Don’t tag me

Disabled it’s a word I hate, but I don’t know what to replace it with exactly. I checked this morning as to what other words a thesaurus suggested and, to be honest, they were even worse. The started politely enough, with such words as “physically challenged”, “handicapped”, “weakened”, “paralysed”, and “impaired”. Then they fell into what I expected “crippled”, “Damaged”, “mutilated” and “maimed”. The thing is, I don’t feel as though I fit any of those, yes, I know that many will, but I don’t. Even odder. is the fact, that I’m not one of those people who has signed up to what I now see as the overused political correctness, that the world seems to have embraced. So why do they all bother me? I guess, because, I quite simply don’t see myself as any of them. I freely admit that I am totally useless, that I can’t even take care of myself, but I’m not any of those words, I’m me.

In some ways, I guess that is where political correctness steamed from, someone took objection to being called something or another, then the world went mad with it. I don’t once ever remember being offended by being wolf whistled at in the street, or having someone shouting a lurid comment at me. I was inclined to take them all as a compliment, well, someone at least noticed me, so be it from a male or a female, I was flattered. Tags, names, titles, they all bother me. Of course. we all have to live with some, Mr, Mrs or Miss (no I hate Ms.), wife or husband, Mum or Dad, male or female, they’re tags we accept as everything has to have an identifying name, just as our parents gave us one. Those along with job titles, I accept with ease, but all other, why should I? I don’t feel defined by my health, so why is everyone else on the planet in such a hurry to define me. I have a chronic illness, well, several, but until I was unable to leave my house, it meant nothing to others and little to me. Becoming housebound, was the first time that I felt that my health had got in the way of my life. I know that I didn’t go out much before that happened, but as I have admitted several times, to me that was a plus, as the places people wanted me to be, usually weren’t where I wanted to be. But I admit and accept the title of housebound, like the others, it’s something I have accepted, but I don’t accept the rest.

Just because my body is doing everything it physically can, other than killing me right this second, it doesn’t mean I’m not equal to anyone else. No, I couldn’t run a marathon, I can’t even join in with the wheelchair entrants, but I’ve never wanted to, which is far more important than because I couldn’t. My brain, though, well, once I chip through the fog, is as bright as it ever was. Keep me here in my isolated box, where my body and brain are as close to at ease as anyone’s is, and I am mentally astute. In politically correct jargon, I am locationally challenged, more than anything else. To the general public, what is wrong with me, has now and never has had, any impact on their lives, yet they are all so fast to put names to me, names that I don’t want, nor agree with.

Being in a wheelchair doesn’t make you disabled. What disables us, isn’t our chairs, but the thoughtlessness of those people who put steps everywhere. Take those away, and your world is my world. I didn’t build all those stairways and kerbs, so why do I have to have a label attached to me? It wasn’t my fault that I became ill. I didn’t do anything wrong, it wasn’t through drugs, alcohol, tobacco, lack of exercise or overeating that I became ill, it just happened. When the final truth is found, it will be either one of mother nature’s ways of controlling population, or through toxins and chemicals that I don’t even know the name of. Either way, it wasn’t my fault. So why does everyone seem to have yet another tag to attach to me?

I’m human, surprisingly so is every other living person, so I have something that makes me the same as all of you. I have two arms, two legs and a head, just like the majority of you. When you look at me closely, I have more in common with everyone out there, than I have that is different. What makes me different in the grand scheme of things is actually very small, but to survive in this world, I am forced to focus on it. Clearly, I can no longer work, but I have done so every day that I could, until I couldn’t. Survival for all of us equals money. There are no two ways around that one. To get what we need to exist, we’re forced to look closely at all the things we can’t do. We have to be judged on it, go over it in writing and they face to face. Months of concentrating on the wrong, not the right. Is that really the right way of living a positive life? That’s what we’re all told to do, “stay positive”, that is until they pull you down and pick you to bits, just so you can live. Titles, tags, titles, tags and more tags, is it any surprise that for some being “positive” is hard or even impossible. But me, I’m positive, not because of the outside world, but because of me. I’m human, I’m alive, I’m a person and I don’t need your titles, I’m me.


Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 02/05/2014 – Getting stuck forever?

