Something Of A Blur

Healthwise, things aren't so great around here. Oh it isn't me. Nor Natalie. No, it's the three kids, with their persistent, deep, wet, racking coughs that send them into spasms so violent that on a couple of occasions they've vomited.

Wouldn't be so bad if it came and went. But Elder Son has now been coughing like this for more than two weeks. Younger Son has something like asthma, and we had to aggressively up his meds to bring his cough under control. And the Mau-Mau... when she coughs, it sounds like there's a small, elderly truck somewhere in her lungs, attempting to start after a long, cold winter. And so it has been for two weeks.

Naturally, this doesn't do much for sleep. The chorus of strangulating, rattling coughs drifts up the stairwell, and keeps a couple of parents on edge pretty much all night.

They are getting better, definitely. Younger Son is mostly over his dose. Elder Son is clearly better than he was a week ago, when we even had to keep him back from school. And even the Mau-Mau, whose case is the youngest, is getting no worse and certainly shows improvement during daytime.

What's the cause? Who knows? They're not really 'sick'. They have plenty of energy, and their appetites are undiminished. They do not have fevers. They just have a filthy goddam cough. So it's most likely viral.

So that's the backdrop, for the last couple weeks, to everything I've been doing. Very entertaining indeed.

Wednesday was a bit excessive. I dropped the boys at school, then shopped like crazy because we had a going-away party in the evening for a young, visiting doctor much liked by the surgery staff and the community - as well as me. (Hi, Rob! You gonna drop by and finish that absinthe, or what?) But being Wednesday, it was problematic. I ran up a couple of salads, a bunch of khofta, and some roulades of smoked salmon with cream cheese/lemon/black pepper/capers/dill as filling. I also prepped some spiced chicken kebabs, and set up the barbecue because of course I had to be gone from 1430 to 1900 at ju-jitsu training.

The plan was that the sixteen or so visitors would bring bits of stuff of their own to put onto the barbecue, plus maybe a few salads, etc. No drama, right?

Wrong.

The ju-jitsu training went well. Couple of newcomers for the older group (yay!) who were smart and motivated. Hopefully they'll return, because it's always good to have more people to train with. However, the real problem with The Plan cropped up halfway through the second training session: lightning, distant thunder, and rain.

Whoops. Really doesn't work for a barbecue, does it? Damn.

I made it home around seven, after dropping the Viking Boys (who attend the martial classes, naturally) at home. And then it was cooking and eating and drinking until the wee hours. Yep.

Thursday was a public holiday. Naturally, I'd made the foolish promise to the lads that we could have a day of gaming in Shattered Worlds. So much for most of Thursday.

Friday was unallocated, so I took the Mau-Mau and the trailer, and I went to Launceston. I bought $50 of spent mushroom compost and grabbed some framing timber, came home, and put some more work on the strawberry patch. I do believe that today I should be able to actually put plants in the ground, after I'm done here... but of course, yesterday was all about hauling wheelbarrows of mulch down from the big mulchpile to the strawberry patch, to build a nice slug-repellent and weed-reducing barrier on the inside of the (wallaby-proof, rabbit-proof, field-mouse deterrent, locust-deterrent, bird-proof) fence.

And of course, Natalie's on call all weekend, so I'm mostly Parent In Charge too.

Today I dig in a couple of uprights to make the frame for a gate to the strawberry patch. And I put the last of the fencing in place. Later, I head down to the Viking House and collect a bunch of strawberry runners (theirs are acting like triffids: overrunning the place aggressively. I like that in a strawberry plant, myself.) then set them nicely into the newly mushroom-composted secure zone, water them in, and heave a sigh of relief. After that, I only have to add the gate, put a light frame around the top of the uprights and sling bird-netting over the lot...

...in the meantime, I've got an MS to read and assess. Beer money. Usually it takes me about eight hours work to read an MS and prepare from five to eight thousand words for the author. That makes it a reasonable rate of return, but it's still beer money. Or computer-upgrade money. Or whatever. Still, I like doing it and I'm good at it, so why not?

Signing off... got another vast day to get through. At least spring is here, in all its green and gorgeous glories. Of course, that means the lawnmower needs an overhaul, and the whippersnipper has to come out of hibernation. And also, that stupid birds begin to fly into the glass of the sunroom once more. The last one was some kind of cuckoo/thrush thing (I'd identify it positively, but the bird-identification books have long since subsided into the morass of printed matter in this house. Bugger.) that the Mau-Mau found on the verandah on Friday.

