Monday, September 29, 2008

My jam mojo

My jam mojo may indeed have deserted me DCS. In fact I may have to remove from you the crown of most domestically challenged of the sisters if I cannot make my jam set, but what to replace my crown with? I lack the shoe and fashion gene which our father passed only to you. ( Our mother lacking this gene as well).

I have read stories about women who can't make jam, or pastry, or grow veggies or knit and sew, and I have shaken my head in disbelief and horror. I make cakes without recipe books or scales and gaily chutnify and jam any spare fruit and veg from the garden and then this. This has never happened to me before (except once, with peach marmalade, and I put that down to the vast quantities of brandy I addded to it "for flavour").

The failure of this jam to set has left me bewildered and bemused. I haven't even gone to the help pages of cookery sites, I cannot face it until an alternative view of reality manages to assert itself.

I have to believe at that point I will "come up with something", I just have to.

Note to DCS: I have put an onion marmalade recipe on the other blog, just in case I can never recover. It is very easy.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Strawberry picking

Today we made the journey to the strawberry fields to pick large quantities of strawberries. We left #2 at work and #1 in bed and set off up the long and winding road to the tablelands. The road is known for making vomiters out of even the most stalwart of children so I did pack a change of clothes for #3 and #4.

Sure enough #4 started immediately. " #3 were you sick last time you came up here?".
" No." says #3.
"Are you sure?"
Retching and heaving noises from #4. " Do you feel sick now?"
More retching noises, "now?"
More heaving noises (and a smacking noise, but that was me with my shoe).
More retching and heaving noises from #4 followed by the real thing from #3. Ha ha ha from #4 and he settles down to watch the tops of the trees pass by below us. (It's a very steep and windy road.)

I distract #3 by telling him that we are going to pick strawberries. Possibly his most favourite thing in the whole world, next to chocolate. Dip a strawberry in chocolate and there is very little he won't do for you. #3 announces sadly that he won't be able to pick or eat any strawberries, what with being sick and all, removes his pants, and lies down on the floor of the car.

Number four asks number three to put his pants back on. "I throw up if I sit down when I'm wearing pants." announces #3. Nonplussed silence from the other three members of the party.

We arrived at the strawberry picking place and #3 was out of the car like a bullet out of a gun (thankfully pausing to put on clean pants and t-shirt) and onto the fields madly eating and picking. Not sick any more then?

We picked vast quantities of strawberries and returned home. (Thankfully #3 restrained himself from vomiting on the way back down, what with all the strawberries and everything.) He did however remove his pants, due to the whole can't wear pants and sit down without vomiting thing. I must check with the school about that next week.....

I have now made batch one of what will probably be several batches of strawberry jam. Number 2 has returned from work, and #1 is still in bed. #4 was going to help with the jam but went off the idea when he realised that they all needed hulling and went off for a swim instead. Number three helped by eating some of the strawberries.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Not a happy cat

This is a cat with a problem, her servants. (Cats don't have owners, they have servants who look after the houses they live in and feed them.) Her servants have fixed a large bell to her collar to replace the small one that previously warned birds of her approach. She didn't really mind small birds flying away. What is bothering her is that the larger bell can be heard clearly by the blind shitzu from next door. Today she had an "incident" with the shitzu when she went to tap it on the butt and it heard her coming.

It has heard her coming before but been a little confused about what was going on. Finally the dog has worked out that the tinkling noise of the bell is associated with the claws in the butt, and the provision of a larger bell gives it more warning. One of the cat's main sources of amusement has been removed, for now.

This is a cat with attitude, and the attitude at the moment is a bad one. She will have to add this to the long list of grievances she has against her servants, and come the revolution they will be the first against the wall.

She may let the butler off. Now hold on every one this is a bit sickening, but true. This cat comes and pokes her ear onto my husband's toe. She keeps doing this until he wriggles his toe in her ear. She presses her ear against his foot as he wriggles his toe. I feel sick.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Still not smoking

I'm still not smoking. Smoking is still looking very attractive to me, very attractive indeed.

I was talking to a lady in the shop today about how I had just given up. (I've not turned into an anti smoking bore, she asked me, and therefore asked for it....) I was relating the sniffing story and the way I had disconcerted my fellow shopper in the supermarket by inhaling so deeply next to her.

