Category: General Science

Animated Science GCSE 1 to 9 Methods Summary

Animated Science 1-9 GCSE Practical Methods

This booklet of Methods is a simple reference point for the 1-9 Physics GCSE Required Practical methods.

Often questions will be based around these themes and you must learn to interpret the questions on the day as they will try and put them in unfamiliar situations.

This booklet is not designed to teach you everything in the practical’s but to be used to recap what you have already done in class. I have limited most topics to 1 or 2 pages of the bare basics.

You must be able to recall all this booklet and the ideas in it if you want to be able to answer some of the questions in your exams.

They are sure to ask about at least 2 of these topics, and most likely 4 or 5 topics in details so time spent on these topics will stand you in good stead.

Try and use this booklet as a starting point and then read more around the subject and tackle some exam questions to help you out.

Animated Science GCSE 1 to 9 Methods Summary  (PDF)

I have also included some more help on each of the Key Terms you need to know as well. It can be viewed as a PowerPoint or PDF….

Science Key Terminology in Context  (PPTX)

Science Key Terminology in Context (PDF)

GCSE 1 to 9 Summary

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iGCSE Household Electricity

If you want to do a lesson on iGCSE Electricity 2.2 understand how the use of insulation, double insulation, earthing, fuses and circuit breakers protects the device or user in a range of domestic appliances.

Here are some resources to help you. I have attached all the lesson slides and if you work through this, you can then do an iSpring Quiz.

Household Electricity

iSpring Quiz

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Space Revision

If you wish to do a bit of revision or learning on KS3, 4 or 5 space. Then try some of the resources here, you can have a PPT or PDF.

Feel free to use for school use, but all images are copyright so no profit or derivatives which you sell!


Animated Science Space Revision (PDF)

Animated Science Space Revision (PPTX)

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Why hasn’t the US eradicated the plague?

Why hasn’t the US eradicated the plague?

  • 15 October 2015
Dry gangrene, caused by the plagueImage copyrightScience Photo Library

It’s nearly 50 years since the US landed men on the moon, but Americans are still dying from a disease that ravaged Europe in the Middle Ages. Why hasn’t the US eradicated the plague?

The Black Death caused about 50 million deaths across Africa, Asia and Europe in the 14th Century. It wiped out up to half of Europe’s population.

Its last terrifying outbreak in London was the Great Plague of 1665, which killed about a fifth of the city’s inhabitants. Then there was a 19th Century pandemic in China and India, which killed more than 12 million.

But the disease has not been consigned to the dustbin of history. It is endemic in Madagascar, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Peru. What’s perhaps more surprising is that it is still killing people in the US.

There have been 15 cases in the US so far this year – compared to an average of seven, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) – and the figure of four deaths is higher than in any year this century.

Bar charts showing US plague cases and deaths from 2000 to 2015

The bacterium responsible – Yersinia pestis – was introduced to the US by rat-infested steamships in 1900, according to Daniel Epstein of the World Health Organization (WHO).

“Plague was pretty prevalent, with epidemics in Western port cities. But the last urban plague was in Los Angeles in 1925. It spread to rural rats and mice, and that’s how it became entrenched in parts of the US,” he says.

The disease – typically transmitted from animals to humans by fleas – has a 30-to- 60% fatality rate if left untreated, however, antibiotics are effective if patients are diagnosed early.

The plague

Plague bacteria, Yersinia pestisImage copyrightScience Photo Library
  • More than 80% of US cases have been bubonic plague, the most common form, which affects the lymph nodes and causes gangrene (see picture at top of page)
  • There are two other types, septicaemic, an infection of the blood, and pneumonic, which infects the lungs
  • It can be hard to identify the disease in its early stages because symptoms, which usually develop after three to seven days, are flu-like – a laboratory test can confirm diagnosis

Most cases occur in summer, when people spend more time outdoors.

“The advice is, take precautions against flea bites and don’t handle animal carcasses in plague-endemic areas,” says Epstein.

