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A Love Letter to Criminology at UON


In 2002, I realised I was bored, I was a full-time wife and parent with a long-standing part-time job in a supermarket. I first started the job at 15, left at 18 to take up a job at the Magistrates’ court and rejoined the supermarket shortly after my daughter was born. My world was comfortable, stable and dependable. I loved my family but it was definitely lacking challenge. My daughter was becoming increasingly more independent, I was increasing my hours and moving into retail management and I asked myself, is this it? Once my daughter had flown the nest, could I see myself working in a supermarket for the rest of my life? None of this is to knock those those that work in retail, it is probably the best training for criminology and indeed life, that anyone could ask for! I got to meet so many people, from all backgrounds, ethnicities, ages, religions and classes. It taught me that human beings are bloody awkward, including myself. But was it enough for me and if it wasn’t, what did I want?
At school, the careers adviser suggested I could work in Woolworths, or if I tried really hard at my studies and went to college, I might be able to work for the Midland Bank (neither organisation exists today, so probably good I didn’t take the advice!). In the 1980s, nobody was advocating the benefits of university education, at least not to working-class children like me. The Equal Pay Act might have been passed in 1970 but even today we’re a long way from equality in the workplace for women. In the 1980s there was still the unwritten expectation (particularly for working class children from low socio economic backgrounds) that women would get married, have children and perhaps have a part-time job but not really a career….I was a textbook example! I had no idea about universities, knew nobody that had been and assumed they were for other people, people very different from me.
That changed in 2002, I had read something in a newspaper about a Criminology course and I was fascinated. I did not know you could study something like that and I had so many questions that I wanted to answer. As regular readers of the blog will know I’m a long-standing fan of Agatha Christie whose fiction regularly touches upon criminological ideas. Having been born and raised in North London, I was very familiar with HMP Holloway’s buildings, both old and new, which raised lots of questions for a curious child, around who lived there, how did they get in and out and what did they do to the women held inside. Reading suffragette narratives had presented some very graphic images which further fed the imagination. Let’s just say I had been thinking about criminology, without even knowing such a discipline existed.
Once I was aware of the discipline, I needed to find a way to get over my prejudices around who university was for and find a way of getting in! To cut a long story short, I went to an Open Day and was told, go and get yourself an access course. At the time, it felt very blunt and reinforced my view that universities weren’t for the likes of me! Looking back it was excellent advice, without the access course, I would never have coped, let alone thrived, after years out of education.
In 2004 I started reading BA Criminology, with reading being the operant word. I had been an avid reader since early childhood (the subject of an earlier blog) and suddenly I was presented with a license to read whatever and whenever I wanted and as much as I could devour! For the first time in my life, people could no longer insist that I was wasting time with my head always in a book, I had “official” permission to read and read, I did! I got the chance to read, discuss, write and present throughout the degree. I wrote essays and reports, presented posters and talked about my criminological passions. I got the chance to undertake research, both empirical and theoretical, and lawks did I revel in all this opportunity. Of course, by looking back and reflecting, I forget all the stresses and strains, the anxieties around meeting so many new people, the terror of standing up in front of people, of submitting my first assessment, of waiting for grades….but these all pale into insignificance at the end and three years goes so very quickly….
In the summer of 2007, I had a lovely shiny degree in Criminology from the University of Northampton, but what next? By this point, I had the studying bug, and despite my anticipation that university would provide all the answers, I had a whole new set of questions! These were perhaps more nuanced and sophisticated than before but still driving me to seek answers. As I said earlier, human beings are awkward and at this point I decided, despite my earlier passion, I didn’t want to be put in a box labelled “Criminology“. I felt that I had finally cracked my fear of universities and decided to embark on a MA History of Medicine at Oxford Brookes. I wanted to know why Criminology textbooks and courses still included the racist, sexist, disablist (and plenty more) “theories” of Cesare Lombroso, a man whose ideas of the “born criminal” had been discredited soon after they were published.
But again the old fears returned….what did I know about history or medicine? What if the Criminology degree at Northampton hadn’t been very good, what if they just passed everyone, what if I was kidding myself? Everything at Brookes felt very different to Northampton, everyone on the course had studied BA History there. Their research interests were firmly centred on the past and on medicine, nursing, doctoring, hospitals and clinics and there was me, with my ideas around 20th century eugenics, a quasi-scientific attempt to rationalise prejudice and injustice. Along with studying the discipline, I learnt a lot about how different institutions work, I compared both universities on a regular basis. What did I like about each, what did I dislike. i thought about how academics operate and started to think about how I would be in that profession.