A stifled giggle later I look over at the next customer in line. He was nodding wisely. " I nearly got arrested," he said. Unthinkingly, he had followed some poor woman out of a shop as she lit up. He followed her almost to her car, veering off with only nanoseconds between him and a stalking charge.

" So, how long until it smells bad to me again?" I asked imploringly.

" Ooh, twenty, thirty years."

Pleeeeeeeeeeeese someone tell me this will get better. Also my family would like to know it gets better, as would the cat, the chickens, and the neighbours. I am grumpy, very grumpy. Actually, I am grumpy, but I was a homicidal maniac so maybe its getting better? ( Any-one want to argue with me about that? uh? uh? come on then.)

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Back-yard Camping

My's actually a far richer, deeper red than this, a deep blood red, so I've got to master photoshop or some such program now. Who knew blogging could be such hard work? My husband buys me a cheap digital camera and I start posting photos, now I want to make them good photos, whatever next. Probably a picture where #4 looks angelic....beyond my skills.

Number three and four wanted to camp in the garden last night. Against all my instincts ( silently screaming, NO NO NO NOT EVER EVER NO NO), I agreed.

I told Homer he had to sit up all night by the back door in case he was needed.

Anyway off go #3 and #4 to the tent, complete with sleeping bags, torches, pillows, spare shoes,(a kitchen sink) and yes, I did say spare shoes. My whole family is dysfunctional, including the cat. I blame my sister for the need for two pairs of shoes on a camping trip across the garden that will last at the most eight hours. Before leaving them for the night I did a quick check that there were no lighters, candles or home made rocket launchers in the tent.

Number three fell into a deep and cherubic sleep until the early hours when he came in all warm and toasty and got in his own bed just to finish off the night. Number four lasted about one hour. I asked Homer, " How come #3, who is known as a bit of a wuss, can sleep all night in a tent, but #4, who is the complete rufty-tufty lasts all of an hour?"

" That's easy, number three knows the worst that is out there, it's number four. He's seen his fear and faced it. Number four can only imagine."

Dear DCS: I still maintain that you couldn't decide between your pictures and your jewellery in a house fire as you'd be far to busy deciding which shoes were most appropriate to wear whilst being rescued by a fireman.

Monday, September 22, 2008

More fruit trees

I just put my avocado tree in the garden from its hiding place under the shade cloth at the side of the house. Now we wait to see if the burning sun kills it, or it decides to thrive.

It seems strange to matter of factly talk about planting an avocado tree when I hadn't even tasted real avocado until seven years ago. Avocados don't ripen until you pick them from the tree so the tree acts as a kind of larder. If you don't pick the fruit it stops producing more fruit, so you get a supply and demand situation going on, hopefully.

I have also ripped out the tomato tree, I am enjoying eating the tomatos but I can't preserve the excess in any useful way because it is all cherry tomatoes. I make lots of chutney etc, but really, life's too short to skin and de seed cherry tomatoes, and the yield is way too small per tomato. Never fear, I have back up bushes of Roma and yellow tomatoes just coming on.

The chickens are a little put out at the vast quantities of ripe and semi-ripe tomatoes they have just been presented with. (The neighbours have long since started slamming doors in my face as they see me approach with my tomato bucket.)

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Am I bad?

I just clicked on one of my own AdSense adds offering free Vaseline products.....I wanted the free gift and I like the product. Will AdSense hunt me down and fire me over a tube of Vaseline, hope not

Saturday, September 20, 2008

lemon tree issues

My lemon tree and I have issues. I want lemons, it wants, well that's the problem, I don't know what it wants so that it will give me lemons.

The first year I got one small hard as rock scabby looking lemon. The second I had two hundred percent increase in yield, three scabby looking lemons.

Finally this year we appear to have come to some sort of accommodation and it is fairly loaded with baby lemons. The only thing I have done differently is hurl coffee grounds at it in a fit of pique.

To avoid the scabby scaly lemon thing I have been advised to use white oil,( a mixture of vegetable oil and washing up liquid). Of course I went and bought more expensive washing up liquid than I would normally use in the house and special oil for the purpose, I hope the tree appreciates it, because I had seen nothing wrong with buying more expensive stuff to spray on the tree than I use for the kitchen until my husband pointed out the total lack of logic.

