University culture | Cash for Questions: Research funding, policy and development

MOOCing about: My experience of a massively open online course

I’ve just completed my first Massively Open Online Course (or MOOC) entitled ‘The mind is flat: the shocking shallowness of human psychology run via the Futurelearn platform. It was run by Professor Nick Chater and PhD student Jess Whittlestone of Warwick Business School and this is the second iteration of the course, which I understand will be running again at some point. Although teaching and learning in general (and MOOCs in particular) are off topic for this blog, I thought it might be interesting to jot down a few thoughts about my very limited experience of being on the receiving end of a MOOCing. There’s been a lot of discussion of MOOCs which I’ve been following in a kind of half-hearted way, but I’ve not seen much (if anything) written from the student perspective.

“Alright dudes… I’m the future of higher education, apparently. Could be worse… could be HAL 9000”

I was going to explain my motivations for signing up for the course to add a bit of context, but one of the key themes of the MOOC has been the shallowness and instability of human reasons and motivations. We can’t just reach back into our minds, it seems, and retrieve our thinking and decision making processes from a previous point in time. Rather, the mind is an improviser, and can cobble together – on demand – all kinds of retrospective justifications and explanations for our actions which fit the known facts including our previous decisions and the things we like to think motivate us.

So my post-hoc rationalisation of my decision to sign up is probably three-fold. Firstly, I think a desire for lifelong learning and in particular an interest in (popular) psychology are things I ascribe to myself. Hence an undergraduate subsidiary module in psychology and having read Stuart Sutherland’s wonderful book ‘Irrationality‘. A second plausible explanation is that I work with behavioural economists in my current role, and this MOOC would help me understand them and their work better. A third possibility is that I wanted to find out what MOOCs were all about and what it was like to do one, not least because of their alleged disruptive potential for higher education.

So…. what does the course consist of? Well, it’s a six week course requiring an estimated five hours of time per week. Each week-long chunk has a broad overarching theme, and consists of a round-up of themes arising from questions from the previous week, and then a series of short videos (generally between 4 and 20 minutes) either in a lecture/talking head format, or in an interview format. Interviewees have included other academics and industry figures. There are a few very short written sections to read, a few experiments to do to demonstrate some of the theories, a talking point, and finally a multiple choice test. Students are free to participate whenever they like, but there’s a definite steer towards trying to finish each week’s activities within that week, rather than falling behind or ploughing ahead. Each video or page provides the opportunity to add comments, and it’s possible for students to “like” each other’s comments and respond to them. In particular there’s usually one ‘question of the week’ where comment is particularly encouraged.

The structure means that it’s very easy to fit alongside work and other commitments – so far I’ve found myself watching course videos during half time in Champions League matches (though the half time analysis could have told its own story about the shallowness of human psychology and the desire to create narratives), last thing at night in lieu of bedtime reading, and when killing time between finishing work and heading off to meet friends. The fact that the videos are short means that it’s not a case of finding an hour or more at a time for uninterrupted study. Having said that, this is a course which assumes “no special knowledge or previous experience of studying”, and I can well imagine that other MOOCs require a much greater commitment in terms of time and attention.

I’ve really enjoyed the course, and I’ve found myself actively looking forward to the start of a new week, and to carving out a free half hour to make some progress into the new material. As a commitment-light, convenient way of learning, it’s brilliant. The fact that it’s free helps. Whether I’d pay for it or not I’m not sure, not least because I’ve learnt that we’re terrible at working out absolute value, as our brains are programmed to compare. Once a market develops and gives me some options to compare, I’d be able to think about it. Once I had a few MOOCs under my belt, I’d certainly consider paying actual money for the right course on the right topic at the right level with the right structure. At the moment it’s possible to pay for exams (about £120, or £24 for a “statement of participation”) on some courses, but as they’re not credit bearing it’s hard to imagine there would be much uptake. What might be a better option to offer is a smaller see for a self-printable .pdf record of courses completed, especially once people start racking up course completions.

One drawback is the multiple choice method of examining/testing, which doesn’t allow much sophistication or nuance in answers. A couple of the questions on the MOOC I completed were ambiguous or poorly phrased, and one in particular made very confusing use of “I” and “you” in a scenario question, and I’d still argue (sour grapes alert) that the official “correct” answer was wrong. I can see that multiple choice is the only really viable way of having tests at the moment (though one podcast I was listening to the other day mooted the possibility of machine text analysis marking for short essays based on marks given to a sample number), but I think a lot more work needs to go into developing best (and better) practice around question setting. It’s difficult – as a research student I remember being asked to come up with some multiple choice questions about the philosophy of John Rawls for an undergraduate exam paper, and struggled with that. Though I did remove the one from the previous paper which asked how many principles of justice there were (answer: it depends how you count them).

