‘Asking for it’ in London

"Adrienne Truscott's Asking For It"
“Adrienne Truscott’s Asking For It”. Image source: Soho Theatre

The other night I invited my friend Sarah on a ‘lady-date’ as it’d been awhile since we hung out just us two (as fun as the menfolk are, sometimes you just need girly time). On a whim I’d purchased tickets to a Soho Theatre show I saw in TimeOut. My hasty purchase was based on the the title of the show (“Adrienne Truscott’s Asking For It”) and the AMAZING promotional picture to the left.

Knowing that and little else, I told Sarah vaguely that I’d bought us tickets to a ‘feminist comedy’ and suggested we met before the show to eat burritos and drink margaritas at Tortilla, because we are super-classy-ladies who only dine at the finest eateries of Londontown *snort*.

On the afternoon of the show I Googled the show we were going to see and became more and more curious. I’d neglected to notice that Adrienne is sometimes referred to as “the naked comic” and that she would perform her set dressed “from the waist up and the ankles down.” I just assumed the promotional picture was a stunt and not a preview…

The more I read, the more I liked. I like gutsy comedians, I’m a feminist, and I’ve followed the Everyday Sexism project and contributed to pieces. It was starting to look like this Adrienne Truscott show would tick all the boxes (so to speak…).

So, over a pre-show margarita, I let Sarah know we should probably prepare ourselves for full-frontal-bush, and she said “Right on – fanny time!” or something like that and that’s why she’s my friend.

We arrived at Soho Theatre and were promptly seated at the table closest to the stage – or, as Truscott bellowed, the seats with “the best view in the house – talk about up close and personal!”

Truscott is a masterful comedian and powerful satirist. I’m wary of spoiling any of her jokes – which are equal parts side-splittingly hilarious, and just-a-bit-uncomfortable. The thing that really struck me is how she carefully maintains a tone of fun throughout the entire show. I mean, we’re talking jokes about Rohypnol, social commentary on some very disturbing American legislation, and yet the show never feels grim. In your face, yes, and quite rightly disturbing, but it’s also Plain Old Rowdy Fun with a capital F. She dances. She strip-teases. She guzzles cans of gin and tonic. She cheerfully offers the crowd her ‘rape whistle’ which we’re welcome to use if it “all gets too much” – and she regularly checks in to make sure we don’t need the whistle “yet”.

When an audience member ducks out to use the loo she whispers “Was that the rapist? Coz, statistically speaking, one of y’all in the room has gotta be a rapist…just saying!”

In short, her show is utterly brilliant.

Maybe it’s the dancing. Maybe it’s the talking faces she projects onto her bare abdomen and nether regions. Maybe it’s because she’s a subversive genius. Maybe it’s because she flips preconceived notions on their head, sideways and right back round again in ways you never saw coming. Whatever it is, I can tell I’m going to be thinking about this one for days, possibly even weeks.

Buy tickets immediately. Stay for the finale, I promise you won’t be disappointed.


The Show: “Adrienne Truscott’s Asking For it” 

The venue: Soho Theatre, 12-31 May

Tickets: £12.50-15 


On speaking clearly

I’ve changed jobs again recently (hence the lack of posts – life got rilly rilly busy there for a bit).
Fortunately there have been a few moments of clarity in amongst the chaos. Yoga, swimming and a couple of ‘introvert party nights’ at home with my books have helped immensely and led to these ramblings.

I’m a corporate communicator by profession, so it goes without saying that I find words, people, and the ways in which people deliver their words utterly fascinating.
One thing I’ve been mulling over recently is the fact that people tend to assume they’ve been understood, when sometimes this isn’t the case. I’m talking about every kind of interaction here: at the pub with your mates, at home with the kids, round the water cooler and in the boardroom.

A poignant example from my childhood springs to mind. When I was about nine years old I remember my Dad taking my younger brother and I aside. He told us that Mum felt taken for granted and that we all needed stop taking her for granted. Wide eyed and horrified my brother and I agreed to stop doing that immediately. And that was the end of our ‘chat’. Dad returned to his book and we kept on playing. The main thing I remember taking away from the conversation was that I understood it perfectly. Mum was upset and it was because of us. I had no comprehension of what ‘taking Mum for granted’ looked like but, being a Type-A overachieving child, I took it upon myself to do the opposite. I went out of my way to appreciate the hell out of her after that. I thought for hours about how much I appreciated her and said things like ‘Isn’t Mum so cool?’ to my bewildered little brother at least once a day, because I wanted to be Helpful and Appreciative. I think I even drew Mum a dorky picture or something. At any rate it was clear in my little mind that we were absolutely, without a doubt, not taking her for granted anymore. Except we were: when Dad told us off a few weeks later for the same thing I was devastated (sensitive kid, if you hadn’t already gathered).

