The teaching of evolution and creationism in schools has long been a controversial issue full of divided opinions and angry rhetoric. Last year three new free schools run by creationist groups were approved in the UK, leading to concerns over teaching creationism alongside evolution as a scientifically valid theory.

Creationism and intelligent design

In the US the issue seems to be even more hotly contested. A number of states had considered “academic freedom” laws, which would have allowed teachers to present creationism as an alternative theory to evolution. Louisiana was one such state, which introduced the Louisiana Science Education Act (LSEA) in 2008, making it considerably easier for teachers to introduce creationist theories as scientific thought and present criticism of evolution and the origin of life.

Intelligent design (ID) is often used interchangeably with creationism, even though many creationists do not subscribe to it. ID is creationism in a cheap lab coat; it is a way to present faith-based creationism as a scientific theory, using complexity in life (such as the eye) as evidence for an external creator or designer.

Personally, I see absolutely nothing wrong with encouraging critical thinking in students; it’s an essential part of the scientific process. However, neither creationism nor ID are recognised scientific theories and, therefore, have no place on the science curriculum.

Campaigning for education reform in the US

Following the Louisiana Science Education Act, 14 year old high school student Zach Kopplin wrote an English essay on the subject; when it became apparent that no one else was going to take up the issue, he stepped up. Now, at 19 years old he has become one of the most active and successful advocates of science education reform in Louisiana.

Kopplin identifies the problem of teaching evolution alongside creationism: “Creationism confuses students about the nature of science,” he says. “If students don’t understand the scientific method, and are taught that creationism is science, they will not be prepared to do work in genuine fields, especially not the biological sciences. We are hurting the chances of our students having jobs in science, and making discoveries that will change the world.”

In the UK it was announced last year that free schools in England must teach evolution as a “comprehensive and coherent scientific theory” in order to maintain their funding. I thought this was a great move; although I really feel that evolution should be taught as a matter of course, without financial conditions attached to it.

I’m really not sure what it is about the theory of evolution that makes some people so uncomfortable, so unwilling to accept it as a fundamental concept in biology. Could it be that evolution and the idea of common descent challenges their view that humans are unique and special? It might be argued that we are still unique in our own way, I mean, how many other species evolved in the same way as Homo sapiens? I would have thought 7-8 million years is enough distance between humans and the dirty apes; clearly it’s not enough for some.

Jess Devonport works in marketing and communications within the life sciences; she also occasionally blogs at Two Thirds Nerd Twitter: @neverjessie

The world of science is in a way the most inclusive of all sorts and at the same time the most elitist about intellect. The need to feel clever, be clever and surround oneself with other ‘clevers’ pervades science like a narcotic, can’t live with, can’t live without. It often seems to be the wind beneath your wings and simultaneously the reason for crippling insecurity.

The word ‘innovation’ is bandied around in a cringe-worthy fashion ever since the corporate world got a hold on it. But for us researchers it is a way of life and livelihood. There is a great deal of appreciation for an elegant idea and the promise of a new hypothesis. A drive for invention and discovery that stems from hard work on the shoulders of original thought. In this scenario, the pressure a researcher feels to be clever often manifests in strange but predictable patterns. It’s a different species almost: Homo Sapiens-Clevenrensis- the Clevers. Here are some often found stereotypic Clevers, found mostly in researchers, but they all have close relatives in other spheres.

The Bully-Clever: Makes themselves always noticed by being brash and loud and slams down anything that does not arise of their cerebral thoughts. Often hated by others secretly, but, are not challenged.

The Ant-Clever: Carries twice their own weight in work, work incessantly and always tow the line. If they lose the scent trail or get no more instructions, they appear lost and flustered.

The Elusive Clever: Keep to themselves,  often the most elegant thinkers, but hate to be the center of attention. A rare glimpse of plummage display in the form of the presentation of their work, often stuns and amazes.

The Cynical Clever: Jaded, but not disenchanted. Has a healthy or unhealthy obsession with the pessimistic.

The Energizer Clever: The enthusiastic always full of ideas, finds it hard to follow one train of thought. Their stochastic movements sometimes hits a spot of brilliance, should be allowed to bounce.

The Melancholy Clever: Unlike Cynical, the Melancholy always has an unhealthy obsession with the pessimistic….. Can drive the other Clevers into a spiral of sadness with mere presence

The Yoda Clever: The Zen Buddha with all the answers. Possesses a serenity that calms the surrounding Clevers, the one in whose reflected glory we live and flourish (The rarest of them all).

