Brian Clegg's Blog, page 68

Don't just renew

The chances are that everyone who reads my blog is far too clever to be taken in by insurance renewal premium hikes, but just in case, an incentivising tale from my own experience.

My building and contents insurance is coming up for renewal. Last year, my current insurer, Nationwide, had come up with quite an attractive quote of £268. (This is for fairly generous cover, business at home and no voluntary excess.) This year, the quote for renewal rolled in at a stonking £362 - pretty much £100 more.

For a while my bank (Lloyds) had been pestering me to allow them to give me a quote - and when they did I was surprised, so I rang Nationwide to see how they'd feel about matching it and got another surprise.

'I've got a better quote,' I said.
'Tough,' said Nationwide, 'we don't change our renewal quotes.'

Now, to be honest, this seemed to demonstrate that Nationwide shouldn't be in the insurance business, because they weren't prepared to move at all, which isn't how you do business.

So, not surprisingly, I have gone with my bank.

Now you might be thinking 'Well, £362 - that's only £30 a month. I spend more than that on coffees. I couldn't be bothered to spend hours and hours making comparisons and getting a better price. It wouldn't be worth the time.'

Well, let's see just how much the time was worth. Usually I would try two or three insurers and possibly a comparison site, but I'll be honest I was so shocked by the Lloyds quote I didn't bother, so I only spent around 20 minutes max. Probably a bit less. How much did I save? The Lloyds quote was £190... and there was also a £50 cashback. So the final figure was £140. I saved £220 for my 20 minutes effort. That's £11 a minute. Or, if you prefer, £660 an hour. I don't know what your hourly rate is, but that seemed a pretty good investment of time to me.

Of course, the Lloyds rate will probably shoot up next year. But then, we know what to do, don't we?

Can drinking tequila help you lose weight?

A rather delicious slimming aid?I was amused to see (admittedly year-old) headlines on Facebook saying that drinking tequila could help you lose weight. Can it?

Short answer: No. Move on.

Long answer: On the other hand, there's some interesting science lurking behind the bad media reporting. Take a look.

No sex please, I'm a statistician

My 'garbage statistics' detector went onto high alert when I noticed the headline 'Don’t panic, but there’s a one in 30 chance you’ve had sex with your cousin' in that usually understated publication*, the Metro.

We'll come back to that specific statistic, but it was probably prompted by a press release from a company called AncestryDNA, which apparently has done a 'demographic analysis' to produce this shock result. I can't find any link to the actual research, which is a touch suspicious, but various other publications have produced information from the press release including:

'For the average Brit' there's a one in 300 chance that a complete stranger is their cousinThe average British person has 193,000 living cousins within BritainThe 'typical Brit' has five first cousins, right up to 174,000 sixth cousinsResearchers used birth rates and census data to estimate how many close living relatives each of us has.Okay, so now we're getting a little closer to the facts, although there's still a lot of room for baloney in what we've been given. That last piece of information does mean that in principle such calculations are possible, though I suspect it was sampled rather than using the full census data.
We can, first of all, totally dismiss the headline, even if the numbers are right, because no one considers sixth cousins to be 'cousins' - in fact 'cousin' on its own specifically means first cousin - so this is clearly a ridiculous exaggeration. But it would also be interesting to see if those two figures - there's a 1 in 300 chance that complete stranger is a [sixth cousin or closer] and 1 in 30 chance 'you've had sex' with them.
There are about 65 million people in the UK, so select one at random and to get that 1 in 300 chance having 193,000 relatives is the right order of magnitude. However, none of us has an equal chance of coming into contact with everyone in Britain. My suspicion is that because there often clusters of relatives near where we live, there may be a better than 1 in 300 chance that a stranger you meet at random is a sixth cousin or closer.
I struggle a lot more with the 'one in 30 chance you've had sex with your cousin.' Firstly, as a headline it's too specific. They didn't say 'the average Brit', they said 'you.' Hardly any individual is 'the average Brit', so immediately this falls down as a suggestion. But even if we rework the headline to 'there's a one in 30 chance the average Brit had sex with their cousin' there are big problems.
The majority of individuals will have had significantly fewer than the mean number of sexual partners. Why? In a 2010 survey, these were apparently 9.3 for men and 4.7 for women. This average comes from a very skewed distribution. Women, for instance, can only have had 5 fewer than the average (in round figures) number of partners but could have had many more than the average. So this makes the average unrepresentative.
My guess (I could be wrong, because I don't have any information on the 'research') is that all AncestryDNA did was to take than 1 in 300 chance of a stranger being a cousin and divide it by 10 as the average number of partners. If so, that is dire in so many ways. They seemed to have applied the male figure to the population as a whole. Then there are issues with the way the population is segmented. One is that we are even less likely to have sex with someone from anywhere in the country than we are to meet them. And the other problem is that we tend to have sex with people of relatively similar age. This cuts out a vast swathe of the population, and could have a significant impact in terms of chances of being related.
You could say I'm breaking a butterfly on the wheel here. It was just a 'fun bit of research' for marketing purposes. But once you claim you have done serious research and get the media to spread it around, I think there is a responsibility to be clear how the numbers are produced, and to make that research as high quality as possible.

