Warmer.
I have just had a week of weather hell. If Southern England is becoming more like the Medit3rran3an, then it is not any part that I have ever been to. There have been constant massive thund3rstorms combined with rain like you have never seen .. the word 'awash' is an understatement. It has finally moved off Northwards this morning - just in time for my son's end of year b@ll, crucial parts of which are outside. I suppose crouching in a collapsed tent with lightening flickering over your terrified features is a seriously bonding experience ... years later .. how we laughed. Oh .. I am so sorry it is going to be ruined I can hardly bear it.

The first storm, 'The most severe in living memory', according to the local paper, happened unusually when I was not alone. My daughters were here and we all suffered through an entire night of major noise and terror, with the lights flicking on and off constantly until the electricity died for eight hours. Then they left. Since then there has been a passing storm of one level or another hanging around infuriatingly every day. With the sky going purple and a weird wind rising so I rush around hysterically shutting windows and beating the bushes for cats to drag in to safety. And it moves across, ponderously, several hills away - encouraging me to re-open everything just in time for a surprise silent cloudburst to begin again.

Until yesterday when I had already become so blase (with an accent) that when it all went dark in mid-afternoon, I did absolutely nothing. 'Well, f.ck YOU', the storm obviously thought. After one teeny far-off rumble only, a vast white light flashed straight past my window with the sound of loud CRACKLING and a blast of thunder as if from M0rd0r came straight after it. I threw myself into bed and right under the covers for extra safety and just crouched there until it was all over. There had been a news item about a boy being electr0cuted through his Pl@yst...n handset only the day before and I lay there like an unbelievable coward afraid to go downstairs and investigate. I lifted the sheet an inch to see if I could smell burning fur. I wasn't sure. The fact is that my favourite cat has, for some months, lived on the ykS box, intricately festooned with all the house's TV entry cables AND the whole thing had been left on. I wrestled with myself, mentally, and realised to my shame that I was not leaving the bed until the storm was over, even if the box had been struck. I still can't believe it ...

When I finally lurked down, she was asleep in front of the Ag@ for once and hadn't been on the TV at all. To punish me for my failings, however, the gods had directed the lightening to strike the aerial and all channels were grey and jumpy. As perfect reception is the only thing which the entire family agrees on as a top priority for living, I rang the 'man' immediately. Well, the next day. 'Now, my dear', he said 'I won't be getting to you until next week'. 'What!', I moaned 'Aren't I the only one then?' 'No, no', laughing, 'Dozens of calls I've had. Aerials down all over the place and if they're not down .. they've been SIZZLED'. 'Okaaay. Next week then'. Ars3.

So ... no television for the foreseeable future. There isn't actually much to watch at this time of year although B1g Br0th3r had reached a cliffhanger. Maybe I could have an open line to my children's flat and LISTEN to my favourite programmes ... or would that be really sad? Anyway, its been a useful life lesson - next time it is a choice between cowardice and bravery I will take the Fr0d0 option. I should have known by now that the gods are totally predictable - he who abandons a cute furry animal to its fate will be denied the sight of the most nail-biting eviction night of the series ... obviously.
- posted by Iris @ 6/30/2005 12:28:00 PM (0) comments comment

 
Past.
Typical .. as soon as I don't have 'the fear' about sitting down to write anymore .. god knows why .. I can't think of anything much to say. I have been replacing my old rec0rd collecti0n with CDs from AmazOn .. I can't understand why I never thought of it before. Instead my older daughter and I used to spend hours coaxing our ancient record player, (housed in an expensive walnut cabinet), to grind round its turntable at approximately the right speed. Though I have to say that hearing them now at the press of a button seems somehow 'wrong' and takes away somewhat from the old sense of occasion.

Oddly, not everything is available and ... as the record player has stuck on 78 rpm. ... I may never hear some of my favourites again. I suppose I can play them in my brain but I can't remember all the words. In the case of 'The Future's S0 Br1ght I've G0tt@ Wear Sh@des' I can now senilely only hum that line. ( Not for sale on CD? How shortsighted is that? Another generation awaits).

