Let’s change the way we talk about changes

It’s nearly the end of the school year here in the U.K., traditionally a time for reflecting on what’s gone before and planning ahead for the shiny, new September coming in a mere nine weeks (sorry, teachers!). With that in mind, let’s talk about something that comes up early in most chemistry syllabuses, and which bothers me a little more each time I think about it.

Chemical reactions occur when a match burns.

It’s the concept of chemical and physical changes. For those who aren’t familiar, this is the idea that changes we observe happening to matter fall into two, broad categories: chemical changes, where new substances are made, and physical changes, where no new substances are made.

Examples of chemical changes include things like burning a match, cooking an egg, or the reaction between vinegar and baking soda. Physical changes are largely changes of state, such as melting and boiling, but also include changes such as dissolving salt in water, or grinding limestone chips to powder.

So far, so good. Except… then we start to put descriptors on these things. And that’s when the trouble starts.

multiple choice exam questionThe first problem comes with the idea that “chemical changes are irreversible.” This is often taught in early secondary science as a straight-up fact, and is so pervasive that it’s even appeared in multiple choice exam questions, like the one shown here. The student, for the record, was expected to choose option C, “the change is irreversible.”

Except. Argh. I can tell you exactly why the student has opted for D, “the change is reversible,” and it’s not because they haven’t done their revision. Quite the opposite, in fact. No, it’s because this student has learned about weak acids. And in learning about acids, this student met this symbol, ⇌, which literally indicates a reversible chemical reaction.

Yes, that’s right. Not too long after teaching students that chemical reactions are not reversible, we then explicitly teach them that they are. Indeed, this idea of chemical reversibility is such a common one, such an important concept in chemistry, that we even have a symbol for it.

Now, of course, I can explain this. When we say chemical reactions are irreversible, what we mean is “generally irreversible if they’re carried out in an open system.” In other words, when the wood in that match burns out in the open, the carbon dioxide and water vapour that form will escape to the atmosphere, never to return, and it’s impossible to recover the match to its original state.

The problem is that many chemical reactions occur in closed systems, not least a lot of reactions that happen in solution. Hence, the whole acids thing, where we talk about weak acids “partially dissociating” into ions.

Then there’s that entire topic on the Haber process…

Can I be the only one to think that this is rather a lot of nuance to expect teenagers to keep in their head? It’s nothing short of confusing. Should we really be saying one thing in one part of a course, and the literal opposite in another? To be clear, this isn’t even a GCSE vs. A level thing – these ideas appear in the same syllabus.

Melting is a change of state, in this case from (solid) ice to (liquid) water.

All right, okay, let’s move along to the idea that physical changes are reversible. That’s much more straightforward, isn’t it? If I melt some ice, I can re-freeze it again? If I boil some water, I can condense it back into the same volume of liquid… well… I can if I collect all vapour. If I do it in a closed system. The opposite of the condition we imposed on the chemical reactions. Er. Anyway…

We might just about get away with this, if it weren’t for the grinding bit. If physical changes are truly readily reversible, then we ought to be able to take that powder we made from the limestone lumps and make it back into a nice single piece again, right? Right?

See, this is the problem. What this is really all about is entropy, but that’s a fairly tricky concept and one that’s not coming up until A level chemistry.

Okay. Instead of talking about reversible and irreversible, let’s talk about bond-breaking and bond-forming. That’s fine, isn’t it? In chemical changes, bonds are broken and formed (yep) and in physical changes, they aren’t.

Except….

Let’s go back to water for a moment. Water has the formula H2O. It’s made up of molecules where one oxygen atom is chemically bonded to two hydrogen atoms. When we boil water, we don’t break any of those bonds. We don’t form hydrogen and oxygen gas when we boil water; making a hot cup of tea would be a lot more exciting if we did. So we can safely say that boiling water doesn’t involve breaking any bonds, right? We-ell…

Water molecules contain covalent bonds, but the molecules are also joined by (much weaker) hydrogen bonds.

The trouble is that water contains something called hydrogen bonds. We usually do a bit of a fudge here and describe these as “intermolecular forces,” that is, forces of attraction between molecules. This isn’t inaccurate. But the clue is in the name: hydrogen bonds are quite, well, bond-y.

When water boils, hydrogen bonds are disrupted. Although the bonds in individual H2O molecules aren’t broken, the hydrogen bonds are. Which means… bonds are broken. Sort of.

But we’re probably on safe ground if we talk about the formation of new substances. Aren’t we?

Except….

What about dissolving? If I dissolve hydrogen chloride gas, HCl, in water, that’s a physical change, right? I haven’t made anything new? Or… have I? I had molecules with a covalent bond between the hydrogen and the chlorine, and now I have… er… hydrochloric acid (note, that’s a completely different link to the one I used back there), made up of H+ and Cl- ions mingled with water molecules.

So… it’s…. a chemical change? But wait. We could (I don’t recommend it) evaporate all that water away, and we’d have gaseous HCl again. It’s reversible.