And herein lies the challenge of communication. You need to check for understanding – your audience’s interpretation of your words can be wildly different to your own. I used that childhood anecdote not to critique my parents (who are lovely and I do not take for granted, especially when I remember stuff like this!) but to highlight how the best-intentioned conversations can go terribly wrong.
When Dad spoke to us, two specific pieces of information were missing: what taking Mum for granted looked like, and what not doing that looked like. Be specific about what’s currently happening and what needs to be different in future and you’ll get better outcomes in most conversations.

I’m guessing the outcome Dad (and Mum!) wanted was for us to pick up after ourselves more – and at the very least thank Mum more when she did do stuff for us. We got there eventually. The older I get the more I reflect on these things.
But at any rate, knowing exactly what you want out of any conversation helps you get straight to the point.

That’s all for today’s ramblings. I’m keen to hear other people’s anecdotes – tell me about a time you totally misunderstood someone!

Why everybody needs to visit spa LONDON at least once

I’m loving life right now and it’s all thanks to a 3-hour visit to spa LONDON this weekend. Midway through grey, gloomy January I decided a girl’s day out was in order and it had to be far enough away that we could ‘look forward to it’ for a few weeks. So I booked myself and two lovely gals in for the Thermal Spa Experience (£25 pp for 3 hours, bargain) at York Hall, Bethnal Green and waited patiently, gracefully, like laaaadies, for our day to roll around.

The Hammam room at York Hall: Image copyright Spa London
The Hammam room at York Hall: Image copyright Spa London














WHAT YOUR £25 THERMAL SPA EXPERIENCE GETS YOU: I’m going to put it out there: I’m not made of money. Some women can afford to drop a couple hundred pounds on spa days that involve champagne, massages, colonics, seaweed wraps, caviar facials and other witchcraft indulgent treatments I will probably never experience. I’m not one of those ladies. To be honest, super-high-tech beauty treatments terrify me and even if I had that much cash I’m not convinced I’d feel comfortable in that kind of scene.

What I do like, however, is feeling pampered. I adore uninterrupted relaxation time and I like it even better if it’s in a lovely, serene setting. I can’t really create any semblance of serenity at home, so I outsource that shit to the experts. And spa LONDON do serenity well. The basic spa experience gets you a fluffy robe, towel and fancy flip-flops and full access to all areas of the spa. I’m talking aromatherapy steam rooms, saunas, turkish baths, plunge pools and monsoon showers. I’m talking complimentary fruit bowls, chilled lemon water and peppermint tea on tap. I’m talking squidgy loungers with stacks of magazines, waiting just for you. I’m talking three hours without checking your damn phone and complimentary use of ghd hair straighteners and nice handcreams once you’ve finished relaxing.

We started out in the sauna, migrated to the icy-cold plunge pool and had to recover from the experience with some hardcore reading time on the loungers. Next stop was the eucalyptus-aromatherapy-steam-room, followed by some quiet time in the tepidarium and then back to the loungers. Basically all you do for three hours is lie down in one room, and wander to another, and repeat the process. Eat, sleep, relax, repeat. Amazeballs. If you’re feeling extra indulgent you can add on facials, pedicures, massages and such on top of the base price. Add-on treatments start from roughly £25. 

WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH THIS PLACE? WHY SO CHEAP? HOW? I’ll let the spa LONDON people speak for themselves, using the blurb from their website – they’re aiming “To make the therapeutic and recreational benefits of spa culture more accessible, affordable and widely available.” So basically the kind folks at spa LONDON work in partnership with local councils to deliver day spa experiences that locals can actually afford: in some locations you’ll get a cheaper rate if you can prove you live nearby. And that’s A-OK by me.  There are five locations across London so chances are, there’s a spa nearish.

