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Tuesday, 20 June 2017

Pastoral bliss

This one is going to be sort of a rant. It's about how the UK university system screws up pastoral care and disability rights so royally whilst pretending to do the right thing. It's a crap situation that I was fighting for years from within the system when I worked in the UK universities and a decade later it is still going strong. I could scream. In fact everyone SHOULD scream.
Let's do a tale of two students. Both have something wrong with them. In one case it's a disability. An invisible one. In the other case it's a sense of entitlement and the morality of a syphilitic mongoose.

Student A.
Student A has a very high opinion of themselves quite unjustified in terms of either their work ethic or their ability. They have experience in how to manipulate the system. Often this comes from either run ins with benefits agencies, indulgent parents, boarding schools or other manipulable entities.
Student A does minimal work during the year, is late for coursework with no contact for extension and does poorly in tutorials. When the exams are approaching Student A, who has carefully read the regulations, finds a reason which is hard to disprove to submit an Extenuating Circumstances form.
Reasons I have seen vary from stress, missing a bus, having a cold, death of grandmother(one student did this 5 times), pet going missing all the way through to boob job. No kidding.
They do poorly in the exam but get to retake with no consequences because of the form. One student I knew did this at 14 consecutive  exam dates.
They are unkillable because they know and abuse the system.

Student B
Student B has an invisible disability. Their doctor knows and they are coping with it but it limits available spoons. They perform pretty well through the year. Sometimes attendance varies. Sometimes they need more time on essays which they arrange with lecturers. They hit the exams and the stress makes their condition worse but they soldier on. They get an OK grade which is well below potential but a testament to their tenacity.
They had no idea that Extenuating Circumstances forms existed and because they are used to coping even if they had they probably think it applies only to people in car accidents not THEM.

So Student B gets shafted royally.
That's exactly how the system works folks. That's what happens time after time. Every exam board at a UK university knows it. They see it all the time. But they can't do much about it.

So what is broken here?
Simple answer is pastoral care. What used to happen and what should still happen is that each student gets a personal tutor who actually does their fucking job.
I used to have my tutees to tea once a week in my office. Give a student free cake and they always turn up. I asked them how they were.
Simple as that.
Doing that I caught 5 cases of undiagnosed dyslexia, one case of clinical depression and saw first hand the damage cfs/me can do (it's why I will get very mad at anyone who implies it's just yuppie flu. Killing mad).
I could tell my tutees to fill in the forms. Get them help. And when it came round to exam boards get up on my hind feet and defend them like a lioness defending it's cub.
But now the common experience is that personal tutors see tutees only once a year. Students often get a new one each year. Some even forget who they are.

The personal tutors are overworked yes. There is no credit for pastoral work yes.

But for the cost of different company at a tea break you were probably having anyway and at most 30 boxes of Mr Kipling you are failing your students and ensuring that the ones with invisible disabilities, the ones the system was written for are YET AGAIN being fucked up the wrong un with a very large pipe wrench.

I have no time for academics who say they can't fit it in. Your priorities are wrong. You are contributing to a bigoted system and you need to change. Do it or resign.

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

...Try it Part 3

There is a problem with love.
Love can happen for the silliest reasons. It can creep up on you. It can happen in a flash.
With my ex wife it was when I had the first of several ankle operations. I lived in Wembley she lived in Suffolk. She came all the way down to the hospital and gave me a teddy bear with a bandaged foot.
With Noggin it was on the beach at Dunwich. In fact it was at this moment pictured.
He was taking a picture of a flower.
Just a common seaside weed. But the intensity and concentration and care he had for that simple plant. Bam.
Love is a binary thing. You love or you don't. You can't turn it on and off. It has a strong biochemical similarity to OCD.
And I loved him. His kindness. His smile. His smell. Especially his eyes.
All I wanted to do was be with him. Talk to him. When we were apart we used to play xbox together and use the chat thingy.
My future had always been uncertain due to various things. I was probably going to have to move. And about at this time Noggin was having trouble at work. He was eventually forced to leave totally unfairly. I knew the people he worked for and just wanted to go in there and shove my walking stick up their arses.
We carried on seeing each other. I was doing all I could to support him through this awful experience.
It felt like it was going well.
And then one evening I was texting him to ask if he wanted to go to a museum or something that weekend and he texted back that he didn't think we should sleep together any more. We could be friends but nothing else.
I must emphasise that throughout he had been totally honest about being unsure there would ever be more than friends with benefits. Totally honest.
It's just that as my feelings for him had grown I had thought that his for me had too. Silly of me but there you go. Love is blind.
So here we come to the problem with love...you cannot tell if it is returned.
To say that was a bad time is an understatement. I was and to a degree still am devastated. But of course there was nothing to be done.
Part of his reasons was that he wanted to move to Yorkshire to be closer to his mum. I would have moved to Mongolia and lived in a yurt to be with him. But there you go.
I also believe my aspergers put him off as he had had a very destructive relationship with an aspie before.
But if someone doesn't love you they don't love you. Simples.
We did meet several times socially. I helped him move. The last time we went out was something I wanted to do...kind of a bucket list as after he moved I was fully intending to kill myself. Not sure why I didn't.
I had always had a picture in my head of walking through fallen leaves in a wood with someone I loved. So I asked Noggin for a platonic date and we went and did just that.
How I didn't cry I don't know. The bitter sweet irony of doing what I pictured but without the love returned was crippling.
But I did it.
I still text Noggin. We chat. I still love him but I am trying to turn it to brotherly love. Whatever he can accept. Friends is quite something
But as for the experience. ..I will leave the last word to Mr Jones

