W: Who ate all the pie?

Food has featured on and off as a reason to be cheerful in my Blogging from A to Z Challenge and, as I have said earlier, we should all be grateful if we have food to eat. Sometimes we should be just a touch more grateful and definitely cheerful if we have some food that is, as gourmets probably never say, "super yummy".

For that reason, my letter W reason to be cheerful is walnut pie, which in Greece is called καρυδόπιτα. Pie by name, but cake by nature, this is, as the name suggests, made from walnuts. The cake is left to steep in a very sweet syrup. I warn you now, a diet food it is not.

Walnut pie with obligatory scoops of vanilla ice cream.

The picture above shows walnut pie as I like it to be served, with two scoops of vanilla ice cream. The glass contains a generous helping of 5* Metaxa brandy - 3* and 7* are also available. I think the brandy does a good job of helping digest what is by any standards a mighty calorific intake.

Sometimes people I am with suggest it might be a good idea to share the walnut pie and ice cream. Well yes, it might be a good idea, but with foods that fall in to the aforementioned super yummy category sharing becomes difficult.

Rest assured that once you have eaten a portion of walnut pie you become like an anaconda that has swallowed a goat and needs to lie still for a few days. Marathon runners load up with carbs on the eve of a race by eating pasta, perhaps they should consider walnut pie instead.

I haven't been able to find any songs specifically about walnut pie and some of the songs I did find about pies seemed to use the word in a rather euphemistic and sexual way. I tell you, some people are obsessed. Anyway, I found a much better compromise, namely The Four Tops singing I Can't Help Myself (Sugar pie, Honey bunch).

• Question: Where do you stand on the issue of sharing desserts? Is it a vile abomination that should be stamped out now or actually a really lovely idea (do you think the people at the next table would mind if we shared their desserts as well?) Answers, as ever, in the comments section.

O: "The richest gift of heaven"

Bearing in mind the name of this blog there should be no need to guess what the O reason to be cheerful is going to be. Yes, it's the olive tree.

The quote for the title of this post came from Thomas Jefferson, the third president of the United States. He said: "The olive tree is surely the richest gift of heaven" and you don't have to know much about these remarkable tree to think he might well have had a point.

I do genuinely live in an olive grove. All told my landlord has about 250 trees and he lavishes great care on them, in return for which he gets olives, oil and firewood. Rest assured that if he did not look after his trees they would not yield their bounty. Granted he might get a bit of firewood, but by looking after the trees he can even ensure that the firewood will continue to replenish.

Olive trees have been playing a part in human life for thousands of years. They get a mention in Greek mythology, the Bible and even Shakespeare. And let's face it, olive trees probably weren't a common sight in 16th century Warwickshire.

The view IN the olive grove.

Anyone who has gone down a supermarket aisle, looked at the range of olive oils on offer and thought they were rather expensive should first spend some time on the olive harvest. I have done and it's hard work and I'm not just saying that because I'm some sort of workshy fop, although I am.

Olives can be picked when green for processing in to green olives. I know that sounds obvious, but bear with me. Or you can wait for them to ripen until they become a purply-black which can then be processed in to black olives. There is a whole range of methods for processing olives so the above description is simplistic to say the least.

And then, of course, there is the collection of olives for pressing to get oil. While in some commercial groves there is machinery which collects olives, the traditional way is basically to either knock them from the tree or let them fall in to nets. Then you bag them up, get them pressed and hope that your olives will yield that glorious green peppery oil that is so wonderful you only have to drizzle some over good bread and you've made a delicious meal.

In two paragraphs I've made it all sound quite straightforward. Sadly, it is not and this autumn/winter just gone, when there was expected to be an olive harvest - they come every two years in this part of Greece - a combination of olive fruit fly and heavy rain wrecked the harvest. The problem was not just confined to here, but occurred throughout the Mediterranean. The result of this is that prices have gone up.

So this is a reason to be cheerful, but also to be thankful for when things go well and a bit more accepting when they do not.

I've found a nice film about the importance of the olive tree. It also happens to show a little bit of how olives are harvested. It's in Greek, but don't worry there are English subtitles.

I've struggled to find a song about olive trees apart from one in Chinese which I'll confess I wasn't very keen on. As a result I've chosen Harvest for the World by the Isley Brothers, which is a fine song and seems to share some of the sentiments of the film about olive trees.

