With covid-19 vaccine rollouts well underway the world over, the subject of clinical trials has been a focal point of discussion lately. Of course clinical trials are applicable to every drug, not just vaccines, and the class of molecules on which my own work focuses includes perhaps one of the most famous case studies of why clinical trials are necessary: thalidomide.

The teratogenic effects in unborn infants of this seemingly innocuous small molecule are well documented and infamous. But at the time of its initial use a treatment for morning sickness in the mid twentieth century, little was known about its mechanism of action. Only within the last 20 years has the molecular glue-type nature of thalidomide and its analogues (collectively known as immunomodulatory imide drugs, or IMIDs) become apparent. Armed with this knowledge, we know not only understand how thalidomide works in useful situations (such as curing cancer), but also how it exhibits its less desirable effects (recruiting SALL4 to the E3 ligase cereblon, leading to SALL4’s degradation and subsequent embryogenesis havoc).

Despite spending only four weeks working in the department, this month roughy marks a year since I started my unlikely career as a statistician and was inaugurated into the hall of opiglets (if you account for my foray into the magic of quantum computing last summer). The past year has been filled with learning opportunities, some of which I ought to take note and others are probably worth forgetting. Nonetheless, here is a short list of things I’ve learned in my first year as a DPhil Student, which you may find helpful in what I hope are more precedented times.

Simple and stupid first

When it comes to deciding how to tackle your next scientific problem or which lesson to start your blog post with, often the simplest and sometimes most ‘stupid’ idea is the way to go. Keeping things simple gives you the time to better understand your question without getting lost in the details of a complex solution. Plus, the results will inform your later next steps.

In this episode of my decade-long quest to correct popular British misconceptions, I wish to turn to one of my most geeky obsessions: trains. In particular, I would like to address a particularly British obsession, which many take as a signal of the lapse of British know-how from its mid-Empire industrial-revolution heights.

This is, of course, ‘leaves on the line‘. Why – demand the British public – must timetables run five to ten minutes slower when there are more leaves on the ground? Why do no other modern countries suffer from these ills? And why does the railway take no action over this commuting scourge?

Throughout the pandemic, the statistics on division of childcare and home-schooling responsibilities have been shocking: mothers are taking on 150% more homeschooling than fathers (1), while 71% of working mothers’ furlough applications were rejected (2).  A third of working mothers reported having lost  some or all work due to a lack of childcare during the pandemic, with this figure rising to 44% for  BAME mothers. On top of this, 90% of the UK’s 2 million single parents are women (3). These unequal divisions are threatening to undo decades of progress towards gender equality.

In April 2019, the pay gap between men and women in the UK was 17.3% (4), and at the current rate of gender pay gap reduction, the gap will not be closed until 2052 (5).  The causes of this gap continue to be unequal caring responsibilities,  more women in low-paid work and (illegal) discrimination. BAME women are also subject to the ethnicity pay gap.  While this varies regionally and by ethnicity, in London in 2018 the overall figure was 23% (6).