Any Jaguar will do

Interesting old Jaguar seen here in it's natural habitat, needs a good loving home, needs help from SKY and regular sponsorship from the wallets and bank accounts of ordinary people, needs about £1400 also. Remember my advice about regularly driving a vehicle from another century, they don't come better equipped than this.

The Internet has been so slow recently that I thought we were being cyber-robbed by passing white vans from the CIA, I was on the verge of moving to the 24 hour MacDonald's (nicely done out these days in tasteful brown hues and comfy if a little stained seating) to take advantage of their free wi-fi. I resisted the temptation and crushed my cookies, buried my caches, deleted anything deletable and some more. Then I spent some quality time flagellating, wearing sack cloth and an RFC strip, removing skelfs and then putting them back in. I also imagined myself painting a fence. None of this drastic action improved performance...then I looked up the book, back inside my head. Off and On does it every time.

Toasting garlic bread makes the garlic much more pungent, you might want to watch out for that if you ever tempted to experiment. Meanwhile I've been wondering about the Labour Party recently, my problem is that unlike any of the other parties I cannot think of what it is they actually stand for. They seem to be critical (not in a very imaginative way) of everything but unable to articulate or construct anything positive. Maybe I should join them and embark on a second career. People in the Labour Party have Jaguars don't they?

Looking for Heaven in the wrong places

A few little things that came to me today, out of the blue if you will or from a place called nowhere (where paradoxically they were headed) caught and captured and so on:

Keep looking out for the pieces of something that might prove useful. The exact purpose and the eventual outcome of the exercise may be unclear at the moment of finding.

If you sit and stare and try to construct sentences it can take quite a long time to get anywhere, you may get nowhere but you could produce a book eventually.

Gazing out of the average window is unlikely to teach you anything.

Change the oil a bit more often than the manufacturer's recommended timings. Doesn't apply to Tesco Extra Virgin olive oil.

If you want to learn wisdom then listen carefully to what other people are saying. Don’t let odd thoughts and distractions cloud the process.

If you are way too conscious of your empty stomach or your dry throat, concentration will prove difficult.

Always observe the use-by date but ask yourself “do I have to use this?”

Check your shoes.

Regularly drive a car from the previous century.

If you are wondering “why have I no true friends and seem to be disconnected from the modern world?” - it's because you're an unfriendly dickhead.

Every so often a cat will sneak into your bedroom, sleep beside you and then leave before you are awake. It's plaintive whispers will be audible to your subconscious, it's ticklish whiskers will not.

Tight or uncomfortable clothing will not help, best to rid yourself of these things.

Always look down when in a public toilet.

Always look up when walking in a city.

Always look ahead when riding horse or a bicycle. No need to pedal the horse however.

Read a book about Keith Richards whilst listening to Let it Bleed.

Knowing the deep relief of getting a wood splinter out of your finger, when the skin is red and inflamed, the splinter is brown and your tether has ended.

Don't ever brag about food you've bought from petrol stations.

Make friends with an animal but be aware that it may quite unwittingly break your heart at some point in the future.

Observe the various boiling points of foodstuff and liquids and what happens shortly thereafter. Turn down the heat if appropriate.

It's good to have a job, better to have a career and best to have an independent income. A pension is also useful.

Go outside now and then.

When life hands you a lemon then it clearly failed to read correctly the request you made for a melon – that's because it's dyslexic.

Nobody understands conceptual art, don't worry about it.

If you are wondering where exactly the “cloud” is then I'm here to tell that it was a few words ago in inverted commas in this very sentence. That's all you need to know.

Regardless of their actual belief systems religious people generally consider themselves to be more noble, moral and upright than others. This is a seldom the case however.

Say hello to an Irishman. It'll make his day.

In the night your imagination is available.

Retain a childish fascination for the top most contents of waste bins and magazine racks.

Stand alone at the far end of the bar and enjoy your pint of beer in peace.

First, boil your sausages.

There are no racoons in Scotland because of prohibitively high travel costs.

When you walk in the forrest respect the silence of the great and ancient trees; avoid crunching on sticks or fallen branches, stumbling on loose stones, stamping on wild flowers or seedlings or stepping in dog shit.

The spellcheck is never, truly complete.

Most organisations (however large or small) are fundamentally broken, those that run them often fail to see this or bother to try to correct it. Be aware an keep your expectations realistic.