• Question: Olive oil, an essential item in your kitchen, or are you perfectly happy with a dollop of lard? Also, if they press olives to make olive oil, how do they make baby oil? Tell me more in the comments section below.

J: Shake, wobble and roll

Back to eating for this reason to be cheerful. And also, in a sense, back to childhood. J is for jelly.

A glow in the dark jelly.

It's probably just as well at this stage to do a bit of what Wikipedia calls disambiguation. The jelly I am referring to is the slightly wobbly, gelatinous fruity concoction which is a must at children's parties, especially if served with ice cream. I am not talking about what I understand Americans call jelly, which I would call jam. There, is that clear?

Having said that, it has been pointed out to me by Mrs C that if a British person made jam and strained out the fruit pieces the product would be called jelly rather than jam. It's confusing up to a point, but I suppose the thing to bear in mind is that we are talking about nice things to eat.

In my book, jelly must taste strongly of the fruit it contains and its consistency must be just so. Not too firm, not too runny. It should also be the case that if the jelly was made in a large bowl from which portions are being served the spoon taking the jelly from the large bowl ought to make a farty sound. As I said, jelly is something I associate with children's parties, so it puts me in an immature frame of mind.

Probably only one bit of music that should go with this post and that's It Must Be Jelly Cause Jam Don't Shake Like That. 

• Question: Do you like jelly? If not, what food must a children's party have to be successful? 

* Jelly picture by Jellorama (Own work) [CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

E: Food for thought

This reason to be cheerful is a necessity and I am conscious that I could end up looking like a glutton by mentioning it. Anyway, E is for eating.

It's a tricky subject. These days eating can almost be a political act; what you eat, how much you eat, even why you eat. In a world where there are too many people who do not have enough, or sometimes anything, to eat for me to mention eating as a reason to be cheerful might seem thoughtless, but I hope not.

Although I am not one for saying grace before meals I am very fond of what is known as the Selkirk Grace. It is often attributed to Scotland's national poet Robert Burns, but there is a suggestion that it pre-dates him. No matter, it is the sentiment it contains that I like.

This is how the version with which I am familiar goes:

Some hae meat and canna eat, 
   And some wad eat that want it; 
But we hae meat, and we can eat, 
  And sae the Lord be thankit

To me it neatly sums up the feeling of thankfulness we should all have when we eat. In my book there's never anything wrong with counting your blessings and having food is one of mine.

A British soldier eats his midday meal in a trench
in the snow, while manning part of the front line
along the River Maas in Holland, 8 January 1945.

I chose this picture because to me it underlines what I was saying about counting your blessings. I imagine this soldier would have been glad to have had something to eat and, from the look of him, not have to worry at the same time about enemy action. I'm not sure what he's eating, but it looks to me as if he enjoyed it.

There's a fairly historical feel to this posting so the music carries on in the same vein with music hall artiste Harry Champion singing Boiled Beef and Carrots. I've never eaten boiled beef and carrots, but according to the song it's very good for you. Who knew?

• Question: Have you ever eaten boiled beef? What was it like? I'll be honest it doesn't sound very nice to me. 

* Soldier picture by No 5 Army Film & Photographic Unit, Norris (Sgt) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

A: Only small, but packing a tasty punch

And off we go! It's the start of the A to Z Challenge in which I am writing about reasons to be cheerful.

Inspired by Ian Dury and the Blockheads' single Reasons to be Cheerful, Part 3, my choices might appear idiosyncratic, but I suppose we all have our foibles.

So my A reason to be cheerful is the anchovy. They're only small fish but they add a lot to all sorts of dishes and I love 'em.

I realise they're not to everyone's taste and if you happen to be related to an anchovy - I dunno, it might be possible - you might not like the idea of me eating one of your relatives.

Be that as it may, anchovies are eaten all around the world in various forms. Their strong taste comes from the curing process and if eaten uncured they have a much more mild flavour. Anyway, it's the smack round the tastebuds I like them for.

Anchovies appear in all sorts of dishes ranging from pizzas to beef stews. Yes, that's right, a beef stew can be made even tastier with the judicious addition of a few anchovies. No, I don't think you then need to call it beef and anchovy stew.