I guess there are thousands of thing to write about, but for the first time in ages, I have actually found myself here nice and early and I can’t think at this second what I am going to write about, I suppose that is what they call sods law. It feels almost as though the fact I have actually, at last, got everything under control with my timings and my brain has decided to shut down on me when it comes to the most important part of my morning, maybe I should go and have my shower and just come back to this as if I have managed to write this much without saying anything, there is something wrong.

Well, that is me washed and fed, I don’t normally write just after either, I suppose because coping with typing is just that bit more difficult, especially after a shower. I know that I have said before just how I hate…..

Positive “PIP”

As is the way often, everything always happens at the same time, this morning proved that perfectly. The lady from the DWP (department of work and pensions) arrived just after 11 am, a man from the electricity board arrived to read the meter, at about 11:45, and the plumber arrived at midday, the DWP lady, didn’t leave until 12:45. She was really a nice lady, not the monster that we had expected, over officious and so straight laced that sour would have been a compliment. We were both pleasantly surprised and what was supposed to be a straightforward interview, with Adam at my side, turned into a broken and stilted muddle, with me in the middle, just desperate to get it all over and done with. Adam, though, was doing his normal, chatting about nothing and making the whole thing take much longer than needed. To be honest, the lady who’s name I have totally forgotten, was happy to go along with their chats about nothing, while I sat there quietly stressing more and more. I know, that it should have put me at ease, but it didn’t. The proof, I was throughout slowly losing my voice even before she arrived and the longer she was here the worse it got.

When she first arrived, she told us a little about herself, that she was, in fact, a qualified nurse, not just someone who had done a ten-minute course, as all the online impressions I had read, implied. Yes, there had been a course, but it was mainly so that she knew exactly the information that the DWP required. Personally, she worked from home. The form she would complete once she returned there, would be sent to their head office, for the final evaluation. She went through the exact same questions that we answered on the form. As we answered each one, she added notes to the papers she had brought with her. Not once did she say anything other than that it matched with what we had already written down. She did add in an occasional extra question here and there, which allowed her to give a fuller picture, of my situation, and throughout it, she continued to try and put me at ease about the whole process.

The first break we had, was when Adam had to answer the door, she seemed to become aware that I had become more on edge when he left the room. She was right, although, I think she thought it was because we had been left alone, it wasn’t, it was simply because this huge man had appeared in the hallway. I didn’t explain it to her, but the guy unsettled me somewhat. I have to admit, that I was really glad, that it was Adam who answered the doorbell, and not me. He wasn’t here long and Adam was quickly back with us. To be honest, the rest of it all seemed to be chat, so when the plumber arrived, I was much more at ease. I had read online how people had been made to prove that they couldn’t walk, and other tests just as painful and mortifying for people in our position, there was none of that, it was simply all talking. Honestly, there wasn’t a single thing about the whole interview, that was difficult in any way. She herself said, that when my forms arrived at her home, she was left wondering why I was on her list to see at all? She felt my claim should have gone straight through, but it wasn’t up to her to question it, just to come out and do her job.

We sat for a while chatting while Adam spoke to the plumber. I asked her how often I was going to be expected to go through this whole process. She looked a little surprised and then said, I shouldn’t be saying this but….. “When I complete the process, not only will I be recommended the full high rate payment, but there is a box which I have to fill in, as to when a repeat visit should be made. I intend to say never”. I was shocked, and when Adam returned I told him, he too was shocked, as we were both firmly under the impression, that it would be an annual, or at least, biannual event. She confirmed what she said, it is up to the individual “Disability Analyst”, as that is their official title, to make that decision. She also added that if, and she stress the if, there are any problems, it won’t be down to anything that she will have written. If in the worst case scenario, they refuse me, she told us to appeal as, as far as she can see, I deserve the full rate payments, but we may have to wait for anything from six to eight weeks, before we receive a letter, confirming their decision.

