Friday, 31 October 2014

Word to the Wise

Neglected gems of the language for taking down the pub and introducing to your mates. With a True Tale by way of illustration.

Tenebrous (also tenebrious)

Ten-uh-bruhs: Adjective: dark; gloomy; obscure; shadowy; hard to understand

From the Latin, tenebrae, darkness

Related forms: tenebrousness, noun; untenebrous, adjective; tenebrific, tenebricose, adjectives

Tenebrescence, also related, is a scientific process, also known as reversible photochromism, which is basically the ability of some minerals to change colour when exposed to sunlight, an effect that can be repeated indefinitely but which is destroyed by heating. You have almost certainly encountered this phenomenon, possibly without being aware of it, as tenebrescence is what photochromic lenses are up to when they darken through exposure to sunlight, by which, of course, we mean the good old self-adjusting sunglasses. From the same tenebrae root, we also get temerity, which means rashness or boldness in the sense of blindly, in the dark, or without sufficient advance information. Temerity has a rather attractive adjective as part of its family, this being temerarious, though, much like pulchritude, it is one of those words that doesn’t really seem cut out for the job it is being asked to do, seeing it means rash or reckless.

At the very mention of the word temerarious, any of you with a smattering of History of Art might well have been reminded of the image of the doomed ship being towed to its ultimate destruction in the widely acclaimed and well-known Turner painting, The Fighting Temeraire tugged to her last berth to be broken up, 1838, (catchy title), the name of the vessel coming from the French, téméraire, in this case meaning bold or gutsy. Though the crew knew her as the Saucy rather than the Fighting Temeraire. And, whilst we’re nitpicking, the ship was being towed up the Thames (westward, in other words), so the sunset could not possibly have appeared behind her, plus by the time she got to where she is shown, her masts had also longsince been removed. Apart from that, though, darn good effort, except that she was pulled by two steamboats rather than the one depicted in the painting.
Whilst we’re on the subject of History of Art, from the same root comes Tenebrism, a school or style of painting adopted chiefly by seventeenth century Spanish and Neopolitan painters. Foremost amongst these was Caravaggio, who invented the pronounced chiaroscuro method characterized by broad areas of darkness highlighted with a single source of light, and was, as we all know, an infamous homosexual who notoriously killed a rival over a game of tennis. Except, of course, most of the above is simply not true. Caravaggio ( or Michelangelo Merisi (or Amerighi) da Caravaggio, to give him his full title) was indeed a hugely gifted exponent when it came to using light and shade for dramatic effect but the mannerism had been pioneered by others long before him, including Albrecht Dürer, Tintoretto and El Greco, whilst the word chiaroscuro (from the Italian chiaro, "clear, bright," and oscuro, as in obscure) didn’t come into use until the 1680s, some seventy years after the artist had gone to his tragically premature grave.
As for killing another man, well, that much at least is true, though it wasn’t over a game of tennis, even if he did have the reputation that "after a fortnight's work he will swagger about for a month or two with a sword at his side and a servant following him, from one ball-court to the next, ever ready to engage in a fight or an argument, so that it is most awkward to get along with him." He was notorious for brawling, even in such violent times, and he was jailed on several occasions, vandalised his own apartment and eventually had a death warrant issued against him by the Pope. Many of his paintings reflect his taste for brutality, featuring at least two beheadings, for one of which (David with the head of Goliath) he used his own portrait. On 29 May 1606, he killed Ranuccio Tomassoni, possibly unintentionally, a pimp who used to hang around one of Rome’s most successful prostitutes, Fillide Melandroni (that’s her doing the decapitating), who Caravaggio just happened to have a bit of a thing for (bang goes the gay theory, though he is supposed to have “swung both ways,” whatever that might mean) and he liked to bung her into his paintings, so he was none too happy about Tomassoni’s overly close attentions to her, resolving there and then to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. By castrating him. He was undoubtedly an exceptionally gifted artist but, sadly, and rather unfortunately for the hapless Tomassoni, he was no great shakes as a surgeon and the attempted orchidectomy (to give it the technical term) resulted in the demise of his young rival. Caravaggio had to leg it into hiding but in the end the Pope decided to forgive him and it was on the way to receive his papal pardon that he caught a fever and died, on 18 July 1610 at the age of thirty eight.