A PERFECT MEAL: A box of anchovies and a tomato.

Music plays an important part in my blogging and I try to pick music that's appropriate to the subject. So, songs about anchovies? Well, actually there is one, sort of, and here it is. It's from the popular cartoon show Spongebob Squarepants and if you listen very carefully you will hear the word anchovies, but maybe only once.

I'm not going to make this entry too long, we've got a long way to go and I don't want to wear you out, but just a couple more points. I should say at this stage that not all my entries in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge will be about food, although it is a subject close to my heart. Also I'd really welcome your comments in the section below.

• Question: Do you like anchovies or do they send you heading for the restaurant door? Give me your answers and any other views in the comments section.

To find out more about the Blogging from A to Z Challenge click on the badge at the top right.

* Anchovies picture taken by Kurt Kulac and used under a Creative Commons licence.

Food, not so glorious food

Ah, surveys. Where would be without them? PR companies churn out "findings" which are then very often regurgitated by various parts of the media as "proper news". Of course they aren't, but where there's muck there's brass.

Hence I was slightly taken aback to read of a survey of the five foods British expats most miss when they live abroad. A foreign exchange provider did some research with companies that sell food to expats to determine which were the goodies that had people thinking fondly of home.

I'll be honest, as soon as I read what came in at number five I almost instantly lost interest. This was because the fifth most missed food for British expats was Bisto gravy granules. God's teeth, I don't think you should even be allowed to count gravy granules as food. They're just gunk you add water to in order to make something you try to pass off as gravy....and it ain't. Are we clear on that?

Gravy, I think.

In no particular order the other four missed "foods" were Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate, McVities Digestive biscuits, PG Tips teabags and Twinings English Breakfast teabags.

Right, so as I write this I am on a small island in the Aegean for which most food comes by sea, which means that sometimes in winter not everything gets through. But even so, broadly speaking it is possible to get milk chocolate, digestive biscuits and teabags. I've never even looked for gravy granules.

I happen to know Dairy Milk is available here because Mrs C likes it. As for digestives, fret not. In Greece we have Papadopoulos's wonderful biscuits of all kinds. And I've definitely seen Twinings teabags here.

Granted, I am sure there are some far-flung places where British expats sit and drool constantly, tormented by the knowledge that they are so distant that none of the so-called delicacies of home will ever reach them. To them I can only offer one of my favourite pieces of advice: "If you can't get what you like, then you'll have to like what you get". Chin up, I'm sure there'll be a boat along in a few months.

For music to go with this I nearly, but only nearly, chose Food, Glorious Food from the musical Oliver. And although it's not a bad idea, instead I went for Hungry Heart by Bruce Springsteen. It's not about food, but I refer you to the advice I mentioned in the previous paragraph.

Ooh, you are offal, but I like you!

MIGHTY ORGAN: Lamb's liver.

Sorry for the title of this post, it reflects my unhealthy addiction to puns. Some of you may realise that it is a play on a catchphrase from British comic Dick Emery.

He died more than 30 years ago, but his popular TV show seemed to form a permanent backdrop to my childhood and beyond. The show aired irregularly from 1963 to 1981, which is testament to Emery's comedic staying power - or maybe there was nothing else good on the box.

Strange to think that Emery's cast of characters took us through the Swinging Sixties in to the industrial unrest of the 70s and sputtered to a halt in the 1980s by which time Mrs Thatcher was in power, smacking people's heads together.

The catchphrase to which this title refers was in fact "Ooh you are AWFUL, but I like you!" It was said by Emery, who was dressed up as a busty blonde called Mandy. After uttering the phrase she shoved a hapless interviewer in the shoulder and then wobbled off down the street. I don't recall ever thinking it was funny, it was just there.

I'm afraid this post has meandered a long way from what I intended and there is a reason I gave it this title, which is that tonight we are going to eat steak and kidney pie. Yes, kidneys...offal...making one of the tastiest pies known to humankind.

Some of you may not be that impressed, but our butcher does not routinely stock ox kidneys, the type you want for steak and kidney pie, so we had to wait for them to arrive in a special delivery from the mainland. There were a few hitches along the way so my anticipation is now at fever pitch. Mrs C has already made the filling for the pie, which I have tasted. It is glorious.