DETAILS: Visit http://www.spa-london.org/thermal-spa/ for more details. Male-only or female-only sessions are available at some locations; the York Hall branch we visited offers the women-only service on Saturday afternoons.

I like to ride my (Boris) bicycle

We’re in the middle of a so-called-heatwave here in London. By that I mean the sun’s come out for a wee bit. The sky is blue. And the week ahead is meant to bring more of the same. On Sunday I actually felt brave enough to leave the house wearing only jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan. Translation for the unobservant: I left my coat at home. Stop-the-clocks and hold-the-sarcasm: that IS a London heatwave.

I’ve mentioned before that when the sun hits the sky, Londoners GTFO outside en masse. This Sunday a gang of us went for a wholesome group cycle trip through the Regent’s Park, my second-favourite of London’s royal parks (Richmond wins hands down). I was wildly distracted by the actual cycling, so forgot to take many decent photos (story of my life) so you’ll have to trust me on the basis of the three sketchy photos above. IT WAS REALLY FUN, YOU GUYS. Even when we had to dodge around slow-walking pedestrians. And navigate the canal paths without falling in.

This was my second outing on Transport for London’s Barclay’s Cycle Hire scheme. The first group cycle experience took place on Christmas Day and we were a sight to behold: eight Antipodeans struggling their way from Shepherd’s Bush to Buckingham Palace and back again on dwindling light and dwindling beers. It was, hands down, one of the best experiences I’ve had while living in London. A definite ‘pinch me’ travel moment.

TIPS FOR YOUNG PLAYERS: The Barclay’s Cycle Hire scheme, while brilliant, can be confusing for first timers. Or if you’re rushing. Rushing is evil and I believe the source of many many life screwups. Here are my top 5 tips for getting the most out of this fantastic, convenient service:

  1. READ THE FINE PRINT: The £2-for-24 hours “bike access fee” that pings up on screen first isn’t the total charge you’ll be footing. Slow down and read the fine print. I know a few people who’ve come unstuck here by hiring a bike in a rush without reading the T’s and C’s . You’re actually paying £2 for the right to use the bike for the next 24 hours. The actual usage fees are added on top of the bike access fee.
  2. WORK THE FREEBIES: The first 30 minutes of your ride are free. So if you only wanted a short-but-furious trip, you can squeeze in a free ride as long as you return the bike within half an hour. You can do that several times in the 24-hour-access period you paid for earlier.
  3. SPEND SMART: While a 59-minute cycle will only cost you an extra £1 on top of your access fee (bargain!) the hourly price charge leaps considerably after 90 minutes so it’s economical to keep your trips short. Or just dock your bike regularly and swap it for another one. Also, if you’re gonna be one of those super-keen people that cycles all the time, it might be worth paying for weekly or annual access to the scheme.
  4. PLAN YOUR ROUTE: It’s really hard to check Google Maps while you’re cycling. Not to mention dangerous. Oh, and, pretty much impossible. Suss out your route before you start pumping those legs, baby.
  5. READ THE FINE PRINT, AGAIN*: If the docking station is full, don’t panic. Simply select ‘No docking point free’ at the terminal and follow the on-screen directions to get an extra 15 minutes free. This is great as it allows you time to find another docking station, without being charged. *This helpful tip is in the fine print. I missed it the first time round. It’s good advice and saved us some cash as we tried to return our bikes just as everyone else had the same idea.

Tell me tales of your own Boris bike adventures. Where are the best places to cycle? And/or to stop and rest a while, perhaps at a fun foodie establishment? I’m listening.

Mmm, MEATliquor

MEATliquor restaurant has been on my ‘London bucket list’ for some time now.
So when my flatmate decided to host his birthday dinner there last week, I was thrilled – I will leap at any chance to binge on charred meat. Mmm, meat.

We went on a Thursday night and queued for roughly 30 minutes outside, then another 30-40 minutes at the bar. The kind folks at MEATliquor make sure the wait is fun though: when you’re outside they walk up and down with trays of samples so you can salivate over what’s in store for you. And when you’re waiting at the bar, well, there’s drinks to be had and a photo booth to be silly in.

WHAT WE ATE: My flatmates swore blind that ML’s chicken wings are the ‘best thing ever’, which was pretty encouraging. But I’m not really a fan of wings in general so I went for the Swiss mushroom burger (minus the bun, oh wheat I miss you!). Plus a side of chilli cheese fries to share. And 1 stolen wing – for a wing, it was tasty.

