Sharks gonna shark

Increased shark activity is expected through spring into summer say the City of Cape Town. The primary reasoning behind this increased shark activity is that sharks are more active during these periods of the year.

I know. I was also amazed.

Sharks are generally pretty good neighbours. Since I have lived here, there have only been three or four fatal attacks in and around Cape Town, and notably, every single one of them has been in the sea: an area which – as a human – is actually wholly avoidable if you should so choose. Although the sample size is tiny, I have extrapolated LCHF-style and worked out that you can probably evade a fatal shark attack by not going in the sea – no matter what sort of stunts the sharks might try to pull.

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But if you are determined to go into the water, then the City has helpfully published seventeen ‘general shark safety tips’ to reduce your risk of being eaten. These include (but are not limited to):

“not swimming if you are bleeding”,
“not swimming, surfing or surf-skiing if there has been a whale stranding nearby” and
“paying attention to any shark signage on beaches”

That last one makes good sense, but one can’t help but wonder that, given the alleged intelligence of the Great White, they might not use it to their advantage. I’d therefore be immediately suspicious of paying any attention to any shark signage reading:

“Come on in. The water is lovely. And absolutely no sharks have been sighted here. Ever. Seriously. Go on – have a swim!” or
“Please ensure that you bathe thoroughly in Braai Sous before entering the water. Nothing too spicy. Thanks.”

or similar. That looks iffy.

If you want to read more on sharks, shark-spotting, shark safety and shtuff like that, have a look at the City’s press release or visit the sharkspotters website.

Above, the infamous Headington Shark.

Communicating science

Last night, just before switching the lights out at Chez 6000, I caught sight of this link telling me “why scientists are losing the fight to communicate science to the public”, and shared by Jacques, along with this excerpt:

Tellingly, Gawande refers to the ‘scientific community’; and he’s absolutely right, there. Most science communication isn’t about persuading people; it’s self-affirmation for those already on the inside. Look at us, it says, aren’t we clever?
That’s not communication. It’s not changing minds and it’s certainly not winning hearts and minds.
It’s tribalism.

Well, I thought, that should be good for a read. And then I fell asleep.
Understandably too: it had been a long day in the lab.

So, when I woke up today, and once my morning duties were out of the way, I did read it.

“Hmm,” I thought, “Not quite, mate.”

And then I wrote this.

It’s not that I disagree with everything that Richard P Grant says. Not at all. It’s just that, for me, he misses out on several important points regarding “scientists” “communicating” “science” to the “public”.

Scientists, by definition, do science. If they are in a position whereby they have done science to such a point that it’s something considered worth communicating to the public, then it would seem reasonable to assume that they are pretty good at doing science. At no point, however, does it follow that they are good at communicating this, especially to the public.
So who do we appoint to communicate our science to the public? Well, that’s where things begin to fall apart.

A lot of science is pretty technical, and there’s definitely a skill in being able to translate that technical language into something that the general public can understand. That’s not belittling the public (not intentionally, anyway). Every profession has its own specialised terms and language: legal, building, engineering, accounting, retail, whatever. The scientist above is fluent in Sciencese – they speak it every working day and have done for years. But they might as well be speaking Azerbaijani if they’re going to use it to communicate their exciting findings to the public. (Obviously, this point assumes that the presentation in question is not taking place in Baku.)
Thus, 99% of the time, using the scientist to communicate science to the public is out. After all, when we try it, it can go horribly wrong. (Sidenote: I still get angry about that story.)

“Fortunately”, we now have celebrity scientists like the Peter Pan-esque Brian Cox; celebrity scientists who are gainfully employed in the art of wandering past radio telescopes in far-flung lands, speaking slowly and waving their hands, demystifying science and providing it in an understandable, bitesize format to the general public. But there are problems here as well: often, the science is so dumbed-down that it’s near unrecognisable as actual science. Again, not necessarily Prof Cox’s fault. However, Grant’s use of the phrase describing Cox as “performing a smackdown” highlights another issue – these scientists are primarily celebs now – it’s about performing and drawing viewers, and the science is often lost, buried in the making of a popular show.

We could go to the newspapers. Or… er… not. Because then, we have to add another dash of sensationalism (along with the inevitable misunderstanding and inaccuracy) to the mix. In my experience, many of the journalists writing about science in the popular press don’t really actually understand the science they are writing about. Certainly in newspaper reports about the science that I know about, the stories regularly miss the point, and filled with wild misinterpretations and are, in a lot of cases, simply not correct. When you’re writing about a field that is founded on logic and rationale – “cutting through bullshit and getting to the truth of the matter is pretty much the job description” – inaccurate reporting is actually worse than not reporting at all.

But the fact is that most science is really rather dull. It’s mundane, routine stuff. Landing a washing machine sized satellite on a comet half a billion kilometers from earth really is the sharp end of things. Most of the stuff we do on a daily basis leaves us cold and unfulfilled, let alone the public.

But then, the public to whom we’re allegedly losing the fight to communicate science. In addition to the challenges I’ve described above, what about them?

Yeah, they’re problematic.