By this point, we must be just about due for this time’s True Tale and, bearing in mind what our Word to the Wise actually is, it’s a pretty surefire bet that we’re about to descend toward the very depths of nefarious tawdry, that dark and murky underworld that dwells mainly in a disturbed and overwrought subconscious lurking in the deepest recesses of our minds, so if you’re at all of a sensitive disposition, or happen to be susceptible to shock and outrage, or if you possess any artistic or aesthetic sensibility whatsoever, it’s probably best to look away now. Before it’s too late. Far, far too late …

So, you decided to stick with it after all, did you? Stout fellow! Now, when it comes to mention of the word in question – tenebrous, that is – it’s also fairly much of a certainty that, of all the imagery that it may conjure and evoke, it is unlikely that anywhere amongst them is the glittering plateglass frontage of the well-known retail outlet, Superdrug. And yet that is the ultimate direction in which we find ourselves most inexorably headed at this precise moment, and onward, ever onward, right into its very penetralia with its myriad arrays of baffling sweet-scented productry that you never knew you didn’t need and probably never will either, should you ever discern the intended purpose that such cosmetic frippery was actually designed for. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves now.

To begin at the beginning, our Tale this time features Frank and Rory, an ageing gay Irish couple at the very centre of our libationary activities back when time was, and quite often the very heart and soul thereof. Both had clearly kissed the Blarney Stone at one time or another, though their individual loquaciousness’ took very different guises. Frank was master of the tall tale, stories so shaggy that they gave the inescapable impression of being the direct result of a scriptwriting collaboration between an actual but somewhat shifty cockerel and his equally untrustworthy bovine partner. And yet, so convincing were they that to doubt seemed nigh on perfidious, if not outright treachery. Like the time he insisted that his first job had been putting the pips into raspberry jam. You may well scoff and make sneering comments like How did you fall for that one? but it’s fact that, during World War II, they only had the cheaper apple or rhubarb jam, which they then coloured to pass off as the more popular raspberry, having first added a convincing final flourish of some wooden pips. Sometimes there was no fruit in it whatsoever. A bit like Sainsbury’s Basics range.
Rory, on the other hand, was more camp than Butlins and made absolutely no secret of the fact – why should he? – and he could tell even the mundanest of stories and still have your sides aching and the tears rolling down your cheeks, using nothing more deadly than his own inimitable style. This particular Saturday evening he was relating to us of how he’d spent his afternoon in Camberwell, down in the Aylesham Centre, aka Butterfly Walk (for those who may not be aware of it, Camberwell is closely associated with a legendary and possibly apocryphal butterfly known as the Camberwell Beauty or Nymphalis antiopa, hence the reference to butterflies in the architecture, though there is nothing whatsoever of the Beauty about the Aylesham, being your bogstandard arcade of shops such as Snappy Snaps, the 99p Store, Morrisons, Currys and, of course, Superdrug). Anyhow, there Rory happened to find himself, mooching around and not doing anything much in particular when, all at once, he is assailed by a rather slattern woman with a drink-reddened face and an unusual odour all of her own, who then starts to beseech him for some spare change.

‘Just a pound, love, that’s all,’ she appealed (though we use the term in its loosest sense herein), grasping his arm lest he should attempt to flee. ‘That’s all love, just a pound.’

Aghast and horrorstruck at his situation, Rory then proceeded to do what any of us might have done under such trying circumstances: he said he only had a five pound note, that he would go into Superdrug and when he came out he would give her some change then. Which seemed to appease her, enough to release him, at which he escaped into said store with a mighty sigh of relief. The plan was to spend as long as he could within – bear in mind that four minutes can seem like a lifetime when you’re confined inside Superdrug – and hope that in the meantime she would wander off in search of better pickings. Eventually, and having examined minutely every single item on display therein, he finally calculated that the coast must, by now, be clear, at which he stepped boldly without once more. Straight into the mantis-like grip of the selfsame crone. Hopeless situations call for desperate measures: there was nothing else for it but to cough up, and so he handed her two shiny pound coins. For a moment she was speechless with astonishment. And then:

‘Two pounds!’ she gasped, in utter disbelief, exactly as if she had never before set eyes on so fabulous a sum. ‘For two pounds you’ll want to take me round the back, won’t you? Is that what you’d like, my love?’

Nothing could possibly have been any further from his mind than that and you would really need to have seen the utter revulsion written on Rory’s face as he reached this part of his tale, your classic bulldog sucking an extremely bitter wasp and then some, to appreciate the abhorrence etched there. Which only made it all the more amusing to those of us foregathered at that memorable moment, so absurdly vaudeville was the whole scenario.