The Weasel Clever: The trouble maker, the one who is driven to madness by fierce competitiveness and every once in a while succumbs to dubious practices of sabotage and backstabbing to get ahead. Dangerous but not lethal.

The Good Athlete Clever: The front-runner, fiercely competitive and possesses a driving force that elevates the rest of the Clevers by their magical powers of pace and enthusiasm.

The Bad Athlete Clever: Fiercely competitive, with a streak of evil. Their method of brutal success leaves behind a wake of destruction…. Lethal and most likely to win at the Hunger Games.

Within the research world all these Clevers co-exist and there are several combinations of these, and sometimes a Clever will be a chimera of two or more of these Clevers. The co-existence is precarious at the best of times, which makes for an environment rife with energy. In a well-balanced group, the resulting synergy is positive and dazzling. In a dysfunctional group, the synergy results in a black hole of misery. Most times it’s just somewhere in between. The Yin and the Yang of a research group determine not just the dynamics but also lend a unique environment-identity to the group and dictate the level of success. Every level of seniority has every type of Clever. When looking for a supervisor, if you find Yoda or Good Athlete…. you will live and love science and be inspired! That is the hope I have for fledgling scientists.

Radha Desai is a Neuroscience PhD Candidate at University College London (UCL), where she investigates the role of mitochondria in brain diseases.

Sir Paul Nurse, Nobel prize-winning biologist and President of the Royal Society, gave a fascinating lecture at the Royal Institution earlier this year on one of biology’s ‘great ideas’ – the Cell. Taking over 200 years to fully develop, the idea of all life being composed of cells is still not fully appreciated. “This was a major milestone in biology; we don’t recognise nor celebrate it enough,” explained Sir Nurse. But Dennis Bray, Professor of computational biology at Cambridge University, does exactly that in his beautifully crafted book, ‘Wetware: a computer in every living cell’.

Drawing on analogies from simple computer games, such as Pacman, Bray begins by discussing the peculiar feeding behaviours of single-celled organisms. Whilst the scholarly tone of his writing soon becomes apparent, Bray does well to ease the reader into to a complex subject by describing cells at their most basic level of organisation. He argues that humans are usually reluctant to ascribe subjective states, such as hunger, pain, or fear, to single-celled organisms. But does, for instance, an Amoeba’s rudimentary anatomy really lead to functional simplicity? As we learn more about these microscopic creatures, it is clear that even at this level, cells are nevertheless complex, organised systems that must have a high degree of knowledge about themselves and their surroundings.

Bray quickly descends into the molecular realm of the cell, wherein he likens chemical diffusion and enzyme biochemistry to the conditional connections inside a computer. Proteins, he argues, represent the ‘wires’ between different processes of a cell, akin in many respects to the circuitry of the human brain. The digital nature of DNA, exemplified by its reduction to a two-digit binary code, is also employed to bolster Brays overarching idea that biological systems use ‘computational elements’ to carry out logical operations. His point is that the cell is not just a haphazard ragbag of chemistry; there is something deeper, more intuitive, and highly non-random about how cells operate that we still cannot explain.

Developing the analogy of nerve cell circuitry, Bray goes on to explain how molecules can function in a similar fashion to neural networks, and thus be modelled computationally to understand how systems of proteins convey information about their environment. Over billions of years of evolution these networks have been refined, trained, and modified by experience to give rise to the higher human faculties, including memory, self-awareness, and consciousness. The prose inevitably becomes more philosophical towards the end, drawing on the thoughts of other complexity scientists such as Stuart Kauffman, who suggests that Darwinism is not enough to explain the kinds of spontaneous order we see in the natural world.

This book has been criticised by some for being too vague, and for not delving deep enough into the regulatory systems and mechanics underlying cellular intelligence. But they have clearly missed the point entirely. If you want detail, seek out a cell biology or biochemistry textbook. As the author puts it, ‘Fortunately, I do not need to know every detail of every last molecule for my argument’. Indeed, wetware is about the bigger picture, and by broadly discussing different aspects of cell function, Bray brings some long overdue theory back into biology.

As Sir Nurse declared, “Until this date, biological explanations have tended to be in a common sense world, but the complexity I think we’re going to see in biology may move us into a stranger world.” Strange, subtle, and exquisitely sophisticated, life at the molecular level is fast becoming an impenetrable chaos of complexity. In Wetware, Bray steps back to take stock of what two hundred years of research, and a few billion years of evolution has done for life as we know it today.