Solid iodine is silvery-grey, but iodine vapour is a brilliant violet colour.

Hm. What about the signs that a chemical change is occurring? Surely we’re all right there? Fizzing: that’s a sign of a chemical change. Except… are you sure you know the difference between boiling and fizzing? It’s basically all bubbles, after all. Vapour? But, steam is a vapour, isn’t it? Although, on the other hand, water is a product of several chemical reactions. Colour changes? Check out what happens when you heat a small amount of solid, silvery-grey iodine so that it sublimes (spoiler: there’s a colour change).

Is anyone else really confused by now?

You should be. Your students almost certainly are.

There are, in short, more exceptions to every single one of these rules that there are for that “i before e” thing you learned in English (a rule, incidently, which is particularly galling for scientists who constantly have to deal with weights and heights).

Where do we go from here? I think it’s probably time we asked ourselves why we’re even teaching this concept in the first place. Really, it’s there to get students to think about the difference between changes of state and chemical reactions.

I suspect we need to worry about this rather less than we are: most children are very good at identifying changes of state. They do it instinctively. They only start getting confused about it when we teach them a lot of rules which they then try to apply. I’m pretty sure that’s not the way teaching is supposed to work.

A complicated arrangement of chemical glassware

This could definitely be simpler.

If I had my way, I’d ditch the physical and chemical change labels altogether and, instead, just talk about changes of state and chemical reactions. There is precisely one differentiator between these two, and it is: have we made any new stuff? If the answer is no, it’s a change of state. If the answer is yes, then a chemical reaction has occurred. Job done. (And yes, this would squarely define gaseous hydrogen chloride dissolving in water to form hydrochloric acid as a chemical reaction, and I have no problem at all with that.)

I say we change the way we talk about changes: chemistry has a reputation for being tricky, and this sort of confusing, contradictory thing is part of the reason why.


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The Chronicles of the Chronicle Flask: 2018

As has become traditional, I’m finishing off this year with a round-up of 2018’s posts. It’s been a good year: a few health scares which turned out to be nothing much to worry about, one which turned out to be a genuine danger, a couple of cool experiments and some spectacular shiny balls. So without further ado, here we go…

Things were a bit hectic at the start of this year (fiction writing was happening) and as a result January was quiet on the blog. But not on the Facebook page, where I posted a couple of general reminders about the silliness of alkaline diets which absolutely exploded, achieving some 4,000 shares and a reach (so Facebook tells me anyway) of over half a million people. Wow. And then I posted a funny thing about laundry symbols which went almost as wild. It’s a strange world.

February featured BPA: an additive in many plastics.

In February I wrote a piece about BPA (Bisphenol A), which was the chemical scare of the day. There’s always one around January/February time. It’s our penance for daring to enjoy Christmas. Anyway, BPA is a chemical in many plastics, and of course plastic waste had become – and remains – a hot topic. BPA is also used in a number of other things, not least the heat sensitive paper used to produce some shopping receipts. It’s not a harmless substance by any means, but it won’t surprise anyone to learn that the risks had, as is usually the case, been massively overstated. In a report, the European Food Safety Authority said that the health concern for BPA is low at their estimated levels of exposure. In other words, unless you’re actually working with it – in which case you should have received safety training – there’s no need to be concerned.

In March I recorded an episode for the A Dash of Science podcast, and I went on to write a post about VARD, which stands for Verify, Author, Reasonableness and Date. It’s my quick and easy way of fact-checking online information – an increasingly important skill these days. Check out the post for more info.

April ended up being all about dairy and vitamin D.

April was all about dairy after a flare-up on Twitter on the topic, and went on to talk about vitamin D. The bottom line is that everyone in the UK should be taking a small vitamin D supplement between about October and March, because northern Europeans simply can’t make vitamin Din their skin during these months (well, unless they travel nearer to the equator), and it’s not a nutrient we can easily get from our food. Are you taking yours?

May featured fish tanks, following a widely reported story about a fish-owner who cleaned out his tank and managed to release a deadly toxin that poisoned his entire family. Whoops. It turns that this was, and is, a real risk – so if you keep fish and you’ve never heard of this before, do have a read!

In June I wrote about strawberries, and did a neat experiment to show that strawberries could be used to make pH indicator. Who knew? You do, now! Check it out if you’re looking for some chemistry to amuse yourself over the holidays (I mean, who isn’t?). Did you know you can make indicators from the leaves of Christmas poinsettia plants, too?

Slime turned up again in July. And December. And will probably keep on rearing its slimy head.

July brought a subject which has turned up again recently: slime. I wrote about slime in 2017, too. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. This time it flared up because the consumer magazine and organisation Which? kept promoting research that, they claimed, showed that slime toys contain dangerous levels of borax. It’s all rather questionable, since it’s not really clear which safety guidelines they’re applying and whether they’re appropriate for slime toys. Plus, the limits that I was able to find are migration limits. In other words, it’s not appropriate to measure the total borax content of the slime and declare it dangerous – they should be looking at the amount of borax which is absorbed during normal use. Unless your child is eating slime (don’t let them do that), they’re never going to absorb enough borax to do them any harm. In other words, it’s a storm in a slimepot.

