For the love of all things red and stripey

 

For the love of all things red and stripey

28 March 2024

Simply for the very longest time, I have been absolutely obsessed with stripes. And the colour red.

 

Like, is too mild a word. It just doesn’t pack enough punch. Or accurately describe how much I just gravitate towards it. In any shop, I’m inexplicably drawn to anything stripey or red. It’s like an implanted tracking device, that just steers me to seek it out. I notice stripes and the colour red everywhere. My cupboard bears testament to that exact fact.

 

So pray tell, where does this come from? How did it start? And most importantly, why? And how come my strive for the colour red and stripes is so overwhelmingly strong?

 

Surely it’s odd, right. I mean, I get that people like certain things. But how did it start and what was the cause?

 

And then it hit me. Like a big red, stripey lightbulb.

 

I’ve got it all figured out. And it’s really quite obvious how it happened. And what led to this strange affliction.

 

Basically, there are two reasons:

 

1. KFC and the Colonel’s secret blend of eleven herbs and spices
2. Gondolas and my desire to go to Venice

 

It’s hardly rocket science.

 

I am obsessed with KFC. It’s hands down my favourite food in the whole world. And let’s keep it real. I’ve got lots of favourites. There’s so much to choose from. A lamb chop on the braai, a delicious salad, biltong, bacon, a roast meal with all of the trimmings, a good curry, a delicious pasta dish. But KFC is top notch stuff. Without equal.

 

In addition, going for a gondola ride in Venice has been on my bucket list forever. So many people have told me that I’ll be disappointed. That it’s dirty. That it’s overrated. But I simply don’t care. I really, really, really need to experience it some day. Having  a gondolier serenade me whilst we’re slowly making our way on the canals sounds heavenly to me. A dream come true.

 

And that’s when the penny dropped. There’s a very strong convergence, between two of my biggest heart’s desires.

 

KFC’s signature colours are red and white. With some stripes added for good measure. And gondoliers wear red and white, or black and white stripey shirts.

 

It was fated. The two dreams collided. And forged and even stronger union.

 

And hence it was written in the stars. A done deal.

 

The only thing that could possibly be better than going for a gondola ride in Venice, being steered along and serenaded by a gondolier wearing a stripey shirt, would be to have some KFC at the same time.

 

Heavenly perfection!

Where it all began - the origin

A catch-up with Mildred. My KFC loving alter-ego.

 

A catch-up with Mildred. My KFC loving alter-ego.

9 March 2024

Hello Dearies! It's me, Aunty Mildred.👵🏼

 

I've read on the Facebook that it is always good to introduce yourself to people. My Harold (may he rest in piece) was also a firm believer in looking someone in the eye, shaking their hand and saying, "Harold's the name". 

I was looking at the KFC on that Interweb (Isn’t it a wonderful thing? All of that clicking. Though it does takes a bit of time with my darn arthritic fingers.). Anyway, I was hoping to spoil me and the other crinklies with some chicken over the weekend. But unfortunately I see that there are no specials. It is okay. Maybe I'll ask them at the retirement village, "Autumn Years", to see if they can round up the bus and we can load up a few of the gals and go to that drive-through thingy and get everyone an ice-cream. One of the blessings of having dentures, is that ice-cream is so easy to eat. Why, I can take my teeth right out and suck to my heart's content. Agatha say’s it’s unattractive and very unladylike. But what does she know? She’s just jealous cause mine are far nicer than hers. That underbite of hers is most unbecoming.

 

I’ve always loved that Colonel and his secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. Personally, I’ve always thought that he’s rather soft on the eye. Much like my Harold’s younger brother, Cecil. But that’s a story for another day. I might even have had a chance with him, had that mean spirited Winifred (thrilled by how badly she’s aged) not flashed her skinny legs at him. Or perhaps it was that apple pie that she so shamelessly insisted on making for “the family”. All the time! Out of the kindness of her neighbourly heart. Well, I saw right through that, I did! Brazen hussy! You can’t try and pull a blatantly obvious trick like that without raising suspicions. Perhaps it was for the better that Harold rather preferred my milk tart. To be fair, it’s not the only tart of mine that he liked… If you catch my drift. Oh boy, I bet Agatha will raise her eyebrows again. That biddy better watch out, she doesn’t have many of them left. And she does a terrible job at trying to colour them in.