So, that’s it. Just a wait for a letter and hopefully, the whole thing will be over and done with for good. If there is one thing I have learnt from this whole thing, it’s that you shouldn’t listen to the words of those who have had problems with the system. Even if it goes wrong and we have to fight for our money, to this point, there has been nothing, that I can honestly see, that all the worry and stress we have gone through, was worth it. I fully understand how those who genuinely need help, but have been refused it, must feel. If mine were to be turned down, I quite honestly don’t know how we would survive, even for the length of the appeal. But those of us who have been through the system and had a positive experience, at any point, really should shout louder. The forms, although extensive and often failed in the space required for a full answer, was in plain English and not something to be feared. Apparently we did the exactly right thing, we gave detailed answers on exactly what they asked, no more, no less. If you take your lead from the form, as that is the only information the want, it is easy enough. Make sure you put down the worst case scenario, not just how it is today, but how it is when the world stops and everything goes wrong. Granted, I needed Adam to read it to me, and then to write my words for me, but we can all find that sort of help, even if it has to come from the citizens advice, the help is there and it’s free. For many, I can see travelling somewhere for an appointment, might cause problems, but if you can go out socially, or to a hospital, you can go for an appointment. I simply put on my form the fact I was housebound, and without argument, I was sent an appointment at home. The lady who came here, was just that, a lady, and not a bureaucratic monster.

Yes, the whole system makes you feel as though you have to prove you are ill enough, but, once done, it’s done. If your condition is something that has a possibility of improvement, then a future visit may be required, but that is fair enough. Why should anyone have a payment for their entire lifetime, if they have recovered from whatever once made them eligible? Bear in mind, if your condition gets worse, you can request a new assessment to have your payments increases, if you’re on the lower banding. So please spread the word, PIP isn’t the end of life as we know it, it’s just a change in the system, and once done, well depending on your condition, it could be done and dusted forever.


Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 26/04/2014 – What is an hour

Adam spent all of yesterday with his Mother, although it was the day after he always spends one day with her around his birthday, so I had a quiet day spent just doing what I do online and yes finishing off the remains of the carryout. When will I learn? I am now in day two of not feeling well thanks to my stomachs dislike of normal food, I actually woke in the middle of the night because it was so painful, I rarely wake due to pain, so it must have been bad. I was in bed and well asleep when he made it home, he was still on the bus heading back when I spoke to him to say good night and of course snoring on the settee when I got up, so nothing…….

Doing well?

We had already said “Good night”, told each other that we loved each other and Adam had shut the bedroom. Then, it opened again. “You did well tonight, answering all those questions.” I was sat in the dark on the edge of the bed, still trying to put my earplugs in, but that made me smile. All I had done was sit with Adam in the living room, filling in the remains of the PIP form we have been slowly working through. Am I really that so far gone, that answering questions about myself, requires such a statement to be made? Actually, I am.

Our previous attempts had ended up with me totally frazzled and feeling like I had just been asked to write an essay, on my opinions on War and Peace, an essay, that couldn’t be one letter shorter, than the original book. It is incredibly hard to sit and have someone read out word for word, the questions, then to sit and formulate the correct answer, then dictate it.

Reading has been a problem now for a quite a while. I used to be a really good at reading, despite the fact that I have dyslexia. I had learned a system that meant my brain would put in the most logical word when I came across one, that I couldn’t fathom, as long as it was in my head, it wasn’t a problem. Fortunately, once we leave school, we’re seldom asked to read aloud. It worked for me and was amazingly accurate. Something has gone wrong in this system over the last few years. These days, I insert the most ridiculous things, words that change the entire meaning of a sentence or leave me totally confused. The worst thing is, once I have inserted that word, I can no longer see the original. It simply doesn’t exist. When it comes to reading a blog, or details of anything online, well my perceptions and conclusions don’t really matter, but government forms or mail are important in a very different way. The result is frustration, agitation and frequently brings tears. So now I have to sit like a child, listening to Adam reading it all out slowly, to be sure that I am understanding exactly what is really there. Even though I know what will happen if I do, the temptation to grab the letter or form and read it myself is huge. The longer the paragraphs are, the more likely on top of that is the possibility, that I will lose concentration, and have to ask for him to backtrack.

Filling in forms, especially important ones like the PIP form we were filling in last night, means I have to come up with not just answers, but accurate ones that give a clear picture of my situation. Giving such answers, is something that is filled with dangers. Clearly the first is my memory. How am I supposed to give the date of this or that consultation? Remember when or where something first happened, or how things have progressed? This is my memory. There are 4 years of daily writing here, but searching it, is difficult and finding details, is even harder. Adam has to not only read out the form to me but, he also has to write down all my answers. If that form was online, then no problem, I could have sat here and typed them all, spell checked and deleted and redone them over and over. Paper forms have boxes to be filled, for people other than me, to be able to read, something that simply wouldn’t be possible. My once script perfect letters are now spider markers walked over by an elephant. It was my art teacher who taught me to write. Letters didn’t work for me, but when they were turned into art, I got it. I even remember one of my ex-bosses saying that my acceptance letter was one of the most beautifully written pieces she had ever seen, I hate to know what she would say now.