August was all about carbon dioxide, after a heatwave spread across Europe and there was, bizarrely, a carbon dioxide shortage which had an impact on all sorts of things from fizzy drinks to online shopping deliveries. It ended up being a long-ish post which spanned everything from the formation of the Earth, the discovery of carbon dioxide, fertilisers and environmental concerns.

September featured shiny, silver balls.

In September I turned my attention to a chemical reaction which is still to this day used to coat the inside of glass decorations with a thin layer of reflective silver, and has connections with biochemistry, physics and astronomy. Check it out for some pretty pictures of silver balls, and my silver nitrate-stained fingers.

In October I was lucky enough to go on a ‘fungi forage’ and so, naturally, I ended up writing all about mushrooms. Did you know that a certain type of mushroom can be used to make writing ink? Or that some mushrooms change colour when they’re damaged? No? You should go back and read that post, then! (And going back to April for a moment, certain mushrooms are one of the few sources of vitamin D.)

Finally, November ended up being all about water, marking the 235th anniversary of the day that Antoine Lavoisier formally declared water to be a compound. It went into the history of water, how it was proven to have the formula H2O, and I even did an experiment to split water into hydrogen and oxygen in my kitchen – did you know that was possible? It is!

As December neared, the research for my water piece led me to suggest to Andy Brunning of Compound Interest that this year’s Chemistry Advent might feature scientists from the last 24 decades of chemistry, starting in the 1780s (with Lavoisier and Paulze) and moving forward to the current day. This turned out to be a fantastic project, featuring lots of familiar and not quite so-familiar scientists. Do have a look if you didn’t follow along during December.

And that’s it for this year. I hope it’s been a good one for all my readers, and I wish you peace and prosperity in 2019! Suggestions for the traditional January Health Scare, anyone? (Let’s hope it’s not slime again, I’m getting really tired of that one now…)


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Carbon dioxide: the good, the bad, and the future

Carbon dioxide is a small molecule with the structure O=C=O

Carbon dioxide has been in and out of the news this summer for one reason or another, but why? Is this stuff helpful, or heinous?

It’s certainly a significant part of our history. Let’s take that history to its literal limits and start at the very beginning. To quote the great Terry Pratchett: “In the beginning, there was nothing, which exploded.”

(Probably.) This happened around 13.8 billion years ago. Afterwards, stuff flew around for a while (forgive me, cosmologists). Then, about 4.5 billion years ago, the Earth formed out of debris that had collected around our Sun. Temperatures on this early Earth were extremely hot, there was a lot of volcanic activity, and there might have been some liquid water. The atmosphere was mostly hydrogen and helium.

The early Earth was bashed about by other space stuff, and one big collision almost certainly resulted in the formation of the Moon. A lot of other debris vaporised on impact releasing gases, and substances trapped within the Earth started to escape from its crust. The result was Earth’s so-called second atmosphere.

An artist’s concept of the early Earth. Image credit: NASA. (Click image for more.)

This is where carbon dioxide enters stage left… er… stage under? Anyway, it was there, right at this early point, along with water vapor, nitrogen, and smaller amounts of other gases. (Note, no oxygen, that is, O2 – significant amounts of that didn’t turn up for another 1.7 billion years, or 2.8 billion years ago.) In fact, carbon dioxide wasn’t just there, it made up most of Earth’s atmosphere, probably not so different from Mars’s atmosphere today.

The point being that carbon dioxide is not a new phenomenon. It is, in fact, the very definition of an old phenomenon. It’s been around, well, pretty much forever. And so has the greenhouse effect. The early Earth was hot. Really hot. Possibly 200 oC or so, because these atmospheric gases trapped the Sun’s heat. Over time, lots and lots of time, the carbon dioxide levels reduced as it became trapped in carbonate rocks, dissolved in the oceans and was utilised by lifeforms for photosynthesis.

Fast-forward a few billion years to the beginning of the twentieth century and atmospheric carbon dioxide levels were about 300 ppm (0.03%), tiny compared to oxygen (about 20%) and nitrogen (about 78%).

Chemists and carbon dioxide

Flemish chemist Jan Baptist van Helmont carried out an experiment which eventually led to the discovery of carbon dioxide gas.

Let’s pause there for a moment and have a little look at some human endeavours. In about 1640 Flemish chemist Jan Baptist van Helmont discovered that if he burned charcoal in a closed vessel, the mass of the resulting ash was much less than that of the original charcoal. He had no way of knowing, then, that he had formed and collected carbon dioxide gas, but he speculated that some of the charcoal had been transmuted into spiritus sylvestris, or “wild spirit”.