 

So back to my beloved Colonel’s chicken delights. Now I’ve always been a very big fan of his. Why just the other day, I was speaking Gerald (he moved into Autumn Years a few months ago – shame, his dear Nellie passed away), and whilst playing Bingo, we spoke about our favourite foods. And would you believe it? He loves it too. I’m liking this common ground. And I think it might lead to something in the future. Now, to be fair, my future is not all that long. So I might try to nudge him a bit in the right direction. By making some pie? 

 

Look, it’s not that I don’t miss my dear Harold (may he rest in piece), but Gerald is a wonderful cravat-wearing-gentleman. And don’t you just love a snappy dresser? In addition, he’s got a full head of hair! None of that unattractive comb-over stuff. And he doesn’t smell of moth balls. Also a huge big advantage. His kids are all grown up and happily settled, living far away. So they won’t be interfering. Which suits me perfectly!

 

Anyway, dearies. I have to go. Agatha has just popped in to let me know that the Bridge game is starting now at 1pm and I still want to fluff up my hair and change out of my slippers. At least, that's what I think she said. I didn't feel like her ragging me today, so I turned my hearing aid off.

Wait, now that I think about it, Gerald will be there too. Perhaps I should just dab something nice behind my ears. Perhaps I can allure him with my perfume? And a smidgen of lipstick won't go amiss either. Why, I might even try to stay between the lines this time. Though I have seen on the Facebook that the young people do so like those big lips. Personally I think they resemble pufferfish. But I'm a modern woman. And more than happy to do my part by trying to stay up to date with what those milleniums (or is it millenials or maniacles?) are doing. So wish me luck. I shall report back soon.

 

Keep well dearies,

Your Aunty Mildred 🍗

Good things come to those who weight...

 

 Good things come to those who weight...
3 February 2014

And over Christmas time, this is rather easy.  There’s gammon and nuts.  Puddings galore.  Roast leg of lamb and roast chickens too.  There’s braai vleis meat and possibly more take-aways than normal.  Breakfasts in holidays not just bland and boring cereal.  Instead there’s waffles, pancakes, flap jacks, bacon and eggs plus toast.  There’s snacking and nibbling and noshing of food.  Permanently grazing it seems.

Yes, temptation is indeed difficult to resist during the festive season.  Especially if away.  Or even just at home, and everyone is on leave and in the holiday eating zone. 

Meal times are usually not all that strict.  Suppers tend to run rather late.  Exercise not very high on the agenda either.  And there’s a fair bit of lounging about that is done.  Grand scale vegging sessions completely the norm.

But here’s the thing – being overweight and feeling fat and flabby is not all that great. 

Personally, my head gets dark when my body gets big.  My self-esteem suffers and I just plain feel eeeuuuwww!  Generally not in a good space.

And so, a few months ago, I got back on the Weigh-Less wagon once more.  It was made easier by the fact that a whole bunch of friends were also doing Weigh-Less at the same time, and thus we helped to inspire one another and motive each other to stay on track.

I had been slipping, and my fat alter-ego, Mildred, had been creeping up on me. 

I enjoy Weigh-Less.  It’s a really sustainable diet.  Simply because it’s not a diet.  It’s just a logical and correct way to approach food.  And I see it as the fuel needed for my body to function properly.

Also, I’ve done the Weigh-Less thing before.  And it works like anything.  You lose the weight and it tends to stay off.  The major bonus to Weigh-Less, is that it is quite frankly impossible to go hungry on it.  If anything, I battle to eat all of the allotted food in one day.  But you have to.  It’s about the balance of foods in certain categories, and so deciding to skip carbs or bulk up on protein at the cost of your veg, is not right.

I don’t eat a lot.  Food is not a huge focus in my life.  I tend to forget to eat sometimes – I know – it’s a special kind of stupid.  I get busy and distracted.  Left to my own devices, I’d spend my days nibbling on fruit – right through the morning and into the afternoon.  Avoiding carbs and proteins.  But, it’s just that – stupid.

I’m not doing my body any favours, by doing this.  I’m confusing it.  Making it store reserves.

