a house-sharer presented us with when, as students, we were on an economy drive.; nor shall I write about school dinners which are in a class of their own.

Like hers it was in Ireland, in Arklow. I was on holiday with my then-girlfriend. It was early evening, and we were looking for somewhere to eat. We drove for miles, failing to find anywhere. Desperate, I suggested that a town the size of Arklow must have a restaurant. We headed for the town and found one, attached to a large hotel in the centre. Reception was unstaffed, but behind it was an empty dining room. We walked in. Ten or fifteen minutes must have passed before a frightened waitress emerged. 'Are you serving supper?', I asked. She was unsure and retreated to the kitchen, returning with some menus. We ordered pâté, followed by a main I can't remember. The pâté came after half an hour or so. My companion looked at it. 'Excuse me', she said to the waitress, 'this is spam'. The waitress giggled and fled back to the ktichen. We left. We did not pay.

Ascot and York

Ascot 145: Greyfriarschorista
Ascot 250: Ouqba
York 305: Wigmore Hall

Blog posted here.

Artichokes

Grown from seed last year, nursed through the cold winter, my artichokes are now ready. I take considerable pleasure in their heraldic appearance. I once visited a country house where the outside walls were decorated with carved artichokes; the leaves look well in stone.

I first saw an artichoke eaten in a Norfolk hotel, on the last day of a family holiday. I would have been five or six. My father, whose usual doctor's asceticism was tempered with tendencies to gourmandisme when away from home, ordered artichokes. They came, with great ceremony, melted butter, finger bowls and a receptacle for the discarded leaves. He demonstrated how to eat them, first tearing away the leaves and nibbling the base, then, when the centre was exposed, deftly removing the hairy choke and eating the base.

I shall eat some of these, but leave at least one to flower.

Eclipse

One year I will take myself to for the Eclipse meeting. Ever since I was head of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons library, I have been fascinated by the story of this horse. Painted by Stubbs, anatomised by St Bel and his skeleton now in possession of the Royal Veterinary College, this narrative appeals to the historian manqué in me. So today I choose:
Sandown 200: Triple Aspect
Sandown 235: Oratory
Haydock 250: Barshiba
Sandown 310: Zacinto
Haydock 325: Hillview Boy