In 1754 Scottish chemist Joseph Black noticed that heating calcium carbonate, aka limestone, produced a gas which was heavier than air and which could “not sustain fire or animal life”. He called it “fixed air”, and he’s often credited with carbon dioxide’s discovery, although arguably van Helmont got there first. Black was also the first person to come up with the “limewater test“, where carbon dioxide is bubbled through a solution of calcium hydroxide. He used the test to demonstrate that carbon dioxide was produced by respiration, an experiment still carried out in schools more than 250 years later to show that the air we breathe out contains more carbon dioxide than the air we breathe in.

In 1772 that most famous of English chemists, Joseph Priestley, experimented with dripping sulfuric acid (or vitriolic acid, as he knew it) on chalk to produce a gas which could be dissolved in water. Priestley is often credited with the invention of soda water as a result (more on this in a bit), although physician Dr William Brownrigg probably discovered carbonated water earlier – but he never published his work.

In the late 1700s carbon dioxide became more widely known as “carbonic acid gas”, as seen in this article dated 1853. In 1823 Humphry Davy and Michael Faraday manged to produce liquified carbon dioxide at high pressures. Adrien-Jean-Pierre Thilorier was the first to describe solid carbon dioxide, in 1835. The name carbon dioxide was first used around 1869, when the term “dioxide” came into use.

A diagram from “Impregnating Water with Fixed Air”, printed for J. Johnson, No. 72, in St. Pauls Church-Yard, 1772.

Back to Priestley for a moment. In the late 1800s, a glass of volcanic spring water was a common treatment for digestive problems and general ailments. But what if you didn’t happen to live near a volcanic spring? Joseph Black, you’ll remember, had established that CO2 was produced by living organisms, so it occurred to Priestly that perhaps he could hang a vessel of water over a fermentation vat at a brewery and collect the gas that way.

But it wasn’t very efficient. As Priestly himself said, “the surface of the fixed air is exposed to the common air, and is considerably mixed with it, [and] water will not imbibe so much of it by the process above described.”

It was then that he tried his experiment with vitriolic acid, which allowed for much greater control over the carbonation process. Priestly proposed that the resulting “water impregnated with fixed air” might have a number of medical applications. In particular, perhaps because the water had an acidic taste in a similar way that lemon-infused water does, he thought it might be an effective treatment for scurvy. Legend has it that he gave the method to Captain Cook for his second voyage to the Pacific for this reason. It wouldn’t have helped of course, but it does mean that Cook and his crew were some of the first people to produce carbonated water for the express purpose of drinking a fizzy drink.

Refreshing fizz

You will have noticed that, despite all his work, there is no fizzy drink brand named Priestly (at least, not that I know of).

Joseph Priestley is credited with developing the first method for making carbonated water.

But there is one called Schweppes. That’s because a German watchmaker named Johann Jacob Schweppe spotted Priestley’s paper and worked out a simpler, more efficient process, using sodium bicarbonate and tartaric acid. He went on to found the Schweppes Company in Geneva in 1783.

Today, carbonated drinks are made a little differently. You may have heard about carbon dioxide shortages this summer in the U.K. These arose because these days carbon dioxide is actually collected as a by-product of other processes. In fact, after several bits of quite simple chemistry that add up to a really elegant sequence.

From fertiliser to fizzy drinks

It all begins, or more accurately ends, with ammonia fertiliser. As any GCSE science student who’s been even half paying attention can tell you, ammonia is made by reacting hydrogen with nitrogen during the Haber process. Nitrogen is easy to get hold of – as I’ve already said it makes up nearly 80% of our atmosphere – but hydrogen has to be made from hydrocarbons. Usually natural gas, or methane.

This involves another well-known process, called steam reforming, in which steam is reacted with methane at high temperatures in the presence of a nickel catalyst. This produces carbon monoxide, a highly toxic gas. But no problem! React that carbon monoxide with more water in the presence of a slightly different catalyst and you get even more hydrogen. And some carbon dioxide.

Fear not, nothing is wasted here! The CO2 is captured and liquified for all sorts of food-related and industrial uses, not least of which is fizzy drinks. This works well for all concerned because steam reforming produces large amounts of pure carbon dioxide. If you’re going to add it to food and drinks after all, you wouldn’t want a product contaminated with other gases.

Carbon dioxide is a by-product of fertiliser manufacture.

We ended up with a problem this summer in the U.K. because ammonia production plants operate on a schedule which is linked to the planting season. Farmers don’t usually apply fertiliser in the summer – when they’re either harvesting or about to harvest crops – so many ammonia plants shut down for maintenance in April, May, and June. This naturally leads to reduction in the amount of available carbon dioxide, but it’s not normally a problem because the downtime is relatively short and enough is produced the rest of year to keep manufacturers supplied.

This year, though, natural-gas prices were higher, while the price of ammonia stayed roughly the same. This meant that ammonia plants were in no great hurry to reopen, and that meant many didn’t start supplying carbon dioxide in July, just when a huge heatwave hit the UK, coinciding with the World Cup football (which tends to generate a big demand for fizzy pop, for some reason).