So when on Weigh-Less, I make a deal with myself.  I will only put into my mouth, that which I am supposed to.  I will not snack in between.  I will not finish those last biscuits or nuts left over from the kids lunch boxes.  I will not nibble a few slices of cheese, whilst cutting some for the kids school sarmies.  Cause that’s the real danger.  I don’t ever sneak a chocolate into the trolley in the middle of the day, and quickly eat it.  I don’t do that at all.  That’s not my danger.  But I do eat too much fruit.  Fooling myself that it’s natural, healthy, etc.  But sadly, it’s filled with sugars too.  And so for now, moderation is the key.

I have not joined classes.  I’m not doing a weekly weigh-in.  Rather I’m following the menu plan I already have.  Weighing myself.  And taking absolute joy and delight in the daily diminish in my scale.

But I’ve also had another deal with myself for many years already – even when doing hectic Weigh-Less.  I will stick to the plan Monday to Friday, with no exception.  But from Friday evening until Sunday evening, I’m off the hook.  I still try and make healthy food choices, but I basically eat what I want.  And this system has worked for years and years.

Every so often I go off the rails, and I simply make a decision and get back on the dieting horse again.  Making the decision is harder than putting in the dieting effort.  It really is. 

It is not more expensive to eat healthy.  It is not more time consuming.  I don’t cook two meals – one for me and one for my family.  I make small adjustments along the way, that make a big difference.

In addition, I started walking – about four times a week.  Up the beautiful, yet evil hill, just up the road from the Primary school, where I drop my youngest kids.  Sometimes friends join me.  And having company on a walk is just so fabulous!  Particularly as I don’t notice how far I’m walking or how steep that hill is.  My jaw gets lots of exercise, as we tend to talk a mile a minute, and my soul is fed by my interaction with friends.  But mostly I’m on my own.  It gives me the opportunity to get a bit of exercise.  To clear my head.  To drink in the beautiful, magnificent, mountainous surroundings around me (they’re ridiculously gorgeous), to glory in the sunlight, to breathe fresh air and to do so deeply.  To spend some time with me.  To think about stuff.  To just enjoy the simple, yet wonderful pleasure of being outside.  Especially in the early mornings.  When the air is still fairly crisp.

This in itself is a strange concept for me.  And one I’m not entirely familiar with.  I.  DON’T.  EXERCISE.  And though walking is admittedly not all that strenuous, it is exercise none the less.  I walk fast-ish.  For me.  I’ve put some awesome music on my cell phone and I listen while I walk.  Singing along sometimes.  Enjoying rediscovering certain music, and discovering a love for others.  And though I do occasionally veer off my hill every so often and take a different route, the hill, though absolutely murderous, is still my best.  Mainly because the view from the top is so breath taking.  And whilst walking, I pick fast paced, bouncy songs.  Mostly trashy pop tunes.  The fad of the moment songs.  Though I have some stellar awesome good music as well.  Downhill is the best, as I’m normally not so out of breath.  I tend to sing along.  Occasionally glancing behind myself to make sure that my lack of vocal skill is not exposed to fellow walkers and cyclists out there.  And another firm favourite of my downhill walk is ….. skipping.  I know, skipping.  But hey, don’t knock it.  Skipping is fun.  It makes me feel about five and extremely happy.  It’s such a frivolous fun thing to do, especially when you’re listening to a really cool song, and you’re singing along at the same time.  I don’t do it all of the time, but I have spurts of skipping.  And my heart just bursts with joy when I do it.  I really hope I never grow old and stop doing fun stuff like skipping.

Anyway, so despite slacking off over Xmas and picking up a bit again, I picked up the Weigh-Less mantle once more, just two weeks ago.  Doing my walks up my hill.  Delighted with the results already.  I didn’t need to lose much.  But that little bit of weight loss, made a big difference.  Not only to my body.  But to my head too.

I will never be skinny.  Or thin.  It’s okay.  I just don’t want to be fat and overweight.  I’m quite happy with normal and medium.

Yay less bulky me!  Yay!

And to prove it, this past weekend saw me in a fairly skimpy dress for a cocktail dress code wedding on Friday.  Something which would have put me into a right spin ordinarily, leave me feeling depressed about my figure.  And then in a cat suit no less for an ABBA themed 50^th birthday party on Saturday.  Loved the cat suit so much, that I even wore it a bit yesterday, when I was flopping on the couch relaxing after having spent two nights dancing like anything and partying until the wee hours.  Actually, come to think of it, I only have to drop the cat suit off at the costume rental shop at 5pm.  Perhaps I should squeeze in another little walk up my hill, wearing the cat suit.  It will be such fun skipping down the hill, with the bell bottoms, flapping at my ankles.