Friday, 19 May 2017

...Try it (Part 2)

The next time I met Noggin I cooked dinner. I believe it was Korean food. A Tofu based tteokboki. I got all of the side dishes. I cleaned the house. I set the table. I used the Chinese bowls mrsinky bought me for xmas one year and the gorgeous chopsticks and chopstick holders Cheri got me one year.
I have no issue with vegetarian food. It's ethical and rational. And if you do it right it can be delicious.
And I am one of those people who likes tofu.
So cooking for him was a pleasure.
At about this time I developed a very painful subluxation of my sternoclavicular joint. Something I still have and ruins my life. But I worked through the pain.
When he came over I had good food for him and he tried everything. Even the wrapped kimchi which is an acquired taste he acquired in a moment.
He seemed more relaxed. He smiled that gentle smile. After an appropriate interval we made love.
Slowly over the weeks we set a pattern. Dinner. Maybe a film. Gentle sexual exploration. Learning each others tastes. Enjoying just the feeling of intimacy and warmth.
Then talking.
Aspies don't do chit chat. My theory is it's oxytocin related. Neurotypicals get oxytocin released at bonding events. It binds them together. It promotes warm social feelings.
I only get that for 20 minutes post orgasm.
But it was there. I learnt about Noggin. His job. How he thought. I came to realise that although he was definitely not aspie he was neurodivergent and I shared this with him.
Logic and argument threw him in the way emotion throws me. But he had a gift of intuitive thinking that was breathtaking.
He loved taking photos. Particularly of flowers. He liked watching and reading Sci fi. He could put up with my obsessions.
We went together to cafes to Dunwich to Cambridge.  Each time he was solicitous of my comfort.  Making sure I rested. Finding tables so I could sit with my back to a wall. Things like that.
Once I got hit with casual ablism. When I took my arm out of its sling to pay for something the cashier asked if I was faking. Being me I just explained how my injury worked. When we got home he went on twitter and complained about it and got an apology and promise of retraining.
For the first time in my life I felt cared for. Here was a man who cared about my welfare. He wanted me to be comfortable.  He defended me from hurt. He tried to understand .
This was what in the end freed me from the idea of trying to get back with mrsinky. She was loved by me but never really loved me back. Not in that way. Such gentle caring. The idea that my comfort mattered. All these were alien to her. I began to see what a relationship could be.
Weekends when I knew Noggin was coming round were like the specks of gold in a year of dirt. I counted the days. I planned the meals. I couldn't wait to see him and kiss him as he walked in. To ask about his work. To find out more.
He was the reason I stayed alive. My lifeline.
I came off grindr. We were still officially friends with benefits and neither of us had said we were exclusive.  But when I was seeing someone who made me feel so alive and so cherished why would I want random cold fucks?
My life became focused on Noggin weekends.
And when he was here I was happy.
We had sleepovers.
We did things together.
He showed me how a relationship should work. For which I am terribly grateful. I had no idea such a thing happened.  I had always just tried to make other people happy not even thinking they would reciprocate. Or even want to.
This gentle thoughtful viking taught me about how it works.
It all felt so good.
You know this isn't going to last. Don't you?

Thursday, 18 May 2017

...Try it. Part 1

It is with a heavy heart I take up my pen...