THE VERDICT: Holy bejeezus the food was good and definitely worth the wait. I’d eat those chilli cheese fries all over again. If I hadn’t been so stuffed the peanut butter ice cream dessert looked amazeballs.
Go there immediately.

THE PRICE: Mains start from £8, which seems v cheap, but once we added sides and a-few-too-many drinks and service you’re looking at roughly £20-25 per person. So it’s not budget eating but it’s certainly not extravagant.

The MEATliquor Twitter feed states you will ‘come hungry, leave drunk’. Mission accomplished 🙂

Location etc: 74 Welbeck St, W1G0BA, open 7 days from 12pm til varying late hours.  http://www.meatliquor.com/london/






The land of ice and snow

Oh, Reykjavik. You’re unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. A year ago this week, a group of us flew into Keflavik, Iceland’s largest airport in the midst of a mid-February Arctic storm. Rugged up against the elements, we battled the 500m from the terminal to the Geysir rental car office, leaning heavily into the wind to avoid being flung onto the highway as we walked. The stinging sleet burned my cheeks and my backpack attempted to soar off my shoulders, taking me with it, as a particularly strong gust knocked us for six. But we got there in the end.


A dramatic entrance to a dramatic country. Then more drama when we discovered not only was our rental car gigantic, we had to drive it on the right-hand-side-of-the-road for the first time ever. During a hellish storm in an unknown land famous for wreaking havoc on travellers. Fortunately we made our way safely to the Hotel Grand Reykjavik (oh-so-lovely) and the rest of our team stayed at the Hotel Cabin, only a ten minute walk away. I have to mention right now that our friends had bought this very package deal through Iceland Air and the Hotel Cabin was chosen for them. We purchased our flights & accom separately and while it was a bit more expensive, I think it was the wiser choice…

DAY ONE: This was never going to be a relaxing group holiday, so we got up at crack-o-dawn and drove our rental cars in the direction of the Golden Circle, one of Iceland’s most famous national parks. It was an incredible day out. We walked the rim of the Kerið volcano crater, got a steamy facial beside Strokkur geyser, and stared in awe at the chillingly beautiful semi-frozen Gullfoss waterfall. We walked along the fault line in Thingvellir National Park rift valley.

Our first dinner in Reykavik was at Cafe Paris, a venue chosen mostly due to the pressing need to feed 8 hangry people. For a place chosen on a whim, we were all happy with our orders. My traditional beef stew was melt-in-your-mouth goooooooood. We followed it off by cocktails at B5, just up the road and highly recommendable.


DAY TWO: More exploring in the cars. This time we just drove and drove, following our noses. We found an amazing beach to frolic on. Got lost in some mountainous bypass in the middle of a snowstorm. Found a strange icy tundra with big blobs of porous moss, that you could bounce on like trampolines (yes, I did). Went offroading in some farmland during a hailstorm (I mean, we never did that, Mr Rental Car dude). Chatted to some cute chilly horses, just hanging out by a barn. And ate a buttload of pylsas, Iceland’s finest street food. Mmm hotdogs. Then we relaxed in the nearby Laugardalslaug hot pool: rather than meet at the pub after work like the English do, Icelandic folk meet and relax in a local hot pool for the equivalent of about £5 per person.

DAY THREE: Another early start but this time for the sole purpose of relaxing. We was going to the Blue Lagoon geothermal spas, baby. I can honestly say this was of the best days of my life so far. The azure-blue outdoor pools are unbelievably beautiful and there was just something magical about spending an entire day drifting lazily through the steamy pools with your favourite people by your side. The spa is cashless so to order snacks or drinks from the poolside bar, you tap your wristband on a special reader and pay your tab at the end. Dangerous. My favourite part of the experience was swimming from the cosy, warm indoor pool to the outdoor area via a giant ‘catflap’ thing, just so you didn’t have to walk around in the cold. Brilliant.