‘Me?’ he screeched in a pained effeminate falsetto. ‘Can you just imagine? Me? Go round the back? With her? Shocking bad, so it was!’

At last, our hilarity (which this has failed utterly to convey, but you’d need to be Rory to recreate it) began to slowly subside. Meanwhile, behind the counter stood the barman, an eternal bachelor, ostensibly polishing glasses, though keeping one ear cocked toward all that was being said. He waited patiently until the laughter had died into silence, then he looked Rory straight in the eye and, without flinching even a muscle, asked:

Which branch of Superdrug did you say it was?’

Fighting Temeraire: J. M. W. Turner [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Judith: Caravaggio [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

David: Caravaggio [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Camberwell Beauty: By Kymi (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

Tuesday, 28 October 2014

Tips on using the Library and its resources - No. 3.

This week - Printing and Photocopying

The machines in the Library are multi-function – they can print and photocopy, in colour and black and white. The costs are 5p A4 and 10p A3 (black and white) and 25p A4 and 50p A3 (colour)
In order to print or photocopy, you need enough credit on your account to cover the cost.

You can add credit in several ways:

•    Top-up machines (£1 and £2 coins, notes) Library level 1* and 4th floor main building
•    Student shop in the basement (cash and credit/debit card)
•    Online via the ITS web site (credit/debit card)

*Unfortunately, the one on level 1 of the Library is currently out of order after it was vandalised - we hope to have it back in action soon.

When you have enough credit, you can copy using the machines or send your printing to them. If you want black and white, choose LibraryMono as your printer, if you want colour choose LibraryColour as your printer. You can pick up your print jobs from any of the machines – just log in by touching your student card on the card reader.
More information on printing and photocopying in the Library

Don’t forget that you can also print in the IT workstation rooms and from your laptop/device

Friday, 24 October 2014

Today's the Day

Anniversaries & Events in Academia & Elsewhere

October 24 
[with apologies for the slight lateness of publication]

On 24 October 1360, the Treaty of Brétigny, between King Edward III of England and King John II (John the Good) of France, finally hit the statute book, thus bringing to an end the Hundred Years’ War, which had raged since 1337. All well and good, until somebody happened to point out that they were actually in Calais at the time and that the said conflict still had another ninety three years left to run. The Treaty itself had been signed, actually in Brétigny, near Chartres, way back on 25 May but, even in those unenlightened times, the powers-that-be were still capable of acting like consummate politicians so, having pretty much worked up a sweat getting that far, they decided that it was high time for a spot of feasting and for taking the entire of the rest of the summer off, before finally coming together again, in Calais this time, to ratify the whole thing as the Treaty of Calais.

As you’ll no doubt recall, the Hundred Years’ War was basically a protracted bout of scrapping between, on the one hand, the English under Edward III (the suspiciously French-sounding and even more suspiciously French-speaking Plantagenet monarch who reckoned he was rightfully King of France) and, on the other, the French proper (inasmuch as they actually lived there) under John II. Quite why John II should be known as the Good is veiled in some mystery, seeing he had a vile temper and was given to outbursts of spontaneous violence, his reign was blighted by the Black Death and by marauding bands of routiers bent on pillage and plunder (the word comes from the German for rotten, making them a bunch of rotters), and he simply wasn’t any good at all when it came to war, though he did marry a certain Bonne of Bohemia when he was thirteen, so maybe that was it. Philip the Fair was also his granduncle, so at least he didn’t get stuck with John the Bit of an Improvement. Anyhow, pretty much right from the kick-off, the French had been having the worst of it results wise. And it had been them who started it in the first place, with Phil the Fair being not quite so fair after all when he decided that he was going to confiscate Aquitaine from Edward because he hadn’t paid homage to him, in order to show just who was feudal overlord around here. In actual fact, in 1329, the seventeen year old Edward had done his duty in that respect, though it was whilst still wearing his crown and sword, which the French found a tad unacceptable (a kind of medieval “dissing”) and, in 1337 (when it all officially got going), Philip refused to meet the English delegation altogether, which is when he went in for his landgrab. By the time John the Good got to be King in 1350, the French had already lost the Battles of Cadzand (1337), Sluys (1340), Brest (1342), Auberoche (1345) and Caen and Blanchetaque (both 1346), followed swiftly by the worst thraping of the entire lot, inflicted by the new English secret weapon, the longbow, at Crecy, on 26 August that same year.