But could it replace an undergraduate degree programme? Could I imagine doing a mega-MOOC as my de facto full time job, watching video lectures, reading course notes and core materials, taking multiple choice questions and (presumably) writing essays? I think probably not. I think the lack of human interaction would probably drive me mad – and I say this as a confirmed introvert. Granted, a degree level MOOC would probably have more opportunities for social interaction – skype tutorials, better comments systems, more interaction with course tutors, local networks to meet fellow students who live nearby – but I think the feeling of disconnection, isolation, and alienation would just be too strong. Having said that, perhaps to digital natives this won’t be the case, and perhaps compared (as our brains are good at comparing) to the full university experience a significantly lighter price tag might be attractive. And of course, for those in developing countries or unable or unwilling to relocate to a university campus (for whatever reason), it could be a serious alternative.

But I can certainly see a future that blends MOOC-style delivery with more traditional university approaches to teaching and learning. Why not restructure lectures into shorter chunks and make them available online, at the students’ convenience? There are real opportunities to bring in extra content with expert guest speakers, especially industry figures, world leading academic experts, and particularly gifted and engaging communicators. It’s not hard to imagine current student portals (moodle, blackboard etc) becoming more and more MOOC-like in terms of content and interactivity. In particular, I can imagine a future where MOOCs offer opportunities for extra credit, or for non-credit bearing courses for students to take alongside their main programme of study. These could be career-related courses, courses that complement their ‘major’, or entirely hobby or interest based.

One thought that struck me was whether it was FE rather than HE that might be threatened by MOOCs. Or at least the Adult Ed/evening classes aspect of FE. But I think even there a motivation to – say – decide to learn Spanish, is only one motivation – another is often to meet new people and to learn together, and I don’t think that that’s an itch that MOOCs are entirely ready to scratch. But I can definitely see a future for MOOCs as the standard method of continuing professional development in any number of professional fields, whether these are university-led or not. This has already started to happen, with a course called ‘Discovering Business in Society‘ counting as an exemption towards one paper of an accounting qualification. I also understand that Futurelearn are interested in pilot schemes for the use of MOOCs 16-19 year olds to support learning outcomes in schools.

It’s also a great opportunity for hobbyists and dabblers like me to try something new and pursue other intellectual interests. I can certainly imagine a future in which huge numbers of people are undertaking a MOOC of one kind or another, with many going from MOOC to MOOC and building up quite a CV of virtual courses, whether for career reasons, personal interest, or a combination of both. Should we see MOOCs as the next logical and interactive step from watching documentaries? Those who today watch Horizon and Timewatch and, well, most of BBC4, might in future carry that interest forward to MOOCs.

So perhaps rather than seeing MOOCs in terms of what they’re going to disrupt or displace or replace, we’re better off seeing them as something entirely new.

And I’m starting my next MOOC on Monday – Cooperation in the contemporary world: Unlocking International Politics led by Jamie Johnson of the University of Birmingham. And there are several more that look tempting… How to read your boss from colleagues at the University of Nottingham, and England in the time of Richard III from – where else – the University of Leicester.

Adam Golberg announces new post about Ministers inserting themselves into research grant announcements

“You might very well think that as your hypothesis, but I couldn’t possibly comment”

Here’s something I’ve been wondering recently. Is it just me, or have major research council funding announcements started to be made by government ministers, rather than by the, er, research councils?

Here’s a couple of examples that caught my eye from the last week or so. First, David Willetts MP “announces £29 million of funding for ESRC Centres and Large Grants“. Thanks Dave! To be fair, he is Minster of State for Universities and Science. Rather more puzzling is George Osborne announcing “22 new Centres for Doctoral Training“, though apparently he found the money as Chancellor of the Exchequer. Seems a bit tenuous to me.

So I had a quick look back through the ESRC and EPSRC press release archives to see if the prominence of government ministers in research council funding announcements was a new thing or not. Because I hadn’t noticed it before. With the ESRC, it is new. Here’s the equivalent announcement from last year in which no government minister is mentioned. With the EPSRC, it’s being going on for longer. This year’s archive and the 2013 archive show government ministers (mainly Willetts, sometimes Cable or Osborne) front and centre in major announcements. In 2012 they get a name check, but normally in the second or third paragraph, not in the headline, and don’t get a picture of themselves attached to the story.