To top off an already incredible day four of us went for an amazing dinner at Grillmarkadurin. We were feeling a bit adventurous and shared the whale, puffin and lobster mini-burgers to start (oh yes we di-id). I never thought I’d say this but whale is freaking delicious. For a main I nommed enthusiastically on the grilled redfish (holy shit it was good) while my boyfriend braved the horse burger. It was delicious, god knows what that Tesco scandal was about 😉

THE NORTHERN LIGHTS TOUR: In the words of Swedish House Mafia, this was what we were waiting for. Rather than attempt this ourselves we put our faith in the Reykjavik Excursions bus tour and it was worth it: if you miss the lights they will take you back several nights in a row (it took us 2 attempts). I love words but I can’t really think of how to describe the Northern Lights. What I can say is that if you have the extreme privilege of this ever being an option in your life, do it. It’s an eery, humbling experience. And it really goes without saying, but remember to dress warm for the love of God if you go out on the tour. Reykjavik during February was a balmy 0-5 degrees but when you’re out on the tundra at night, waiting for the light show, we’re talking a wind chill of -20 degrees Celsius. Brr.

RELATED READING: For tips and inspiration, check out this blog post we read before setting out on our self-driven tour. I also read Burial Rites by Hannah Kent after visiting Iceland and really wished I’d read it before we went… She captures the bleak beauty of the place perfectly and I got chills down my spine knowing some of the book’s true events occurred in the very places we stood taking stupid selfies…

*All photos are my own originals, don’t go using them without permission*

Fave haunts: e5 bakehouse

Yesterday morning I woke early and made the trek from Shepherds Bush to London Fields, so I could have brekky with one of my loveliest ladies. There was no question that we would meet anywhere other than e5 bakehouse.

When I lived in Hackney, we were a mere five minute wander from the wonders of e5. In hindsight I was very spoiled.

What we ate: I’ve spent the last month eliminating wheat from my diet, for reasons I won’t bore you with, but I sighed with relief knowing this wouldn’t be an issue at e5. Nicnac enjoyed her customary granola with fruit & yogurt while I nommed on toasted rye with honey, banana and some sort of cinnamony-nutty-dukkah style crunchy topping. Plus a loaf of seeded rye for the road. Brekky + loaf + a heavenly flat white set me back £10.80. Bargain.

This place is a bit of an institution, so I’d strongly suggest popping by if you find yourself in the London Fields/Broadway Market area. Nestled under a railway arch, with a permanent queue of hungry Hackneysiders snaking out of the bakery, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a table.  Grit your teeth, get your elbows out and fight your ground.

e5 location/details etc: Arch 395, Mentmore Terrace, E8 3PH. Check out www.e5bakehouse.com for details of their bread making courses. I keep meaning to book onto one and report back…

Peanut Slab’s big day out

Since the dawn of time (well, not really, but for quite a while) New Zealanders have found a way to recognise Waitangi Day in London. Someone, somewhere, decided a few years back that a London-based pub crawl around the Circle Line would be the most respectful method for expats to express their love for a wee island nation. Every year since, enthusiastic Kiwis have dressed up in costumes representing some aspect of the homeland before getting mightily pissed.

And somehow the London police not only tolerate this occasion – they look forward to it! As long as crawl-goers follow the unwritten rule of ‘don’t be a dick’ then the London police force allows us one day a year to drink cans of beer in public and wander merrily, dressed like lunatics. It’s worth noting at this point that Waitangi Day celebrations from within New Zealand are very different. I have never, ever gone on a Waitangi Day pub crawl in New Zealand and nor do I ever expect to. This is a London-only oddity.

This was my fourth year on the crawl and like other years, I dressed up and had a lot of fun. In my first year I was a member of the ‘Crazy Horses’ gang. Year two I wore a newspaper-covered boiler suit adorned with pictures of ‘Fush & Chups’. For the last two crawls my boyfriend and I have pooled our brainpower and creativity towards a hardcore-handmade-matching-costumes-approach: we were L&P cans for 2013 and Whittaker’s Peanut Slabs for 2014.

While the novelty of drinking a beer in public has has worn off over the years, the best part of the crawl is chatting to other insane Kiwis. A good costume is guaranteed to get ‘mad props’. We were the only Peanut Slabs I saw on the crawl so were pretty popular for photo-ops. The only downside was that we were also magnets for obnoxious drunk people. I don’t know what it is about wearing a giant cardboard box but I may as well have worn a sign saying ‘punch me really hard’ because that’s exactly what kept happening…Needless to say I started to get pretty annoyed and started telling people in a patronising fashion: “If you punch me I will not be nice to you OR pose for a photo with you, because you were rude. Yes I am serious. Go away.”