Here's #3 and 4 "helping". This mainly involves climbing on the fence and arguing over the spray bottle until one pushes the other off.

We found a huge grasshopper, which #4 wants as a pet, here's a shot of him going off up the garden to catch it, before I stopped him. I don't really fancy finding a huge dead grasshopper in a jar under his bed in a week when he's forgotten about it.

When Homer realised I was using a tiny little spray bottle he grandly got out his master blaster model and loaded it up. Of course I just have to hope he washed it well from his poisoning spree. He (of course) didn't read the dilution instructions for the white oil. A fact he didn't admit to when questioned, but it became obvious as he sidled off to the tap to add some water to his spray gun after I casually mentioned the dilution rate to #3, so as he could overhear it it doncha know.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Outer Mongolia

I have been having a crash course on Mongolia via Not enough Mud. Very educational and amusing.

Her revelations have left me with a few problems that I hope that she may be able to answer for me. Helping the people of Outer Mongolia has long been a local industry in a charity sense. Every so often we have huge, and I mean huge, bags of beanies ( you know, the hats) delivered to the shop , "for Mongolia". These sacks take at least four people to move and are full to overflowing with small woollen beanies. Apparently a local organisation makes deliveries to Mongolia once or twice a year. These deliveries consist mainly of beanies and toothpaste.

Following on from Mud's blog,

1. They don't need the toothpaste. Their natural diet is possibly the lowest in sugar in the world, and their teeth are the whitest in the world.( Actually this year we were asked not to send toothpaste, they have enough, could we donate toothbrushes? the picture in my mind of vast piles of tubes of toothpaste, carefully being studied by camel and yak herders...)

2. They don't need the beanies, at least not in the quantities I am seeing being delivered. I personally have seen enough beanies for every man woman and child to have at least ten each (and we are just one collection point.) I am sure the Mongolians had ways of keeping warm before the local missionaries decided to hold the annual beanie-a-thon drive. Mud did you see a lot of Mongolians wearing beanies? Particularly small beanies. Most of the beanies are "for the children", i.e. very small.

I have a hypothesis on what the beanies are being used for,

1. As fuel for the fires.
2. Sewn together to make gers.
3. Sewn together to make clothes to sell to tourists.
4. As hats for the yaks
5. As padding in the camel saddles and UAZ seats, or possibly as large landing pads at the bottom of random mountain slopes where the rapidly aging fleet of UAZ's are likely to crash.

Enquiring minds want to know...where are all the beanies going? They must cost a fortune to transport there. I've always had this thought in the back of my mind that they arrive to be immediately dumped at the end of the runway accompanied by Mongolian mutterings along the lines of " Who keeps sending us all this c**p?" Maybe something has been lost in the translation and they are not asking for beanies, they are asking for vodka, or cigarettes, or petrol, or anything but beanies.

Why does everybody like olives?

Not an incredibly important question I know but it bugs me. I live in an area with a huge Greek/ Italian population. In the local supermarket they don't have a salad bar, but they do have an olive bar with, I kid you not, twenty different varieties of olives of different colours, stuffings, etc etc. The oil section of the supermarket has at least three bays of different olive oils.

I hate olives. I can taste even the smallest amount of anything olive-like in my food, even if olive oil was used to fry something.

In this I am unique, it seems, in the world. I watch Jamie Oliver prepare a meal and think, " That looks nice, I might try that," and then he pours olive oil on it, and I shudder. (I do have a theory that if his Olive oil was taken off him he would run around in circles, unable to cook, gibbering until he just collapsed in an exhausted heap of anxiety, he puts it on everything. My challenge to you, Jamie...cook a meal without even touching the bottle of olive oil, ah ah, not even as a dressing afterwards.)

I have decided that my hatred of olives in genetic. I think there is possibly not one single molecule of Mediterranean DNA in my being. I am Celtic through and through and olives, as we all know, are not known for growing well in Scotland or Cornwall.

Why does everybody love olive oil? Or is it just one of those taboos that no-one has told me about, a sort of political correctness, and you're just not allowed to admit that you can't stand them.

You know it's a good day when.....

Well, apparently when you wake up...