I successfully completed the MA and began to think maybe Northampton hadn’t given me good grades out of our pity or some other misplaced emotion, but that I had actually earnt them. I was very fortunate, I had maintained connection with Criminology at UON, and had the opportunity to tip my toe in the water of academia. I was appointed as an Associate Lecturer (for those not familiar with the title, it is somebody who is hourly paid and contribute as little or as much as the department requires) and had my first foray into university teaching. To put it bluntly, I was scared shitless! But, I loved every second in the classroom, I began to find my feet, slowly but surely, and university which had been so daunting began to seep into my very being.
Fast forward to 2025, I have been involved with UON for almost 22 years, first as a student, then as an academic, achieving my PhD in the process It is worth saying that the transition is not easy, but then nothing worth having ever is. I have gained so much from my studies, my relationship with two universities and the experiences I have had along the way. It is fair to say that I have shed many tears when studying, but also had some of my very highest highs, learning is painful, just watch a small child learning to read or write.
Hopefully, over the past decades I have repaid some of the debt I owe to the academics that have taught me, coached me, mentored me and supported me (special mention must go to @manosdaskalou who has been part of my journey since day 1). My life looks very different to 2002 and it is thanks to so many people, so many opportunities, the two universities that have provided me with a home from home and all of the students I have had the privilege to engage with.
I am so delighted to have been part of Criminology at UON’s 25 years of learning and teaching. To my colleagues, old and new, students, graduates and everyone I have met along the way, I raise my glass. Together we have built something very special, a community of people committed to exploring criminological ideas and making the world an equitable place.
Book blurbs: a necessity or frill?

I have always been, and imagine I will always be, a lover of books. Until the summer of last year, it has always been physical books. The feel, the smell, the shock when you drop it as you’re drifting off to sleep, the dampness of pages when you’ve picked it up too quickly after getting out of a pool or the sea on holiday and that beautiful crinkle crisp after the page dries. Physical books are beautiful (even the ugly ones). And this holds for academic sources, non-fiction books and novels! One of the joys of selecting a book (new or often second-hand charity gems), is reading the blurb. It might give you a brief introduction to characters you are following, or if an academic source it might provide you with a brief list of topics the book navigates. The blurb might also contain some quotations and reviews expressing the ‘excellence’ or ‘gripping’ nature of the book. And whilst this is generally a positive feature, since reading e-books (where I do not read the blurb or even access the blurb), I have started to wonder if the blurb is actually a hinderance to the potential reader…
Now, this entry is not to debate the great debate of the 21st century: e-book versus book. But rather the format of an e-book not having a blurb per se versus the blurb on the back of a book. I am fortunate enough to have a Kindle: one of my most prized possessions. It’s beautiful, it can be read in all environments (warmth setting and light setting is incredible), it’s lightweight and fits in almost all of my bags and many of my pockets #notsponsored, but I have never read a blurb of a book on the Kindle, and I can’t work out if I’m missing out or if this is actually an improvement of the ‘book selection’ process.
Some positives of not accessing the blurb on the e-readers is it has opened up my reading list astronomically. I have read and loved books I am certain I would never have picked up or purchased had I read what they were about. Some have been heavy, taxing reads but so worth it in the end, others have been bizarre and wonderful but not something I would have ever recommended to myself. Had these been physical books, having read the blurb, these would have been left by me on the shelf and therefore I would have lost out on the joy, wonder and sadness that these books had to offer.
There are of course issues with not reading the blurbs and these issues reinforce the importance of the feature as a necessity and not just a frill. I have also read a number of books I quite simply wish I hadn’t. And had I read the blurb I would have known not to start these monstrosities (once I’ve started, unfortunately my brain makes me finish – commitment [even to books] is important to my brain). I have also read some incredible books but at the wrong time: again had I read the blurb I would have known that this book is not a sensible choice given my headspace.
The issue is most likely me, rather than whether blurbs are actually necessary or just frill. And I’d imagine it’s better to have them and not use them, them not have them and miss them. But if they aren’t being used, they have no purpose and become redundant. Is this a wider symptom of the rise of the e-book or just a side-effect that no one else is concerned about but me? I do not know. But I find it strange how heavily I rely on blurbs with physical books and how void they are with e-books. Are e-books the beginning of the end for blurbs or am I over think this? Penny for your thoughts?