It didn't show any real signs of damage, but it had clearly knocked itself into a kind of stupidity excessive even for feather-brains of that sort. The Mau-Mau promptly gathered a lot of grass and built a 'nest' for it on the deck, surrounding the 'nest' with a motley wall of ... stuff... including a watering can, a plastic tub, and a child's bicycle. This was supposed to keep the dog at bay.

I gathered up the bird (and young Jake just brought me the birdbook -- it was a Fan-Tailed Cuckoo) and brought it inside to rest in a warm, dark place. A couple hours later, it still wasn't showing signs of flight - it just sat, blinking stupidly.

Eventually, I made a perch for it high up in the kitchen, where it rested for the entire night. In the morning, Natalie took it outside - and it flew away! Score one for the goodguys, eh?

Hmm. That last sign-off failed, didn't it? I'll try again.

Well, At Least The Car Is Back On The Road

Today really sorta started last night. All three kids have varying degrees of bronchitis at the moment. Younger Son is getting over it, but it's triggering his asthma, and he has the most exciting coughing spasms... vomited all over the Viking Neighbours trampoline on Sunday afternoon, what with all the sheer joy of bouncing around with his friends.

Elder Son, meanwhile, simply spends most of the night coughing, waking up, coughing, drifting off, coughing. And the Mau-Mau? Oh, you don't wanna know. Wet, rattly, lumpy stuff. Horrible.

None of 'em really seems very sick. They're all energetic and perky. They just have this filthy fucking cough. And it's not easy for a parent to sleep through that kind of thing. (As a matter of fact, when I finish typing this, I'm gonna go into the Mau-Mau's room and... just check, you know? 'Cos she hasn't coughed in a while, and that sort of worries me, though I know it shouldn't.)

So: it was a sad, tired and sorry family this morning. Nevertheless, we packed luncheons and girded loins, and I coaxed the stupid frikkin' Terracan into going down to the school in time for us to do our Von Trapp impression.

What am I talking about? Ah. The school has ramped up its music classes lately. And the Mau-Mau's teacher has heard that Nat and I play a bit. Oh, and so do both boys. So there was nothing for it but that we must turn up with all our instruments to do a bit of a demo for a few kids.

Okay. 'A few kids' turned out to be three classes of twenty or so. But to be fair, we didn't actually bring all our instruments. I forgot to bring down my orchestral flute, for example, so all I had was the Chinese dizi, the Apache flute, the Irish flute, the low whistle, the pennywhistle, the harp and the bodhran. Natalie, meanwhile, brought her fiddle, a mandolin, a ukelele(!) and a few spare fiddles. Younger Son had his violin, and Elder Son had his cello.

The boys aren't so schmick yet, so we played 'Frere Jacques' as a round, to show off all four of us playing together. Then Elder Son played one of his exam pieces, and Younger Son played something... then Natalie cranked out a couple of Irish pieces and I brought out the bodhran to keep time. And then, of course, I had to go through the whistles and the flutes and the harps, and frankly, they really should have given us more than half an hour, because the kids were fascinated, and hardly any of them really got to mess around with the instruments.

Anyway, once we were packed, I spent about twenty minutes swearing at the car before it started again. Then the Mau-Mau and I went home and had lunch. I let the car cool down in the driveway, but I positioned it nose-down, because I was tired of all the fucking around with the not-starting bullshit, and when it came time to leave, I just roll-started the sonofabitch. Wasn't entirely sure you could do that with a CRD fuel-injected turbo diesel engine - but it turns out it was no problem at all. And naturally, I didn't stop the fucker again until we were at the mechanics, in Launceston.

They kept the car for a few hours. Apparently changing a sensor is a bit of a production. In the meantime, the Mau-Mau and I did some shopping, went to a bookstore, picked up some T-shirt ink, had a bite to eat, priced some LED lighting for the kitchen, and then hung out at a playground in a park. By the time they gave us back the car, I calculated there was no way I could get home with the Mau-Mau and then back to sword training in time, so I dropped by my instructor's house to deliver my apologies. I feel like a bit of an idiot: I haven't actually been able to make more than the one session since we got back from Borneo -- but what are you gonna do?