We have an elderly doctor practising in our health centre, very elderly, he must be pushing eighty, if not pulling it from the other side. He is mentally very alert and attends lots of conferences and educational seminars. He keeps his patient list limited and generally is considered a very good doctor.

He was in the shop today and one of our girls was telling him about a radio event we have going on outside the shop tomorrow morning, complete with free breakfast barbecue and live (horribly loud) music.

"So," she says, " Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Oh I hope so dear, I really do. We'll just wait and see shall we?" And with a twinkling smile he was off through the door waving his walking stick.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008


There is a news item about some wild life rescue people being really chuffed as they have raised some baby sharks and are releasing them back into the wild. Good for them. Excellent work.

They are releasing them off the beaches of Sydney, one assumes because of the ready availability of a food source, surfers and swimmers. Obviously having been raised in an aquarium they will be familiar with this food soure and unafraid to approach it!

Another diagnosis?

I would first like to thank every-one for their support in my endeavours to give up smoking, nearly a week now. I can even say " I don't smoke" with barely a tear welling up and only a slight quaver in my voice. I would only severely injure one person for a cigarette, a definite improvement on a few days ago.

I returned to the doctors today for what I thought was going to be the " give up pork dripping and lard butties" talk.

His opening line was " I know why you had a heart attack...." Now, I thought I had that covered by being an overweight unfit smoke stack who enjoys any food that heavily features fat and sugar. Apparently that is not enough. Apparently I am also a borderline diabetic.

" Listen," I said, " Listen very carefully (I shall say this only once), I am not going to have any more blood tests for at least a month, maybe two. In that time I will have given up smoking, given up caffeine, started exercising and reduced the fat intake of my family and myself by roughly three hundred per cent.(Probably putting a small lard factory out of business in the process.) My blood pressure will have fallen, as will my cholesterol. My enjoyment of life may, just may, be starting to return. At that point you can do another blood test and tell me I am not diabetic. OK?"

"Well some people do have success with weight loss and exercise in treating pre-diabetes and lowering cholesterol and blood pressure, in fact that is the recommended approach, but I should really......" He looked me straight in the eye.... and he blinked first. He slowly moved his hand away from his prescription pad, but triumphantly whipped out a pre-prepared blood sugar test form and handed it to me. "I shall do this after I have remade the blood you took during the last blood tests" I said, " At the moment I am probably anaemic."

I am quite willing to listen to my doctors advice, but if he could perhaps make just one earth shattering revelation a month?

Monday, September 15, 2008

Still not smoking, but scaring passers-by ....

I'm still not smoking, other people are being very brave and not telling me that they wish I'd start again. They are bravely avoiding disagreeing with me in any way, and hiding the knives, and strangely enough the spoons. I wonder what I threatened to do with a spoon that brought that on?

I found my self following a stranger around the supermarket today, one who smokes. I know they smoke, I can smell it and the smell of cigarette smoke is not yet disgusting to me. It was purely chance that I was behind her, because as you know you have to follow a prescribed pattern once you enter the supermarket. You have to walk the aisles in a set order at a set speed or create chaos.

I was perhaps following her a little too closely, and inhaling a little too deeply, however. She was becoming quite twitchy about me. In retrospect, and looking back on the incident with, as it were, hindsight, I can see that maybe having a strange, plump, middle aged woman edging ever closer to you in the cheese aisle, deeply inhaling as she approaches, may have been, just for an instant, at least, a little disturbing for her, maybe, from her point of view, ah hem.

Well, at least if the police had been called they would have known me!

Oh I had to attend the police station today about something, and who should I bump into but the MBEB (Murdering B***d ex boyfriend) of #2 doing his daily bail sign in. I manfully avoided eye contact but tackled the policeman after he had gone on the subject of why wasn't he yet in jail FOR LIFE for trying to kill my daughter. "BY THE WAY "I added," I JUST GAVE UP SMOKING, MAYBE I CAN SOLVE THE PROBLEM." I think I may have thrown a comment towards his mother regarding faulty genetics as well. (That's the MBEB's mother not the policeman's.)

Apparently we have to wait for the whole shooting match to go thorough the court system again now that he isn't threatening to kill himself as well as her. They are unsure with what to charge him....I have a few suggestions, after all he tried to kill my child three times in one day, and escaped from the mental ward to try twice more. Before I could enumerate my views too clearly, along with the punishments I was willing to provide a nice man came and gave me a cup of tea, but not a cigarette.