What John really needed was a plan, a cunning and devious one. And, boy, did he live up to his name now. Knowing that the English would be all out to try and capture the French sovereign at some point during the forthcoming must-not-lose fixture of Poitiers (19 September 1356), what he did was to dress nineteen knights from his personal guard in identical outfits to his own so the English wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. They simply knocked his helmet off and captured him. He surrendered by handing over his glove. Apparently, “the gloves are off” meant something rather different back in those chivalric days. John was carted off to imprisonment in England and, with Poitiers being pretty much bang in the middle of France, this involved quite some trek, during which not a soul attempted to rescue him. Perhaps he was still wearing his disguise so folk just didn’t recognise him, especially without his glove.

All of which is how the Treaty of Calais came into being, John’s son wishing to get his dad back, by ransom if needs be. Which was set at a staggering three million gold crowns, John to be released once the first million had been handed over. It was in order to pay this ransom that the franc was first coined. As guarantee that he would come up with the outstanding amount, John handed over hostages that included several princes and nobles and two of his own sons, the deal being signed and sealed on 24 October 1360. Two years later, one of those sons, Louis I, Duke of Anjou, escaped from captivity, at which point John finally lived up to his name by doing the honourable thing and turning himself in instead. He would die in imprisonment in 1364.

This day in 1593 was a fairly quiet one, at least as far as Gil Perez was concerned, doing his duties as guard at the Governor’s palace in Manila. Mind you, only the night before, Chinese pirates had assassinated the governor but that was no reason not to keep an eye on the palace until a new one could be elected. Poor old Gil found himself a bit tuckered out after all the excitement of the previous evening and so he leant against the wall for a moment and let his eyes slowly close – resting them, you understand, not sleeping on duty – and, when he opened them again, he found himself somewhere that he’d never ever seen before. But, being conscientious, he went right on guarding, until someone finally came up and asked him what in tarnation he thought he was doing dressed in a Philippine uniform and standing about in Mexico City’s Plaza Mayor. Naturally enough, Gil gave the only answer that any sane man could have given in the circumstances: that he’d been teleported there in the blinking of an eye. And, in the same blinking of the same eye, they flung him in jail as a servant of the devil. By happy chance, a ship from Manila turned up only two months later, confirming Gil’s stories about the governor’s death, so they had to let him go. It was also quite a happy coincidence that he happened to turn up somewhere that spoke Spanish for a start off (¿Has estado teletransportado?) and that he didn’t end up in some altogether less desirable location, such as in the ocean, up a mountain, or anywhere in the thickets of the Essex hinterland.

On 24 October 1648, the Treaty of Westphalia was signed, thus bringing an end to not only the Thirty Years’ War (1618-1648) but also the Eighty Years’ War (1568-1648) between Spain and the Dutch Republic, which got a lot of loose ends tied up all in one go, not to mention making 24 October an all-round good day for signing treaties. Things hadn’t been going so well in Bohemia and, by 1617, it was apparent that the Holy Roman Emperor and King of said realm – that’s Matthias, of course – was going to peg out without having provided the obligatory heir, which would mean that his nearest male relative would then get the job, no questions asked, and that was Archduke Ferdinand II of Austria. And, if history has taught us two things, they are: that the battle of Agincourt was fought in 1415; and that if an Archduke Ferdinand happens to show up anywhere in the vicinity, then it’s bad news and trouble can’t be very far behind. One big problem was that Ferdinand was a staunch Catholic deadset on imposing his religious views with rigid uniformity on all of his subjects, which didn’t go down at all well in Protestant Bohemia. Still, what could they do? Ferdinand was King and they would just have to jolly well tug the old forelock until their eyes watered, which was pretty much how the King himself viewed matters.