Which brings us back to our atmosphere…

Carbon dioxide calamity?

Isn’t there, you may be thinking, too much carbon dioxide in our atmosphere? In fact, that heatwave you just mentioned, wasn’t that a global warming thing?  Can’t we just… extract carbon dioxide from our air and solve everyone’s problems? Well, yes and no. Remember earlier when I said that at the beginning of the twentieth century and atmospheric carbon dioxide levels were about 300 ppm (0.03%)?

Over the last hundred years atmospheric carbon dioxide levels have increased from 0.03% to 0.04%

Today, a little over 100 years later, levels are about 0.04%. This is a significant increase in a relatively short period of time, but it’s still only a tiny fraction of our atmosphere (an important tiny fraction nonetheless – we’ll get to that in a minute).

It is possible to distill gases from our air by cooling air down until it liquefies and then separating the different components by their boiling points. For example nitrogen, N2, boils at a chilly -196 oC whereas oxygen, O2, boils at a mere -183 oC.

But there’s a problem: CO2 doesn’t have a liquid state at standard pressures. It forms a solid, which sublimes directly into a gas. For this reason carbon dioxide is usually removed from cryogenic distillation mixtures, because it would freeze solid and plug up the equipment. There are other ways to extract carbon dioxide from air but although they have important applications (keep reading) they’re not practical ways to produce large volumes of the gas for the food and drink industries.

Back to the environment for a moment: why is that teeny 0.04% causing us such headaches? How can a mere 400 CO2 molecules bouncing around with a million other molecules cause such huge problems?

For that, I need to take a little diversion to talk about infrared radiation, or IR.

Infrared radiation was first discovered by the astronomer William Herschel in 1800. He was trying to observe sun spots when he noticed that his red filter seemed to get particularly hot. In what I’ve always thought was a rather amazing intuitive leap, he then passed sunlight through a prism to split it, held a thermometer just beyond the red light that he could see with his eyes, and discovered that the thermometer showed a higher temperature than when placed in the visible spectrum.

He concluded that there must be an invisible form of light beyond the visible spectrum, and indeed there is: infrared light. It turns out that slightly more than half of the total energy from the Sun arrives on Earth in the form of infrared radiation.

What has this got to do with carbon dioxide? It turns out that carbon dioxide, or rather the double bonds O=C=O, absorb a lot of infrared radiation. By contrast, oxygen and nitrogen, which make up well over 90% of Earth’s atmosphere, don’t absorb infrared.

CO2 molecules also re-emit IR but, having bounced around a bit, not necessarily in the same direction and – and this is the reason that tiny amounts of carbon dioxide cause not so tiny problems – they transfer energy to other molecules in the atmosphere in the process. Think of each CO2 molecule as a drunkard stumbling through a pub, knocking over people’s pints and causing a huge bar brawl. A single disruptive individual can, indirectly, cause a lot of others to find themselves bruised and bleeding and wondering what the hell just happened.

Like carbon dioxide, water vapour also absorbs infrared, but it has a relatively short lifetime in our atmosphere.

Water vapor becomes important here too, because while O2 and N2 don’t absorb infrared, water vapour does. Water vapour has a relatively short lifetime in our atmosphere (about ten days compared to a decade for carbon dioxide) so its overall warming effect is less. Except that once carbon dioxide is thrown into the mix it transfers extra heat to the water, keeping it vapour (rather than, say, precipitating as rain) for longer and pushing up the temperature of the system even more.

Basically, carbon dioxide molecules trap heat near the planet’s surface. This is why carbon dioxide is described as a greenhouse gas and increasing levels are causing global warming. There are people who are still arguing this isn’t the case, but truly, they’ve got the wrong end of the (hockey) stick.

It’s not even a new concept. Over 100 years ago, in 1912, a short piece was published in the Rodney and Otamatea Times which said: “The furnaces of the world are now burning about 2,000,000,000 tons of coal a year. When this is burned, uniting with oxygen, it adds about  7,000,000,000 tons of carbon dioxide to the atmosphere yearly. This tends to make the air a more effective blanket for the earth and to raise its temperature.”

This summer has seen record high temperatures and some scientists have been warning of a “Hothouse Earth” scenario.

This 1912 piece suggested we might start to see effects in “centuries”. In fact, we’re seeing the results now. As I mentioned earlier, this summer has seen record high temperatures and some scientists have been warning of “Hothouse Earth” scenario, where rising temperatures cause serious disruptions to ecosystems, society, and economies. The authors stressed it’s not inevitable, but preventing it will require a collective effort. They even published a companion document which included several possible solutions which, oddly enough, garnered rather fewer column inches than the “we’re all going to die” angle.