Leaving aside vegetarians, there are some people for whom the idea of  eating offal can bring on a case of the dry heaves. Sorry if that is the case for you, but I am of the opinion that if you are going to eat animals, you should try to eat as much of what they provide as you can. Just eating fillet steak is all very well, but it does mean there is a lot left over of a beef animal.

On that basis while we were in the butchers picking up our ration of kidneys we also bought some liver. Lightly fried with some onions and green peppers, to which you add some paprika, seasoning, red wine, let it reduce, add a  bit of sour cream (I use yoghurt) and there you have a yummy dish - unless, that is, you think offal is awful.

A bit tricky coming up with some music to go with a post about offal, but I've plumped for Timmy Thomas performing Why can't we live together?  because - brace yourselves - he played the organ. You're right, that's an offal joke.

* Top picture by Beck (originally posted to Flickr as Lambs Liver) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

The world is my banana

Behold the mighty banana.

Breakfast, the most important meal of the day I've always been told. Actually, I'm inclined to think every meal is important, but that's for another day.

So, back to breakfast. Considering it is such an important meal, it is slightly odd how many of us - me included - stick to the same thing most days. For me breakfast is likely to feature a banana, yoghurt and honey. All washed down with strong, black coffee.

It was while eating my breakfast this morning that I had one of those moments of wonder that in the bowl in front of me was the result of many, many people's hard work which should make me savour my breakfast rather than regard it as something to stop me feeling hungry before lunchtime.

That realisation was brought about thanks to a small sticker on the bunch of bananas I bought at our local supermarket. The sticker from the Dole banana company (not a very inspiring name for someone from England) said "Visit my farm". All I had to do was go to a web address then tap in the code number on the sticker.

By doing this I found that my bananas came from the El Nilo Gorita De Ingr Farm in Ecuador. The farm, which covers an area the equivalent of 1,000 football fields, employs 700 people and ships out 4.5 million bananas every week. It almost seems a shame to chop up one of these bananas to have for breakfast, but needs must etc etc.

Hopefully the banana has a fitting end seeing as I eat it with Olympus Greek yoghurt (definitely not skinny low-fat gunk) and wonderful honey produced by those very busy workers, the bees of Skopelos. Καλή όρεξη.

Skopelos honey, seriously tasty.

And then someone asks THAT question

The island is quiet at this time of year.

In my life I have been asked some tricky questions, generally along the lines of "What the hell do you think you're doing?", and usually I've been able to give a good account of myself.

But since living here there is one question that leaves me tongue tied and often trying to find a way to change the subject. The question in question, as it were, tends to be along the lines of "And how do you spend your day?"

To be frank I blame the Protestant work ethic for tripping me up here. I cannot help feeling that in answer to the question "What do you do on Skopelos?" I should reel off a long list of improving tasks that I complete each day. Instead of which I reply with a few ums and ers and then go "Well, I always find something to do." This is a weak and ineffectual answer and I can see the other person thinking "Ah ha! Late riser, boozy lunch, snooze in the afternoon, evening meal, rest of the day spent slumped in front of the telly."

To counter this completely false notion (for instance we don't even have a telly) I now offer my account of a fairly typical day written with a nod to those articles in Sunday newspapers in which the great and the good explain how they pack so much in to 24 hours. Thus:

"It's winter now, so although I usually wake at about 6am I lie in bed waiting for it to get light enough to take the dog out and listening to the bloody cockerel going on and on. As soon as I judge it to be daybreak, I stagger downstairs to be greeted by black Labrador Bonnie, who is keen to get on with things. But before I can do that I have to deal with three raucous cats who have gathered outside the kitchen door and are determined to be fed.

Bonnie considers entering a monastery.

Then it's off, usually to some nearby woods, to let Bonnie have a run. During the course of this walk, I might well collect pine cones which make wonderful firelighters. On the drive back I am likely to encounter at least one herd of goats on the road. Giving the goatman a cheery wave, I steer my way through the herd. I used to wait for them to clear the road, but realised this is not the Greek way. With care and determination you will find a way through that does not involve running over livestock.

Once back home I feed Bonnie and usually let out Kevin the endangered cockerel to have the run of the land on his own. He used to be with all the other chickens, but they were attacking him and so he now lives in isolation. The other chickens will come out when Kevin, who is not the crowing cockerel, is safely back in his own quarters. Recent experiences have led me to have a rather jaundiced view of chickens, they are not my favourite creatures.