The areas in question are New Mexico, Arizona, California and Colorado, according to the CDC. All of this year’s cases originated in those states, or in other states west of the 100th meridian, which Dr Amesh Adalja, an infectious-disease specialist at the University of Pittsburgh’s Center for Health Security, refers to as “the plague line”.

“Prairie dogs are the main reservoir for plague, and they tend to be west of the 100th meridian,” he says. The geography and climate of the Western US suits them, he explains, and the fact that they are “social animals” helps the infected fleas to spread.

Prairie dog in CaliforniaImage copyrightGetty Images
Image captionYersinia pestis thrives in prairie dogs’ fleas

Black-footed ferrets and the Canada lynx are other particularly susceptible species, says Dr Danielle Buttke, an epidemiologist at the US National Park Service.

It’s the existence of this “animal reservoir” that makes the plague hard, if not impossible, to eradicate, experts say.

The only human disease eradicated so far, smallpox, does not exist in animals. It’s the same with polio, which remains endemic in two countries – Afghanistan and Pakistan. The WHO is working towards to eradicating polio and last month announced that it is no longer endemic in Nigeria. (It has, however, returned to Syria, since the civil war.)

“Unless we exterminate rodents, [the plague] is always going to be around,” Epstein argues.

California Department of Public Heath workers treat the ground to ward off fleas at the Crane Flat campground in Yosemite National Park, California, on 10 AugustImage copyrightReuters
Image captionPublic health workers treat the ground in Yosemite National Park to get rid of fleas

On the other hand, scientists at the National Wildlife Health Center have been working with parks to develop oral vaccines to protect black-footed ferrets and prairie dog – prairie dogs seem to prefer peanut butter-flavoured baits, research shows.

An injectable vaccine for black-footed ferrets has also been created. So maybe it will be possible to rid animals of the disease, at least in the most popular national parks.

Generally, research into the disease is in a “vibrant” state, according to Adalja, with scientists trying to improve ways of diagnosing it, and to develop an effective human vaccine.

The reason? The plague has been classified as a “category A bioweapon”, he says. An average of seven cases of plague per year is one thing, but the risk of biological warfare, even if it’s a remote one, is quite another.

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Pine smell ‘limits’ climate change

Pine smell ‘limits’ climate change

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A beautiful but deadly liquid metal

A beautiful but deadly liquid metal

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Is it right to waste helium on party balloons?

Is it right to waste helium on party balloons?

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Chris Hadfield: ‘I’m blind, in space, holding a drill. Houston, I have a problem’

Chris Hadfield: ‘I’m blind, in space, holding a drill. Houston, I have a problem’