Don’t despair, DO something…

But I’m going to mention it, because it brings us back to CO2. There’s too much of it in our atmosphere. How can we deal with that? It’s simple really: first, stop adding more, i.e. stop burning fossil fuels. We have other technologies for producing energy. The reason we’re still stuck on fossil fuels at this stage is politics and money, and even the most obese of the fat cats are starting to realise that money isn’t much use if you don’t have a habitable planet. Well, most of them. (There’s probably no hope for some people, but we can at least hope that their damage-doing days are limited.)

There are some other, perhaps less obvious, sources of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases that might also be reduced, such as livestock, cement for building materials and general waste.

Forests trap carbon dioxide in land carbon sinks. More biodiverse systems generally store more carbon.

And then, we’re back to taking the CO2 out of the atmosphere. How? Halting deforestation would allow more CO2 to be trapped in so-called land carbon sinks. Likewise, good agricultural soil management helps to trap carbon underground. More biodiverse systems generally store more carbon, so if we could try to stop wiping out land and coastal systems, that would be groovy too. Finally, there’s the technological solution: carbon capture and storage, or CSS.

This, in essence, involves removing CO2 from the atmosphere and storing it in geological formations. The same thing the Earth has done for millenia, but more quickly. It can also be linked to bio-energy production in a process known as BECCS. It sounds like the perfect solution, but right now it’s energy intensive and expensive, and there are concerns that BECCS projects could end up competing with agriculture and damaging conservation efforts.

A new answer from an ancient substance?

Forming magnesite, or magnesium carbonate, may be one way to trap carbon dioxide.

Some brand new research might offer yet another solution. It’s another carbon-capture technology which involves magnesium carbonate, or magnesite (MgCO3). Magnesite forms slowly on the Earth’s surface, over hundreds of thousands of years, trapping carbon dioxide in its structure as it does.

It can easily be made quickly at high temperatures, but of course if you have to heat things up, you need energy, which might end up putting as much CO2 back in as you’re managing to take out. Recently a team of researchers at Trent University in Canada have found a way to form magnesite quickly at room temperature using polystyrene microspheres.

This isn’t something which would make much difference if, say, you covered the roof of everyone’s house with the microspheres, but it could be used in fuel-burning power generators (which could be burning renewables or even waste materials) to effectively scrub the carbon dioxide from their emissions. That technology on its own would make a huge difference.

And so here we are. Carbon dioxide is one of the oldest substances there is, as “natural” as they come. From breathing to fizzy drinks to our climate, it’s entwined in every aspect of our everyday existence. It is both friend and foe. Will we work out ways to save ourselves from too much of it in our atmosphere? Personally, I’m optimistic, so long as we support scientists and engineers rather than fight them…


Like the Chronicle Flask’s Facebook page for regular updates, or follow @chronicleflask on Twitter. All content is © Kat Day 2018. You may share or link to anything here, but you must reference this site if you do.

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The Chronicle Flask’s festive chemistry quiz!

Tis the season to be jolly! And also for lots of blog posts and articles about the science of christmas, like this one, and this one, and this one, and even this one (which is from last year, but it’s jolly good).

But here’s the question: have you been paying attention? Well, have you? Time to find out with The Chronicle Flask’s festive quiz! I haven’t figured out how to make this interactive. You’ll have to, I don’t know, use a pen and paper or something.

Arbol_de_navidad_con_adornos_de_personajesQuestion 1)
Which scientist invented a chemical test that can be used to coat the inside of baubles with silver?
a) Bernhard Tollens
b) Karl Möbius
c) Emil Erlenmeyer

Question 2)
Reindeer eat moss which contains arachidonic acid… but why is that beneficial to them?
a) a laxative
b) an anti-freeze
c) a spider repellant

1280px-ChristmasCrackers_2Question 3)
Which chemical makes crackers and party poppers go crack?
a) gunpowder
b) silver fulminate
c) nitrogen triiodide

640px-Glass_of_champagneQuestion 4)
We all like a glass of champagne at this time of year, but what’s in the bubbles?
a) carbon dioxide
b) nitrogen
c) oxgyen

Question 5)
What’s the key ingredient in those lovely bath salts you bought for your grandma?
a) calcium carbonate
b) magnesium sulfate
c) citric acid

The Bird - 2007Question 6)
Which chemical reaction is responsible for both perfectly browned biscuits and crispy, golden turkey?
a) Maillard reaction
b) Hodge reaction
c) Caramel reaction

Question 7)
Sucrose-rodmodelWhere are you most likely to find this molecule at this time of year?
a) in a roast beef joint
b) in the wrapping paper
c) in the christmas cake

Question 8)
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow… but which fact about (pure) water is true?
a) It glows when exposed to ultraviolet light
b) It expands as it freezes
c) It’s a good conductor of electricity

Ethanol-3D-ballsQuestion 9)
Where are you likely to find this molecule on New Year’s Eve?
a) in a champagne bottle
b) in the party poppers
c) in the ‘first foot’ coal

OperaSydney-Fuegos2006-342289398Question 10)
Who doesn’t love a firework or two on New Years Eve?  But which element is most commonly used to produce the colour green?
a) magnesium
b) sodium
c) barium