Rant over. For the most part people were fun and friendly.

So, I reckon we single-handedly boosted online orders of Whittaker’s chocolate this weekend…wonder what that’s worth to a hungry homesick Kiwi? 😉

Tube-strike musings

There were tube strikes in London for two days of this week. I completely rely on the tube to get from my flat in West London to my office in King’s Cross, North London, so I knew it was going to get tricky.  I was prepared for that. And I’m well aware that coping with slightly-inconvenient-public-transport is definitely up there on the list of First World Problems, so I’m not after sympathy for what followed 😉

I’ve gotta acknowledge that it was a bit of a ball-ache for many people. But one upside of a longer commute is that you get extra headspace from all that standing around wanting to maim people waiting patiently. And I like me some extra headspace, because I can get all self-indulgently introspective a la Angela Chase.   

  1. Sometimes, your plan just sucks.  I attempted to use the London Overground (which was still running) on day one. And I couldn’t get onto a train despite heading to the station early: it was like a mosh pit. So I had to wait for a bus, along with ten million other people. And when I finally got on a bus, it took almost an hour for a journey that usually takes 20 minutes. Coulda been worse, coulda been better.
  2. Being real with yourself and your freaky little neuroses ain’t a bad thing. I work in the rail industry but I really, truly hate a crowded train. I get anxious and tense and I arrive at work a bit wrung out on days that my line’s been busier than usual. If it didn’t take so much longer I would bus from home to work. Oh how I love the London bus! The seating arrangement is designed for people like me who need a protective personal bubble. If you get a window seat it’s very rare that anyone’s going to get all up in your face, unlike the tube where it’s rare if that doesn’t happen. Anyhoo, I digress. On strike day I was actually quite relieved that I ended up having to bus for one leg of the journey, despite it being super-slow. I got a seat. I admired the view over Hyde Park and was able to ignore how packed the bus was. I realised I should have just gotten up extra early to catch the damn bus in the first place. 
  3. Sometimes the things you don’t plan are better. I hadn’t planned on the 4km walk from the bus stop on Bond Street to King’s Cross.  It was a beautiful morning and it was a really nice walk. And I was wearing flat boots! #win
  4. Exploring is fun. I’ve lived in London for 4 years and had never wandered the back streets of Fitzrovia. I liked the area. I saw some cute cafes. I want to go back and check them out. Once I’d realised I was already hella late I slowed down the pace and enjoy ed my morning walk. I noticed other Londoners moving around me in 2 modes: Sweaty Panicked Jog or the Laidback Stroll of someone who’s decided not to get stressed. Screw stress.
  5. A change in routine can be a good thing. I was prepared for day two of the strikes. I got up stupidly early and was at work by 8am. Funnily enough I had a really productive day at work and an even more productive evening working on a few projects at home. Probably because I got home earlier than usual and was feeling good about myself for having a productive day at work.

So that’s how I felt about the first wave of tube-strikes: they were inconvenient but I enjoyed the extra headspace and the change in routine.

Riverside walks of London

Yesterday was one of those rare winter days where the sun roars from the sky, casting a golden glow on everything and everyone. When it happens, people across London GTFO of the house and rush to the nearest park.  Especially the homesick Kiwis yearning for blue sky.

So when yesterday morning rolled around there was no question that a group of us would be making the most of the day. One of my friends here has a company car so offered to drive us to Richmond Park in Surrey, on the outskirts of London. I’ve waxed lyrical about Richmond Park before – it really is the cream of the crop as far as I’m concerned.

What we did yesterday was a wee bit different. We drove into the park (avoiding the deer that wander free, scaring the shit out of tourists) and parked somewhere in the middle. As we walked and talked we weren’t really watching where we were going and realised we’d left the park that we’d come all this way to visit (!). Instead we wandered along the Thames towpath towards Richmond township.

It was beautiful. We stopped for some soul-warming treats at Tide Tables Cafe (chai latte and a gluten free brownie for me) before continuing our walk. As the sun warmed our backs, there was gossip to be had and double-storied houseboats to be admired.

Even that small dose of outdoorsiness and sunshine can really lift your spirits. Here’s to more winter days like that, please.