So there we were, Adam reading and writing and me, trying to give full answers. My concentration doesn’t just take me away while Adam reads, but it also fails me while I am answering. If my answer is long, plainly Adam will start writing, then ask me “what came next?” Next, next to what? Once more I’m somewhere else, I don’t remember what I said, so once more, Adam has to read back not just my answer so far, but often bits of the question, so I can work out, just where we are, and so it would go on. It has been a slow and difficult process for both of us. When you have been ill for so many years, it’s almost impossible to answer some of the things that they want to know. As for the current situation, well, to be honest, the main problems in answering them, is the fact, it is a paper form. There are never enough lines, or big enough boxes to allow for you to make a mistake and correct it. The words you choose, and the way things will be read by a stranger, are so hard to predict. One word can change the whole meaning of an answer, one word, you can’t even change, if you spot it on reading it back. If, it could be done online, I could spend time, just as I’m doing right now, writing, thinking, writing and re-writing again. No, there’s no pressure, no reason to be wound up as tight as a drum, but they know that’s just what it does, and we haven’t even got to the point when they might want to carry out a medical.

Together, we have filled in their form to the best of our abilities. This doesn’t mean that it will be what they are looking for, all we can do is hope. Did I do well last night, I think we both did.


Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 03/03/2014 – Keep giving

Despite Adam being on holiday again today there is a strange silence, he is actually in bed snoring rather than on the settee. I have to admit his being here at all had me lost as to what day it was when I got up, mind you it doesn’t take much for me to lost so that wasn’t really a surprise. I have noticed this weekend something strange that I am still trying to work out why when he is asleep I select my TV viewing by what I know will least annoy him? It’s mad the things we do because of……






Nothing sounds really good

I find life generally confusing at the best of times, but when the government send you a letter, stating the process of making a claim on their new PIP system, you expect that letter to be accurate. Simply because of what the letter said, Adam had taken the morning off work to make the call on my behalf. He spent yesterday evening online, going through all the information available. On the letter we received, there was a list of questions we were to be asked, personal questions about my health, my physical and my mental abilities.

On the letter we received, there was a list of questions we were to be asked, personal questions about my health, my physical and my mental abilities. Online, he discovered the questions had multi-choice answers, and every answer had points attached. How you answered them, right at this early stage, could determine whether I would continue to receive money from the government to support me, or not. It appeared that black and white and even more scary. So like anyone else would, we sat and went through them, so that we were ready to give detailed answers. When ready, Adam made the call. From what we had read, we thought it would take about half an hour, it took less than 10 minutes.

Honestly, it was simple, they did ask questions, but not one of the ones that were in the letter. I had to give permission for Adam to give the answers for me, but other than that, I said almost nothing. Neither of us are sure why, but Adam said that her whole attitude and tone of voice changed as soon as she had entered my national insurance number. As soon as she had, she said something about claiming the high level of PIP, then went back to checking details they already had. We are guessing that there is something on the system, that more or less, pushed her to the end of the call. Whatever it was, we are straight through to the next round, which are the written forms, they are on their way to us. Now, we think, that the letter must be generic to all claimants, regardless of the level of payment they are on, or, are hoping to claim. Those of us who are already on the higher rates, skip further into the system, but it is a letter that is worded to cause stress to us all. I can’t help feeling the intention is to intimidate and make you not even bother applying.

I have to admit, that the few seconds that I was on the phone with her, I found her really hard to understand, she spoke so quickly that anyone, who has any problem comprehending what is going on, would have been totally lost. I am so glad that Adam was here to deal with the bulk of it, as I wouldn’t have managed at all. It is only because I knew how these systems work, that I was able to pick out enough words, to know what I was saying “yes” to. At the end of the call, I had to say “yes” for the second time, to a string of words that I can only assume, were to say that we were sure that the details we had given were correct and that it was against the law to give fraudulent information. As I said, I assume, as it was a high-speed garble of words. Having worked both as an agent and as a manager of a call center, I would have shot any member of staff who spoke that quickly, and we weren’t dealing with the chronically and possibly mentally ill.