Black box it

On the right ( I think, right and left always been a bit of a mystery to me quite frankly,) is a box/ make a choice. By clicking on it you get choices which eventually lead you to a point where you put in your own or white? Fish or chips? ak47 or oozi?, actually the last one probably isn't in there, yet. ( It is now, I put it in.) Then you go to a mystery blog to read it, after inputting your own url.

I know that one of the worst things about reading blogs is some of the dross you have to read to find a good one so this seemed like a fun way of searching. I'll still find dross but I'm having a lot of fun with the whole asking questions thing, and finding some fun blogs too.

To add the widget yourself the code is here

Sunday, September 14, 2008

When you don't think you can sink any further...

This isn't about me, I just read a very moving piece on the Menopausal Old Bag's blog, along the lines of "Life gets you down, and then gives you a good kicking just to be sure you stay there."

It reminded me of one of the more recent examples of this principle that I have come across personally.

A gentleman came in with a prescription for a testosterone injection. Quite a popular item in our shop as one of the doctors next door "does" male hormones. The customer is a little younger than usual for this, but not a huge amount. He wants a fair bit of information as he has used the patches before. I oblige, and tell him about the capsules as well, and the reasons we tend to use injections here.

Customer tells me in course of conversation

1. He's from Sydney.
2. He left Sydney because he caught his wife in bed with some one else.
3. Some one else was his best friend
4. He misses his two year old twins
5. His twins aren't his, he has just found out he cannot father children, hence the injection.
6. His best friend isn't the father either, his wife took great delight in telling him that he knows the father, but it's not his best friend, it's one of his other "friends"...ha ha....(Ladies some of us do rather let the side down don't we?)
7. His family know where he is but not why, as one of his brothers may be the said father.

I really really hope the guy is all right as I haven't seen him since.

Still not smoking, attempting to make rest of families life miserable so they can share my suffering.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Self improvement becomes more important..

I have been a bit patchy in my blog recently. The reason will become clear. Apparently I have a hard a heart attack (or two) without noticing. I went to the doctor with a shoulder pain that has been bugging me on and off for a while. While I was there they decided to do an ecg, for completeness. It was all very casual and friendly and then all of a sudden doors were shut and whispering behind curtains was happening. OOh I thought...

Serious face from nurse and doctor....."Just how often have you had this pain". After a short discussion I find I have had a heart attack, or two, and just didn't bother to tell anyone. So they took about two armfuls of blood and gave me a list.

I wish I could express surprise at this turn of events but when you've used a body as hard as I've used this one you really have to expect consequences.

1. Stop smoking.....well I'm on day four and if you need anyone assassinating I'll do it for a cigarette, actually I'll kill three people of your choice for a quick drag.
2. Stop with the caffeine...So no nicotine and no caffeine, I have now been asleep for three days.
2. Get less stress......anyone want a child? Numbers 1-4 are up for a good home. I will also have to get a new life, any-one got a spare one, stress free, up for grabs. I also got a yoga book from the library. The yoga won't relax me but imagining that I could ever get into some of those positions will be funny and that will be relaxing.
3. Stop eating pork dripping sandwiches....not a big loss, but the whole get my lunch ready in the morning thing is already a bit wearing, and eat breakfast. I already have a good diet, its just that I was enjoying the bad diet I was eating in addition to it.
4. Exercise...pah....I'll wait until I see the specialist and hope he tells me I can start smoking and start eating pork dripping again, I know it's not likely, but I have to have some hope of something.
One of the receptionists in the doctors has had a similar experience and just joined a gym. They did the flexibilty test and asked her to touch her toes whilst sitting down. Her response.." My toes, but I haven't seen them for three years, how could I possibly touch them?" (I can smugly say I could touch my toes from that position, but getting back out of the position proved a greater challenge.)
5. Start drinking....MMM....I honestly can't remember the last time I had alcohol and I'm told a few glasses of red wine here and there will be good for me.

