As academic work is becoming arguably more precarious and competitive, shorter contracts are becoming the norm, and the number of people completing PhDs in the UK is increasing, the risks associated with researching academia are high. This post discusses and explores my experiences of being a PhD student researching women’s lived experiences of research evaluation in the UK, and my thoughts on and experiences of interviewing very senior and esteemed academics as a junior researcher. My PhD study explored research evaluation in the form of the Research Excellence Framework (REF) – a weighty force in UK academia – the outcomes of which, I argue, hold the potential to alter the course of an academic career considerably, as well as playing a role in the type of work that some academics do, particularly given the REF impact agenda. There is currently an international trend towards research evaluation with programmes such as the Excellence in Research for Australia (ERA), the Performance-Based Research fund in New Zealand (PBRF), and equivalents in countries including Denmark, Switzerland and the Netherlands. What is clear is that there is not enough qualitative, exploratory research into the effects of research evaluation on academic careers, especially for women, and so my PhD study was born. My findings suggest that research evaluation in the UK actively contributes to the continuance of gender inequality regimes in the academy, and that the ability to negotiate managerial control and be politically savvy is increasingly important in the academic world. Before embarking on my PhD, I was acutely aware of the sensitivity of my research, as well as my own positionality with regards to my participants. Reflection is and was an important element in the research process for me, as it allowed me to reflect on the effects of the self on the research process and, ultimately, also on the data, as well as the various power dynamics discernible during interviews for my study. I was continually taken aback by participants’... According to the above context, answer the following question. How long will it probably take to finish the PhD program?

Answer: under six years


Jimbob Blakey wasn't so much given birth to as clambered right out of his mother himself. He weighed in at almost thirteen pounds, came ready-fitted with a shock of fat black hair and a couple of razor teeth. Jimbob's folks loved him like most folks love their little ones, maybe more. They'd been trying so hard for a child, suffered more mid-term miscarriages than the ewes they shuttled off to market most Thursdays. They dressed him in a one-year babygro and took him home to their hill farm. They fought to get up nights and give him his milk. His teeth made breast-feeding impossible. They sat hours gazing down in his cot. They dressed him fine and took him to their church and gave their thanks. Showed him off like the proud parents they were. Others cooed and smiled. But they never asked to hold. They gave thanks the Blakeys were happy, and that the monkey-baby had not been born to them. Jimbob's folks never gave a second thought that their boy might be different. The first Spring he walked, he stomped the moors in his welly-boots helping herd the pregnant ewes down in-by. He copied his father, kicking and cuffing at the stragglers, when the flock was returned to the hills in May. As Jimbob grew, his hair became thicker, his arms longer. His head shrunk down on his shoulders. At check-ups, nurses fixed smiles and pronounced him healthy. Doctors said, 'he'll make you a strapping lad.' His mother smiled, her heart swelled. When he was three, she sent him to nursery. She wanted him to mix with other kids. To taste life off the hard hills. She said, 'it'll do him the world of good.' Jimbob hated leaving the farm. He clung to his mother. She drove away, blinking tears. On the third day, she took a phone call. 'It's Jimbob,' they said. 'He's scaring the other kids.'The truth hit Jimbob's mother like a hammer. According to the above context, answer the following question. at the end of the story Jimbob:

Answer: joins a circus


The sweet taste of cold and wood smoke hung in the air. Marlin rode low in the saddle, his shoulders curled against the hungry wind. His hat was pulled down tight and his eyes didn't move as he passed the crude shacks at the edge of town. He tied his horse in front of the saloon, unwinding his long body as if a sudden movement might snap it. He turned down the collar of his greatcoat and checked to make sure his big Army Colt was loose in its holster. The saloon door was a single chunk of white pine, still oozing sap, and he had to put his shoulder to it to force it open. The long room inside was quiet, and not much warmer than the street. Clusters of people sat nursing coffee and drinks, talking quietly if they talked at all. Marlin spotted a few farmers the railroad had brought in from Europe: rounded hats, nervous eyes, skin as red as blood. At the far end of the room a half-dozen cowboys turned over cards with patient boredom. Marlin walked up to the bar. "Whiskey," he said, and when the drink came he tossed it straight down and felt it pull his lips into a grimace. He nodded for a refill. When he turned to face the room they were all watching him. "I'm looking for a man named Kraamer," Marlin said. "Anybody here know of him?" One of the cowboys turned casually and rang the spittoon with a stream of tobacco juice. Marlin knew the long, thin face from somewhere, the blond hair that fell limply to his shoulders. He smiled at Marlin and showed his brown-stained teeth. Marlin felt the lines in his own face, the gray in his hair, the chill in his bones. He was too old for this. He set a half dollar on the bar and started for the door. "Don't get in a huff," the bartender said. Marlin looked back. "Kraamer lives about a mile west of town. Follow the railroad and take the first trail south." According to the above context, answer the following question. Why is Marlin looking for Kraamer?

Answer:
not enough information