It seems that Matthias, the bod behind all the trouble in the first place, had sent the Bohemians a letter declaring what a bad lot (not to mention Protestant) they all were and that, therefore, all their lives and honour were already forfeit, which didn’t please the said Bohemians all that much, who then decided they weren’t going to stand for any such caper. When, on 23 May 1618, Matthias then sent four Catholic Lords Regent to the Bohemian Chancellory to get the Bohemians to bend the knee in the customary manner, the less-than-grateful Protestants had the nerve to read the letter back to the Lords, before asking, “Know ye anything about this at all?” Which seems reasonable enough. Though the answer from the Catholics could well have been a little better thought out, because they said, “Aye, my lord, twas indeed us. What’re ye going to do about it?” Arrogant posturing isn’t always the best policy, as the Lords Regent were about to find out, and they may even have been regretting their ill-chosen words as they found themselves promptly being evicted from the premises and plummeting rapidly earthward, the Bohemians seeming to believe this summary ejection would best be achieved via the window and a seventy foot drop. Miraculously, they survived, the Catholics claiming that the Virgin Mary had caught them, the Protestants that they had landed on a dunghill.
In order to coat the whole affair in an entirely unmerited veneer of respectability, the incident became known as the Defenestration of Prague, which makes it sound quite dignified and even a little cuddly, doesn’t it? And yet, it is the most staggering piece of disingenuousness, seeing that the citizens of Prague already had something of a history when it came to tossing their guests out of upstairs windows. For a start off, there was something similar on 30 July 1419, when a priest led his congregation to the Town Hall, out of which someone threw a stone at them, instantly turning procession into enraged mob. They rushed upstairs and flung out the judge, burgomaster and thirteen members of the town council, using the window method and either killing them in the fall or leaving the mob below to finish them off. Now, that’s democracy in action. This was known as the First Defenestration of Prague. Which should have been clue enough, especially to those strutting Lords Regent of 1618 when they were invited up into the offices on the top floor to “talk things over.”

The next one wasn’t long in coming along, turning up on 24 September 1483, when the portreeve and seven aldermen met an identical fate, this one being sometimes known, for some obscure reason, as the One-and-a-Halfth Defenestration. The last recorded one was on 10 March 1948, Jan Masaryk, murdered either by the Communist government or else Soviet secret services but, whichever, it goes to show that dabbling in Bohemian politics just ain’t worth it.
Fast forward now to 24 October 1851, which was the day on which William Lassell discovered Ariel and Umbriel, two of the twenty seven moons of Uranus, all of which have names from Pope or Shakespeare, neither of whom ever went anywhere near the place. Lassell was a Lancashire lad, born in Bolton and educated in Rochdale, meaning he had the sort of booklearning you could fry an egg on, so it was bit surprising then when he went on to make his fortune brewing beer. But he did have the right knack when it came to uncovering celestial bodies (luckily, there seems to have been no Mrs Lassells to catch him at it), seeing he discovered Triton in 1846, the largest of Neptune’s moons, (and that within seventeen days of Johann Gottfried Galle having found Neptune itself), followed in 1848 by Hyperion, one of Saturn’s moons. So, when Queen Victoria visited Liverpool, Lassells was the only celebrity Northerner she specifically asked to meet. Well, you never know: perhaps he told a darn good knock-knock joke?

Just time to mention, before we close, the tale of Annie Edson Taylor, who was actually born this day in 1838 in New York, though it would be some sixty three years later exactly when she would take her fifteen minutes in the limelight. She had enjoyed a comfortable living when younger but her fortunes had declined as the years progressed and so she decided she wanted to make her final years somewhat more secure financially but, rather than invest in a retirement portfolio, she came to the conclusion that the best way to achieve this was by becoming the first person go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. So she had one specially made (or coopered, should we say?) from oak and iron, and then padded with a mattress, though things then hit something of a snag when people proved remarkably reluctant to involve themselves in what could be a potential suicide. To set their callow minds at rest, Taylor first put a cat into the barrel and sent it over the Horseshoe Falls, “to test its strength,” though it isn’t clear whether this meant barrel or moggie, and the cat never said. Though it did survive, albeit with a bleeding head, and was happy enough to pose for photos afterwards.

Come the great day and in climbs our plucky heroine, complete with lucky heartshaped pillow, for the lid to be screwed down and then a bicycle pump used to compress the air inside, after which a cork was used to plug the hole and the entire thing set adrift south of Goat Island. After a trip of less than twenty minutes, she was picked up safe, though with her head gashed too (bet the cat was dying to say, Told You So) and a statement for the press:

“If it was with my dying breath, I would caution anyone against attempting the feat... I would sooner walk up to the mouth of a cannon, knowing it was going to blow me to pieces than make another trip over the Fall.”

Sadly, all did not end on a happy note. For one thing, her manager, Frank M. Russell, made off with her barrel and she used up most of her savings hiring private detectives to get it back. Which they eventually did, when it turned up in Chicago, but then it disappeared for good and all some while later. She ended up working as, amongst other things, a clairvoyant, though she couldn’t have been much good at that lark, otherwise she would have seen Frank M. Russell coming, wouldn’t she?