Yesterday, I sat here and I wrote to my mother, not the final letter that I am going to send to her, but a letter which contained everything that I wanted to say, but never did. This writing “thing” is truly amazing. Just putting down all those words and feelings that convention says, you just don’t ever say to anyone, especially not your parents, felt so good. Anger and pain when it is inside you, is one of the most destructive things there is. I honestly thought that I had got rid of it all years ago. I spent several months, thinking through all the people who had hurt me over the years, everything that was said or wasn’t said, every physical action that left it’s scar, and I forgave them all. It was one of those cathartic experiences and I truly thought that my Mother had no hold over me any longer. Then that card arrived, with what I knew was her having a dig at me in the biggest way she could in just a few words, and anger reappeared. I wasn’t angry about our ancient history, I was angry because her word implied, that I was the one ignoring her, that I was the one who had broken the link. When if there is any blame, it belongs at the feet of her precious son and with her. Now, well not this second, but I am going to write another letter, one that says just what is needed, but with more finesse and a clarity that can’t be miss-read in any way.

I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect to still be as tired as I am today. I had it in my head when I went to bed last night that I was going to wake-up this morning, feeling as I normally do, tired, but not knackered. It is clearly going to take me just that bit longer to recover than I expected. Mind you, having stress thrust upon you when you’re in a state of exhaustion, probably doesn’t bode well for recovery. Tomorrow isn’t going to help much either, as I simply have to make another batch of psyllium pancakes. This time, though, I will be just making the dough. Adam and I talked about it after the last batch and decided that going forward, I will do the easy part, and time it so that the dough will have risen, by the time he comes home from work. I know, pancakes are made from batter, not dough, and don’t normally contain yeast, but these do. Psyllium is odd stuff, it has been a long trial and error process getting it right, but we got there. To me, they look like pancakes, taste like an odd sort of pancake and are, therefore, are pancakes. If you saw one, you would say, “that’s a pancake”, so pancake it is.

Whatever you call them, even sitting on my perching stool in the kitchen cooking them is more than just tiring. I don’t normally ask Adam to do anything in the evenings, other than sort out my meds. Normally, he just comes home and sits with me watching the TV until 9 pm. Then he has a frantic half hour, filling the washing machine, dishwasher and tumble drier, emptying the bins and having his shower, then back to the TV. If Teressa and John hadn’t been here this week, we would have made them then, but Adam wanted to clean the house, I didn’t object, but the result is, I don’t have enough pancakes to last to next weekend, so tomorrow it is.

I don’t normally ask Adam to do anything in the evenings, other than sort out my meds. Normally, he just comes home and sits with me watching the TV until 9 pm. Then he has a frantic half hour, filling the washing machine, dishwasher and tumble drier, emptying the bins and having his shower, then back to the TV. If Teressa and John hadn’t been here this week, we would have made them then, but Adam wanted to clean the house, I didn’t object, but the result is, I don’t have enough pancakes to last to next weekend, so tomorrow it is.

It really does feel like a long time since we just had a day. You know one of those things that starts and ends and all you can say is, “nothing happened”. Right now, “nothing” sounds rather good.


Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 18/02/2014 – Burning nerves

There never seems to be a reason, something that you can pin a change to, but I know in the last days or maybe even weeks, that although my pain levels are steady the other symptoms, sensations have…..




Maybe tomorrow

A letter arrived the other day, that as always Adam opened for me, it’s my turn to apply for PIP (Personal Independence Payment). I have been in receipt or DLA (Disabled Living Allowance) now for years, without it, I would have found life impossible, but it’s all change in the system and from everything I have heard, it’s not all good. I knew this day would come, they started rolling it out about 3 years ago now, I, though, have been just sitting here quietly just dreading the day that the letter would land. I am so glad that I chose ages ago to let Adam open and read all my mail, as I seem to get myself so confused and frequently distressed by even the simplest piece of news. Adam told me when it arrived and over the next couple of days, laid out the basics of what it contained, but when I got up this morning to find it sitting on my desk, with a note from Adam, explaining the other information I would need, I still got myself into a spin.