Actually it is with a heavy heart I do most things these days. The reason is tied up with my prolonged absence from this blog.
I met someone.
Sounds simple doesn't it?
Actually for me it is far from simple as my aspergers tends to make it very difficult to do social things like that. Hence why I love apps like grindr and scruff where you can just directly ask for sex without being hit or locked up.
Trouble is of course that sex is generally all you get. Generally.
Anyway in March 2016 I was browsing scruff and lo and behold there popped up a picture of a lean viking warrior. A kind face with a trimmed fair beard and just the right amount of weatherbeaten. I mean just...wow.
So I send a message even though he was 50 miles away. Who wouldn't?
I'm going to call him Noggin in honour of the brave king of the Nogs documented by Oliver Postgate. Younger readers may see those documentaries on YouTube.
Anyway I chatted and he chatted and eventually I suggested maybe we should meet up. Just for tea and biscuits as his profile suggested that he was not really into just shagging first thing and I believe he said as much.
So I found out that he liked dark chocolate and ginger and I got the best dark chocolate and ginger biscuits I could find. I made sure the place was at least tidy by my standards and round he came.
When he knocked on my door he looked just like his picture. You wouldn't believe how rarely that happens.
Anyway we sit and we chat and he was...complex. He was a bit shy and nervous but then who wouldn't be. His voice just resonated with care and empathy. He was interesting. Knew a lot about philosophy and we had a discussion there because I mentioned my lifelong adherence to utilitarianism. He was a vegetarian but not because of cuteness of animals but rather refreshingly because he was not yet decided about whether it was ethical to eat animals and didn't want to do so while he was making up his mind.
But there was something else.
As a child I was abused. Physically, psychologically and sexually. (By other children at school)
And I knew, just knew that he too had been abused in some way by someone.
I also knew for the first time in my life that the person in front of me desperately needed someone to treat him with kindness and tenderness. And needed sex so hard it hurt.
This was just meant to be tea and biscuits and see what happened. He had been clear from the start that relationships were not on the cards but maybe if we liked each other friends with benefits. But that would be later.
But gentle reader I saw a kind gentle thoughtful and deep man in need. I saw someone who had suffered and hurt. And they were gorgeous. Gentle reader...what would you do?
As an aspie I never initiate kisses or sex on dates. Grindr meets you know it's about sex. But dates...it's about non verbal cues as to whether you go for it. And so I never do. In fact I say up front to my date as I had to Noggin that if they wanted any physical contact they had to tell me directly.
But after we had talked for hours I stood up and said in my normal level of romance "The hell with this, do you want to come upstairs?"
And he said yes.
He was nervous. But I wasn't. I was going to let this man know there was love and kindness in the world. Even in strangers. And who is stranger than me?
So I went slowly. I was gentle. At each ...stage...I said to him that if at any point he was uncomfortable even slightly he should just tell me to stop. And that I would instantly with no problems at all.
He didn't tell me to stop. In fact as I remember it the only thing I remember him saying as we reached a certain level of disrobement was "Oh...OK".
I'm not going to describe in detail. But I didn't have sex with him. I made love to him. An act of warmth and kindness to someone who deeply deserved it. One that made me feel better about myself and more fulfilled than any grindr meet.
Afterwards we dressed, talked a little more and he left. We said we should do it again sometime and unlike most times this is said we both meant it.
And I was smiling all night.