Anyway, the moment I got home it was time to fire up the dinner cooking: 'Pepper Beef Soup', I'm calling tonight's effort. Super-thin sliced beef marinated in lime, fish sauce, palm sugar and oodles of black pepper; placed into large soup bowls with plenty of sliced veges and a splash of sesame oil. Pour boiling stock and noodles over the top to cook the meat, and serve. Yeah!

That's my Monday, right there. Oh - I also negotiated a change for Elder Son's education, much to the relief of his poor teacher. His story-writing and narrative English skills have come along at a rate which has sort of left her behind. Truthfully? The stories he's writing now are better than quite a few of the pieces I slush for Andromeda Spaceways, which is a bit of a worry.

I'm a bit dismayed that he enjoys writing so much. I mean - it's great, but it's a mug's game. The percentages are against you in a big way, and you lead a weird-ass, isolated life. But he's got the bug truly, and badly, and there's no fixing it. I know that for a fact, so the best I can do is help him develop it as far as his talent will let him go.

Which is where we're going. His school English will now consist of grammar, Greek and Latin derivations, and projects in expository or persuasive writing. Narrative, storytelling, poetry - the expressive and arty side of English - will be happening under the guidance of yours truly.

It isn't contrary to his public education. He's already so far ahead of the curriculum with that aspect of his work that they won't catch up with him for at least another six or seven years - probably longer. All that's happening is that he's getting specialist tuition in a particular aspect of English studies wherein he excels.

His teacher's very happy. She's truly excellent, but she was out of her depth on this particular topic, and - being an excellent teacher - only too happy to admit it.

So. There's something else I have to chase up, eh?

Never mind. Sleep is for the weak!

Why Did I Not Know About This Stuff Earlier?

The awesomeness that is home-use iron-on transfer paper, that is. See that T-shirt above? the adorable little butterfly-fairy with the face of my daughter? What you can't see is the excitement my daughter exhibited when I gave her said shirt.

Printed it up via my inkjet printer, by the way. But apparently I could have just drawn on the transfer paper with felt-pen, if I wanted. How did I not know of this stuff before? $12.50 (plus a little postage) gets you five A4 sheets to play with -- from blankclothing.com.au once again, of course. I am more impressed with that mob every time I deal with them.

Right. Hey, I got some down time today! For real! The kids got snaffled by the Mad Viking Neighbours for a few hours. Natalie wanted to go do her Big Exercise thing. I decided I'd take a bit of time to watch "Black Dynamite", because I'd heard that it was an extremely clever parody of all those horrid old '70s Blaxplo flicks.

So there I was, stretched out on the bed, watching my dopey movie, when Natalie came up, gave me a bottle of cider and a bowl of spiced popcorn. How cool is that? Not only did I get to watch a movie, but I got snackage too!

(Yeah, I know. It's pathetic what cheers me up these days. But trust me: an afternoon free of kids, watching a dodgy movie with tasty snacks - that's pretty fraggin' good, right there.)

Where The Fork Did My Week Go?

Uh.

Let's see. The car spat the dummy on Monday, big-time. Wouldn't start any more. We still figured it to be the engine immobiliser, but a call to the service people disabused us of that: apparently when the engine immobiliser is running, even the starter motor does nothing. And that was definitely not the case here.

After any amount of screwing about down in Scottsdale with a dead car, I managed to get it going long enough to take it to Jeff French, our local miracle worker. Of course, with the car being under warranty, he couldn't actually work any miracles. But he could and did hook up a diagnostic computer, which confirmed what one of the savvier service-people had said on the phone: sensor troubles.

Shiny new cars run on computers. Computers need information. Information comes from sensors. If your sensors go to shit, your car computer gets shitty information, and the car stops running. Thus, because a cam-shaft sensor has become heat-sensitive, the car will no longer start when it is warm. You have to wait an hour or so for the engine to cool down before it will actually start again -- and it's getting sketchier about that, too.

Some time ago, I had a long and growly online argument with the eejits who profess themselves to be in love with fuel-injection at the expense of the carburettor. They told me at length how wonderful fuel-injection is: how efficient, how clean, how it would tuck me in at night and blow me to sleep.