Joseph Jebelli is a Neuroscience PhD Candidate at University College London (UCL) studying the cellular and molecular mechanisms of neurodegenerative disease.

Ask any academic studying the brain what the fundamentals of basic brain function are and you will almost certainly receive a lengthy monologue on neurons, synapses, and the electrical properties underlying learning and memory. But as Douglas Fields explains in this informative book, only 15% of the brain is comprised of neurons – what about the other 85%!? This ‘Other Brain’ represents another wholly different cell type, collectively known as glia.

Whilst neuroscientists have known about glia for over a century, they have been largely ignored, being regarded as mere passive support cells. It is on this note that Fields begins. Part 1 of the book outlines the history behind the so-called ‘neuronal doctrine’ and recounts the very first glimpses of the brains microscopic structure by the pioneers of modern neuroscience, including Ramon y Cajal, Camillo Golgi and Theodore Schwann. Grounded in the peculiar post-mortem observations of Einstein’s brain, this part of the book offers the reader a good lay overview of the basic cellular components of the brain, and the historical settings in which they were discovered.

Fields goes on to discuss how the technique employed by neuroscientists to study brain cells, namely electrophysiology, restricted their focus to the electrical properties of neurons. As electrically passive cells, glia communicate in other ways (e.g calcium signalling), and it is only now that we are beginning to appreciate just how widespread and crucial this method of communication is for basic neurobiology. His referencing is sound, citing a plethora of cutting-edge research, which does a great deal to put the reader at ease over the veracity of his claims.

The second part of the book is a thought-provoking and comprehensive discussion on the significance of glial cells to nearly all maladies of the brain, from Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s to cancer, pain, and addiction. Fields manages to deliver a succinct report of recent discoveries on the role of glia in each disorder, whilst also putting forward many unanswered issues left to resolve. Particularly gripping is his chapter on scientist’s first encounter with the infectious prion protein, discovered by Dr Carleton Gajdusek in the 1950s, whilst living with and treating a cannibalistic forest tribe in eastern New Guinea afflicted by a disease known locally as ‘Kuru’. The letter excerpts from communications between Gajdusek and research colleagues back in the states vividly brings to life a powerful tale of adventure, endurance and a discovery that started a new field and is shaping others to this day.

Nonetheless, whilst I thoroughly enjoyed the second parts sweeping account on the role of glia in different brain disorders, there are occasions where the author overstates the implications of particular findings – a habit most likely picked up from years of writing research grants! What’s more, the lay style of writing that was evident at the beginning starts to fade as the book progresses, leaving me inclined to suggest that, on the whole, this may be more a popular science book for scientists than the lay public.

The final part of the book is more theory than fact, describing the overarching implications of glial cell biology to higher human faculties such as memory and consciousness. As a neuroscientist myself, I know that many in the field do not believe the binary electrical signalling between neurons is sophisticated enough to give rise to the higher human faculties, and that neuronal-glial cell communication may represent the true cellular substrate of such phenomena. As Fields points out, recent findings have shown glia can actually control neuronal excitability; a fact that certainly bestows these cells more prominence than the archaic notion of a passive support cell!

Although glial biology is still very much in its infancy, this book is an excellent guide to an exciting paradigm-shift occurring in neuroscience. I highly recommend it for anyone interested in our current understanding of the brain, and deem it mandatory reading for anyone who, like myself, spent too much time learning about neurons during their undergraduate studies.

Joseph Jebelli is a Neuroscience PhD Candidate at University College London (UCL) studying the cellular and molecular mechanisms of neurodegenerative disease.

Science is used to sell products all the time, with the use of sciency sounding ingredients and behind-the-scenes consumer psychology. But since I saw the latest Haribo advert (above) last week, I’ve been wondering: could I have witnessed the first time that an advertisement spoofs a science experiment?

The 40-second TV spot shows adorable little kids faced with a single Haribo Starmix sweet and told that if they can resist eating it, they will receive a second one. Child after child tries it. They resort to all sorts of tactics including sniffing and licking the candy but cannot resist eating it, leading the methodical girl in oversized glasses and a white lab coat to conclude, “Haribo is just too good.”

The advert is based on the famous Marshmallow Experiment carried out at Stanford University in the early 70s where hundreds of 4-6 year-old subjects were each asked to sit alone at a table in front of a single marshmallow (or Oreo or pretzel). They were also told that if they could resist their temptation to eat it for fifteen minutes, they would be rewarded with two.