Thursday, 11 May 2017

Sorry. Been a while

You may have noticed a gap.
This has been a year I would dearly like to have to do over again. I got so many things wrong. There have been good things really there have. But generally I messed them up very badly indeed.
I last blogged about my life just before xmas 15. So that's a reasonable place to start. I'm going to then try to summarise a very precious and difficult period in my next post. I really am trying to get things back on track.
I was on my own in the house. Foal spent the xmas end of the holiday with Mrsinky.
Poor man I hear you think. All alone xmas day.
Well no. It was quite simply the happiest xmas I can ever remember.
I've hated xmas with a passion since I was about 6. All I remembered of xmas was mum stressing out about food. And shouting. And parties full of people that went on too long where I didn't know the facial expressions to use or when to look pleased or what to talk about. As I got older this got harder and harder.
By the time I was 10 I was cooling xmas dinner. I banned my mum from the kitchen and cooked it. Because I could do it without stress or shouting or drama all of which was making me ill.
And I've been cooking it ever since.
After I was married for a while we had xmas dinner with Mrsinky at her mum's. Which involved her mum (who I call The Hutt) shouting and being stressed and drama. Which made me ill. The second year of this (the year that tsunami happened) her mum hadn't even started prep by 11am and was shouting so I banned her from her kitchen and cooked it. When she turned her nose up at my perfect pan made gravy because it was light brown not the colour of old tea and then ate my turkey dinner slathered in beef Bisto it was the last straw. She also never said thanks.
Thereafter I had a house and determined I would never eat xmas dinner except in my own house.
So we had the Hutt and her mate round every year.
Both the Hutt and Mrsinky are eaters so picky that I regard it as an eating disorder. So the menu was set for the main from the start. Had to be turkey (I prefer goose) also had to have Yorkshire pudding which I think is odd. And they had to be round. One year for a change I cooked square ones in mini brownie tins and even though they were identical to the round ones they would not eat them.
The only thing I could change was the starter. Except the second year of doing this I made the error of cooking a chicken liver paté. The Hutt liked it. And ordered me to do it every year afterwards. Sooo bored of it. Yes it was good but still. Then after 7 years of paté the Hutt complained that she ate so much paté she couldn't finish dinner so could I do another starter but still do the paté so she could have it with the traditional cold tea in the evening.
So double the work rather than control the gluttony.  Nice.
Also despite me saying we do presents after lunch they were continually trying to drag me out of the kitchen to do it before lunch. Then complaining when lunch was delayed.
Also when they asked when to arrive I would say 11....and they would come at 9.  Until I threatened to put the chain on the door till 11.
As an Aspie I can do social for about 2 hours before I start to freak. They would be in the house for around 12hrs. I used to go upstairs "to the loo" and sneak into bed fir a couple of hours. Just for a break.
So xmas 15...
I got a small goose from lidl. I cooked it how I like it. I did only things I liked. I had a bottle of champagne with it and a bottle of Bowmore for the evening.
No decorations.
No fuss
No shouting
No ridiculous tantrums.
It was quiet contemplative heaven.
I was nearly not alone. I had grindr on and there was a guy next village over who was also recently alone and in distress. I kept chatting and repeatedly offered him food and shelter. In the end he said chatting was enough.
But there you go. Xmas alone was simply marvelous. 

Friday, 22 January 2016

Is there a doctor in the house?

A lot has been written recently about the University of Wollongong somewhat puzzling decision to award a Ph.D. to Judy Wilyman for one  of the poorest theses ever written. (See @uow , @uowoowoo and here)

I've read ths thesis and i think it is very poor. I have seen better work from first year undergraduates. It's lack of scholarship alone is a red flag. But I leave it to others to address this specifically. It is after all in social science, a sphere with notoriously poor standards and which I personally do not view as science at all.
What I want to talk about here is Ph.D's themselves, how they are examined, and the common abuses of the system.

Firstly I am talking here about research degrees. The traditional DD type doctorate is getting rarer. Also note that at least in the UK most doctors are not Doctors. When I insist on my title in medical settings it is common for secretaries to tell me I am not a "real" doctor. Of course the truth is that the nedic is only a doctor by custom, holding only a Bachelors degree in medicine... Anyhoo the research doctorate is only about a century old.

The standards for reaching this level are summarised quite well in the idea that the candidate must gave a good knowledge if their field, be able to plan and conduct major research, be able to debate and defend their work and have made a significant contribution to the body of knowledge in the field. This last generally involves peer reviewed papers though it is possible without.

Examination of Ph.D's depends on country but generally involves a thesis or portfolio (6 or 7 papers presented as evidence) and a defence where the candidate defends the thesis in scientific debate. The defence can either be public or private (viva) or both. The issue is that both of these can be, and often are, gamed.

A public defence is where tge candidate presents their work and then is grilled for a couple of hours by the audience. Although the audience is open it is generally made up of academics ftom the uni and fellow Ph. D. Students. Potentially this is the more rigorous aporoach but what goes wrong is social pressure. The candidate will iften stuff the auduence with friendly questions to yse up all the available time. Academics will be inhibited from asking questions by peer pressure. Ive seen this happen so often and to such a degree that I have lost faith with this system completely. It needs an external moderator who is hostile.