(Answers below…)

1a) Bernhard Tollens (but his science teacher was Karl Möbius).
2b) It’s a natural anti-freeze.
3b) Silver fulminate (it always surprises me how many people guess gunpowder. That would be exciting).
4a) carbon dioxide.
5b) magnesium sulfate which, funnily enough, also causes ‘hard’ water.
6a) the Maillard reaction, although Hodge did establish the mechanism.
7c) In the cake – it’s sucrose (table sugar).
8b) it expands as it freezes and is thus less dense than liquid water (which is why ice floats). We take this for granted, but most things contract (and become more dense) as they turn from liquid to solid. You should be grateful – live probably wouldn’t have evolved without this peculiar behaviour.
9a) In the champagne – it’s ethanol (or ‘alcohol’ in everyday parlance).
10c) barium – copper produces green flames too, but barium salts are more commonly used in fireworks.

So how did you do?
Less than 4: D, for deuterium. It’s heavy hydrogen and it’s used to slow things down. Enough said.
4-6: You get a C, by which I mean carbon. Have another slice of coal.
7-8: You’ve clearly been paying attention. B for boring, I mean boron.
9-10: Au-ren’t you clever? Chemistry champion!

Happy New Year everyone! 🙂

Buffers for bluffers

buffering

No, not that kind…

A little while ago now I wrote a post entitled Amazing Alkaline Lemons?. It’s been very popular, sort of. Well, it’s elicited an awful lot of comments anyway. Quite a few have mentioned buffers, which are jolly important things. They also seem to be somewhat misunderstood. So here we go, buffers 101:

Buffers regulate pH (remember that pH is the scale that measures how acidic, or basic, a solution is), and they’re essential in the body. Without them, your blood pH would fluctuate, and that that would be a very bad thing indeed. Outside a very narrow pH range (7.38 to 7.42, which is essentially neutral) proteins are denatured and enzymes stop working. In short, your body would quickly stop functioning in a really quite fatal way.

So what is a buffer? A buffer is actually a mixture, of a weak acid and its salt. Or, as chemists would say, its ‘conjugate base‘. (I’m deliberately avoiding the word ‘alkali’, because alkali has a specific meaning and it would be wrong to use it in this situation – I mention this because the word ‘alkalising’ has come up more than once).

The main buffer system in the blood is the bicarbonate buffering system. We need it because our blood has to transport carbon dioxide out of our bodies, and when carbon dioxide is dissolved in solution it forms an acid called carbonic acid. If this weren’t somehow controlled, our blood pH would quickly plummet and, as I’ve already mentioned, we’d die. This would obviously be something of an evolutionary dead-end.

Chemistry to the rescue! Carbonic acid (H2CO3) forms, but it also breaks apart again to form hydrogen ions (H+) and bicarbonate ions (HCO3) producing something chemists call an equilibrium (symbolised by the funny two-way arrow you can see below).

H2CO3 ⇌ H+ + HCO3

Equilibria have a way of balancing themselves out, and this is key to how buffers work. If you add some extra hydrogen ions to a buffer system the equilibrium shifts to absorb those hydrogen ions, keeping the pH constant. Likewise, if an alkali (or base) is added, it goes the other way and actually causes more hydrogen ions to be released. This is remarkably difficult to budge, unless you swamp it with a really strong acid (or base).

As a result, your blood pH stays perfectly balanced, and a good thing too. And all you need for it to work is to breathe. I recommend that if you want to stay healthy you don’t stop doing that.

There are other important buffer systems in the body. One that gets mentioned quite a lot is the phosphate buffer system. This plays a relatively minor role in controlling blood pH, but it is pretty important for your cells. This buffer is made up of dihydrogen phosphate ions and hydrogen phosphate ions. Phosphate plays an important role in bone health, not to mention your body’s ability to use energy effectively. Fortunately, unless you have some kind of fairly serious health problem your kidneys do a cracking job of controlling phosphate levels, so there’s no need to worry too much about it, beyond aiming, as we all should, for a generally healthy diet.

So there we are. Buffers are a mixture, they form naturally in the body, you don’t really need to do anything to help them along, and they quietly keep you alive. Pretty cool bit of everyday chemistry really.


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Are you a Christmas chemist and you didn’t know it?

So Christmas has been and gone and we’re all forlornly looking at pine-needles around the tree and the mountainous pile of recycling in the kitchen, promising ourselves that we’ll eat nothing but salad come January first. But in the meantime, let’s take a bit of time out from the sales, watching Christmas telly and eating endless chocolates (I’m pretty sure anything eaten between December 24th-31st doesn’t count) and think about all the chemistry we’ve done over the last few days – yay!

Cracker snaps contain silver fulminate.

Cracker snaps contain silver fulminate.