*Irony alert

Is the obsession with symmetry leading physicists astray?

Not my idea of symmetry
(Image by Gregory H. Revera from Wikipedia)Physicists love symmetry. A huge amount of the physical theory developed in the last 60 years has been derived as a result of starting from mathematical symmetry structures and using them to fit to observed aspects of the universe. The whole Higgs business is the result of a need to explain why a symmetry that was assumed isn't actually observed. (I'm not saying the Higgs field idea is wrong, by the way - it does its job well - but that's how it came about.)

However, I do wonder how much this obsession with symmetry is based on the tools that are in vogue, and an over-dependence on mathematical 'beauty', rather than on a reflection of reality.

The thing that made me ponder this was re-reading the introduction to the book Symmetry and the Beautiful Universe by Leon Lederman and Christopher Hill. It's a good book, but it is a bit worrying that the foundation laid in the introduction is a crude approximation.

Let me give a flavour of it:

Symmetry is ubiquitous... We see the graceful symmetry of a flower's petals, of a radiating seashell, of an egg... We see the ideal symmetrical disks of the Moon and Sun and their motions in apparently perfect symmetrical circles...

Yet every one of those examples is only symmetrical-ish. They are sort of symmetrical, but not really. To consider, for instance, the Moon to be symmetrical is to return to the Aristotelian universe where everything in the heavens is made of perfect spheres. But Galileo discovered with his crude telescopes that the Moon was anything but perfect and symmetrical. It's all an approximation.

Now I'm sure physicists would respond that these concepts of symmetry are only models and almost inevitably the symmetry is broken at the detailed level. Which would be fine if these were just treated as useful ad-hoc models. A bit like the traditional physicist's line of 'Let's assume the cow is a sphere.' But when the assumption of symmetry, something we never truly observe in real world macro objects, becomes so central, so driving to the theories that underly physics, I can't help but wonder whether the whole thing is an elaborate fantasy.

Perhaps in our modern version of Plato's cave we are not watching the shadows of reality, but of a fiction. When the likes of Tolkien or Martin construct a complex fantasy, we say that they are world building. Could this be happening in physics too? Only time will tell - but the good thing about science is that though it can go down wrong paths for decades or even centuries, it eventually finds enough evidence to backtrack and start again. I'm not saying our current ideas are wrong, though almost certainly some are. And I always advocate going with the theories best supported by evidence right now. But we always need to remember that the scientific endeavour isn't a matter of fact and certainty, but our best attempt given what we currently know.

Come on, George, do the right thing

He could do it
(Wikipedia/HM Treasury)I'm a bit wary of blogging about anything vaguely political as Henry Gee tends to get upset when I do, but I hope he'll approve of this one.

Unlike some of my red flag waving friends (whose opinions I respect, but often disagree with), I do believe that it is possible to be a caring Conservative. And that's what I'm asking George Osborne to do. Specifically I think he should take the opportunity of the budget to put in place a plan to raise the minimum wage to the living wage.

The accountants KPMG has announced that to do so would only add 1.3 per cent to the national wage bill, but would lift 6 million people out of poverty. Of course, being accountants they want to do it voluntarily - but it won't happen that way. I see no reason why the minimum wage shouldn't be a living wage. In fact arguably it's obscene that it's not.

To give a feel for the numbers involved at a personal level, the minimum wage for a 21-year-old is £6.50 an hour compared with a living wage of £7.85 an hour. (The living wage is £9.15 an hour in London, of which more in a moment.)

Now with my 'check the stats' hat on, there is one issue with KPMG's sweeping statement about the percentage increase, in that such a move would hit some employers a lot more than others, because some have a much higher percentage of low wage employees. So that '1.3 per cent' is a little misleading. But it still gives a picture of the overall impact.

Here's the thing. If a business genuinely can only survive by paying workers less than a subsistence amount, then it isn't a viable business. It is time to move on and do something else. But in reality, the vast majority of businesses who would cry havoc and doom at such a suggestion would be perfectly capable of absorbing the increase. And from the country's point of view, not only would we lift lots of people out of poverty, we would automatically reduce the tax credit burden, one of the government's main aims.