Chris Hadfield: ‘I’m blind, in space, holding a drill. Houston, I have a problem’
An extract from Chris Hadfield’s An Astronaut’s Guide To Life On Earth
Chris Hadfield
Fri 25 October 2013
I am calm the night before my first spacewalk in 2001, but I am also conscious I am about to do something I’ve been dreaming of most of my life. I feel ready – I’ve studied and trained for years. Still, I spend hours polishing the visor of my spacesuit so my breath won’t fog it up, unpacking and checking each piece of gear, pre-assembling as much of it as I can, then carefully attaching it to the wall with Velcro. My crewmate Scott Parazynski and I are installing Canadarm2, the robotic arm that will build the International Space Station, currently still in its infancy. We docked our space shuttle, Endeavour, to it a few days before, but haven’t yet been able to open the hatch because our EVA (extravehicular activity, or spacewalk) is going to take place from the shuttle airlock – essentially a depressurised bridge between the two spacecraft.
There are multiple steps to follow for an EVA; mess one up and you won’t make it out of the spaceship. It will be many busy hours until we can float out of the airlock and Nasa has choreographed them down to five-minute slices, even dictating when and what to eat for breakfast: PowerBars and rehydrated grapefruit juice. I shave, wash up (hair-washing involves scrubbing your scalp vigorously with no-rinse shampoo, then drying off carefully to be sure stray wet hairs don’t wind up floating all over the spacecraft and clogging up air filters or eyes and noses) and use the toilet. (You pick up a thing that looks like a DustBuster with a little yellow funnel attached, then hold it up close so you don’t get pee everywhere. I don’t want to have to use my diaper if I can help it.) Then I pull on the liquid cooling garment, which is like long underwear with a lot of personality; it’s full of clear plastic tubing that water flows through, and we can control the temperature. It feels stiff, like a cheap Halloween costume, but when the sun is shining on you in a spacewalk, the fabric of the spacesuit gets extremely hot and personal air-conditioning seems like a fine idea.
Four hours later, Scott and I are finally floating head to toe in our spacesuits, carefully and slowly depressurising the airlock and checking and rechecking the LED displays on our suits to make sure that they are functioning properly and can keep us alive in the vacuum of space. If there is a leak in the suit out there, our lungs will rupture, our eardrums burst, our saliva, sweat and tears boil, and we’ll get the bends. The only good news is that within 10 to 15 seconds we’ll lose consciousness. Lack of oxygen to the brain is what will finish us off.
When the airlock has finally depressurised, I grab the handle on the hatch and turn it – not easily, because nothing in a spacesuit is easy. The hatch is like a manhole, and it has to be removed and stowed in a bike rack-like contraption overhead. My exit will not be graceful. But my number one concern is to avoid floating off into space, so I’m tethered to Scott and I’m holding another tether to attach to the rail on the side of the shuttle. I lower the gold shield on my visor to protect my eyes from the sun and carefully, gingerly, wriggle my bulky suited self out of the airlock. I’m still inside the belly of the beast, in the payload bay, but my suit has become my own personal spaceship, keeping me alive.
Emerging from the bay, my existence narrows to a single point of focus: attaching my tether to the braided wire strung from one end of the vehicle to the other. I lock on to that and tell everyone I’m securely tethered. Now Scott can come and join me. Waiting for him, I check behind me, to be sure I haven’t accidentally activated my backup tank of oxygen, and that’s when I notice the universe. The scale is graphically shocking. The colours, too. The incongruity is stupefying: there I was, inside a small box, but now – how is this possible? What’s coming out of my mouth is a single word: “Wow.” Only elongated: “Wwwooooowww.” My mind is racing, trying to understand an experience that is so unique. It’s like being engrossed in cleaning a pane of glass, then you look over your shoulder and realise you’re hanging off the Empire State Building, Manhattan sprawled vividly beneath. Of course I’d peered through the shuttle windows at the world, but I understood now that I hadn’t seen it, not really. Holding on to the side of a spaceship that’s moving around the Earth at 17,500 miles an hour, I could truly see the astonishing beauty of our planet, the infinite textures and colours. On the other side of me, the black velvet bucket of space, brimming with stars. It’s vast and overwhelming, this visual immersion, and I could drink it in for ever, only here’s Scott, out of the airlock, floating over towards me. We get to work.
After five hours, the installation is going well, albeit slowly, when I become aware of droplets of water floating around inside my helmet. An EVA is incredibly taxing, physically, and over the years we’ve tried putting some sort of food inside the suit so we have something to eat. But it’s been messy and more hindrance than help, so typically we just have a water bag. You bite on the straw to open a valve, then suck out water – hypothetically, anyway. My water bag hasn’t worked since we started the EVA and now it is apparently leaking.
I’m trying to ignore these little globs of water floating in front of my face when suddenly my left eye starts stinging. It feels as if a large piece of grit has been smashed into it. Instinctively I reach up to rub it – and my hand smacks into my visor. “You’re in a spacesuit, moron!” I remind myself. I blink repeatedly and whip my head from side to side to try to dislodge whatever it is, but my eye won’t stay open for more than a blurry second.
We’ve trained for many eventualities during an EVA, but partial blindness is not one of them. I’m tightening the bolts on Canadarm2 using a big handheld drill. My feet are clicked into the foot restraints and my tether is firmly attached to the space station; I’m at no imminent risk. I decide to keep working and tell no one. I move on to the next bolt, but my left eye is now not only smarting but actually filling with tears.