Much of the music played on Radio 6 is crap, that's why the people playing it are unsuccessful. That doesn't make the so-called mainstream music played on Radio 2 any good either.

Looking sharp isn't the same as being edgy.

When going through airport security practice your most pissed off look on anybody within your field of vision. This doesn't get you through any quicker but God will notice and might eventually do something.

What's the difference between a buffalo and a bison? You can't wash your socks in a buffalo.

Golden tickets

(Old news from the recovery file) Olympic tickets. I’m struggling with the whole Olympic application, ticketing and general minority sports enthusiasm that is building up. Frankly I reserve the right not to care about the Olympics (other than the odd sport or drama that I might come to like) at all. I hope it passes quickly and peacefully and that media hysteria remains in check, fat chance. I don’t care either if the UK wins loads of flag waving medals or whatever else but I am amused a the thought of stupid people paying lots of money to sit through sports and events they don’t really know about because that was all they won in the ballot, how sad is that? If it’s so important to be there and be part of it them, well if you are on these islands at the time, you are, no need to spend £13k. I’m with Graham Norton on this, “I’ve got my Olympic tickets…mine are for Miami in 2012”.

Naomi Campbell. I’ve never thought she was particularly pretty or talented, a bit of a zero kind of celeb in my view, a dull clothes horse. Now she’s miffed because Cadbury (or Kraft to be precise) somehow raised here irritating profile by comparing her to a bar of chocolate, so she plays the racist card. What a humourless tube she is, I’m glad she’ll soon me old and average, someday she’ll hoping for that kind of attention or mention. More important is the gradual degradation and depreciation o f chocolate flavouring we are all experiencing. The classic sickly sweet British recipe has been Europeanised into a bland, heat-proof mess of brown drudgery. A bit like Ms Campbell come to think of it.

The pen is mightier than the hard disk

Hard disk failure is imminent on the old HP laptop I am being told, I'm therefore left wondering as to how best to react to the series of alarming messages that crop up at carefully timed intervals. A back up is strongly recommended and there is the vague promise of some kind of self repair, like an amphibian growing a new tail section or a fresh leg. Of course the messages have appeared when I'm without the pocketful of DVDs or massive memory sticks I know I'll need to follow the badly worded on-screen instructions, so immediate and unstoppable doom awaits just around the corner. In desperate mitigation I did try running those impotent utilities that lurk in some of the less well known directories, not much change followed however. Overall I'm left with that awkward feeling that Laptops (and computers in general) fail to deliver what you really want. They are forever telling you what is going wrong, what might fail, how full they are or just giving you daft messages and choices you don't need to hear. So Microsoft have given the world brilliant but petulant software that demands attention, meaningless upgrades, long periods of rest and recovery and a crippling level of over sensitivity to any rogue atmosphere or device it detects. You wish that some of the more sophisticated programmes and facilities had been held back and that a more stable platform could have been arrived at, then you add in all the “nice to haves and toys”. Now I have a (thankfully spare) laptop that acts like it is some kind of rare Italian sports car forever needing a rebore or middle-aged operatic diva (also needing a rebore). Windows, Microsoft, HP and the rest, you are just too high maintenance and frankly annoying to bother with. Come back to me when you can make things work first time and then maintain a decent level of performance all of the time.

I ate coconut yoghurt and blueberries for breakfast. It forms the basis of my new healthy addiction and gives me deep joy and satisfaction, most of the time. Right now it's given me a tummy pain that I'm not enjoying and doubts are being cast over my so called healthy lifestyle. I may need a bar of Naomi Campbell.

Why does Dr Who put me to sleep? (In fairness he's not the only thing that does that of course) Twenty minutes into every episode and I'm sound asleep, not sure why I bother. Age, supreme sofa rapport and bad eating habits I suppose. I was thinking about how long it might take to roast a chicken – in the midst of the battle of flashing lights and electrodes. Then when I did come around (with a start) it was pretty much as I'd expected: River Song / Amy Pond etc. but it is supposed to be a kid's programme. Meanwhile Universal Karma is catching up on the Doctor, in a good way of course.