By Anonymous (Paris) Formerly attributed to Girard d'Orléans ( Home - info - pic) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons 
Treaty of Westphalia: After Gerard ter Borch [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons Defenestration: Matthäus Merian the Elder [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons 
Edward III: 
King Matthias: Lucas van Valckenborch (1535 or later–1597) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Queen of the Mist: By GG Bain News Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, 23 October 2014

A few places now available on "Getting to grips with your reading list" workshop this Saturday

A few extra places are now available on our "Getting to grips with your reading list" workshop this Saturday 25th October.

Understand what you are being asked to read (book, book chapter, journal article, etc.) and learn how to find to find them in the Library and eLibrary.

Grab your place now - sign up here

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

Tips on using the Library and its resources - No. 2.

You don’t need to know the exact book you’re looking for - you can search for books on a subject on the Library catalogue.

Just type your topic into the search box and see what comes up. You can then refine your search by clicking on the Suggested Topics that appear below the search box, or by broader subject categories under the Shelfmark menu on the right hand side.

See the example of searching for books on research methods below:

Get to grips with your reading list - sign up for our workshop

Our first Saturday workshop of the term, "Getting to grips with your reading list", is now full, but we are repeating it on November 8th and there are currently 11 places left, so please sign up.

The workshop will help you to understand what you are being asked to read (book, book chapter, journal article, etc.) and learn how to find them in the Library and eLibrary.

Thursday, 16 October 2014

Friday freebie - get a free cotton bag in the Library tomorrow

Come into the Library tomorrow (Friday 17th) and you may be able to pick up a Friday Freebie. 

We will be giving away 10 of our Library-branded cotton bags, plus a couple more useful freebies inside each one. Great for carying books home in.

It's first come, first served from 10am (one bag per person) so come along and get yours tomorrow while stocks last!

Wednesday, 15 October 2014

Spotlight on Eresources - BoB (Box of Broadcasts) National

BoB (Box of Broadcasts) National is an online TV and radio recording service for UK universities. All staff and students at Birkbeck can choose and record any broadcast programme from 60+ TV and radio channels. The recorded programmes are then kept indefinitely and added to a growing media archive (currently at over 1 million programmes), with all content shared by users across all subscribing institutions.

You  can record and catch-up on missed programmes on and off-campus (UK mainland only), schedule recordings in advance, edit programmes into clips, create playlists, link to clips from Moodle, share what you are watching with others and search a growing archive of material.

Try it out now - you'll need your IT Services Username and password Access BoB National

For detailed instructions on logging in, with screenshots, click on Logging in to BoB National
Need more nformation? See the BoB National video  ‘Getting Started’.

Are you a lecturer? Use it in your teaching

Lecturers can make programmes and clips available to students by creating playlists to put up on Moodle or by circulating links to playlists by email. For more details click here or ask your subject librarian.

Tuesday, 14 October 2014

Last week of Library tours

It's the last week of Library tours - they finish on Friday 17th - so if you want to be shown round on a 20 min. tour and find out how things work in the Library, come along at 5.30pm one evening this week.

No need to book, just meet at the Library entrance on the ground floor next to the coffee bar. We look forward to seeing you.

Learn to make the most of Digimap

Digimap is a database of maps and geospatial data - learn to use it more effectively with these free webinars from Digimap training:

* Using Digimap Roam
* Digimap data download
* Urban map data for CAD

Sign up at this link:

Monday, 13 October 2014

Tips on using the Library and its resources - No. 1

The first in a weekly series of tips to help you use the Library and its resources effectively. 

Looking for a particular book on the Library catalogue? Search by typing in the author’s surname and one or two words from the title – don’t put in any first names, initials, dates, etc. If there's more than one author, just use the surname of the first one.

For example, if you are looking for …

Cottrell, S., 2013. The study skills handbook.4th ed. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan

… just search on Cottrell Study Skills and you will see it on the list of results. Then click on the title of the book to see more information, such as the availability of copies and the shelfmark.

Friday, 10 October 2014

There's just one place left on our first workshop - book now!

There's just one place left on our "Getting to grips with your reading list" Saturday workshop on 25th October, but if you miss out on that one, we are repeating it on November 8th. Come along and learn how to decipher your reading list, understand book and journal references and find the items in the Library and eLibrary.

Book your place on this and any of our other workshops this term at the link below. We look forward to seeing you at a workshop.