Just like in the ad, the kids struggled like crazy to resist the marshmallow’s allure (you can find cute re-enactments on YouTube like the one below). Only about one third managed to hold out until the time was up.

But the coolest part of the marshmallow experiment is actually missing from the advert. It’s the follow-up and it got the study into the headlines a few years ago (there’s a great article here).

As the original subjects got older, the psychologist who devised the study, Walter Mischel, got curious about how they were doing. He tracked them down and found that the kids who resisted eating the marshmallow (those who could ‘delay gratification’) scored better on standardised tests, were healthier, and had better jobs and more successful relationships.

I suppose the punch line of the science, which is in fact still ongoing, is best left out of the ad. Reminders about self-control probably do not sell candy. Yet, I do find myself tempted to go buy a bag– only to practice sitting alone with them without eating any of course.

For other excellent accounts of Mischel’s experiment, listen to Radiolab’s episode on it here or BBC radio 4’s coverage.

Catie is a PhD student based in Edinburgh. She likes writing about science in the moments when she’s not thinking about yeast and sugar (a yeast might pass the marshmallow test, but only because it’s about 5,000 times smaller than a marshmallow) and contributes regularly to eu:sci magazine (www.eusci.org.uk) and Jumpstart (http://www.jumpstartuk.co.uk/randd-news-and-events/).

This is one of the very best books I have read about the importance of being careful around numbers, written by the creators of radio 4’s More Or Less it is a fact-packed gold mine of interesting statistical nuggets that really make the reader pause to think. The book makes the analogy that the human instinct which tells us to run every time we see stripes just in case there’s a tiger applies just as strongly in the modern number-filled world. Who wouldn’t cheer the previous government for spending £300million to create new childcare places? The authors put that number into context and explain that it means roughly £1.15 per week per child; could you find childcare for £1.15 per week? The human brain is not set up for dealing with massive numbers and yet the papers are full of them, each week a story about the economy tells us that £70billion is spent here, £12trillion is owed there; slapping zeros in the headline sells papers but it is misleading. Saying, as papers in 2007 did, that the NHS had a deficit of £800million makes the institution appear to be in dire straits, saying that the NHS hit its targets to within a 1% margin makes it sound well managed, so which is correct? Both are in fact; £800million is only 1% of the NHS budget, it equates to less than the cost of one visit to our GP each! The press are looking to stir up trouble and if they want to make any government, or organisation, look bad it’s very easy to do so simply by confusing the public with large numbers. Similarly, if they wish to make someone look good, such as themselves or the political party they support, with clever reporting they can do just that and they depend on the public’s ignorance of statistics to bend our opinions.

But this book is not at all patronising, it never makes fun of the public for their shortcomings but treats the subject very maturely. The only time the authors resort to a more childish style is when it isn’t the general public but the professionals in charge who are so easily swayed by dodgy stats. There is an amusing (and rather worrying) account of a survey conducted at a conference of senior civil servants; when asked how much a family would have to earn to be placed in the top 10% of UK households some of those asked overestimated the figure by as much as five times! None got near to the true figure of £35,000 and these are the people who are in charge of taxes and benefits. Another case study involves asking 24 physicians what the chances are of a woman having breast cancer given that a test for it came back positive. The test is 90% accurate for a positive result and 93% accurate for a negative. Only 2 of the 24 got the correct answer (11%), 20 of them guessed around 90%, if you are a woman with an 11% chance of having cancer and some professional tells you that you have a 90% chance of having cancer there could clearly be a lot of unnecessary grief caused.

Like myself, I suspect that the authors wish to see a greater level of mathematical competency across all professions and in general, but this isn’t the message given by their book. Instead they merely call for us all to be more wary of big numbers and baffling percentages in the media, they constantly praise the good work of statisticians throughout and blame bad reporters and journalists for twisting the figures to fit their ideals. I was surprised how much I learned (as a mathematician I presumed I would encounter nothing new here) but the day after I finished the book I was told by the BBC news that drinking can increase a woman’s risk of cancer by as much as 20%! Oh my god, my own mother is on death row, 20% is a huge number, the women in my life are doomed (except my wife; she doesn’t drink). Or at least that’s what I might once have thought, but having read the tiger that isn’t I know better than that; the BBC will always tell you how much the risk is raised by but they never tell you what the risk actually is. Say the risk of any given woman getting cancer is 0.5%, a 20% increase means that this is raised from 0.5% to 0.6%; not so scary now, eh? But a number like 0.6% won’t grab the headlines, 20% will. This kind of alarmist reporting is everywhere, from the Daily Mail and the BBC to the Guardian and the Independent, journalists are shocking and caution is required at all times; a big number such as £800billion might look like a scary tiger but it’s often just grass waving in the wind and whenever this happens there is a reporter waiting to convince us that it really is a tiger and maybe make some money out of our panic.