Hadfield at work in orbit. Photograph: Nasa/Newsmakers/Getty Images
Tears need gravity. On Earth, a little duct above your eye generates tears that flush out any irritant, then overflow down your cheek. In weightlessness tears don’t flow downward. They just sit there and, as you keep on crying, a bigger and bigger ball of salty liquid accumulates to form a wobbly bubble on your eyeball. The growing ball of tears in my left eye oozes over, like a burst dam, invading my right. Within just a few minutes, I’ve gone from 20/20 vision to blind. In space. Holding a drill.
“Houston, EV1. I have a problem.” As the words come out, I can picture the reaction on the ground. First there will be concern for me personally and then, seconds later, everyone at Mission Control will be galvanised, tossing out theories about causes and trying to figure out solutions.
To Scott and me, under-reacting seems the best option: I can’t see, but he’s fine and still working on the wiring on another part of the station. I need to get this job done; the Canadian-designed and built Canadarm2 is both a test and proof of our robotics capability. Crew safety is the number one priority, but we can’t just leave this vital piece of equipment flapping off the side of the space station. The EVA is also a big deal back home: no Canadian has ever walked in space before. In other words, it’s not a good time to be having eye trouble.
The focus on the ground is figuring out what’s causing the contamination. They go straight to the worst-case scenario: maybe the problem is related to the air purification system in the spacewalking suit, which relies on lithium hydroxide to remove carbon dioxide. Lithium hydroxide is caustic and can severely damage your lungs; eye irritation is one of the first signs of a leak. So maybe I’m experiencing early symptoms of exposure and have only a couple more minutes to live. Ellen Ochoa, the Nasa “capcom” who’s the voice of Mission Control, calmly tells me to open my purge valve – essentially, open a hole in my suit.
This goes against my survival instincts, but I start dumping my air into space. I listen to the hissing noise as my oxygen merrily burbles out into the universe. It’s a curiously peaceful moment. Without sight, my body is telling me that nothing out of the ordinary is going on. I feel more like I’m under the covers in bed than hanging on to the side of the station, in mortal danger.
The suit has a significant amount of oxygen, enough for eight or even 10 hours, and I also have a secondary O2 tank, so I can bleed oxygen and stay alive for a long time. But who knows how much longer we’ll have to be outside to finish attaching the arm? I start trying everything I can think of to unblind myself: shaking my head around to brush my eyes against something in the helmet, blinking for all I’m worth. I know the doctors on the ground are undoubtedly saying, “We’ve got to bring him inside right this minute and figure out what’s going on.” So I say, “I feel no lung irritation at all and I think my eyes are starting to clear a little bit.” It’s sort of true. I feel marginally less sightless. I keep blinking and thankfully, 20 minutes on, I think I can see well enough to continue.
Nearing the end (almost three hours later), I look down to watch the world pour by. Having overcome this obstacle and knowing the two of us have accomplished what we set out to do is a big moment. But with a spacewalk, the very last step is as important as the first one, so not until we’ve repressurised the airlock and are actually back inside our spaceship do I let myself relax. As soon as I do, I feel completely drained and just float limply, shivering with cold. My body is out of fuel.
Later, as we’re going over the possibilities of what went wrong, the capcom asks, “Chris, did you remember to use your anti-fog stuff?” Of course I had. The night before I’d polished the visor of the suit. “You didn’t get it all off.” Apparently the solution is basically dishwashing detergent; mix it with a few droplets of loose water and it’s as though you’ve squirted soap directly into your eye. A spacewalk with a multimillion-dollar piece of equipment absolutely vital to the construction of the ISS was jeopardised because of a microscopic drop of cleaning solution.
Eventually, Nasa changed the solution to something less noxious. But in the meantime, thanks to my widely publicised oversight, all astronauts knew to be fanatical about wiping down the interior of their visors. Even in my line of work, it’s the small stuff.
I missed my children in space, but no more than I do on the ground, where I don’t see enough of them either. And I missed my wife. But I wasn’t lonely. Loneliness, I think, has very little to do with location. It’s a state of mind. In the centre of every city are some of the loneliest people in the world. If anything, because our whole planet was just outside the window, I felt even more aware of and connected to the seven billion other people who call it home.

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