At that time, I said: I'm sure fuel injection is very fucking shiny, yes. But the thing about carburettors is that they keep on working. And if they fuck up, you can fix them. Right there. By the roadside. Because they are simple, elegant, functional, effective technology. They may not run perfectly. They may not produce world-beating crepes. They may not write home to their parents. But they run. And they keep on running.

Unlike my present, fuel-injected vehicle. And so, some four years after that discussion, I hereby conclude my case with a raised middle finger and a gentle 'screw you!' to the crowd who dissed my simple, screwdriver-and-spanner approach.

Of course, that fucked up Thursday for me, because I had to drive the car in to Launceston to the service people, then wait about four hours while they fritzed around with it. And of course, at the end of that time, the car was not fixed. Why? Because they don't have the parts. They're coming, naturally. Should be in by Monday, yep.

Now, this is a very big dealership. And when I described the problem over the phone, the competent service-blokes were quite excitable: textbook case of sensor failure, no mistaking it. This implies, of course, that sensor failure is not an uncommon situation. Which begs the question: why doesn't this large dealership have spares for something which is a known failure issue?

Who the hell knows? Not me.

I killed the time by trekking out to the university and putting in the paperwork on my Master's degree application. Slow, weary process, but it's almost entirely in place. Then I made it back to Launceston, and ran a bunch of errands for Natalie. Finally, I went to the library, grabbed a computer, and did some writing for a couple hours. Not anything useful, mind you: a simple script for Younger Son to read and record.

And why was I doing this? Because quid pro quo hath raised its head. The children were allowed to take a couple weeks off school to go to Borneo. This isn't kosher by Dept Ed standards, but of course, the kids learned more in those few weeks than they have done in an entire year of school -- and the school people know that, so they didn't put up a fuss. However, it's only reasonable that we now put back a little of that goodwill, right?

Thus, yesterday I found myself cooking chili tamarind chicken with turmeric rice (followed by a very passable ais kacang, or ABC dessert) for twenty kids of Younger Son's grade. But before that, we viewed a seven minute video on "Malaysian Food", narrated by Younger Son.

And of course, in order to create this seven minute miracle, yours truly spent four hours the previous night figuring the ins and outs of a video editing software suite.

Since Windows 7 has (wisely!) abandoned 'Moviemaker', I'm using MAGIX Movie Edit Pro. I'm sure everyone has their own favourite bit of gear for this sort of thing, but I have to say: once I got past the totally fucking crap instructions and worked out that pretty much everything you want to do is done in the 'edit' screen, it worked quite well. Nice things: you can control sound levels on video clips, allowing you to add extra soundtracks, music, narration, etc, and you can mix them nicely.

My only real problem: I wish to fuck I could find a simple 'fade' transition. It does every kind of jackass home-movie wipe you could want: all those Batman scene-spinning changes, all those 'page turns', 'doors opening'... wipes to the left, the right, up and down; fades through Venetian Blinds blah blah blah - but can I get it simply to fade to black?

The fuck I can.

Never mind. So, yeah: four hours work to create a wonky seven minute DVD. Happily, the class enjoyed it - probably because of the footage of Younger Son trying a couple of really dodgy tropical fruits (including a close relative of the dreaded Durian. His impression of vomiting afterwards was dangerously close to the real thing...)

The actual cooking and feeding went surprisingly well. The kids responded far better than I had expected to spicy, unusually flavoured food. Admittedly, I kept the chili to a barely-detectable minimum, but I should point out that not one of them had ever even heard of tamarind; that they were almost all terrified by chili; that they were amazed by garam masala, and that (naturally) I incorporated a whole bunch of very lightly cooked vegetables in the dish -- pak choy, green beans, capsicum, and bean sprouts.

They went bughouse berserk. Ate their way through the entire metric shitload. Most of 'em even finished their vegetables. I had to encourage a couple of 'em to try vegetables they normally claimed to dislike - but the sweet-sour tamarind/kecap manis flavour, with the depth from the fish sauce (couldn't get shrimp paste!) and the zing from the chili, garlic, ginger, onion and garam masala got their enthusiasm pumped up, and in most cases, once they wrapped their heads around the fact that they were eating vegetables but the veges were crunchy and tasted really good, they didn't look back for an instant.