Then it's a leisurely breakfast for me, during which I read. My other half is not a morning person so breakfast is a solitary occasion, hence the reading.We probably both prefer it that way. Often just before breakfast I'll spend a little time using my Greek language CDs. I am confident that if I live to be 100 I should be quite fluent.

Usually by this time herself has arisen and come downstairs for her first cup of coffee, cigarette and initial inspection of the garden. There is a clear division of labour here. She gardens, I bask in its glory.

We then move on to one of the trickiest jobs of the day - deciding what we shall have for our evening meal. In the summer it is easy enough to eat out, but during the winter there is only a handful of tavernas open and going out means leaving the warmth of a log fire so we plot a tasty dish for the evening and then go out to buy supplies.

It is then that one of the most important lessons of island life is reinforced. If the weather is bad and boats can't get through then some food stocks are going to run low and our "best laid plans gang aft agley". This requires a rethink on the food front, all of which takes time. I should add here that we have never gone hungry and we do eat well, but you have to like what you get, rather than expect to get what you like.

While out we might stop off for coffee, which in Greece is not a hurried thing, or bump in to friends and exchange news. This, too, cannot be done quickly. Topics to be addressed will be the weather, what vegetables they have growing in their garden, places they have eaten and what said meals were like, pet welfare and will the boat get in? Depending on the time of year, other topics might include family visitors heading for Skopelos and the scandalous prices charged by airlines for flights to and from the UK.

By now it will be early afternoon, so time for a light lunch. Not too light, though, food is important here. This is likely to be followed by more reading and maybe, just maybe, a short siesta, although these are better left for the hot afternoons of summer.

Currently, we are trying to learn French if for no other reason than we think it's a good thing to do and I am acutely aware that I didn't make the most of the opportunity I had to learn the language when I was at school.

A rare moment of peace from the cats as they stuff themselves.

As the afternoon goes on, it's time to take Bonnie out again while fending off ravenous cats. There is also the question of lighting the fire. Having a log fire is a great thing, arguably better than the telly on most nights, but if you have an open fire you have to learn its ways and prove your commitment otherwise it will smoke sulkily and then go out. You've guessed it, all this takes time.

The evening is spent eating, listening to The Archers online and surfing the net looking for pictures of dogs with funny faces or cats sleeping in odd locations. There is also more reading to be done and tackling the fearsome Times Jumbo Cryptic Crossword. By now you should be getting some idea of just how packed the day is. I roll in to bed around 11.30pm when I read some more and then turn off the light, pausing only to count my blessings, which I know are many."

So there you have it, my "Day In The Life" and I haven't even mentioned chopping wood, rescuing cats from trees, or chasing chickens off the flower garden before they eat all the seedlings. Not to mention staring out of the window at the house over the road and wondering when it will be finished (not any time soon, the most work that has been done on it since we've been here followed a direct hit by lightning).

Anyway, in answer to the question "How do you fill your day?" rest assured I always find something to do.

Death in the afternoon

The phone went, it was the landlord. "Mark," he said, "John will be coming to our land soon to kill Big Whitey."

I'd been expecting this. Big Whitey was the last of the cockerels introduced to the olive grove more than a year ago. The unfortunate Eileen (about whom I have written before) was another of the cockerels. Others rejoiced under the names of Chuck Norris and Christmas Dinner. Slowly their numbers have dwindled as they met the fate which seems to await all cockerels. Surely a warning for males of the species everywhere?

Anyway, Big Whitey, so called because he was big and white, had an appointment with a soup pot courtesy of "John" who is in fact Ιωάννης. Usually, the landlord is on hand to help Ιωάννης  when it comes to killing cockerels, but this being summer the landlord is busy doing other things. I also suspect he is slightly squeamish when it comes to the moment of truth for the cockerels. I have a feeling this means I may be called on to be the slaughterer's apprentice. My intended appointment with a cold beer in town will have to wait.