Can I be honest here? Because it’s not just (as Grant points out) that “people don’t like being told what to do”. Sure, that is a factor, but there are a couple of bigger elephants in the room: generally, the public don’t actually care about science, and generally they are too stupid to understand it anyway oops – I mean: “you’ve got a population that is – on the whole – not scientifically literate”. Yeah. That’s it.

But then, do the public actually need to have science communicated to them? When I walk into a lift in a tall building, I don’t need to know how the motor works, nor why the cable chosen was the cable chosen. I just assume (hopefully correctly) that there is an expert who has made these decisions for me (hopefully correctly). I don’t need to know why, and actually, I’m fairly uninterested as well. Maybe scientists need to understand that people actually don’t care about what we do and what we achieve. They just want to go to the doctor and be given the correct antibiotic or other drug, they don’t care how it was discovered.
This “fight to communicate science to the public” – does it really need fighting?

For me, perhaps, the saving grace in all of this are popular science magazines. The higher end ones: New Scientist, Scientific American, DiscoverNat Geo (to a point, anyway). These are scientists best bet in communicating science to the public. They’re technical enough to be challenging and to help people learn, but without being inaccessible. And, perhaps more importantly, because they are voluntarily purchased and read by those individuals who want to be told about these things.

As for the excerpt shared by Jacques and which opened this rather long op-ed (sorry), well yes, a lot of science communication is amongst the “scientific community”, and maybe some of it is for self-affirmation and validation. A lot of it is essential to establish collaborative and symbiotic research and progress though. And anyway, that aspect of scientific communication isn’t what Grant’s otherwise generally valid article is about: it comes across as a bit of an unnecessary (if not entirely inaccurate) dig. There’s a whole other piece to be written about the way science is funded, communicated and carried out in academic and/or research institutions. It’s a lot longer and more boring than this one, I promise. And I’m not going to write it.

In the meantime, that line on scientific communication: “Look at us, it says, aren’t we clever?”
Well yes, actually we are – it’s just that we’re not very good at telling you about it and you don’t really care anyway.

Death by bagpipes

Not the irritating, droning, invasive noise that they produce. No, the microbiological, mycological nastiness that lurks inside them if you don’t clean your instrument often enough.

This paper from Thorax – which is “one of the world’s leading respiratory medicine journals, publishing clinical and experimental research articles on respiratory medicine, paediatrics, immunology, pharmacology, pathology, and surgery, and the official journal of the British Thoracic Society” – fills us in on all the details.

The subject was a 61-year old man who exhibited signs of Hypersensitivity* Pneumonitis (HP) – a sort of allergic reaction to “something”, which damages the lungs and causes difficulty with breathing. Keeping birds can be the trigger for HP – it’s called “Pigeon Fancier’s Lung”, and it is relatively common amongst, well, pigeon fanciers. But upon investigation, our 61-year-old didn’t fancy pigeons.

Fungi can also be implicated as the “something” which sets HP off, but they checked his house out and there was no mould or water damage. There must be some other trigger…

This case highlights the importance of a careful clinical history including hobbies, because in this case, playing the bagpipes, we feel, was very relevant to the development of HP.

Yeah. Look, the title of the post had kinda given the game away anyway.

But yes:

The clinical history of daily bagpipe-playing coupled with marked symptomatic improvement when this exposure was removed and the identification of multiple potential precipitating antigens isolated from the bagpipes make this the likely cause.

And boy, oh boy, did they identify multiple potential precipitating antigens from the bagpipes, including (but not limited to) Paecilomyces variotti, Fusarium oxysporum, Penicillium species, Rhodotorula mucilaginosa, Trichosporon mucoides, pink yeast and Exophiala dermatitidis.

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Eww.

So, if you play the bagpipes, for the love of god, please stop. But if you must continue, then at least clean your instrument regularly. And that goes for any other instrument you put in your mouth as well.
Stop sniggering at the back.

Wind instrument players need to be aware of the importance of regularly cleaning their instruments and of potential risks. Physicians should be aware of this potential risk factor and promote wind instrument hygiene.

So then, bagpipes – now added to the list of things which are trying to (and succeeding in) killing you.

* “hypersensitivity” here referring to an overzealous immune reaction, not people seeking attention and validation by “getting offended” over nothing on twitter.

Matches

We found ourselves with a few thousand safety matches in a plastic bag. It’s probably best that you don’t ask how this came to be. Anyway, aside from gooi’ing the whole lot onto the braai to see what would happen, there were a few other ideas. One of these was to take 1/4000 second exposure photos of the matches igniting as dusk fell.
I guess I was inspired by last week’s Slo-Mo guys video.

Sadly, 1/4000 really isn’t fast enough to be Slo-Mo, if you see what I mean. Still, one lives, one learns.

The first experiment went well enough that I was encouraged by my 10-year old son (and official lightee of the matches) to try a larger, second attempt. Somewhat buoyed by the success of initial effort together with a certain amount of Castle Milk Stout, I agreed to give it another go. The second attempt was rather less successful, mainly because the flames decided to turn on the photographer (me) – as the three photos below testify:

matches

The good news is that the doctors say my eyebrows should grow back fairly quickly.

Other photos from the weekend (including a bit more night photography) are here.