Light and shade and sunlight

Today the weather surprised everybody, Edinburgh basked in 25 degrees - unexpected. We chose to go out in the crazy heat and visited the Camera Obscura and on the way up the five flights of stairs that take you to the original attraction were seduced and confused by the numerous effects and exhibits that guide the way to the top. There are too many to list but I like the sparky stuff (as above), the maze of mirrors and the vortex. "To infinity and beyond" seems the best way to sum it all up. Go see.

Button money

Irrelevant photo

Three girls waiting for their flight in Southampton Airport, they are dressed in similar but different black jump suits, well coloured hair and with lots of disorganised baggage. They are pretty but are not pretty enough to be in a girl band but they are acting like they are in one. The most blond girl strolls across to the duty free shop and comes swaggering back with a bottle of champagne. The girls all have used Costa drinks cups at the ready. After some giggling and screaming the bottle makes a loud pop, everybody looks around as the girls lash the drink into the cups, at that point their flight to Amsterdam is called. They seem indifferent to this information and lark about drinking the champagne (which must be unpleasantly warm having just come from the drinks rack in the shop), the flight is boarding a few feet away. One girl jumps up brandishing the half full bottle and slings it into a nearby waste bin. The other girls are still sloshing around with their drinks and don't seem to notice, then they decide perhaps they should board the flight but they cant find their passes. Then they realise that their bottle is missing, the guilty girl laughs, empties her cup and heads out onto the plane. The other two giggle, throw their cups in the bin and follow. The lady at the gate laughs and waves them on. Over in some nearby seats and Asian guy is talking in a very loud voice. "Taliban time" says a man sitting next to me. A young, uniformed soldier sits in a triangle with three young women, they are all strangers but he is talking to each one in turn. The girls' eyes are all alight as he flashes his attention between each one, telling a tale or making some observation. The conversations reach an unexpected peak and then fall away, they all return to their headphone worlds or magazine reads. The evening sun reflects on the curved girders of the roof and I look across to the hall, there are queues of people boarding flights to Guernsey and Jersey. Everybody seems to be over sixty, that's the pattern of travel for the Channel Islands perhaps.

Button money is everywhere, in button businesses, invested in button enterprises and returning button profits (sometimes making button losses) - we have a button economy.

Last Christmas

Maybe it was last Christmas or maybe the one before. Anyway it's the decoration that time forgot, it has stayed successfully hidden for all this time but today I outed it. Having said that I considered the situation, tomorrow is June 1st, Christmas is just six months away, any real point in taking it back down now?

Sorry to say that the Fleet Foxes have failed me miserably with their latest release. Driving up to Pitlochry today I listened to "Helplessness Blues" for a third (painful) time. This album is truly awful and when I think of their sublime first album I'm lost as to how they came up with this lyrical and musical drivel. Like Enya drum beats meet Yes's poetry meeting Love's guitar strum with fishy production and disjointed and pointless songs, it's all those things but on a very bad day. Do yourself a favour buy anything but this piece of jigsaw puzzle pieces complete with long fades that should never have started in the first place. Ugh. You might consider Alison Krauss and Union Station's latest, 10000 times better.

Every meal consumed produces 0.5 m3 of stuff that you didn't realise you had in the first place. Every McD's produces enough landfill each week to fuel the average moon rocket with methane and of course fill the Albert Hall many times over. I may well be lovin' it but I'm not sure.

Sepp Blatter is innocent

Funny how natural it has become for all of us to distrust large organisations, banks and businesses. We suspect the worst, we assume corruption, double dealing, backhanders and unfortunately these assumptions are often rewarded with confirmation. We are seldom disappointed, we are proven to be right and in the words of Russian cinema "All power (well appears to be) is tyranny". Today I read that the average pay increase (in certain significant directorships) was running at around 32% for the current year, not a number that goes down well here in the frozen strata of normal living standards.

So now the suits and smug Five Star smiles of FIFA are on the verge of falling apart, World Cups are bought and sold, there are no free or fair votes and there is no noble end to this. Sepp Blatter is a slimy toad but is technically innocent until proven guilty, something that is unlikely to happen, he'll wriggle away under some convenient smoke screen; but the damage has been done. They had a beautiful game, they still might but heads will have to roll. Next for exposure and reputational surgery must be the Olympics, another greasy sporting mess that needs sorting.