Family reactions so far:

1. Husband: If he ignores it it will go away. A standard reaction but unfortunately not one available to me, but he has given up smoking in support.
2. Child #1: Stopped smoking in the house and now takes a torch to the bottom of the garden to sneak the occasional one. I can smell the next door neighbour smoking but not him. (There is of course the stress of wondering if a snake will get him in the dark.)
3. Child #2: Left home to live with boyfriend if can't smoke here.
4. Child #3 and 4: Too young to be told. Husband trying to deal with #4, and quitting smoking, which leads to loud shouting. This too shall pass.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

It's not funny when it's me...

Knock, Knock,

"Oh Hi PC X, just calling in for a cuppa while you're in the neighbourhood?"

"Er, no, I'm, mm," cough, barely stifled laugh, " I'm here on official business."

"Really, number 4 has been with me all weekend? Are you sure?"

"Umm, " very unmanly giggle, " it's about the cat."


"One of your neighbours says that your cat is bullying their dog."

It was too much for him, he just burst out laughing. I looked behind him to see his partner barely standing upright such was the effort he was putting in to not laughing. He was literally holding his stomach in pain.

"I don't know you do I?" I responded trying to maintain my dignity.

" Oh er yes" he said, " I came when the little tucker set the house on fire."

Swift deflation. Apparently the cat's teasing of the blind shitzu next door has been noticed, and complained about. I was just about to get right up there on my high horse about police matters and non-police matters, and the fact that the dog is allowed to wander the neighbourhood, putting it right in the cats way, when I heard a strange strangled noise from the fence. Glancing over I see the next door neighbour turning purple in an effort not to laugh.

Hurrumph. Slow day obviously.

Basketball tickets

Woo hoo , we got to collect our basketball tickets for the season yesterday. Me and #4 go along to every home match.

Yesterday was the big opening gig with all the players present to sign posters and chat with the fans. Number four had a go at the free throw line, and of course got four out of four shots. He's never to my knowledge picked up a basketball before, but all that practice aiming at the green ants, the ceiling fan and his brother has obviously paid off. I had the coaches card pressed into my hand to ring him regarding the juniors. This might be a good option since reading is still very low on his list of priorities, with the added benefit that it should tire him out. (I crack myself up, four hours sleep last night...)

We got the same seats as last year on the basis that anyone #4 had really annoyed would move, and it would be unfair to move with them. Can you imagine moving your season ticket seats to get a way from an annoying child, only to find the annoying child has moved too, to right next to you.

Most of the people around me are used to him and sort of do a tag team of answering the endless questions. We've been going for four years now, and still he has questions...

Saturday, September 6, 2008

School fete

It was the school fete last night. Every year we have attended up until now it has consisted of a few sad looking cake stalls and a tombola table full of junk. Ah well, its for a good cause we grumbled and bundled #3 and #4 into the car and off we set.

It was amazing, a fully fledged fun fair with rides and popcorn and hot dogs and candy floss and good stuff on the stalls. It was better than this years town show.

One of the rides was a bouncy slide (free) which we tipped them onto for the first half hour in an effort to get them tired. (ha ha) Then it was off to the quad bike ride.

The gentleman running the stall was clearly not aware of the reputation of #4. Other parents backed away their precious darling babies as we approached. They pointed and muttered, " Maybe you can go on the next turn" to their little darlings. "Roll up roll up " He had no takers , #4 was at the front of the queue (which consisted of only #3 and #4), a few brave souls sent there larger and tougher boys over to join in.

The poor deluded fool running the stall leant over to show #4 how to drive the bike, and nearly lost his nose as #4 took off, hotly pursued by #3. They ducked and dived, overtook each other and the rest of the riders (including one who I think does scrambling on a semi professional basis...whoops).

Number four thought it was excellent, surprisingly number three was very good at it too. He kept up with #4, but always in a very upright position with a slightly amused look on his face.

The head teacher came over and watched. " Ah, another of his many talents," he commented, " hooning." (I am so glad all four of my children attended the school and he knows that it's not us, it's #4, he's made that way.)

Ride over and #4 saw some of his mates .( The paramedic that came to the spider bite last week, the fireman that had to rescue his friend from the school roof after #4 told him about high places, the last nurse to stitch him up, the doctor that xrayed #3 after the fan/golf ball incident..) It's nice that we live in a small community. I did notice that the policeman kept his hand on his holster all the time he was talking to us, I think this was to stop #4 exploring more than for a quick draw though.

Number four is getting pretty famous now.