I find it so hard to accept that I was once a person who ran so many aspects of an international business, and now, a simple letter puts me into a panic. How has my brain diminished so far? I know from my writing and what I do on Twitter, that I can still appear as an almost normal intelligent woman, but I know, I’m not. Ask me to do anything, even the smallest thing that is outside of my normal everyday life, and I am beyond lost. The instance I am even faced by the idea, that I have to do something unusual, the panic begins. I have had so many experiences over the last years, that have taught me that my brain now has only one role, that of the trickster. It will misread, mishear and confuse me at any opportunity that it can find. From the simplest of things like getting the times wrong, the ones that are right there in front of me on the screen, for the evening’s TV viewing, to not being able to see that something is advice, not a fact. I quite simply, can’t trust myself about anything, and always check with Adam, that I have managed to get it right, before, I take any action. It’s easier that way, as if I don’t, I just land up wound up and in tears, over my stupidity. I wouldn’t trust me to do anything, that I don’t have the opportunity to check it all not just once but ten times, and even then, it doesn’t surprise me, that I get it wrong. Worse still, I all to often, don’t see my error until it’s far too late to fix it.

I can admit it now, but the last four years that I was working, I wasn’t. I knew things were falling apart, so I set to, and I automated almost everything that I had to do. I worked from home, so I spent the first three months writing computer program after program, that did every aspect of my daily work. By the end of my first year, I had reduced my actual physical daily work, to half an hour. Yes, I had ad-hoc work to do, but I had been doing the job for 10 years by that point, there was little that I hadn’t done before, so I at least had the basics required sitting at my finger tips, it was just a case of updating it. I didn’t feel guilty at all, that company had worked me into the ground for years. It was purely due to my teaching myself to programme, that meant I could even produce what they wanted before I was housebound. They wouldn’t spend the money on software, so I had to build it. I was also on 24/7 call out, to fix, patch and keep running, a phone system that was officially obsolete and I kept it running for 5 years, 2 years past the point of dead, without a penny more on my wages, it wasn’t unusual for me to spend my entire evening, or the bulk of the weekend, working on, no extra money and often, not even a thank you. They had used me for years, so no, I didn’t feel guilty doing what they asked, just not in the way they expected it to be done.

When I was made redundant, I knew inside that no one was going to employ me. I knew because, I, wouldn’t have employed me, but I tried. 18 months on, I accepted the truth. My brain, was no more up to it, than my body was able to getting me out of this house. Four years on beyond that, and I am the proud owner of a useless lump of flesh, that isn’t worth the space it takes filling up my skull.

At first, it was just the different, the unknown, the things that I wasn’t comfortable with, that upset me. Now, even the predictable throws me into the depths of despair. PIP is totally unknown. The person I will be speaking to is totally unknown. The questions they will ask me, well I might have a clue, but I know already, that I will at some point, land up in a stuttering mess. Talking to people on the phone, is daunting. What if I get someone who’s accent I can’t understand? Will they have the patience to let me think and to talk? Will they be upset, if I keep asking them to say things over and over, because, I don’t understand? If I get the questions muddled up, can I fix it later? I hate the phone even more than I hate meeting strangers face to face. What are they thinking? Are they laughing at me? Shaking their head and rolling their eye’s? Are they taking the mickey out of me? Why do I have to do these things? Who sits and thinks up the best way of upsetting those who don’t have the mental capability to deal with such a situation? Why can’t they just send me a form? Forms are good, you have time with a form, you can practice what you want to say, over and over, choose the best and write that one down. Forms are good, I like forms.

I can’t do this today. Not today, maybe tomorrow, by tomorrow I will have had time to think. I will have had time to talk to Adam, to go over it with him. I wish I had understood better what he was saying when he told me this letter was here. He makes light of everything, I guess he just hopes that I will be fine, this time, I won’t need him, this time, I’ll just do it. Why would he think that? No, I can’t do this today. I am too agitated by life to step into something new. Maybe tomorrow, maybe then I will up to picking up that phone and typing in those digits, maybe tomorrow, I will be able to actually talk.


Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – Staying happy

Sorry, sorry for going over so many things in the last few days that have been so serious and somewhat a downer, it’s a fact thought that chronic illness has so many things attached to it that make it easy……