Cat mint

Cats like cat mint a lot, so much so they will risk diving into dangerous and unfriendly baskets to indulge in this irresponsible drug use, then they stagger in an undignified manner. What are they thinking? But they are cats and we are the humble watchers of the universe, Dr Who, Grey's Anatomy, Andrew Marr, drinkers of red wine, chicken eaters, petrol consumers and drivers of ridiculous vehicles, wind dodgers and washing machine operatives. The cats in their idle and indistinct passions win...most of the time. Then there are the opposable thumb issues.

Meanwhile in a fit of storm correction and victimisation activity I saw the foaming glory of a Glenrothes car wash, a rainbow across Dalgety Bay, watched a cute dog become intimate with a sheepskin rug and felt the breath of an angry and unjust god blow across the car park at Dobbies. Average Sunday in most respects.

Look sharp

These days the ancient trade of knife sharpening doesn't really get the exposure or recognition it deserves. Where, as a civilisation would we be if all our knives had been blunted and stayed that way? No dead and butchered mammoths, no carved religious icons, no stab victims (Brutus, Ritzio etc.), no gutted herring, no topiary chickens, only worn out pencils on board of the space shuttle...the list and awful consequences just goes on. I was therefore heartened and encouraged to see that the age old trade is alive and well in the Lothians with a roving exponent out on the highways and byways every so often. I'm seriously thinking of booking a servicing session for my Swiss Army knife (7 blade model, 1989) and the garden shears. He'll be gigging at the New Hopetoun Garden Centre on 4th June...a piece of living history not to be missed.

Speaking of living history, this webcam is trained on the zebra crossing at Abbey Road. Strangely entertaining and worryingly compulsive.

This is not quite enough

I came home early from work (well about 2ish), I'd been daydreaming about going out for quick spin around the estate on my new bargain bike bought from a bloke in Buffies Brae so I wanted the weekend to start. The dream however was quickly quashed or squashed by Mother Nature's determination to provide a backdrop of raindrops to my outdoor adventures. I looked out of the window and willed the rain to stop, that didn't work. Then I thought about getting wet and how maybe that was not so bad. Then I thought about what people would think (?) and how I'd be labelled as a mad bloke from that house who cycles in the rain for pleasure. Then I sat down for a period of reflection, a beef salad sandwich and a bit of the Tom Morton show. Then I wandered over to the garage in the rain and sprayed WD40 here and there and loosened some Allan headed screws (that was good, satisfying and it's not any kind of euphemism). Then I chatted to a neighbour and picked up an errant package that he'd collected for Ali. Then I came in and started writing this drivel...and laughing to myself at the stupid monkey picture and decided that this is enough of that for the day. As Tom Morton said "If I'd known that it was this far away I'd never have come here in the first place".

Gumtree bike

You can tell summer is somewhere nearby, the air is strangely moist and the wind is strangely strong and a young man's mind turns to cycling and other two-wheeled type of endeavours - but I had no bike. That was yesterday of course, today I have a bike and I am officially a cyclist again thanks to exploring Gumtree's huge selection of keenly priced, used bicycles and after a few phone calls, ta-da! buying one. So I'm already planning a brief circuit of Loch Lomond, an excursion to the weekend horsey event at Hopetoun and a jaunt to John O'Groats via the May Island. I'm not planning on falling from it, getting soaked in rain showers, bumping into potholes or going up hills, ever.

Funny how in some photos bike wheels can look less than round, in fact they can look crooked and quite uncircular and unwheel-like. It is an optical illusion brought about by a dodgy lens, bad light and unsteady hands.

On a more serious note

The Scheme: I’ve avoided this BBC TV show for a while (one of many I purposely stay away from) but I accidently saw some of it last night. A sad and disturbing programme that chronicles the trials, tribulations, despair, stupidity and occasional warmth to be found in “typical” Scottish housing scheme. The turgid and repetitive misery must rankle politicians and do gooders in general as the drug abuse, petty crime and circle of squalor and meaningless behaviour is displayed and negotiated. It’s not a great advertisement for the habitual wearers of Glasgow Rangers football tops either. The message is clear; there is no way out and though they are certainly in need of some it’s hard to summon up sympathy for the real life characters all of whom comply nicely with the middle-class view of schemey stereotypes. I can imagine the smug but guilty feeling voyeuristic viewers sweating over the desperate antics of these victims, wondering were on earth our society is going and what is the point of having any aspirations in a place where socially mobility is actively seen to be running in reverse. The cast last night were both desolate and formidable in a way that makes you want to punch your own head and then the head of any nearby politician:

The gangly, inarticulate junkie who’s in a spiral of dependency, who will look forty-nine on his twenty-fourth birthday and who will be dead before he’s twenty-five.