Also nothing is personal any more. Everybody knows everything. Partly it's the fiends who put the backing to advertisements. 'Hey, I'll just play you one of the best tunes from my twenties - the compilation arrived this morning'. I'm hopping around the kitchen; waiting for expressions of awe and pleasure to cross their uninterested features .. when .. nothing. 'Hello ... I LOVED that one, don't you like it at all?' 'Sorry , what , isn't that the theme from that crappy V0lkswag3n advert.?'

When I WAS in my twenties I was wandering, aimlessly, around a huge record store in Oxf0rd Street and found a dusty rack far in the bowels which held repressings of famous '30s bands. Because I was going through a 'frightfully amusing' phase I bought several to play as background music for dinner parties. (Yes! I once had a social life). I was stunned to find that they were all incredibly good and I really, really liked them. This music couldn't have been more unfashionable and absolutely no one of my age that I played it to had ever heard any of it before. They ALL loved it. I made a large collection and eventually couldn't find any more records to buy. For a bit I listened to nothing else. I called my first cat Ambr0s3 after the band leader, (they looked identical .. those amazing eyes).

Tinkling piano music was drifting through when one of my husband's most vital and most WASPy elderly American customers called in to check on her purchases, (he used to work from home). 'OMG .. is that hctuH*, I haven't heard that music for years'. 'It IS .. I'm amazed that you know'. 'Well dear, I think when you've slept with someone you're quite likely to remember them playing their most famous tune'. 'Errr ... yes .. right ... I'm sure that must be true'. (WHAT! I can't believe this. I LOVE her). And we were suddenly on friendly rather than stuffy terms - and still are.

When I got married we had a reception completely arranged and chosen by my mother. I went along with it because I am an only child and it was her dream. It was all right. BUT .. a week later, after the honeymoon .. we had a wedding PARTY. Completely arranged and chosen by ME. (My husband was fine with it, I am good at fun stuff). It was in a vast unspoilt Victorian hall, normally used as a community centre, in the middle of C0v3nt G@rden. At that point still a market and not yet smart. I still look back on it and think it was perfect. The party started after supper at about 8.30 pm. There was very little food as you were meant to have already eaten but endless amounts of incredibly nice and expensive champagne or any drink you wanted. There was masses of room so you could drift around and talk but the dancing was right in the centre so it dominated the evening. All my favourite tunes on a thundering hi-fi system. For hours. And every so often .. a little set of '30's dance music. Which turned out to be the most popular part of the evening.

At 1.00 am. we offered 'breakfast' , which was kedgeree, rolls and marmalade, coffee, orange juice etc. There were at least 200 people there who all ate normal helpings .. and afterwards a big steel vat of leftover kedgeree was sent to the homeless shelter. I would NEVER think of doing this now .. but .. then .. The evening before this party my husband and I cooked kedgeree for 200 people .. ourselves. The next morning we went to the hall and cleaned and washed and dusted and arranged flowers .. ourselves, alone. And zoomed back to change only an hour before the start. And thought nothing of it.

My particular pleasure was that my husband had said that having kedgeree made for us was just too expensive. And dealing with that quantity was impossible at home. With one bound .. I saw the answer. Just at the end of our street was a little amateurish theatre .. which offered 'dinner plays'. They had a professional kitchen. And, to my amazement, when we asked if we could use their equipment for one hour for very small payment .. they said 'Yes'. So we cooked our huge amounts of food using ludicrously huge saucepans and other weirdness and they didn't even come down to check on us. And it was no problem at all .. because we were young and jolly. That is odd to think about now. Where does the 'Can't do' attitude creep up from?

My particular not-pleasure of the evening still haunts me. HOW annoying. At that moment one of our friends was appearing in the first ever run of the 'R0cky rorroH Sh0w'. It was minor and unknown. He ASKED if we would like the cast to come along and sing the main songs from it as a cabaret. We said 'Yes' of course but didn't mind specially either way and when they couldn't after all as they had an evening photo call it didn't seem a big deal. Some of them turned up for a drink, late, and that was fine. AAaarrghh! Now! My children can't believe it .. how they would love to be able to tell their friends that we had the R.H.S. at our wedding party .. well, me too....