Does any of this matter? Perhaps not, but here’s why I think it’s worth mentioning. The Haldane Principle is generally defined as “decisions about what to spend research funds on should be made by researchers rather than politicians”. And one of my worries is that in closely associating political figures with funding decisions, the wrong impression is given. Read the recent ESRC announcement again, and it’s only when you get down to the ‘Notes for Editors’ section that there’s any indication that there was a competition, and you have to infer quite heavily from those notes that decisions were taken independently of government.

Why is this happening? It might be for quite benign reasons – perhaps research council PR people think (probably not unreasonably) that name-checking a government minister gives them a greater chance of media coverage. But I worry that it might be for less benign reasons related to political spin – seeking credit and basking in the reflected glory of all these new investments, which to the non-expert eye look to be something novel, rather than research council business as usual. To be fair, there are good arguments for thinking that the current government does deserve some credit for protecting research budgets – a flat cash settlement (i.e. cut only be the rate of inflation each year) is less good than many want, but better than many feared. But it would be deeply misleading if the general public were to think that these announcements represented anything above and beyond the normal day-to-day work of the research councils.

Jo VanEvery tells me via Twitter that ministerial announcements are normal practice in Canada, but something doesn’t quite sit right with me about this, and it’s not a party political worry. I feel there’s a real risk of appearing to politicise research. If government claims credit, it’s reasonable for the opposition to criticise… now that might be the level of investment, but might it extend to the investments chosen? Or do politicians know better than to go there for cheap political points?

Or should we stop worrying and just embrace it? It’s not clear that many people outside of the research ‘industry’ notice anyway (though the graphene announcement was very high profile), and so perhaps the chances of the electorate being misled (about this, at least) are fairly small.

But we could go further. MEPs to announce Horizon 2020 funding? Perhaps Nick Clegg should announce the results of the British Academy/Leverhulme Small Grants Scheme, although given the Victorian origins of investments and wealth supporting work of the Leverhulme Trust, perhaps the honour should go to the ghosts of Gladstone or Disraeli.

Six writing habits I reckon you ought to avoid in grant applications…..

There are lots of mistakes to avoid in writing grant applications, and I’ve written a bit about some of them in some previous posts (see “advice on grant applications” link above). This one is more about writing habits. I read a lot of draft grant applications, and as a result I’ve got an increasingly long list of writing quirks, ticks, habits, styles and affectations that Get On My Nerves.

Imagine I’m a reviewer… Okay, I’ll start again.. imagine I’m a proper reviewer with some kind of power and influence…. imagine further that I’ve got a pile of applications to review that’s as high as a high pile of applications. Imagine how well disposed I’d feel towards anyone who makes reading their writing easier, clearer, or in the least bit more pleasant. Remember how the really well-written essays make your own personal marking hell a little bit less sulphurous for a short time. That. Whatever that tiny burst of goodwill – or antibadwill – is worth, you want it.

The passive voice is excessively used

I didn’t know the difference between active and passive voice until relatively recently, and if you’re also from a generation where grammar wasn’t really teached in schools then you might not either. Google is your friend for a proper explanation by people who actually know what they’re talking about, and you should probably read that first, but my favourite explanation is from Rebecca Johnson – if you can add “by zombies”, then it’s passive voice. I’ve also got the beginnings of a theory that the Borg from Star Trek use the passive voice, and that’s one of the things that makes them creepy (“resistance is futile” and “you will be assimilated”) but I don’t know enough about grammar or Star Trek to make a case for this. Sometimes the use of the passive voice (by zombies) is appropriate, but often it makes for distant and slightly tepid writing. Consider:

A one day workshop will be held (by zombies) at which the research findings will be disseminated (by zombies). A recording of the event will be made (bz) and posted on our blog (bz). Relevant professional bodies will be approached (bz)…

This will be done, that will be done. Yawn. Although, to be fair, a workshop with that many zombies probably won’t be a tepid affair. But much better, I think, to take ownership… we will do these things, co-Is A and B will lead on X. Academic writing seems to encourage depersonalisation and formality and distancing (which is why politicians love it – “mistakes were made [perhaps by zombies, but not by me]”.