The shaved-ice thing didn't do so well, but I didn't expect it to. If you know Ais Kacang or ABC, so much the better. If you don't -- well, get shaved ice. Add bunches of weird bits of jelly in a range of demented colours. Include spoonfuls of red beans and sweet corn, maybe some green coconut flesh. Now pour red-coloured, hypersweet palm sugar syrup over the lot, and add a generous splash of evaporated milk. Eat with a spoon and considerable trepidation...

The kids liked the palm sugar syrup. And the ice. And... some of the jelly. (But not the blue coconut cream jelly. No.) The corn and beans kinda freaked 'em out - but that was the point, really. That 'authentic Malay experience' thing.

It took about two hours, all told. Two hours of face time with the littlies, that is. Actual cooking, even on a rather dodgy cast-iron camp stove I bought for the wok, was only about twenty minutes. There was a lot of preparation, of course -- I had jelly to make, and stuff. And lots of carrying and setting up. But on the whole, it was remarkably successful -- if exceptionally tiring.

Of course, I had to risk using the Terracan for the job. Couldn't pack all the shite into Nat's Honda. Happily, I started it okay when it came time to leave the school, but I had quite a scare about an hour later, when I tried to start it again outside the supermarket. Bastard thing. I just hope it will start Monday morning. I'm having nothing to do with it again until then...

And how did I finish my day? Cooking again, sure. Polenta-crusted salmon on a bed of crispy-fried potato shavings with a green salad. Popcorn. A movie with the kids. And rum and lime, dammit, because I fucking earned it...

Still Damned Tired

I feel like I haven't actually stopped since about a week before we took off to Borneo. I mean -- first there was all the prep and packing, and all the taking care of loose ends. And then there was three weeks with three children in a couple of very foreign countries. It was a lovely holiday, yes, but not what I'd call 'restful' by any means.

Then I got back, and I had a week to catch up. That included re-reading the four novel-length MS which the ROR writers sent me for our meet in Melbourne, and of course, editing the eight-of-ten scenes from the libretto piece into shape. As well as taking up home duties of cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc again.

Then it was off to Melbourne, for the ROR meeting and WorldCon. As you know, I combined regular Dad duties with irregular Flinthart stuff by bringing Jake to the WorldCon, so that wasn't exactly a cup of tea either. (Big tip o' the hat to Barnesm and his Weapon Against Society for easing the trek both for me, and young Jake.)

Returning from Melbourne, it was school holiday time. Kids underfoot. But of course, I was also trying to get through a bunch of things, as usual. Trying to edit video from the holidays into a shape useful for the boys at school. (The 'Food' section will be going on display at Younger Son's class this Friday, accompanied by yours truly cooking a version of Nyonya Chicken with steamed rice, followed by the classic street-drink/dessert 'ABC'. A dose of seriously foreign foodiness for a class of rural Tasmanian kids. Should be fun, no?)

One of the projects that really ate some time was the removal and replacement of the old wood-fired kachelofen stove thing. A German-designed wood heater, the kachelofen was a nice piece of work... but it had been bricked into position over twenty years previously, and no thought had been given to potential needs of maintenance. As a result, rusted and sprung seams in the cast iron system were pouring smoke into the house every time we tried to use the bastard.

In the space of a week and a half, I pulled down the entire brick structure with the aid of a hammer and a small crowbar. I carefully deconstructed the heavy iron oven, pulling it into its component pieces, undoing screws and bolts last touched maybe a quarter-century of regular heating and cooling ago. I broke down mortar, cracked bricks, swept, vacuumed, chiselled, swept and vacuumed some more, until I was down to the bare concrete foundation slab.

I was working against time, because Natalie had a fiddle gathering planned for this weekend, including a lovely chap from Melbourne by the name of Ken Maher, and his two lads. Mainlanders. You have to keep the house warm for them, apparently...

So. Friday a week or so back, I picked up a bunch of slate tiles, cut them to size, and stuck them round the bottom of the concrete slab with enough overhang at the top to create a space that I could fill with tile bedding. And of course, on Monday I went and got a small load of crusher-dust to mix into a proper tile bed. Except, of course, it's impossible to get a 'small' load, so I wound up with roughly a tonne and a half of wet crusher dust in my little trailer.

Of that trailer-load, I needed about five decent buckets, so I hauled out the cement mixer, made up the tile bed, put it in place and screeded it flat. Then, armed with my trusty wheelbarrow and spade, I shoveled the remaining tonne-and-a-half or so of wet crusher dust into various places on the driveway deemed to be in need.