And playing the '30's music on CDs. It's not the same. And I haven't got my favourite one which wasn't music at all but an original recording from 'Pr1v@te L1ves'. With N0el C0w@rd and G3rtrude L@wrence talking about how potent ch3ap mus1c is. Once upon a time I could say the whole thing along with them .. it was my party trick. Only charming when you are young and gorgeous .. slightly embarrassing now, I think. And, horribly, many of the tunes are very familiar - because I have heard them only too recently - playing along behind films of people driving exceptionally dreary makes of car.
- posted by Iris @ 6/19/2005 11:58:00 PM (0) comments comment

 
Scary.
I have said before but now will again - 'There is something out there .. listening'. Why else would it be that as soon as you say, 'I am so happy with this thing or person or place' then very shortly afterwards it will invariably go horribly wrong?

My husband asked a few weeks ago, 'When are you coming to London next?' 'I think the nearest time will be never ... ha, ha', I replied skippily. Especially as I am usually alone in June as it is the high point for his work and the girls are normally doing stuff for him and my son is immersed in fun, end of year studentness. For at least three weeks I can uninterruptedly do exactly as I like in what is usually beautiful weather with the garden and all around looking amazing with roses, foxgloves etc. massing gorgeously. It is light until 10.00 at night, the swimming pool is warm and last year was like a perfect holiday abroad. And no one asks me to do anything.

So far it has not been quite as perfect as usual as the weather has been 'unseasonally' crap. I have not swum once as the pool is freezing and everything in the garden is oddly thin and tall from endless rain and humidity. There has also been a thin trickle of husband and children visiting - I think, maddeningly, because they have decided that I should not spend so much time by myself. Though I have said endlessly that I LOOK FORWARD to these weeks.

Finally, from yesterday, there was no question that I would be here, BY MYSELF, for the next fortnight. Everyone else was totally busy with no way out. This morning I was dancing in the kitchen to 'Y0ung, G1ft3d and mailto:Bl@ck one of the many nostalgic tracks on my new CD just delivered by the postman, when the phone rang. 'I'm feeling really crappy', said my younger daughter, 'I've been up all night being sick and my stomach is agony. I ate some odd-tasting prawns for supper and it's obviously that and it is SOOO annoying'. After some boring, obvious advice about fluids and resting etc. I pottered on and then rang dutifully at lunch time. 'So .. how goes it?' 'Well, part of my stomach feels all right now but it hurts down one leg .. I think I'm getting better anyway'. 'PART of your stomach?' Worried-Mother-type overkill sprang into action. 'I want you to lie down and feel around carefully .. and tell me if it only hurts low down on the right side'. 'Yes .. how did you know?' 'Fuck ... it could just be append1c1t*s. I want you to ring the doctor and have a phone consultation now'. 'Come ahhnn ...' 'No, just do it'. I am not often stern or shouty but when there is even a whisper of anything being wrong with the children I get secretly hysterical.

Twenty minutes later she called back, 'I hope you're pleased. I'm actually in a taxi although I feel miles better .. he told me to come straight in so he could do a checkup'. Half an hour later she rang again. 'Okay ... I'm in another taxi and I'm on my way to HOSPITAL and it IS append1c1t*s', and then fell apart horribly. The one thing my husband is brilliant at is forward thinking about pension plans etc. We have a total grasshopper and the ant scenario as I lounge about through the summer of my life spending casually with no thought for the winter ... but luckily he doesn't and has made a little grain store. Which includes massive medical insurance.

I spend a lot of the time being depressed and whiny - but I also count my material blessings a lot. And would never take them for granted. Especially at a time like this. How many people could feel ill and then be able to ring a private doctor who is an old family friend; have a consultation over the phone; have a personal appointment found for them within half an hour; then have the doctor ring his close friend at a private hospital a few blocks away and arrange for a private room to be available at once and then be taxied straight there and welcomed in and the operation set for the next morning. Well hardly any, obviously.

It was a big shock and she was very upset .. partly as she had leapt into the taxi expecting to return within the hour and had nothing with her. Append1c1t*s seems to have gone out of fashion as she had hardly heard of it and was amazed when I said that I was just about the only person I knew of my age who still had my body intact. When I was young people were constantly having two weeks off school to have their app3nd1x out .. but apparently that never happens now. Perhaps we ate more cherry stones.

By this evening we were both jollier as her boyfriend, her sister (carrying vast amounts of attractive nightwear and comforting trash) and sister's caring ex-boyfriend had all arrived and were sitting in her luxurious room watching a vast plasma TV. The room even has views of the river and is ranked as a five star h0tel with matching menus. You can choose the colour of your flower arrangement. What could possibly make you feel better about a sudden scary operation than finding you are having it at the R1tz? Finally, twenty years of insurance payments have come into their own.