The teenage trouble maker whom social services try to train and educate but who, despite support and cajoling falls back into robbery and violence when he’s bored or disaffected, which is mostly all the time.

The long suffering mother, robbed and abused by her feral offspring but with no option other than grow older and weaker defending the indefensible.

The teenage mum daubed with cheap make up and bruises, abandoned by her child’s feckless father who tries to build a home and find some meaning. Her clueless and dependant approach to life forever supported by a weak system that will relentlessly churn out another lost generation that will in turn make all the same mistakes.

The rough and evangelical carers, trying to build a community with real teeth on the dead gums of a rotting estate. They struggle to milk funds from a frustrated and broken system only to be forever beaten back by bureaucracy, cost hurdles and the apathy and pithy disregard of their own peers.

A well meaning, careworn gardener creating an oasis of expensive floral colour within the rubble, beaten down grass, strewn litter and graffiti who gets only a second prize (presumably for pluck and persistence) year in year out in the local gardening competition. His appreciative wife looks on and shrugs as he is crushed and denied the glory of a deserved victory.

Watching this a few weeks after the SNP victory and the jingoism and bluster that followed I can’t but worry about the soft underbelly of Scotland and the fatal flaws we all know lurk on the edges of our national psyche. Even the most deluded optimist can see that the difference between this version of a civilised pocket of Scotland and any given Third World shanty town is measured in single figure millimetres. There is a big job to do out there and Cameron’s Big Society doesn’t look tough enough to tackle it just yet.

But is it art?

As below: emergency anti-soot measures set in place and working like a dream. An alternate view is that it may be an art installation of some type as well as a functional device for maintaining a dust free atmosphere within the happy home.

Slow news day with minimal effort expended

Last night's Game of Thrones did the unthinkable, it killed (in a truly horrible manner) someone who I thought was a major character in just the sixth episode. That's a classy bit of TV script writing and admirable risk taking. I'm now hooked as it's clear that anything can happen and it turns out that the GoT shop is open now. Buy, buy, buy. Decent review and plot/weird name reminder thingy here also.

Today the gales died down a bit, that was a relief, having said that the sports section of the Sunday Times remains gaffer taped across the fireplace in a desperate bid to stop the flying soot from covering miscellaneous cats and laptops. Every so often it makes a draughty paper rustle which is really spooky, it picks it's moments. The kids have declared it to be a piece of artwork as well as an anti-soot device. Possibly. We might publish the results later.

Meanwhile in other news a cat did hop into a delivery van and at home we ate two tins of meatballs.

Official: God hates us all

Blanche Caldwell Barrow - a song dedication perhaps.

In the pre-volcanic and post-rapture fall out one thing is still clear and that's the flat 7Up at the back of the fridge. Anyway many good and upright religious people are perplexed by the weekend's events or lack of them. Of course it may well be a simple delay brought about by God wishing to "test the faith" of believers. That's the trouble with God, you never quite know what he's thinking or quite what he's planning. It's all big picture stuff with him and very confusing for the faithfull, the earthbound, the gullible and the media types.

So it was reassuring tonight when, possibly as an answer to all the rapture hoo-hah and disappointment God decided to blow across Scotland with a mighty wind and so surprised all Fifers and Edinburgh based commuters with the complete closure of the Forth and Tay Bridges. An act and demonstration worthy of any huge and self respecting God in my opinion - the cosmos is at his command so he knocks over a few trees in West Lothian. That'll sort out those complacent bastards in the Church of Scotland on their way home from the General Assembly tea party.

In the apocalyptic road chaos that followed I had to make a detour across to the badlands of Grangemouth in a terror stricken effort to cross the frothing and hostile waters of the River Forth. By the time I got to Skinflats my extra strong mint was sucked as smooth as the Papal Ring itself and my knuckles were as white as the bleached lambs of Inverbervie. The roads were of course festooned with pieces of trees, leaves, B&Q buckets, MacDonalds cartons and various abandoned curtain sided vehicles. When I eventually got home the cats were asleep but the kids slide in the garden was upside down and the lounge was covered in storm driven soot. Thanks for the reminder dear God that you are Lord of all things (world's ends included) and that you delight in providing minor moments of inconvenience to err...test us?