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Way skinnier me, feeling fabulous in a skimpy (for me) dress

 

Never thought I'd be able to pull of a cat suit

 

Simply loving it!

 

 

It's not that I'm fat. I'm just short for my weight.

 

It's not that I'm fat. I'm just short for my weight.
23 October 2013

It’s not so much a case of me being really fat.  I’m just exceptionally short for my weight.

And to be honest, it’s actually taken me a rather long while to finally figure this out.  But now that I have, it naturally makes perfect, logical, if slightly warped, sense of course.  And I can’t believe it didn’t join the dots earlier.  I’m normally not that slow off the mark.  But perhaps, my diminutive height, is to blame for me taking so long for the penny to drop.  Maybe the combo of my shortness, lack of vertical scope, and my expanding need to shoot up, has caused a brain malfunction of sorts.  Pressure on plates, medulla oblongata, spleen(???), blah, blah, blah.

Currently, by obese standards, I’m not that.  Luckily.  Still for me and for what I’m comfortable with, I’m leaning towards the podgy side.  It’s that bloody fat alter-ego of mine, Mildred.  She’s a truly nasty piece of work.  I can’t stand the evil cow!

And with summer around the corner, I am ever aware that it is time for Mildred to shove off.  She is no longer welcome at all.

And as such, I have given a thought as to how to boot her.  Dieting is so hunger inducing.  Exercising is so tiring. 

Instead, I’ve come up with a master plan of sorts.

I am expending all of my energies on thinking lengthy, elongated thoughts.  If I just stretched a wee little bit, it would sort out a whole bunch of troubles for me.  Just think of it.  My weight would not have to drop.  There would be nothing for me to lose.  None of that nasty dieting and exercising required at all.  Instead, the existing weight I’ve got, would just settle into a bigger allocated space.  Personally I’m visualising it in the longer leg area.  Potentially plumping up my calves nicely.  However, I’m quite willing to adapt.  It stands to reason, that my arms would stretch too.  And fuller lower arms, even muscles, would be perfectly all right by me.  In addition, I would not moan at all, if the breast area filled out a bit more.  In fact, I think I’d like it a lot!

One friend of mine, is super anxious to lose weight.  She’s going on an exotic beach holiday next year.  A holiday that would involve lounging around on the beach in a cozzie.  Covering up with a scarf, beanie, jeans and sweater simply won’t do.  And she says, that despite her on-again-off-again yo-yo dieting over the years, this time she is determined.  She will succeed.  Why this week alone she has lost 3kg, all thanks to putting her scale on a different tile on the bathroom floor…

But perhaps, I should take the advice of another friend.  On a recent shopping excursion, she went to a (let’s call it) “larger-lady-shop”.  This title given by her own admission.  And upon emerging a while later and having the size 16 jeans not fit her either, she hoofed it off to the food court, where she promptly ate four samosas in a row.  Knowing her, it didn’t stop there either.  She has a weakness for Nik Naks chips and chocolate Chuckles too, and I’m surmising that she would’ve worked her way through a bag of both of them.  All whilst doing the school run with her kids and being out and about doing her errands.

She reckons that her goal of many years, to be thin, has been flawed.  In fact, it’s ridiculous, she says!  Instead she has lowered the bar a bit.  Decided to be more realistic in setting her targets.  And so now, her newly revised weight goal is to just not be obese.

And big up to her.  So far so good.

She’s doing just swell.

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Here comes the sun - dee-doo-dee-dee!

Here comes the sun - dee-doo-dee-dee!
16 September 2012

What an absolutely fabulous day!  Uplifting, energizing and happiness inducing for sure.

Yet, at the same time, oddly depressing as well.  Dieting shall have to start in all earnestness.  Seriously this time.  No jokes.  And perhaps, I’ll even have to go the dreaded exercise route.  Not a thought that fills me with a great deal of enthusiasm.  But having given it some thought (about 3 minutes), I have decided that, if I have to exercise, yoga might be the perfect route for me.  Not too invasive.  I can start slowly and get some how-to info off the internet and hopefully teach myself a few moves.  I can increase stamina and flexibility at my own pace.  Do a wee bit of toning.  Perfect balancing on one leg.  Practice the perfect pitch when I try to meditate and say “hom”.  You know – useful type of stuff.  Not that I have ever meditated in my life, but I reckon should I ever want to, it would lend way more credibility if I at least looked like I knew what I was doing.