I think there are three reasons why I don’t like it. One is that it’s just dull. A second is that I think it can read like a way of avoiding detail or specifics or responsibility for precisely the reasons that politicians use it, so it can subconsciously undermine the credibility of what’s being proposed. The third reason is that I think for at least some kinds of projects, who the research team are – and in particular who the PI is – really matters. I can understand the temptation to be distant and objective and sciency as if the research speaks entirely for itself. But this is your grant application, it’s something that you ought to be excited and enthused by, and that should come across. If you’re not, don’t even bother applying.

First Person singular, First Person plural, Third Person

Pat Thomson’s blog Patter has a much fuller and better discussion about the use of “we” and “I” in academic writing that I can’t really add much to. But I think the key thing is to be consistent – don’t be calling yourself Dr Referstoherselfinthethirdperson in one part of the application, “I” in another, “the applicant” somewhere else, and “your humble servant”/ “our man in Havana” elsewhere. Whatever you choose will feel awkward, but choose a consistent method of awkwardness and have done with it. Oh, and don’t use “we” if you’re the sole applicant. Unless you’re Windsor (ii), E.

And don’t use first names for female team members and surnames for male team members. Or, worse, first names for women, titles and surnames for men. I’ve not seen this myself, but I read about it in a tweet with the hashtag #everydaysexism

Furthermore and Moreover…

Is anyone willing to mount a defence for the utility of either of these words, other than (1) general diversity of language and (2) padding out undergraduate essays to the required word count? I’m just not sure what either of these words actually means or adds, other than perhaps as an attempted rhetorical flourish, or, more likely, a way of bridging non-sequiturs or propping up poor structuring.

“However” and “Yet”…. I’ll grudgingly allow to live. For now.

Massive (Right Justified) Wall-o-Text Few things make my heart sink more than having to read a draft application that regards the use of paragraphs and other formatting devices as illustrative of a lack of seriousness and rigour. There is a distinction between densely argued and just dense. Please make it easier to read… and that means not using right hand justification. Yes, it has a kind of superficial neatness, but it makes the text much less readable.

Superabundance of Polysyllabic Terminology

Too many long words. It’s not academic language and (entirely necessary) technical terms and jargon that I particularly object to – apart from in the lay summary, of course. It’s a general inflation of linguistic complexity – using a dozen words where one will do, never using a simple word where a complex one will do, never making your point twice when a rhetorically-pleasing triple is on offer.

I guess this is all done in an attempt to make the application or the text seem as scholarly and intellectually rigorous as possible, and I think students may make similar mistakes. As an undergraduate I think I went through a deeply regrettable phase of trying to ape the style of academic papers in my essay writing, and probably made myself sound like one of the most pompous nineteen year olds on the planet.

If you find yourself using words like “effectuate”, you might want to think about whether you might be guilty of this.

Sta. Cca. To. Sen. Ten. Ces.

Varying and manipulating sentence length can be done deliberately to produce certain effects. Language has a natural rhythm and pace. Most people probably have some awareness of what that is. They are aware that sentences which are one paced can be very dull. They are aware that this is something tepid about this paragraph. But not everyone can feel the music in language. I think it is a lack of commas that is killing this paragraph. Probably there is a technical term for this.

So… anyone willing to defend “moreover” or “furthermore”? Any particularly irritating habits I’ve missed? Anyone actually know any grammar or linguistics provide any technical terms for any of these habits?

ESRC success rates by discipline for 2012-13

Update: 2013/14 figures here.

W A pot of gold at the end of a rainbow ith all of the fanfare of a cat-burglar slipping in through a first floor window in back office of a diamond museum, the ESRC has published its Vital Statistics for 2012-13, including the success rates by academic discipline. I’ve been looking forward to seeing these figures to see if there’s been any change since last year’s figures, which showed huge variations in success rates between different disciplines, with success rates varying from 1 in 68 for Business and Management and 2 in 62 for Education compared to 7 of 18 for socio-legal studies.

The headline news, as trumpeted in the Times Higher, is that success rates are indeed up, and that “demand management” appears to be working. Their table shows how applications, amount of money distributed, and success rates have varied over the last few years, and has figures for all of the research councils. For the ESRC, the numbers in their Vital Statistics document are slightly different (315 applications, 27% success rate) to those in the Times Higher table (310, 26%) , possibly because some non-university recipients have been excluded. The overall picture is hugely encouraging and is a great improvement on 14% success rates last year. And it’s also worth repeating that these figures don’t seem to include the Knowledge Exchange scheme, which now has a 52% success rate. This success rate is apparently too high, as the scheme is going to end in March next year to be replaced with a scheme of passing funding directly to institutions based on their ESRC funding record – similar to the EPSRC scheme which also delegates responsibility for running impact/knowledge exchange schemes to universities.

