A resonant blogpost is the gift that keeps on giving. One of the latest comments in my Sick of Impact Factors polemic bemoaning the corrosive effects of journal impact factors on scientific lives provided a link to a quite wonderful paper. I missed Alexis Verger’s comment when it dropped into my blog on August 31st.

It’s not even two months since the tectonic plates shifted underneath academic publishing in the UK. But in the few weeks since the government’s response to the Finch report and the announcement of the new open access (OA) policy of the UK Research Councils (RCUK), the ground has settled. The contours of the new landscape can be more clearly discerned but still lack definition in places.

If you thought I was done open access, think again. The taunting of the journal impact factor beast in recent posts was necessary because it is blocking the path to free dissemination of the research literature and the omnivorous creature has somehow to be slain.

My ‘Sick of Impact Factors‘ blog post seems to have struck much more of a chord than I anticipated. At the time of writing it has attracted over 12,900 page views and 460 tweets, far higher than my usual tallies. The post also generated over 130 comments, which is a daunting number for anyone who now stumbles across the post;

I am sick of impact factors and so is science. The impact factor might have started out as a good idea, but its time has come and gone. Conceived by Eugene Garfield in the 1970s as a useful tool for research libraries to judge the relative merits of journals when allocating their subscription budgets, the impact factor is calculated annually as the mean number of citations to articles published in any given journal in the two preceding years.

Well this is nice. Today Occam’s Typewriter opens a new cornershop, so to speak, at the Guardian. For me, this closes a social media circle that started over four years ago because I can trace my entry to the scientific blogosphere to the time I heard someone called Jennifer Rohn talking about ‘Lablit’ – literature threaded with science and scientists – on the Guardian’s Science Weekly podcast.

Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony for the London 2012 Olympic Games spread a warm glow through liberal hearts. His imaginative sweep over British history and culture, which managed to be both reverent and irreverent, was filled with a human chaos that constituted a nicely judged response to the shock and awe of the massed ranks who launched the Beijing games.

I said the open access debate had been torrid. And it continues apace in the wake of last week’s announcements from the UK government and RCUK, the organisation that represents the common interests of Britain’s Research Councils.

Well that was quick. Less than a month after the Finch working group published its recommendations on the future of open access, UK science minister David Willetts has responded, saying in effect “Let’s go for it.” The government has taken essentially all of the recommendations on board and has committed the country to making all its publicly-funded research available for free online by 2014. Except that it’s not quite that simple.

Don’t be misled by the title: this is a book about love. Love for life, love for family and love for curiosity, which leads — circularly — to a love affair with books. Don’t be misled by the title: this is not a handbook.

This is not new since Mariana Mazzucato’s breezy pamphlet, The Entrepreneurial State , was published a year ago, but it was new to me. I’ve just finishing reading it, having snagged one of the copies that she brought to June’s fascinating Science Question Time on economic growth.