She has to stay there for four days and then be at home, in a delicate and unable to do anything state, for a week. So ... I have to go there and be there ... and not here. And not for one mini-second do I mind having to look after her and also have that 'My baby is ill' desperate mothering feeling. But .. as well .. can't help thinking that maybe .. if I hadn't been so happy .. and actually dancing .. 'it' or 'they' might have postponed all this until July.
- posted by Iris @ 6/15/2005 11:40:00 PM (0) comments comment

 
Dislike?
Yesterday I made a list of all the people that I hate. I wanted to see if there was any pattern to it, which would mean that I actually hated a type of person or if they were definitely each awful in their own way. Or maybe - very, very annoying if true - they were a reflection of something I didn't like in myself (as if).

I am a big hater in general but every time I use the word outside my own home some bore chips in 'That's a very strong word' or 'I really don't think we should ever HATE anyone'. Errr - why not, exactly? And I was very pleased to see a recent advertisement (as normal with clever ads. no one can remember what it was actually advertising) about how 'Hate is Good'. Because of course, hippily, if you 'Hate' bad things then you might make the effort to change them.

Unfortunately, when I hate bad people I just go off and bitch about them behind their backs - but perhaps the person I'm talking to will then be brave enough to confront them.

Then again, it is all in the word. I say 'hate' but you say 'dislike'. I say 'hate' but you say 'find a bit annoying'. I say 'hate' but you say 'what a stupid f.cker'. We are probably all experiencing exactly the same emotion.... Or is MINE stronger. I have a feeling that it is.

When one of my 'hatees' names comes up in conversation, even with total strangers, I am incapable of letting it go by. 'Actually, I really hate him/her', I find myself saying. My husband signalling OMG! with furious eyebrows. 'I think that woman was her best friend/business partner/sister. Couldn't you POSSIBLY just keep quiet for once ... or at least say 'Don't really get on with' or anything a bit milder. You sound like a psycho'. 'Well no ... because I REALLY HATE HER ... and I'm not listening to some drivel about how nice she is without pointing out some examples of her other side. And ... I would rather do that, psycho or not than let her go through life getting away with everything ... So, neh, neh'.

And .. it is surprising how often, when I have said the hating thing, that the other person says, 'But, me too, I thought no one else saw how ghastly she was so I just went along with it'. Then intense gossiping and bonding ensue. I have made some of my best acquaintances that way and , as far as I know, not many people actually think I am a psycho or 'dislike' me because of it. And if they do ..I don't care, because I live alone in the country now and I never have to see them again and I no longer care, either, about social life and not being asked to dinner or whatever.

So .. I digress ... the list. It was far shorter than I was expecting - in fact only EIGHT people. How is this possible? Though another one has died recently, the exception that proves my rule that only nice, charming people die young. It had five women and three men but the men all had a rather unmasculine tendency to subjective bitchiness. I wrote next to each one why I particularly loathed them and ... it was pretty much the same every time. So it IS a type of person that I hate rather than the individuals ... hmmm. AND .. I am really, really not secretly like that myself .. I swear on my life.

They are all obssesive, snobbish social climbers. They are all intelligent and charismatic but use those characteristics ruthlessly for their advancement. They are all rude and dismissive to people who they perceive as 'not useful' or 'inferior'. They also suck up terrifyingly to anyone who IS 'useful' or, particularly, 'useful AND aristocratic'. They lie and/or exaggerate as a matter of course and constantly put down others to make themselves look better. In most cases they have created a fake veneer of smartness and upper classness and if they think that you are going to unmask them in any way .. references to youthful indiscretions etc. they are spiteful beyond belief.

This obviously makes them sound so awful that you would think that no one would want to know them. BUT ... 1. I have known them all for a very, very long time and have perfect recall of their original circumstances. 2. Anyone 'smart' who met them now would be bowled over by their niceness and their wide-ranging contacts amongst other 'smart' people. Sadly, a few of my closer friends have been sucked in by the 'love bombing' tactics of various of them and stare at me, puzzled, when I bleat 'I hate him' for the hundredth time. 'It's such a shame that you don't 'get' (insert name of ruthless bastard), he came to stay last weekend and was SO amusing and pleasant. He even went out of his way to look after my wife's mother'. 'Isn't your wife's mother a Duchess'. 'Yes, why are you asking that?' 'Oh, no reason ...', hopeless sigh.