Sure enough in a couple of minutes I see John ride his motorbike on to the land. I've known him a while now and met him last year before I found out he knew the landlord, but then on this island almost everybody knows everybody else. Ιωάννης has a small café in town and his father was a butcher which is where his knowledge about despatching cockerels comes from. As usual he has the stump of a cigar clamped in his mouth. "Ah, Mark, you are here. Good." That pretty well confirms for me that I'm likely to be called on at certain points in Big Whitey's demise.

We shake hands and I see that in his other hand Ιωάννης/John is carrying a bag containing a butcher's steel and a knife of which he takes great care. I know from previous occasions this knife is very sharp. I confirm for John that I know which bird faces the chop - not difficult, he is the only remaining cockerel. John gets a small fire going under an old feta cheese can full of water. This will come into play later on when the time comes for Big Whitey to be plucked. As we wait for the water to get hot, John inquires if I have any tsipouro (a strong Greek spirit). I do not. He then asks if I have any ouzo (another spirit). I sense a certain disappointment when I say no again. I tell him I have wine. "Some wine, then." Clearly the executioner has to be refreshed. We both have a glass. I, too, feel the need of a little alcoholic fortification.

I have a vague feeling of treachery as I accompany Ιωάννης to the chicken coop to identify Big Whitey, but we don't want any mistakes and, to be frank, Big Whitey's seemingly non-stop sexual demands on his flock of hens have become burdensome for them. With a surprisingly swift move, John gets Big Whitey by the feet and he is swept out of the coop. Very sharp knife in hand, John carries the ill-fated Big Whitey to a tree where his throat is cut and his blood spilled on the roots of the tree. According to John it is good for the tree. This sounds a little pagan to me, but then why not? There is something of the cycle of life in all of this.

The very dead, and headless, Big Whitey is then plunged into the hot water which makes it easier to pluck the feathers. It is at this point that I am called on to assist by holding various carrier bags. One holds feathers and bits of Big Whitey's insides judged to be of no use, another holds body parts that I think - although this is only through the filter of John's slightly eccentric English - will be used for stock, and the last one contains the body and a small plastic bag of golden fat from the late cockerel which John assures me is absolutely wonderful when used for frying eggs.

Job done, Ιωάννης settles down for a couple more glasses of wine. He then reveals that some turkeys he has on his land have been ill (or are dead), as I have said his English is slightly wonky, although much better than my Greek. John then moves on to what seems to be one of his favourite themes, which is food. No visit to our house by him seems to be complete without long and involved instructions on good ways to cook things. The instructions usually involve miming and sound effects, which may go against the spirit of mime, but adds immeasurably to the overall performance.

With a flourish, John then finishes his wine and bids us farewell, pausing only to inquire what are the various words in English used for prison. Why? Who knows? I tell him that prison is probably the best word and there is also jail. We didn't get in to the spelling otherwise we might have tackled the mystery of gaol. This seems to satisfy Ιωάννης and he wends his way in to the evening, leaving our land a lot quieter without Big Whitey.

Mornings won't be the same without Big Whitey around, but he and the late-lamented Eileen both managed to do the deed with numerous hens whose eggs were hatched out and whose offspring, still youngsters, will soon be free to roam on the land. The quiet of our Big Whitey-less mornings will not last for long. The cycle of life rolls on.

My big fat Greek Easter Sunday lunch

The harbourside taverna Molos is a good place to eat
and watch the world go by.

I suspect that for some Greeks Easter Sunday is the highlight of the year, combining as it does for many of them two of their favourite things - food and family.

For those who have been following the Lenten fast today will have been the first time in several weeks that they will have eaten meat. For the less devout, ie me, today was another good reason to continue eating meat, this time at the Molos taverna on the Skopelos waterfront.

But first we must have our drinks.

Then we must have our starter. A mixed platter of cold starters ideal for a day when the temperature in the afternoon must easily have reached 25C.

Then our main course. By tradition, many Greek people will insist on having either lamb or goat roasted on a spit and while that was available at Molos we moved away slightly from tradition by having goat in a tomato sauce and excellent it was too. Oh, and a Greek salad, too.

We were pretty full by this time, but managed a short stagger to the International Café, known locally as the Brown Chairs, where we polished off two coffee ice creams. I regret to say I forgot to take a picture of those, which was probably due to the earlier intake of food and wine taking effect. I'll try to do it another day when I write about the Brown Chairs' delicious walnut pie. I know, it's a hard life, but I soldier on the best I can.