Late Tuesday, the tile bed was dry, so I mixed a bunch of tile adhesive and put the slates on top. I had to cut the row closest to the wall down to make 'em fit, but being slates, I wasn't too worried about absolute precision. That rustic, rough-edged look is helpful.

Wednesday afternoon I decided the slates were settled enough, and I put the grouting into place. (Then I did the usual three-hour martial arts stint.)

Thursday, I drove into Launceston and collected a Jindabyne wood heater, pictured somewhere below. Weighing in at 90kg disassembled in its sturdy cardboard box, it was a bit of a bastard to manhandle into the house, but with determination and a bit of help from Natalie, I succeeded. Assembled the thing. Cut the flue and the flue-shield to fit with the old flue sticking out of the wall. Inserted appropriate insulating ropy stuff. And built a little kindling fire - the first of two required to 'set up' the enamel on the stove properly.

Then I drove back to Launceston, and failed at sword training when I realised that I'd managed to strain my left elbow rather badly - probably when I tried to catch 90kg of stove-in-a-box that was sliding down my makeshift ramp off the back of the car. (I did, in fact, catch the thing successfully, and left-handed. Shoulda realised I wouldn't be waving a sword around much that night...)

Friday: I drove back into Launceston and had a meeting with my MA supervisor. He wants me to work on the fiction before the exegesis. Okay, sez I. Why not? So I'm off and running there, or at least I will be soon's I give 'em duly certified proof of citizenship. (I love paperwork. Really.)

Also on Friday: Natalie used the Hyundai to collect Ken and his lot from the Airport. Or she would have, if she hadn't crossed up the car alarm and thus invoked the Evil Genie of the Engine Immobiliser. RACT eventually fixed that problem for her by disconnecting and reconnecting the battery... but now the car stereo believes it has been stolen, and refuses to function. I think it's waiting for some kind of clever code to be entered by the Rightful Owners (us) but since Nat and I have no idea what kind of code it wants, the car no longer sings to us. Must remember to phone the dealership on Monday for help... not that I expect a lot of help. When I rang them to talk about the car not starting after Natalie's alarm problems, their service manager promptly told me that there was no way the alarm system could stop the engine, oh my, dear me no. I'd forgotten the term 'engine immobiliser'. Had to look it up online, call back, tear a few strips off the service people... and they still couldn't help. So I'll be pleasantly surprised if we don't actually have to replace the whole fucking stereo..

However. In the end, it was done. Oven in place. Fiddler and kids fetched. And eventually, even my own boys were brought back from orchestra practice.

So, Saturday. Lots of fiddlers and musos all over the house.

That there is artist and Irish music legend Brian Mooney. A nicer chap you couldn't hope for; still going strong at 80 or thereabouts.

The sun room, full of musicians. Ken's at the far left, in the greenish shirt.

There's Younger Son, crouched happily in front of the shiny new wood heater. I'm pleased to say the thing works a treat. Heats up faster than the old kachelofen, though without the brick box around it, the heat also fades faster. But it burns very efficiently, and the glass front lets you watch the fire, which is very nice.

I've still got to clean up the back wall, maybe add a few more slates to frame the brick mantle behind... clean up the grouting and the seams (I ran out of grout) down the front there. But it works, and one can hardly ask for better.

And what did I do while the musos were doing their thing? I hung out in the kitchen, cooking for many, drinking beer, and listening to the music. It was very good, thank you kindly.

Now I have to go and pull my slow-baked lamb shanks out of the oven...

Photos Outta WorldCon

Terri

Tehani and Max

Trent. Actually, his eyes very rarely open. I believe he's afraid of corneal sunburn.

Cat, Kaaron and Rob. "We got Ditmars. You didn't."

I know, it's Melbourne. But is it Art?

Deadly concentration and bitter rivalries at the Lego competition

The Mau-Mau, wearing her favouritest birthday present ever

Jake paints his lightsabre. Candy-striped. Naturally.

Chaz and Barnesm at kaffeeklatsch. Thank you, Sarah, for the table!

Eyjafjallajokull.

Yarrr. New Toy, Belike!

Arrharr. I 'ave lately pillaged meself a fine silkscreen, an' a matchin' squeegee. Most pleased I be with the results, wi' a wannion!