So, I shall be committed and true to my purpose – perhaps tomorrow.  Actually, it’s very bad to undertake a mammoth task like this on a Monday - you set yourself up for failure and disappointment.  So I’m thinking it would be best if I started on Tuesday.  But on second thought, it probably would be most logical to start on a Wednesday.  It has a much nicer ring to it, and that way I’d already be halfway towards the weekend.  But isn’t Wednesday’s child full of woe?  Not a good sign.  Thursday simply wouldn’t do for me, as it is a very, very busy day for me with my kids and I don’t think I’ll be able to survive on a lettuce leaf alone.  I would definitely need to carbo load to see me that day through.  No point in even pretending to give exercising and dieting a go over a weekend, which brings us right back to Monday.  And we all know, that you just can’t undertake a mammoth task like this on a Monday…..

But for today, I’m going to eat, drink and be merry.  Grant got a gift of 20 crayfish tails, so we’re having a crayfish and chop braai with his folks.  Yummy!!!  Sadly, by tomorrow, I will be honking of garlic, but it is a small price to pay for such epicurean delights.  You only live once and all that…

Now, getting back to the yoga thing.  I am really quite keen and think that a fair bit of toning, would go a long way.  I do however have one small area of concern.  I have it on excellent authority from reliable, trustworthy and indeed experienced sources, that you need to have an incredible level of trust in your body to be able to do yoga.  Not because of all the stretching, resulting stiffness and stuff.  My concerns are far more basic and down to earth.  Apparently few things are more embarrassing than an inconvenient bout of flatulence when you’re in a deep yoga stretch.  A real mood breaker for sure.  Which brings me right back to my clever plan of “teaching” myself via the Internet.  Surely this can be done?  

I’m convinced that if I set my mind to it, in no time whatsoever, the dreaded Mildred will once again be banished from my life.  Or at least she will be once I finally decide on a dieting date.  Perhaps I can schedule it in for a Wednesday three weeks from now?  Maybe I should rather pencil it in and not schedule it in.  I’d hate to come across as too rigid and fixed in my ideas.  Which reminds me, as we left Grant’s folks this afternoon, and I once again dangled my arm out the window, I spotted the arm waddle as we reversed the car.  And I think I might have finally cracked the code.  It’s those bloody side view mirrors.  They definitely add a few extra kilo’s and inches – in the exact same manner that the mirrors in the Woolies changing room does.  Perhaps it's a curvature thing with the mirror, to ensure optimum vision?  My question is, why would they do such a thing?  Menacing!

Anyway, must dash.  Going to go Internet surfing a bit for yoga poses.  All to increase my education you see.  Such a good cause.  “Hom…..”.  Or are they perhaps saying “Nyom…..”.  In which case it really should be “Nom-nom…..”

 

Lovely beach setting

 

 

Simply love the lush green forest look

 

Eviction Notice.

Eviction Notice
31 March 2012

So my In-laws have this slightly curved driveway and when we visit them we have to reverse our car out at an angle.  My husband, as the alpha-male-head-of-the-house, always takes on the chauffeuring duties, and little old me, the sweet-kind-natured-little-wifey is the passenger.  With of course a passel of kids in the back of the car, which goes without saying.  So as we reverse out of the driveway the whole family waves goodbye and I absolutely always stick my arm out of the window to wave.  So a few months ago, as we’re driving off and the whirr of the electronic gate is but a zing in my ear, I catch a side mirror view of my arm dangling out the window, still in the upright position.  Imagine my horror at seeing my very unbecoming arm-flab still flapping away, when my hand had long since stopped waving!  I could not believe that MY body could betray me in this way! 