For the ESRC, “demand management” measures so far have largely consisted of:
(i) Telling universities to stop submitting crap applications (I paraphrase, obviously…..)
(ii) Telling universities that they have to have some kind of internal peer review process
(iii) Threatening some kind of researcher sanctions if (i) and (ii) don’t do the trick.

And the message appears to have been getting through. Though I do wonder how much of this gain is through eliminating “small” research grants – up to £100k – which I think in recent times had a worse success rate than Standard Grants, though that wasn’t always the case historically. Although it’s more work to process and review applications for four pots of 100k than for one of 400k, the loss of Standard Grants is to be regretted, as it’s now very difficult indeed to get funding for social science projects with a natural size of £20k-£199k.

But what you’re probably wondering is how your academic discipline got on this time round. Well, you can find this year’s and last year’s Vital Statistics documents hidden away in a part of the ESRC’s website that even I struggle to find, and I’ve collated them for easy comparison purposes here. But the figures aren’t comparing like with like – the 2011/12 figures included the last six months of the old Small Grants Scheme, which distorts things. It’s also difficult (obviously) to make judgements based on small numbers which probably aren’t statistically significant. Also, in the 2011-12 figures there were 43 applications (about 6% of the total) which were flagged as “no lead discipline”, which isn’t a category this year. But some overall trends have emerged:

Socio-legal Studies (7 from 18, 3 from 8), Linguistics (6 from 27, 5 from 15) and Social Anthropology (5 from 18, 4 from 5) have done significantly better than the average for the last two years
Business and Management (1 from 68, 2 from 17) and Education (2 from 62, 2 from 19) continue to do very poorly.
Economics and Economics and Social History did very well the year before last, but much less well this year.
Psychology got one-third of all the successes last year, and over a quarter the year before, though the success rate is only very slightly above average in both years.
No projects in the last two years funded from Environmental Planning or Science and Technology Studies
Demography (2 from 2) and Social Work (3 from 6) have their first projects funded since 2009/10.

Last year I speculated briefly about what the causes of these differences might be and looked at success rates in previous years, and much of that is still relevant. Although we should welcome the overall rise in success rates, it’s still the case that some academic subjects do consistently better than others with the ESRC. While we shouldn’t expect to see exactly even success rates, when some consistently outperform the average, and some under-perform, we ought to wonder why that is.

On strike again, and why you should join a union

"Freedom for the University of Tooting!" — “Freedom for the University of Tooting!”

Last time I took strike action was almost two years ago, and I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now. Nevertheless, then (as now) I think strike action is justified, and that if you’re not already in a union, then you really ought to be. It’s in your own narrow personal interest, and it’s in the general interest.

I think the facts are pretty well established. University staff have had a pay cut in real terms of 13% since October 2008, and what’s on offer – 1% – is still well below the rate of inflation. While I’m sure it’s accurate to point to the large surpluses that many universities have been generating, I suspect that their existence is largely due to understandable caution in what has been a period of tremendous change – undergraduate fees, real terms reductions in research income, the new REF, fluctuations in overseas student numbers etc. It would be weird if institutions hadn’t built up something of a financial buffer as an insurance policy. But they can surely do better than 1%, especially now that we (apparently) in economic recovery and many of the recent changes are starting to bed in.

I hesitate to complain about my own pay. I regard it as a privilege to work where I do, and to do the job I do. When I go to bed on a Sunday night, I don’t do so dreading Monday morning. And the fact that I don’t dread Monday morning means I’m probably better off than the majority of people who either do dread it or who have no job to go to. My salary is more than adequate for my relatively modest needs, especially with no dependants. A 13% pay cut in real terms isn’t – I think – particularly unusual in the current climate, and
I’m sure other sectors could tell a similar story. Another reason I hesitate to complain about my own pay is that the kind of society I’d like to live in is one that would be more equal – more Rawlsian – and I suspect that a more equal society is one in which I’d probably be less well off in brute financial terms, but would be better off in all kinds of other ways.