Pulling crackers
Pulled a cracker over Christmas? Of course you have, and probably more than one. Did you wonder what caused the bang and the strangely appealing chemically smell? Of course you didn’t, but never fear, I shall tell you anyway. It was probably silver fulminate, AgCNO. This particular chemical is a primary explosive, but not a particularly useful one due to its extreme sensitivity. It’s so sensitive to any kind of shock (including the touch of a feather, a drop of water, or even just a particularly loud noise) that it’s completely impossible to collect more than the most minute amount without it blowing up unexpectedly. It was first prepared by Edward Charles Howard in 1800, who was working on preparing fulminates. None of them are stable, and one has to wonder if he had any eyebrows or eardrums by the time he’d finished. Anyway, silver fulminate has found one sort of practical use, and that’s in novelty snaps like the ones in crackers. There’s a tiny amount of silver fulminate on one piece of cardboard, and an abrasive on the other. When you pull, the two rub against each other and BANG! Paper hats, plastic toys and bad jokes abound. What happened after an explosion at a French cheese factory? All that was left was de brie.

Release the pressure and carbonic acid converts into water and carbon dioxide. Quickly.

Release the pressure and carbonic acid converts into water and carbon dioxide. Quickly.

Opening bottles of fizzy stuff
Most people are probably already vaguely aware that the bubbles are carbon dioxide, but there’s more to it than that, oh yes. Have you ever noticed that the liquid in the bottle looks completely bubble-less until you actually open it? If not, check next time. It’s really quite amazing. Why is this? Well, there’s a bit of chemistry going on. Brace yourself for an equation:

CO2 + H2O ⇌ H2CO3

There on the left you have carbon dioxide and water, and on the right something called carbonic acid. The double arrow thingy means the reaction is reversible, and the thing about reactions like this is that they will sit there quite happily, perfectly balanced, until something happens to change them. In the case of fizzy bottles, opening them will do that. It lets out the carbon dioxide and that causes the reaction to make yet more water and carbon dioxide in an attempt to compensate. That’s where all the bubbles come from, and it’s also why fizzy drinks taste peculiarly sweet if they’re left to go flat – like all acids (testing this is not recommended, but trust me) carbonic acid tastes sour and when it gets used up the sweetness due to sugars and sweeteners starts to take over. Contrary to popular belief, putting a spoon in the bottle will do absolutely nothing whatsoever to stop your champers from going flat. Sticking some kind of air-tight stopper in it, on the other hand, will definitely help.

The blue flame is due to complete combustion.

The blue flame is due to complete combustion.

Setting fire to the christmas pudding
Or rather, the generous splash of alcohol you’ve just poured on it. Have you noticed that the flame is a lovely blue colour, very different from the warm yellow of coal and candles? That’s because when you burn alcohol, specifically ethanol, CH3CH2OH, you get something called complete combustion. This happens when there’s enough oxygen to only produce carbon dioxide and water as products. Ethanol has an oxygen atom built in, so it burns more completely than hydrocarbon fuels like coal and candle wax, which tend to produce carbon atoms (also known as soot) and carbon monoxide as well. The reason the flame is blue rather than yellow is because that yellow colour is caused by carbon atoms getting so hot that they glow. By definition, in complete combustion there’s no carbon, so no yellow. Instead the gas molecules in the flame get so hot they start glowing instead, giving off blue light. All together now, oooooh!

Alpha-pinene gives christmas trees their smell.

Alpha-pinene gives christmas trees their smell.

Sniffing a Christmas tree
What is that lovely smell? Mostly a molecule called pinene, specifically alpha-pinene. It’s a funny-looking thing isn’t it? Looks a bit like a waiter rushing with a full drinks tray. Anyway, there are two forms of this molecule: alpha and beta.  Alpha is the most common one in nature, particularly in conifers (which Christmas trees are). Peculiarly, it somehow manages to be both an insect repellant while also, apparently, being used by insects as a chemical communication system. I don’t know how this works, ask an entomologist.

Christmas lights owe their glow to tungsten.

Christmas lights owe their glow to tungsten.

Switching on the Christmas lights
These days, LED lights are slowly taking over, but there are still enough filament bulbs kicking around in boxes of decorations that they’ll probably persist for a few years yet. Electricity consumption be dammed, they do make a much prettier glow. And why is that? It’s partially due to tungsten, element number 74. It has the highest melting point of all the elements (there’s a handy fact for your next trivia quiz) and as a result it is, or at least used to be, used to make the filament in incandescent light bulbs. Heat it up and it starts to glow long before it reaches its melting point of 3422 oC. The bulbs are also filled with an inert gas, usually krypton (nothing whatsoever to do with Superman, sorry), which stops the tungsten from reacting with the oxygen that would be present in ordinary air. In fact, filling a bulb with krypton makes it even brighter and longer-lasting than just pumping all the air out leaving a vacuum, because the krypton helps to disperse the heat.

So there you go, just a few of the many, many bits of chemistry you’ve done so far this Christmas. Enjoy the rest of the chocolates, have a happy New Year, and to those out there with January mock exams coming up, good luck!