Lofty appointments
I mentioned recently my new post as researcher. Never one to toil alone, I have acquired a research assistant and a mighty fine appointment it was too. My brother-in-law is a reader at York University, who has spent most of his career to date on cancer research. For the non-academics out there, a reader is apparently not just the latest “Janet and John” series for 5 year olds, nor someone with a passion for book clubs. It’s also, according to Wiki, “the British academic rank between senior (or principal) lecturer and professor".
I was feeling very pleased with my new colleague (and his access to all the cancer related journals I can’t get my hands on) until he dragged me subtly from the world of patient blogs and 10 year old data to the world of Cochrane Collaboration – apparently the gold standard in research summaries. It does look impressive, and I do agree that accuracy is pretty important, but the question is, is it English? I have underlined the words I don’t understand and am on my 4th biro.
In fact, this week I haven’t done as much research, as Oakley and I have been sick since Thursday. We are both on antibiotics and strict instructions from the Doctor not to infect Quentin. Quent, pleased not to be the patient for once, has been bouncing around, doing a sterling job in child (and wife) care, alongside my parents who dashed up at an hour’s notice on Friday.
I’ll end this post with a loosely-related story about “my boys”. This morning, Quentin disappeared off to have his daily sleep. Oakley had been up in the loft with him and had seen a bag he fancied, which Quentin wouldn’t let him have (I later found out). With Daddy safely in bed, and Mummy cooking lunch, Oakley (feeling much better now) spotted his chance, climbed the loft ladder (which sits less than 10 cm from the top of the stairs) and brought down the bag. “Daddy says it’s for inside wucksacks” he told me, looking very pleased with his haul.
Quent has reluctantly agreed not to leave the loft ladder unattended. (He was of course rather proud of Oakley and thinks I am fussing because Oakley “never needs help getting up there”.) I had just got over that when, this afternoon, Quent sent me for a nap (revenge is sweet) and then snuck out onto the roof to mend the TV arial. Take it from me, smug grins are genetic.
As a friend once said, “He’s a lot of work”!
I was feeling very pleased with my new colleague (and his access to all the cancer related journals I can’t get my hands on) until he dragged me subtly from the world of patient blogs and 10 year old data to the world of Cochrane Collaboration – apparently the gold standard in research summaries. It does look impressive, and I do agree that accuracy is pretty important, but the question is, is it English? I have underlined the words I don’t understand and am on my 4th biro.
In fact, this week I haven’t done as much research, as Oakley and I have been sick since Thursday. We are both on antibiotics and strict instructions from the Doctor not to infect Quentin. Quent, pleased not to be the patient for once, has been bouncing around, doing a sterling job in child (and wife) care, alongside my parents who dashed up at an hour’s notice on Friday.
I’ll end this post with a loosely-related story about “my boys”. This morning, Quentin disappeared off to have his daily sleep. Oakley had been up in the loft with him and had seen a bag he fancied, which Quentin wouldn’t let him have (I later found out). With Daddy safely in bed, and Mummy cooking lunch, Oakley (feeling much better now) spotted his chance, climbed the loft ladder (which sits less than 10 cm from the top of the stairs) and brought down the bag. “Daddy says it’s for inside wucksacks” he told me, looking very pleased with his haul.
Quent has reluctantly agreed not to leave the loft ladder unattended. (He was of course rather proud of Oakley and thinks I am fussing because Oakley “never needs help getting up there”.) I had just got over that when, this afternoon, Quent sent me for a nap (revenge is sweet) and then snuck out onto the roof to mend the TV arial. Take it from me, smug grins are genetic.
As a friend once said, “He’s a lot of work”!
posted by Helen at 4/28/2007 11:12:00 pm
2 Comments:
I'm afraid the thing with Oakley and heights is genetic. Get Quent to tell you sometime about swinging off the lighting gantry on to 2in scaffold poles 25ft above the school stage, only using electrical conduits in the roof to balance.
Regards,
Andy W
It is in his genes to explore and go where dad has been before ! The fact that Quent waited to fix the ariel shows that looking after you is a full time job and that he had to get you to rest to give himself the opening in his busy schedule to correct the alignment of the transmission receptor. Boyz will be Boyz, thats what we Do Best !
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