I turned the big three-nine this year, and had optimistically hoped that I was still a few years away from the whole arm-waddle thing.  So I had two options:  Either ask alpha-male if he had noticed the arm-waddle (option A), thereby pointing it out to him, or pretend that my eyes had been deceiving me (option B) – the obvious choice.  But no, in time honoured tradition, I asked Alpha the questions most feared by men – for all eternity.  “Baby, have I picked up weight?  Am I looking fat?  Have you noticed my arm-waddle?  Is my bum big?”.  My poor beloved Alpha got the old deer-caught-in-the-headlights-look upon his face.  Because let’s be honest, there actually is no way that he could possibly give me a satisfying and “correct” answer.  Should his answer be “No” to any of these questions, life as he knows it will come to a grinding halt, because I will know that he is merely humouring me and is too “scared” to answer truthfully.  However, should his answer be “Yes” to any of these questions, life as he knows it will come to a grinding halt, because I will know that he is merely humouring me, because he knows, that I know, that he knows that…..I’ve become F.A.T.

For a few months, I lived with an uneasy knowledge of the arm-waddle, but pretended to ignore it, only being made aware of it, each time we visited my in-laws.  I fretted lots about the weight gain, continually making promises to myself that I will start dieting, no exercising, no dieting, no exercising, no dieting, hey let’s do nothing while we can’t decide.

Anyway, imagine my relief when I discovered the truth behind the whole arm-waddle thing.  Something jogged my memory and all of a sudden I remembered about Mildred.  Now who is Mildred you might ask?  Well Mildred is my evil twin.  She came to settle a few years ago, after the birth of my second child.  I noticed her presence when I looked in the mirror.  My face had filled out, as had the rest of me.  I started negotiating with her about leaving, but before we had reached an agreement, I fell pregnant with my third child.  Mildred told me in no uncertain terms that she would stay with me for the pregnancy, and comfort me.  And boy, did she comfort me, mostly with inappropriate food.

All was going along marvellously until three months after the birth of my third child.  Per chance I saw a photograph of myself, my sister and my three kids.  Initially I did not recognize myself, and thought “Who is that fat oaf posing for a photo with my kids?”.  Until I recognized the pair of pants that the fat oaf was wearing.  It was indeed the same pair of pants that I was wearing on that dreadful day of discovery.  Up until that point, I had actually thought that they were my “thin” pants and that I looked quite good in them.  I could no longer hide from the truth – I was the fat oaf in the photo.  Enough was enough!  I formally gave Mildred her eviction notice with immediate effect.  I should have known that she would not surrender so easily.  After a wee bit of negotiating, we came to an uneasy understanding that I could be in control during the week, but that Mildred would be allowed to rule the roost on weekends.  It seemed to work and with the help of my good friend “Weigh-Less”, the tide was turned.  Realising the futility of hanging on to a losing battle (pun intended), Mildred eventually pretty much gave up the ghost and only visited on rare occasions over weekends and she seemed to have finally learnt about moderation. 

We’ve been plodding along quite nicely until of late.  Now it would appear as if Mildred has reared her nasty little head again.  And what with Easter and all she is coming in to the ascent again.  She has a penchant for marshmallow Easter eggs and she can be very demanding.  I’ve discovered that ignoring her does not work, she just becomes more and more vigilant in insisting on having some and I’ve discovered that sometimes it is easier to just give in.  Here’s my theory:  If I listen to Mildred immediately and give her the blasted marshmallow Easter egg, she backs down for a bit.  However if I deny her, she gets very annoyed and will only be satisfied with a few blasted marshmallow Easter eggs.  She is currently also on a bit of a buzz about KFC zinger wings.  The cheek of it!  She nags constantly.

I’ve come to the conclusion, that I might just have to go hard-core on Mildred again and give her a new eviction notice.  I have however learnt from the past.  This time, I will give Mildred free reign over weekends, as long as I can still steer the proverbial ship during the week.  Maybe she will eventually tire of her relentless pursuit once she realises that her power has been diminished.

I might just wait until after Easter, as it will be near impossible to live with her if I deny her now.  I’m sure she’ll kick up her heels, but I shall persist and maybe in the not so distant future skinny-ness will prevail again.  In the interim I shall have to wear long sleeved shirts and tops to camouflage the arm-waddle area.  And maybe a poncho even in the middle of summer to camouflage the midriff and thigh area.  And maybe a burka to camouflage the triple chin area.  Which reminds me of my one and only Muslim joke (not meant to be offensive):  What do the men shout in a Muslim strip club?  “Show us your chin!”.  

A pic of me after Mildred's eviction.

Mildred - firmly in residence.

Sadly Mildred is visiting again at the moment - evil, pure evil, I tell you.