But inequality in higher education is getting worse. While there’s apparently no money for pay rises at the rate of inflation for everyone else, there is apparently money for pay rises for those off the official salary scales – vice chancellors, and other senior professors. I understand that the REF has distorted labour markets with big names attracting big bucks. I know that it’s not the case that not paying the best paid even more will save sufficient money to pay everyone else better, but if there is money to spare, it should surely be targeted – in these times of austerity – at those in our sector who are the least well paid.

So although I can’t back a below inflation offer of 1% all round, I would be personally be prepared to vote to accept below-inflation at my grade for a short while longer if it meant above inflation for the least well paid. At inflation to keep pace with soaring living costs, above inflation to claw back some of the lost ground. I don’t have the details to hand, but I believe similar deals have been struck before, and this might be a sensible thing to look at. If the employers were interested in negotiating. Which they don’t appear to be.

However, even for the better paid there’s only so long we can accept below inflation pay rises. A point often made is that academic staff (and many academic related staff) are often late starters in terms of pensions and mortgages. Graduates at 21, Masters graduates at 22, PhD graduates at 25 or 26, permanent employment at 26 or 27. Although in many disciplines the norm is several years of post-doc fixed term contracts first. So five or six extra years as a student, during which time it’s very unlikely that any pension contributions will be made or much saving done for a mortgage deposit.

So why should you join a union? Because if you don’t, and you work in the HE sector, and you went to work today, what you are is a free rider. You didn’t lose a day’s pay, but if and when (I suspect when), we get a better pay settlement, you’ll get it too. Union members don’t get that money back, or get any extra. When the unions negotiate on your behalf about various local issues (from parking to disciplinary procedures), you benefit too. I guess one response to this is to congratulate yourself on your cleverness in getting the benefits without any of the responsibilities, but personally I’d be embarrassed and ashamed to be in that position. I accept that some may have principled objections to a particular union (and I agree that UCU did not cover itself in glory over discussions about an academic boycott of Israel) or have negative experiences in the past, but in general terms I think the onus is on those not in a union to explain why not.

But even if your moral compass is orientated in such a way that you don’t see any problem with being a free rider, it’s still fairly clear that it’s in your own best interests to be in a union. Because my experience at least one institution (not where I work at the moment) and what I hear and read about many other places is that there’s a de facto two tier system in place in terms of how people are treated. Put simply, if you in a union and have union representation, or if you’re fortunate enough to have a friend/colleague who you can take to meetings to help you fight your corner who can be similarly effective, you will be treated better than if you go without union or equivalent representation. I’ve seen it myself when asked to accompany friends who weren’t in the union to meetings. I’ve seen attempts to pull stunts that break internal procedures, very probably employment law, and very definitely the principles of natural justice. They don’t do it to union members, or those who have equivalent representation. Maybe not all institutions are like that, but everything I’ve heard indicates that we should all assume that ours is exactly like that unless we have strong evidence to the contrary.

You may think that you’ll never need the union’s help, never need union representation. But if you’re in an academic-related or administrative/technical/managerial role, then the fact is that restructures and change and cost savings are a fact of life. I’ve worked in Higher Education for twelve years now, and on average there’s been a restructure that’s affected me every four years. In the first two, my job either disappeared or would ultimately disappear. The third passed me by, and arguably left me in a stronger position, but was a worrying time. In neither of the first two cases did the restructures have anything to do with me or my performance in my role – it was just a case of someone looking at an organogram, looking at costs, and deciding they wanted to make their mark by moving the pieces around a bit. Anyone in the way was collateral damage.

You might also think that if you behave yourself, keep your head down, and do a good job, you’ll never end up needing union support in a dispute with your employer or with a senior colleague. Again, I think that’s naive. My own experience was doing my job too well, and having the temerity to apply to have my job regraded, only to find that a shadow system was being used that bore little relation to the published criteria. It’s tremendously stressful to be in dispute with your employer and/or colleagues, and having union support gives you someone to rant at, someone to advise you, to set your expectations, and to speak up for you at meetings which can end up – by accident or design – being very intimidating.

Ultimately, union membership won’t save you if you’re in the way of a restructure, or if management wants you out for whatever reason. But what they will do is make sure that the rules are followed, that your rights are respected, and that you have access to sensible and timely advice about the situation you’re in. Maybe you’re the kind of person who would back yourself to do all this for yourself, but my advice would be not to underestimate just how stressful these situations can be, and how useful having someone from the union in your corner can be, even if you conduct most of the meeting yourself.

So… back to work tomorrow, and back to dealing with the work left undone today. As we’re now withdrawing goodwill and working to contract, I’ve got less time than normal to get everything done….