Anyway ... I REALLY hate those eight, who I know in true life. But I also have lower level, though strongly felt, hatreds for people in public life and often scream 'Oh, I HATE you' at the TV screen. I suppose hating someone you have never met is a bit much but they have put their persona out for the public's approval .. and it is that persona that I can't stand. So it seems fair enough. A few examples: R1chard G3r3 (smug,creepy); Mel G1bs0n (smug,twists facts to be anti-English); G3rry Ad@ms and M'rt1n McGu1n3ss (total c.nts and deserve to d1e horribly and smug); Ad@m S'ndler (just unbearable); H1llary Cl1nton (smug,ruthless, totally fake .. the word Arrghh doesn't even cover it); T0ny and (especially smug) Cher13 Bl@1r (see H.C..); Bon0 of 'You t00' (the most pathetically pretentious man in the world); Paul McC@rtn£y and his horrific wife (smug, sad and v.smug + liar, respectively). In fact I had better stop here as I can feel my blood pressure rising. I could go on indefinitely, probably but that might be overkill. I have discussed this at such boring length that I expect you are now starting to hate me.
- posted by Iris @ 6/14/2005 11:15:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Anyway.
Now it is the middle of the night and I have to get up really early as my younger daughter is coming for the weekend and doesn't want to sleep in her own room. So I am drinking again, but only a bit, and not tired, maddeningly. It has stopped the endless raining just in time for me to have piles of sorting out to do indoors and especially making somewhere attractive for her to sleep. Part of the house is a traditional D3von 'l0ng h0us3' which just means that it is train-shaped with a certain lack of corridors. It has a wing sticking out of each end and the smaller one is now a separate cottage with its own kitchen for the children. And the big G30rgian end is where I have my bedroom in the old ballr0om (nowhere near as grand as it sounds .. just a large room upstairs). So when she stays on her own we are as far apart as we could be and no one could hear either of us scream..

Therefore ... when my older daughter mentioned on the phone that the younger now keeps a large stick and a pair of scissors by her bed in London ready to repel any burglar attack, (in an upstairs flat with massive security system and at least two other people always there), I felt she might be more relaxed in a room nearer to me. Though all the rooms nearer to me are full. Of stuff. How does just being alive mean that your house accumulates such piles and piles of things?

My son abandoned his original bedroom about four years ago under similar circumstances to this. I had a guest room opposite mine with charming views down the valley but it was grim when guests actually came .. because they were staying in the room opposite mine. So I had to creep around and dress attractively just to go to the bathroom and couldn't watch tv after midnight and, if I strained, could actually hear what they were saying in bed (not ideal). So on a whim, when he was coming here alone, I moved a minimalist amount of his things in there and he has never gone back. His old room is frozen at age fifteen with heavily postered walls (mostly Bruc3 L33) and piles of now antique computer magazines which already produce amazed sniggers, 'How f.cking BASIC were those graphics? I can't BELIEVE I ever thought that game was cool' etc. It would be easy enough to clear up his present room for her and I did suggest it, 'Which SIDE of the bed does he normally sleep?', she said, 'Could you arrange it so that I am definitely on the other one'. 'For f.ck's sake. I will take ALL his bedclothes away and bring your own ones through'. 'And anyway this is academic now because I've remembered you can't be in there as the walls give you asthma'.

We have romantically retained as many of the original period details of the house as possible including not repainting any of the rooms in the larger wing. Even though, as I pointed out to my husband, the colour schemes were surely not the result of good taste and much thought a hundred years ago but probably the thankful grasping at whatever some itinerant paint vendor had on offer. (We are very, very isolated). Upstairs the colours are more familiar .. they were made from white distemper mixed with the dyes used in the ram's chest 'boxes', worn in Springtime to mark each sheep's bottom after servicing. And still are. A pretty indigo blue and a sort of light burnt sienna... not in the same room.