A review of In-Extremis: The Life of War Correspondent Marie Colvin
Recently, I picked up a book on the biography of Marie Colvin, a war correspondent who was assassinated in Syria, 2012. Usually, I refrain from reading biographies, as I consider many to be superficial accounts of people’s experiences that are typically removed from wider social issues serving no purpose besides enabling what Zizek would call a fetishist disavowal. It is the biographies of sports players and singers, found on the top shelves of Waterstones and Asda that spring to mind. In-Extremis, however, was different. I consider this book to be a very poignant and captivating biography of war correspondent Marie Colvin, authored by fellow journalist Lindsey Hilsum. The book narrates Marie’s life before her assassination. Her early years, career ventures, intimate relationships, friendships, and relationships with drugs and alcohol were all discussed. So too were the accounts of Marie’s fearless reporting from some of the world’s most dangerous conflict zones, including Sri-Lanka, Iraq, Lebanon, and Syria. Hilsum wrote on the events both before Marie’s exhilarating career and during the peak of her war correspondence to illustrate the complexities in her life. This reflected on Marie’s insatiability of desire to tell the truth and capture the voices of those who are absent from the ‘script’. So too, reporting on the emotions behind war and conflict in addition to the consistent acts of personal sacrifice made in the name of Justice for the disenfranchised and the voiceless.
Across the first few chapters, Hilsum wrote on the personal life of Marie- particularly her traits of bravery, resilience, persistence, and an undying quest for the truth. Hilsum further delved into the complexities of Marie’s personality and life philosophies. A regular smoker, drinker and partygoer with a captivating personality that drew people in were core to who Marie was according to Hilsum. However, the psychological toils of war reporting became clear, particularly as later in the book, the effects of Marie’s PTSD and trauma began to present itself, particularly after Marie lost eyesight in her left eye after being shot in Sri-Lanka. The eye-patch worn by Marie to me symbolised the way she carried the burdens of her profession and personal vulnerabilities, particularly between maintaining her family life and navigating her occupational hazards.
In writing this biography, Hilsum not only mapped the life of one genuinely awesome and inspiring woman, but also highlighted the importance of reporting and capturing the voices of the casualties of war. Much of her work, I felt resonated with my own. As an academic researcher, it is my job to research on real-life issues and to seek the truth. I resonated with Marie’s quest for the truth and strongly aligned myself to her principles on capturing the lived experiences of those impacted by war, conflict, and social justice issues. These people, I consider are more qualified to discuss these issues than those of us who sit in the ivory towers of institutions (me included!).
Moreover, I considered how I can be more like Marie and how I can embed her philosophies more so into my own research… whether that’s through researching with communities on the cost-of-living crisis or disseminating my research to students, fellow academics, policymakers, and practitioners. I feel inspired and moving forward, I seek to embody the life and spirit of Marie and thousands of other journalists and academics who work tirelessly to research on and understand the truth to bring forward the narratives of those who are left behind and discarded by society in its mainstream.
Witches, Broomsticks and Libraries
My son has been gifted and collected many delightful children’s books since his recent birth. A book which stands out to me on Women’s History Month is: Room on the Broom (2001) by writer Julia Donaldson and Illustrator Axel Scheffler.
Aside from the fabulous use of words and illustrations, the main character of the story is a lovely witch who makes room on her broom for her cat, a dog, bird and frog. The latter part of the story consists of the broom snapping, presumably due to the extra weight of these passengers, then the witch risks being eaten by a dragon. But eventually all is well as the witch creates a new super broomstick with;
seats for the witch
and the cat and the dog,
a nest for the bird and
a shower for the frog.

This book’s depiction of the witch as a morally good character is wonderful but this is not usual. In popular culture, such as fiction, television and film witches seem to have flawed character traits, are morally bad cackling devious women who fly about casting spells on poor and (un/)suspecting folk.
The negative connotations of witches today reflect a long dreadful real-life history of outsiders being accused of being witches – with some being tortured and murdered due to this. The outsiders aka witches tended to be women, women who were providing a service for other women, such as support during childbirth or healing practices, or those that practice spiritualisms that differ to dominant religions. If re-born today some of these women may have been celebrated as midwifes and nurses, although their wages and workloads would still illustrate that predominantly women centered roles tend to be under appreciated.
On International Women’s Day I finished reading Disobedient Bodies (2023) by Emma Dabiri. Disobedient Bodies reminds me about how in a white capitalist cis male world bodies categorised as female and women are constructed as deviant. Proof of being a witch was apparently not just found in practices but on the bodies of women. Emma Dabiri adds to the discussion on witches that I did not consider; that groups of women aka groups of deviant witches were considered to be the most threatening to witch hunters. For a long time women have been pitted against each other, the historical nature of women meeting in groups to support each other as a threat to patriarchal capitalist white systems has added to this.
My son is very privileged to have so many book at the age of 1. Unfortunately I am writing during a time where there are threats to close 25 libraries in Birmingham. Notably, the libraries that me and my son frequent consist of mostly women staff (both paid and volunteers). In addition to the potential for job losses, if this happens there will be babies, children and adults without access to books, artistic classes, warm and safe spaces. To quote my friend and colleague, “soon there will be nothing left”.