Key Performance Indicators

Here are some numbers from our recent Spotify sales. Nice to see somebody played our track "I miss that boy" 17 times in a row back in February. These streaming listens generate very little money but at least give us the satisfaction of knowing that folks listen to our music, sometimes repeatedly or in some excessive random patterns. I can imagine the neighbours banging on the walls round about listen 5 or 6.

The esoteric magic that is the rambling and unfocused Ford Cougar diaries enjoys some phenomenal web stats mostly from hits in Mexico, Columbia and other regions in Central America. It all started on the 8th of May and might well die back at any time. Currently clocking about 700 hits per day. Not a bad run.

Other indicators? Well we've demoed a few things and scribbled some verses and done a lot of key change alteration works. I was also was overtaken by a truck loaded with helium today as I crossed the Forth Bridge for the fourth time (today)...that set me thinking about many things. I'm still trying to put it all together in a bid to create some sort of theory.

End of the worldish

Still life with quiche and Bob Dylan.

I saw probably the least ambitious airline in the world the other day, Brussels Air, flying to Brussels from Birmingham. Where else could they go? The above snack formed another part of the same day's life affirming experiences, the vanilla and honey smoothie providing the overall nadir, the book provided some unexpected laughs. The Higgidy quiche came with a little poem inside the carton by way of explaining the bakers philosophy or justify killing pigs or something, it was printed upside down light brown on mid brown. Anyway the pie tasted quite nice and here's an example of the poetry.

Higgidy, Piggidy Pie
Oh my, oh my, oh my
Your insides are herby
Your outside is curvy
And all of you tastes divine.

On the plane home the guy next to me appeared to be having a bad day. After reading his book for five minutes he spent the remainder of the flight leaning forward with his head in his hands almost in the brace position. Perhaps he disliked the current Flybe background muzak, currently Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" and a song by Take That I don't recognise played on a fuzzy loop.

Today the Mac returned home after a nifty piece of electronic resurrection and exploration. Welcome home. I picked it up this morning in Edinburgh, city of trams, potholes and more empty coffee shops than is surely healthy for the market. As I wandered the streets I braced myself for the shock of the impending rapture, on the hour, every hour but God didn't turn up. It was a bit of a relief that nothing really happened; so the grass got cut and the weeds got pulled. I'd hate to be pulled up into the misty blue bliss of heaven (or down to the fiery pit of hell) knowing that the power of the dandelions and clover had won the day back on earth.

The only water in the forest is the river

Why would anybody put a cuddly toy inside a display microwave in IKEA? Perhaps it's some kind of shiny miniature Tardis.

Technopolis: The struggle to keep up is exhausting. Learning to operate a new cooker with two ovens, multiple control selections, heating and fan options, to heat up some frozen chips. Getting a grey and balding head around a new Macbook, making it's easy to use and intuitive features look complicated, failing to grasp the obvious and unable to take instructions literally. Not being sure what an HD display really looks like, not being sure whether it's off or on, no knowing what scart cable to put where, no following instructions, paying an extra £10 a month for nothing. Being too lazy to use the text option to insert user names and passwords into a phone key pad, paying whatever £s a month for ?MB of Internet dross and not using it. Having the same reading glasses for six years and bringing the pages ever closer (or further away) but reluctant to go in for an eye test and upgrade. Putting food into the freezer and never taking it out again...that's a mystery.

Doctor's wife: If you were perplexed, puzzled, confused or infuriated by the latest Dr Who episode then this well informed and well written article might just help.

Mature manure

Buying things out in the sticks is always interesting and at times a bit vague and imprecise. Roadside produce can be bought simply by handing a few quid to the nearest person in some adjacent field who nods his head and points, you never really know who you are dealing with. I suppose it all adds to the local economy eventually via some mysterious financial circle. If only we had some home made produce we could stuff into tough bags, leave out in all weathers and then observe from a safe distance as the sad townie's cash rolled in.

Here is the manure now placed in situ, ready to be spread and fed back into Steven Hawking's good earth. Note the dangerous red bag strategy. Maybe we'll get a crop, maybe we'll not.