I promise that you will look at the world differently after this book, if everybody reads it we might finally stop running from imaginary tigers and start dealing with numbers sensibly.

Joshua Prettyman is studying Maths at the University of Edinburgh but he has a massive passion for natural history and wildlife as well as all things scientific.

‘How Sex Works’ was part of the BBC’s sex season, a collection of programs which aimed to inform and entertain viewers about the ins and outs of sex (no pun intended!)

The documentary used state of the art computer graphics to travel inside the body and explain what goes on underneath our skin during those magical moments. Emotional and sociological issues were also explored by following different people, all of whom had their own story to tell.

Each of the three episodes documented a different stage in a person’s sexual journey: the first was about first-time sex, the second about playing the field and the third about long term relationships.

After watching the first episode I have to admit I was fairly disappointed. I found myself wondering who this program was aimed at. Those old enough to understand the birds and the bees (myself included) were doubtless getting a little bored learning about the mechanics of it all.

For the younger crowd I’m sure it’s informative, but not nearly as fun as things like Channel 4’s ‘the sex education show’ whose naked models undoubtedly make it infinitely more appealing to 15-year-olds than the cold, characterless computer graphics, which were often cringe-inducing and, in some parts, downright creepy.

Having said that, the second and third episodes were a lot better, as they contained more original content. I got the feeling, however, that in some places the program couldn’t work out whether it was about science or sociology – it’d jump from giving a rigorously scientific account of how orgasms work to exploring the history of female sexuality without any kind of smooth link.

Another thing I found a bit annoying was that the science itself, although accurate, seemed to be limited to the basics, and was a bit repetitive – they explained how an erection worked, and returned to the aforementioned cringe-inducing graphics, in every episode, which was somewhat gilding the lily in my opinion.

What I would have really liked to see is a bit more detail on the scientific or evolutionary basis for different aspects of sexual behaviour – they certainly touched on some interesting topics like asexuality and early menopause that just aren’t covered in other programmes – but the most interesting stuff often only included an interview element rather than really delving into the science. Even though scientists aren’t sure what causes a lot of these things, it still would have been worth mentioning this to highlight the need for better understanding.

In my opinion the strongest parts of the program were interviews with real scientists talking about cutting edge research, like the scientists who were able to pinpoint the signs of romantic love using brain scans. Another definite highlight was the ‘sperm race’ carried out by scientists at Birmingham University, where a bunch of male students nervously looked on as their sperm were pitched against each other in a simulated ‘race to the egg’ situation!

So if you’re after pure, undiluted science, ‘How Sex Works’ will be a bit of a let down, but overall I think it’s worth watching if you’d like to learn about some of the basic science behind sex. There’s some good information in there, but it’s interspersed with an awful lot of padding, not to mention two glowing, faceless, multi-coloured computer generated people getting in on. Repeatedly.  Every couple of minutes. You have been warned!

Emma is a science writer and communicator based in Cambridge. She writes for Asia Research News and BPoD, and has produced and presented bits and pieces for BBC Radio’s The Naked Scientists. Twitter: @emmastoye

N.B. there’s no mention of science in this review, but c’mon, it’s Christmas!

When it came to picking a Christmas film to review, the typical festive favourites sprung to mind. Among these films was the warmly remembered Tim Allen vehicle The Santa Clause. The film’s plot: a cantankerous businessman accidentally kills Santa and puts on the dead man’s pants, thereby fulfilling a contractual agreement that requires him to take over Santa’s duties. Admittedly, it’s a little grim for a kid’s movie, but a lot of fun nonetheless.

As an adult, however, the film seems a little different to how I remember it. It’s a surprisingly dark, psychologically charged tale of two divorced parents, one of which (Tim Allen) suffers a variety of hormonal imbalances, ends up gaining 100 pounds and believes himself to be the real Santa Claus. Eventually, he ends up losing custody of his whiny son Charlie, and ceases to have a normal life ever again.

