Bleep. The microwave ‘Clock set’ button says bleep. I would be better off waiting ten minutes, that way I could set it to 13:00 and wouldn’t have to press the minute button so many times. But where’s the story in that? What could I have done in ten minutes to cope with the uncertainty of a clock that just flashes ’00:00’. It is not 00:00, I can tell because sunlight reflects off the microwave display. I have cereal digesting in my stomache, which only rarely happens at 00:00. This morning has been productive. I include a 10:38 lie-in with that, sleep is difficult sometimes so it feels good to have some in the bank. The flat is cleaner that it was an hour ago, not quite to the level of Lisa cleaning but it looks like a human could live here, and for now that will have to do. I unplugged the microwave as part of cleaning, to get in behind the toaster and wipe away crumbs so potential mice can't get to them. I count writing as being productive, I tentatively declare that is my thing and even frivolous poems and prose like this are part of what I could later call my life’s work. I can appreciate such things better now I’m doing the PhD. Even though it’s in lab-based science.

Beep. I poke my head over the kitchen window. The pharmacist and her colleague in white uniform are locking up across the way, smiling as they part company. Working on a Saturday morning, when today’s rain has already fallen, perhaps they each have domestic duties, perhaps social stuff to make the most of half a day off. I presume the lady in plain clothes, civvies, is the pharmacist and the other the one who mans the till. In my experience pharmacists prefer wearing their own clothes. The veg lady returns to her shop on our side of the street with short hair and small movements. I try to compare her, perhaps to a small animal, but I will the mouse I saw earlier in our flat to die in any of three traps. I wouldn't wish that on the veg lady, I start to think of practical reasons like I want her to live because she sells us food and provides Lisa with company and chats when selling us melons and nectarines. There are better reasons I don’t wish death, but for some reason these things surface first. I suppose I take morality as a given. Perhaps I should call her the fruit lady, that's mostly what we buy from her.

I have a part-finished book on how to write a PhD thesis in the loo. Not down the pan, it’s in the basket on top of the cistern with other reading material, including a densely-written book chapter on the basics of chromatography. Most of the reading material is mine, and it doesn't need to be there because all I read on there at the moment is the story of Monkey. They’re trying to save a kingdom from oppressive Taoists, three immortals advising the king of the land and treat Buddhists as slaves. Ironically, Monkey, then a Buddhist priest, was unable to sit still and is a monkey of action not of peace. The book does seem biased towards the Buddhists, the introduction says the structure of heaven in those times was considered an almost replica of bureaucratic setup on earth. As it happens, I read some tweets in the last day or so accusing the BBC of institution-bias when they didn't report on the peoples assembly gathering in London to oppose cuts to public services. I remember considering such a thing when I was a teenager, thought of writing a novel based on that where there are spirits each responsible for a certain area or function and each was a bit human. Perhaps I’ll follow up on that one day (certainly not until 2-odd years from now).

For a long time, I’ve wrestled with a sort of existentialism, wondering what I am, what’s my role in the world and why am I here? In wondering this, I write out problems so I can see them with some perspective and consider the right course of action. My poem ‘my line’ refers to this (video here). The general technique started in physics lessons in school, when solving Newton’s laws of motion. The teacher, Mister Lloyd, set out a framework called ‘given’ and ‘to prove’. We would write out what facts had been given in the question and what we needed to find out, and then pick the formula that fit the problem. This was quite a revolution for me, simple being able to express what there is and what I needed to do. I was quiet as a child, at least I was in public. Only when I felt safe to do so could I really be me and say what I thought. So I got a bit lippy when in some lessons, when I knew I could do well academically and the teacher had no need to criticise me on that level.

I can see this turning into a biographical chapter, but I don’t want to do that right now. Another time, yes. But what am I avoiding? Perhaps I should keep going.

These days I’m generally ok at speaking in front of people. I’ve given several talks as part of the PhD, several to my industrial partners and one to members of the faculty at the University. Poetry readings are quite a straightforward thing for me these days, I did an open mic on Thursday at the Arts House cafe and it was like second nature to me. As an aside, it's a proper laid-back venue, after I quizzed the lady with dyed-blonde locks at the cafe counter she said it was an informal thing. The host Jeremy Toombs rocked up just before 8:30pm with a bushy beard and a cap on, sorted out the basement room whilst welcoming in people with a strong southern US accent. I still got nervous, felt the heart thumping in my chest before I volunteered, before I stood up. A bit like in Jiu-Jitsu, when training at ULU at first I couldn’t possibly volunteer myself to practice in front of everyone else but after training for a few months I would quite happily go first sometimes. Not that I train at the moment, I have the PhD to focus on and poetry/prose writing is enough of a hobby, doing two and a PhD probably needs more hours than there are in the week. Truth be told, it might be possible but to the detriment of my relationship with Lisa. I’ve waited almost three decades of my life to find my perfect love and all I really want to do is be in her company. In some ways I’d like her to train with me, but she doesn’t like being picked up, and wouldn’t take kindly to receiving atemi. The reason I mention Jitsu is I’d like to start training again, I think it would help focus my studies also. When Lis is away on placements, I find myself sprawling my working day from 9:30am to 8 or 9pm at night. This is fine in that most of that is lab work or excel work looking through data. But the days when I have to leave by a sensible time helps me really focus on what I need to get done, and doing this more regularly could help me. I also need to write, and even when I’m not training (will probably go twice a week, generally once a week is a bit too sporadic to really enjoy it. You end up spending most sessions refreshing yourself and it’s difficult to progress). PhD write, that is. I’ve a paper to get written on HILIC-CAD, which is progressing ok but it’s becoming urgent that I get a paper out with me as first author. The advice I’ve heard is that it makes the viva and marking much easier if your work has already been peer-reviewed and published. The reason it’s urgent is the Journal of Chromatography A is putting together a special issue of work presented at the HPLC 2014 conference in New Orleans. I made a poster for it, and that work on HILIC-CAD is the meat and potatoes of the paper. So it’s fresh in my mind and I have some conclusions to draw, this week I’ll crack on and get a draft within a fortnight or so.

I presented a poster this week, and I feel explaining my work to non-lab scientists went ok. The Pro-vice chancellor that introduced one of the oral presentation sessions referenced the conversation he’d had with me a few moments before, pointing out I struggled to explain it. I thought I’d done ok and deserved some credit for effort and enthusiasm (also not being judgemental when someone literally has no idea what I do, even what I work in the same faculty). From what he said to the lecture theatre, I think he got it better than he gave himself credit for, as it made sense to me.

It’s now 13:54, so it seems rather than filling ten minutes I’ve filled an hour with these contemplations. I remember my mum telling me ‘a writer writes’, and google tells me plenty of others said this too. But I’m a scientist too and need to find things to write about. The lab whispers like a Jimmy Hendrix song but I need to make lunch and welcome my woman home. Monday will be the start of a good week.

doph

:o)