To make it practical, I would suggest giving companies with 100 or more staff a year to implement it, and smaller companies a staged introduction over five years, as I am well aware that even small changes in costs can take a small company time to absorb.

What do you say, George? You know it makes sense.

I do have one controversial optional extra, which would reduce the burden on employers even more, but I want to make it separate, as it isn't necessary to do the right thing to do, but I think is worth considering.

I would scrap the London differential on the living wage (and any London allowances if they still exist). At the moment we subsidise London's ridiculous prices by paying people extra to work there. Once London stops getting workers because they can't afford to work there it would focus the minds of the Mayor and others wonderfully to ensure there really is affordable housing etc. Painful in the short term, but worth it in the long term. However, I stress this is an optional extra.

How to enjoy Sens8

A number of my friends have struggled with the new Netflix series Sens8, from the Wachowskis. I have to confess the original Matrix movie was one of my ten best ever, but I was a bit worried that the siblings were one hit wonders (think M Night Shyamalan). But despite some problems with their first TV series, they have achieved something interesting with Sens8.

So here we go.Lie back and go with the flow. It will take some time. Not much happens in the first two episodes, but it does slowly build after that. Just let it wash over you. It's about the experience, man.Accept the fact that about 90% of the script is essentially an extended therapy session for the main characters. They won't necessarily end up happier, but they will be more self aware. Be happy for them.You are going to find flipping between eight main characters' storylines irritating, particularly when there is action in one of the locations and it gets engrossing. But over the season all the characters become genuinely interesting. Don't expect deep philosophy from science fiction. Essentially the argument seems to be that our heroes a) Feel things far more than ordinary humans and b) Believe that the solution to almost all problems is hitting people. This doesn't feel entirely logically, but remember the philosophy of the Matrix and all will become familiar.Unlike a lot of US series writers, the Ws know the importance of ending on a positive note, even though there's clearly a lot more strife to come. So thankfully there isn't one of those really irritating season end cliffhangers, which I truly hate. (Especially when the series gets cancelled, so the cliffhanger is never resolved.)There are a surprising number of good bits. Anything worthwhile is worth working for. Consider the rest of it the necessary work. You can always speed through the gratuitous sex scenes.

Summertime blues

A field. A few years ago.It's that time of year when a young person's fancy turns to wafting through fields of corn, wheat and other arable crops in slow motion, and the rest of us slow down a bit.


As a result I will only be blogging intermittently for the next few weeks - but I'll be back to full force in September.


Here we go. Fire up the Vangelis...

When precision become pedantry

But it's a TV programme! It's not made from grapes.Being a science writer puts you at the intersection of two very different disciplines. Scientists know too well the importance of precision, but writers have to be aware of the nature of language - how it changes and evolves - and to be aware that following 'the rules' can be the enemy of good communication.

One thing scientists sometimes struggle with is that 'the rules' in English aren't some universally agreed set of standards but rather an untidy mix of what has been used for a while and what's coming into use. There is no body setting the official version, though personally I do tend to consider the OED (Oxford English Dictionary) to be pretty much the definitive arbiter on words. It doesn't help, though, with grammar. And so, for instance, some continue to insist that we shouldn't split infinitives, even though people have found it acceptable to boldly split the 'to' and the 'verb' where it works well for decades. Even the fusty old Fowler guide, which must be about 90 years old, says it's ridiculous to apply a concept from Latin (where you can't split the infinitive because there is no 'to') to English.

I recently came across this kind of thing on Facebook, where someone was blaming supermarkets for using the term 'elderflower wine'. I couldn't see anything wrong with this, but I was told you can't have elderflower wine because wine, by definition is made from grapes. To me this is out and out pedantry of the 'can't split infinitives' type. But let's be fair and examine the arguments. (I ought to say I'm playing devil's advocate here, because the person complaining couldn't come up with an actual reason not to do this other than 'only applies to grapes.') So here we go:

The term 'wine' only applies to the fermented alcoholic drink made from grapes. I checked the OED and although it obviously does say that wine is a fermented alcoholic drink made from grapes, it also says that the term (usually with a qualifier, like 'elderflower' in this case) applies to all sorts of fruit, flowers etc. etc.It's an irritating trendy new usage. The OED lets too much through - they've even included twerking. Well, it's true they have included twerking, but why shouldn't they? As mentioned above, a language is not set in aspic. It changes year by year. Anyway, in the case of using 'wine' to refer to fermented alcoholic drinks made from something other than grapes, the first example in the OED dates back to the fourteenth century. It's not exactly a trendy new usage. This use of the word 'wine' is solidly established and has been for centuries.But the word 'wine' comes from the same root as 'vine' and 'viniculture'. It specifically refers to grapes. So what? A vast number of words no longer refer to their original root meaning. This is not an argument.It will confuse people. How? If there's no qualifier, it's made from grapes. If there is a qualifier, it's made from that source. Are you honestly saying that someone will hear 'elderflower wine' and think 'Hmm, because it's called wine it is clearly made from grapes'?They should use a more appropriate term. Like what? Short of using a EU style 'non-grape elderflower fermented wine-style beverage' there isn't a more appropriate term. That's because it has been called elderflower wine for centuries. But even if there were an existing term, again this is trying to apply rules that don't reflect the way that English works. We don't say 'it's confusing to use the word "sofa" because we already have the word "couch" to use.' There can be more than one word to describe the same thing. All in all, this is probably a storm in an elderflower wine glass. (Hang on, am I allowed to call it a glass? Someone might confuse it with a window, or the plural with spectacles.) But elderflower wine is what we call it in English, and it's not going to go away.

A calendar education

When there's an outburst of indignation about a stupid remark made by an elderly person, such as the furore over Tim Hunt's comments on women in the laboratory, it's easy to forget how much we have moved on in the last 40 or 50 years. We are yet to achieve proper equality for women, but it's easy to forget just how strikingly different things were just a few decades ago. Take, for instance, the issue of calendars.

When I was young, every car part manufacturer and plumber's supplier produced an annual calendar with pictures of women in relatively few, if any clothes. Most of these were pretty horrendous productions, though some had pretensions of artiness, and none more so than the calendar produced by the tyre company Pirelli. These weren't the kind of thing that were plastered on the wall of garage workshops, but sought after collectors' items. But still, in the end, arguably objectification. (I admit the line between such things and art is fuzzy. It would be censorship indeed if art were not allowed to portray the human body.)

When I wrote the first draft of this post, my next line about the Pirelli calendars was 'Still, in the end, unacceptable to modern eyes, but very different beasts from the common girlie calendar.' I then took a look online and discovered that they still make the Pirelli calendar in this form. So we've a way to go yet.

Back on topic, I do have to give an accolade to one attempt at being arty on the part of a calendar maker, though. It made me realise that there is a point to poetry - or at least some poetry.

My dad's best friend, Jesse, worked for the chemical giant Ciba Geigy, and somewhere around 1970, he gave me one of their calendars. They had produced their equivalent of the Pirelli output with relatively subtle and arty shots of women, but each was captioned with a couplet from a poem. And some of those lines really got to me.

I can't remember many of them now, but two spring to mind:

All that's best of dark and bright
meets in her beauty and her eyes.

from Byron's She Walks in Beauty and

Annihilating all that's made
to a green thought in a green shade.

from The Garden by Andrew Marvell. Several were from the seventeenth century like the latter, and led me to a fondness for the likes of Marvell and Donne. As I've previously remarked, I don't have a lot of time for poetry, because I'm not the poetry equivalent of a railway enthusiast. Most of the time I don't get it. Possibly because it's much harder to write a half-decent poem than a half-decent novel, so most output is rubbish. But thanks to a calendar of my youth, there a few cases where I do.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell review

So Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell is finished and it's hard not to add 'thank goodness'. It was never bad enough not to stick with it, but it came close.

The trouble with adapting an over-long book that is intriguing and irritating in equal measures is that unless you take liberties with the script you end up with exactly the same kind of TV show. And they did. The series could have been condensed from 7 hours to 3 without significant loss.

The good news for those of us who hung on to the end was that the last episode was by far the best - far more engaging than some of its predecessors.

In fact, there was a lot in principle to like about the show. The CGI was surprisingly good, and the actors universally did an excellent job. There were striking set pieces throughout - it's just that for a lot of the episodes there was far more exposition and repetition than there was any real progression to the plot.

The other big problem was that the two most interesting characters - Mrs Strange and Childermass - both seemed underused. I don't know how much this is down to the book - I read it when it first came out and can't remember much about it - and how much it's the adaptation. Many of the other characters, though well acted, were a touch two dimensional.

Another moan is that because, after a very leisurely first six episodes, there was so much crammed into the final one, it wasn't really clear why Strange and Norrell disappeared at the end. The explanation was very short, and muffled to boot.

So, without doubt a brave attempt at a difficult novel to bring to the screen. But could have been better.