(Q).
I don't reckon the sun's ever come up quite the same since the day it happened. I've been watching it for years now and to me it still don't look right somehow. Maybe it's just me thinking it, sending myself doolally after what I've done. But I swear every morning it creeps up and it's looking at me, all knowing like. And when you reckon the sun's acting like that over you there isn't a right lot you can do about it, beyond burying yourself away like a mole in the soil. That's what I've been doing more or less in the score or so years that have gone by since. But however tight I shut them curtains to stop that damn sun lighting me up, it still don't stop the inside of my head from pounding out the truth. No way it's ever going to stop harassing me neither, not unless the deaf and dumb lass was to happen right back on my doorstep and give me the chance to tell her that it wasn't never meant to work out this way. The deaf and dumb lass went by the name of Mitzi Barker. Her being deaf and dumb, she was the kind of lass you went up the lane with if you didn't want no-one shouting their gob off about it after. Funny but it's the small things I recall best about her, like the way her hair reeked of bonfires and how that little old checkered dress of hers rode right up her thigh with no help from me. After we'd finished our business we'd head over the trout farm and I'd hunker down and poach us up a couple of rainbows for our tea. That Mitzi Barker, she was thin as an ear of barley and I always figured a good nosh-up was the least I could do for her troubles. Who thinks the sun somehow looks different now? A. not enough information B. The narrator. C. Mitzi's brother. D. Mitzi.
(A).
B

(Q).
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'... What is probably true about the author? A. they don't follow politics B. they are liberal C. they are conservative D. not enough information
(A).
B

(Q).
"It's about to come on. Hurry." "I'm coming." Nurse Judy delivered Martha's tray just in time. It was a frozen dinner, but Judy always transferred it to a fancy plate and prepared a small salad and a bowl of applesauce to go alongside it. "Looks great, Judy. Now sit down and let's eat." Nurse Judy sat down in the recliner next to Martha's bed. The meal she made for herself was similar to Martha's. "Didn't we just see this one a few days ago?" "I don't remember. But you know it doesn't matter. I love Jessica Fletcher." It was the only good thing about her failing memory. She could watch reruns of Murder She Wrote over and over again. They were all new to her. The doorbell rang. "Whoever it is, just get rid of them. It couldn't be friends or family. They know better than to interrupt my show." Nurse Judy walked down the hallway to the front door. It was a nurse. "May I help you?" "The agency sent me." "No, there must be some mistake. I've been caring for Mrs. Mason for a couple of months now." "Oh, great. Why do they keep doing this to me? Mind if I come in and use the phone?" "Don't you have a cell phone?" "Yeah, but it's dead. I forgot to charge it last night." "I hate when I do that. Sure, come on in. What's your name?" "Carnie." "Good to meet you, Carnie. I'm Judy. You can use the house phone." Judy led her to the phone. Carnie picked up the receiver and began to dial. But as Judy turned to walk away, Carnie slammed the phone across the back of her head. Nurse Judy collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Martha's blaring TV masked the noise. How Carnie was dressed? A. not enough information B. As a doctor C. As a nurse D. As a police
(A).
C