The final scene of the film consists of Charlie’s mother begging her ex-husband not to fly his sleigh over any oceans when traveling with his son on board. And yet, in an act of defiance and sheer madness, Tim Allen is seen flying quickly towards the sea moments before the movie fades to black. Whether Allen and Charlie survive is anyone’s guess.

Needless to say, I needed cheering up after watching The Santa Clause, so I turned my attention to the lesser known I’ll Be Home for Christmas, a late-1990s movie that stars Allen’s Home Improvement co-star Jonathan Taylor Thomas and a young Jessica Biel. My interest in the film was based entirely on the smiley DVD cover, which sees Thomas leaning up against a particularly prickly cactus, seemingly unconcerned by the many spikes that appear to be penetrating his skin.

Thomas stars as Jake, a grotesquely arrogant, spoiled college kid, whose smugness can scarcely be contained by his own skin. “What’s that, Jake?” he regularly says to his pouting, naked reflection, “You want me to kiss you?” But now even Jake is starting to think that his self-admiration is starting to get a little too much. He has a girlfriend named Allie (Jessica Biel) and a family who he rarely sees, even at Christmas. This year, Jake’s father hopes things will be different. In a tremendous act of parenting, he makes him a deal: if Jake comes home in time for Christmas, he gets to drive the family Porsche.

I know from personal experience how much fun driving around the suburban town in which you were raised can be, running in to people you vehemently despised back in school at the local petrol station, and scratching your head at how they’ve somehow managed to forget how awful they used to be. And to do all that in a gratuitously flashy car? No wonder Jake gleefully agrees to his dad’s bribery. There’s just one problem: Jake’s a massive dick.

Amazingly, it’s revealed that he hasn’t been home since his mother died two years ago. And because of this, it’s a little difficult to sympathise with his character, even after he’s beaten up by some jocks and ditched in the middle of nowhere. The person responsible for this senseless, surprisingly brutal attack is an avaricious bro named Eddie, who dreams of making Allie his own.

While Jake regains consciousness, and discovers that his hat and beard have been glued to his skin, Eddie offers Allie a ride back home. Believing that Jake has stood her up, she begrudgingly accepts, even though Eddie’s presence makes her skin crawl. It’s hard to see why Allie’s so disgusted by Eddie considering he shares many characteristics with her boyfriend. In fact, in many ways, Eddie is less arrogant than Jake. Granted, he’s not a nice character, but he certainly doesn’t appear to be the sort of person who’d only return home to see his mourning father when promised a Porsche.

In real life, these two situations—Eddie and Allie traveling home together and Jake left stranded in a desert—would turn out very differently than they do in the film. Jake’s story would ultimately end with him dying of dehydration in the desert, shortly after attempting to avoid starvation by eating his polyester Santa beard. And Eddie and Allie’s story would climax in immediately regrettable sex in a layby, as Eddie yells, “Oh, yeah, baby! I call this one ‘Eddie Style’!”

What actually happens isn’t much more upbeat. Jake ends up lying his way across the country and telling people various made-up stories to emotionally manipulate them into giving him a ride. Meanwhile, Allie continues to despise Eddie, despite an awkward moment in which they’re forced to share a German-themed hotel room together. Jake picks this moment to catch up with Allie and naturally presumes that she and Eddie are together. But I know what you really want to know. You want to know if Jake gets to take “Ol’ Red” for a spin, right? I mean, that’s what Christmas is all about, right?

Well, I don’t want to spoil this wonderful moment in the film. I want you to watch this first hand. You need to watch this big emotional payoff and feel the tears descend down your cheeks. I will say one thing, though: Ricky doesn’t really learn any lessons during his arduous trek home. This really is just a film about a bratty kid who wants to drive his dad’s Porsche really, really bad. And isn’t that the real meaning of Christmas?

Jack Sharp is the self-proclaimed neurotic geek behind blog no soap radio polka. He also happens to be my (Gemma) biological brother… so that’s the science bit.

Inside, the fire was roaring, the Christmas tunes were playing and the drinks were flowing as our teams battled it out for the very prestigious science ‘hamper’ (bag) we’d put together. The winning team consisted of Sofia, Silvia, Andrea, Xiying, Lawrence and Max – a multidisciplinary team from the University of Edinburgh.
Some select photos from the event are displayed below, and if you’d like to have a go at some of the questions the teams were posed, click here.

Meowy Christmas!

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