After one night in my son's room, a year or so ago, my daughter appeared with bright pink eyes and wheezing horribly and moved straight back to her own bedroom regardless of burglars. 'I thought your asthma was just caused by damp', I said, rattily, 'I spent days putting on radiators and electric blankets'. 'Sometimes it's dust'. 'AND hoovering ...'. We stood in there, staring round, and it was immediately obvious that there was already a faint scattering of burnt siena powder on the white pillowcases. 'It's this stupid medieaval paint stuff that we're not allowed to scrape off .. how annoying is that?' she said. I rang my husband, 'So .. is it likely that the distemper could give her asthma?'. 'I don't know but I was meaning to say ... I think that old colour mixture contains large amounts of lead. In fact it may be exactly the same as the paint that killed N@pol3on'. 'Oh great', said my son when I passed this on. 'So I've been breathing in deadly poison for years and Daddy never bothered to mention it'. But we had run out of suitable rooms and he couldn't be bothered and nor could I and he is somehow still sleeping there. When I asked my husband again he said vaguely, 'I expect it is probably all right. Make sure that you hoover in there regularly'. 'And make sure that you f.ck yourself regularly', I replied. And we left the matter there.

So anyway ... that means I now have to get up early and sort out the OLD bedroom which has normal wallpaper (un-deadly) but is full, full, FULL of piles of boyish crap. And now it is very late indeed and I feel more awake than ever and in fact in quite a jolly and energetic mood. Far more so than I will tomorrow. Could I do it now? Well, no. Not that energetic. And before anyone says why are you bothering. I like to make things
comfortable and attractive when the children come and they are never here for more than a few days and it is a boring journey especially just for a weekend. And they really like to think that someone (me) cares that much. So although dreary in itself to do it .. on another level it makes me happy. (And .. don't ask why I didn't do it today in a restful way .. no one ever lets things be that simple).
- posted by Iris @ 6/10/2005 01:21:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Quick.
There is no way that I would want anyone randomly looking at this finding those last posts as me. That was just a moment.

So I must move on quickly. A month or so later. I have just drunk a lot and had supper with my husband and he was looking at me flickily as if to say 'Is that your third or fourth glass of whisky .. and are you about to be agonisingly boring and how will I deal with that?. And I have thought so much and am also very objective and unusually non-screamy for the average woman.... When I did one of Jo's tests for how masculine/feminine are you - I was exactly in the middle. And so I said 'I think we have a very happy future ahead as I don't mind what you do .. in fact I would really like it if you thought seriously about what YOU want. And I am probably one of the only women in the world who couldn't give a fuck if you spent the next six months travelling round India .. as you once said was your dream'. And he replied, 'Possibly, I don't know how well ... (our daughter who works for him).. could cope .. '. This would be actually doing nothing except forwarding occasional phone calls about building work as they are renovating bits of structural things.

I feel bored with writing now. .... It has been such an effort to drag out of depression and make myself happy at all. I have replaced old records with cds through Amazon and read only crime stories or cheerful novels and only watched comedies or news stuff that doesn't touch my heart and avoided all romance and sentimentality. Or especially anything true and sad ... And finally feel tough and normal. And I was looking at a photograph pf myself on my seventh birthday. I was wearing a bathing costume and holding one of my favourite presents, which was a 'Little Grey Rabbit' colouring book. (Which, bizzarely, I actually found last year in a box). And looking so happy and confident and when each of my children, separately, has seen this they have all said, 'Is that YOU?'. And, oddly, I was alone in this picture because I was in quarantine for chicken pox and had to spend my birthday by myself and my party was cancelled. But I had all my presents and the best one was a little tepee where I sat with a china doll's tea set and my colouring book and was thrilled. And now I feel almost like that person all over again and the reason is that not so long after that photograph was taken I fell in love for the first time.

And now I know that I will never fall in love again. And that falling in love has ruined my whole life and made me totally unhappy and unselfconfident and wasted god knows how many years. It was like some kind of hobby. I was serially in love .. and it seemed so important and deep and worth abandoning everything for. And the people I loved were, obviously random .. and meaningless .. and had no actual worth. They were a reflection of whatever I was lacking at that moment.

So now, I am older and this is another time, and I feel like the seven year old girl who was happy with practical things and immediate solid facts. And wasn't worrying about her hair or if the phone was about to ring and fuck her party because she is holding the one silly, transient object that she wanted above all at that tiny moment in the present.
- posted by Iris @ 6/04/2005 11:04:00 PM (0) comments comment