Private defence is also gamable. The idea is you have an external examiner (sometimes 2) and ine or more internals (supervisor not alliwed in the room) and they can ask anything they like. The externals job comes down to establishing ownership and scholarship. The internals job is to ensure the external is being fair. Both must sign off on the deal. The viva can last for as long as it takes.
The issue is choice of externals. Often suggested by the supervisor these can be quietly nobbled to go easy on a candidate. Ideally there should be little contact between examiner and supervisor but sometimes it is for everyones benefit. I have contacted a supervisor before to say tgat if the thesis i had been sent "in error" was the final version the candidate would automatically fail and could I have the "final draft". The candidate withdrew it and did 6 months more work and produced a much better document. I have also been contacted by a supervisor and asked to haul the candidate over the coals a bit as they did not know as much as they thought they did and needed to find that out.
But if the external goes easy the internals rarely take up the slack. And externals and supervisors owe each other favours...

So when done well and honestly both systems COULD work. But it assumes disinterested behaviour from academics. Ha!

How could we make it better at a stroke?

It us a tough one but I have a thought here. Make it mandatory for the doctorate to be examined at a different university to that granting the award...

Just a thought.

Wednesday, 6 January 2016

in absentia ego

I must apologise for my long absence from these pages.  This has had many causes and I will list them in order:
1) lifestuff.  You know the simple day to day grind which seems to expand to fill your available will to live.  And I didn't have too much of that to start off with.  I always seemed to be too busy.
2) Moveystuff.  My brother and i did a road trip to Switzerland to move my belongings out of what had been my hostel room.  I gave notice on the room a while ago.  This to be honest was very much delayed and that was my fault.  Put simply I could not face it.  I am glad to get my stuff back but so sad.  the trip itself took several days and was not made easier by my brother insisting on doing all the driving or by the tendency of Google Maps to route you randomly through werewolf haunted deserted French villages for no apparent reason.  In a way the trip helped other things as well.  Before my operation last year I had told my brother that I was bi, and the family gossipnet had told him I was Aspie.  We had a chance to have some long, and long overdue, conversations.  He more than anyone in my family is now trying to understand my point of view.  Dad just continually finds ways in which he can convince himself that he was right all along and there isn't a problem.  Mum, who worked as a SENCO for many years is convinced she knows how Aspies think etc.  Unfortunately she only ever dealt with the low functioning classical Aspie not ones who have invested continual effort into disguising their condition with coping strategies which have literally driven them insane.  Bruv actually wanted to find out what it was like.  He did mention that my "symptoms" have been getting worse but put it down to stress.  This is undoubtedly a factor but also I am now starting not to use masking strategies at all and to go with my first thoughts.  This makes me look more weird in others eyes I suppose but fuck em.  Bruv is aware that I live in a different world to him and that things he takes for granted are sources of extreme trouble to me.  For example he rang home to tell people when we left Zurich, despite my panicked waving.  The conversation afterwards went like this:
Me: What the hell was that for?
Bruv: To tell them where we are
Me:  Why?
Bruv: So that they know.
Me: What are they going to do with that information? It is too early to set an ETA, they cannot influence our journey in any positive way, they cannot use the information so why are you spreading it?
Bruv: They like to know things like that.
Me: And this is behaviour you think you should encourage?

And so on. To me (and many Aspies) life is hideously complicated by people acting on emotional impulse.  I find it a thing of wonder that neurotypicals are allowed out of the house on their own.  Seriously they are a danger to themselves and others. To simplify life we compartmentalise.  Work people are work people, wee do not socialise with them etc. so we can split our time into behavioural boxes where we know the rules.  This approach requires the absolute restriction of information flow to the bare minimum.  I never told my wife that the Unis I worked at had Xmas meals and balls etc.  This meant I never had to go to them.  Information like that is dangerous.  This random sharing of information that people use as social glue is inexplicable and dangerous to my eyes.
Bruv was also just about coming to terms with the bi thing, which was forced on him a bit.  I have updated my Grindr pic to include the beard and this has turned me into a very desirable object apparently.   At any rate as we drove through France the relentless barrage of offers of sexual congress from the locals (many of whom smouldered) showed him a glimpse into life on the other side that he wasn't ready for.  I managed to fetch my guitars back, which I have missed very much.  There is still stuff in work there but thats one thing sorted.  But it made me feel awful. Really awful.

3)bikeystuff.  As I may have mentioned I have been learning to ride a proper bike.  Now I have passed and am licenced to ride any bloody motorbike i like.  More of this elsewhere

4) Xmas.  This is a post on its own I think.

So apologies for all that.  I hope to be filling in the gaps a bit soon.