Today's blog I am writing out of sheer and utter frustration as I sit here waiting for the AC repair man to turn up! I've been waiting since 1pm and it's now nearly 8pm! This seems to be a constant theme in the UAE, where customer service and satisfaction is basically non-existent. For the life of me, I cannot understand why things are so difficult all the time. Is it the age old saying, you pay peanuts, you get monkeys, people who just don't care enough to assist you?
Another example is my health insurance claim. Companies seem to drag out the whole process and make it so unbearably painful. Is it a ploy to make sure that you never go through the process again, therefore making them more money? Who knows! All I know is that I put in a claim over three months ago now, for a not so small amount - and I'm still waiting. A comedy of errors, farce and fiasco from start to finish. We don't accept faxes or emails, you need to send the lab reports (nice of you to tell me two months after I submitted the rest of the paper work!). I finally get an email today saying that a cheque has been raised for only a quarter of the amount I'm claiming for, because the lab reports weren't received - oh wait, you mean the ones that were sent two months ago - ARGH!!!!
It makes me want to go back to my private health insurance! Okay it was a bit pricey, but they always paid 100% in full within a couple of weeks, no hassle, no fuss - brilliant!
I keep thinking that if you started a company here to train and educate staff and businesses how to treat their customers and work more efficiently, you'd make an absolute fortune.
Anyway that's my little vent for the time being.
The AC man has finally decided to rock up, although he doesn't understand a word of English, so this really could take a long time - ah such is life :-)
Monday 31 August 2009
Monday 24 August 2009
Goodbye to my dear four legged friend
This weekend has been harrowing and upsetting to say the least. I finally had to make the painful decision to put my poor dog Sasha to sleep, as the bone cancer that had plagued her for so long finally took its toll.
Sasha was one in a million, a unique little dog that had bags of personality from the day I got her. A German Shepherd cross Collie, she was always going to be super smart, a little ditsy and cheeky as anything. I remember picking her up at six weeks old, she was a chubby little ball of fluff who refused to sit still in the car and actually managed to crawl under the pedals as I was driving - DOH! Typically one of those cheeky pups that you would put on the paper or take outside for ages, only to come in a pee on the carpet, but you really can't help laughing at them.
We went through a few rough times when she was young as I was moving here, there and everywhere. She'd often sleep in the car while I did a shift at work (only in the winter mind you), or go to doggy daycare which she loved. We had to live in a B&B for three weeks, which was highly entertaining. But she adored long walks and playtime on Plymouth Hoe and was constantly losing her kong on a rope and chasing the skate boarders.
When my little house in Plymouth was finally ready to move into, that really was an invitation for little doggy to go to town and trash as much as she could - teething years are always so awful. She literally ate my vinyl kitchen floor, ripped the seals off the fridge, stole and ate wooden spoons out the draws. I actually came home one day and couldn't find her, only to go upstairs, find my bedroom door open and the cheeky monkey sprawled out on my bed chewing away at the top of my chest of draws. Bizarrely for some strange reason she always used to eat anything wooden that she could find.
She was never really a sociable dog, her best mate was a complete Heinz 57 called Ricky. She adored him and they'd race around the park and get into all sorts of mischief. That was until I brought Neo home, a typical English farm cat (well kitten). You've never seen anything so small try to make himself look so big, with a tail like a loo brush, hissing and spitting and taking swipes at the dog. But these two became firm friends and would always look out for one another.
When I moved up to Wales and had a little rented house, I always remember the neighbours complaining about how much she barked when I wasn't there, as she suffered from separation anxiety quite alot. But there was one evening when her barking came to the rescue. Sasha was at the back door, making a fuss, barking and whining and scratching to go out. When I let her out she ran straight to the top of the garden and started whimpering, so torch in hand I followed her, only to find Neo dragging himself through the grass. He'd obviously been clipped by a car and had hauled himself all the way from the road, through several gardens to end up back home. The poor thing had a smashed pelvis, fractured hips and had to be wired and plated back together again. But it really did prove the bond between cat and dog, who would quite frequently curl up together at the end of my bed, which was wonderful to see especially after they'd been playing with one another, having boxing matches and taking swipes at one another - who says cats and dogs can't be friends?
Sasha used to love long walks in the fields and swimming in the river, although she wasn't a very good swimmer and wouldn't really go much further than she could stand.
When I moved to Dubai I brought both animals with me. They flew pretty well and seemed to acclimatise pretty easily. Sasha enjoyed her long desert walks and the odd trip to the beach. She had an amazing personality and was cheeky as anything. I had to have child locks on the cupboards and a bungee around the fridge, otherwise she'd break in and steal food or just generally mess about with stuff. You could always tell if she'd been up to something, as you'd come home to find her at the bottom of the stairs, head laid on her paws, giving you the puppy eyed look, tail wagging like mad, but looking guilty as hell. :-)
One day I came home though and she was looking green as anything and being sick, throwing up huge waxy balls which I couldn't figure out what they were. Even my friend J had no idea either, so I rushed her down to the vets and it turned out she'd broken into the bathroom and eaten not one, but three bars of soap! Her insides were literally filled with foam and poisoning her internal organs, so there really was no choice but to open her up and flush it all out - pretty gross. She did look a sight when I got her home, with a little T-shirt on to stop her having a go at the stitches and a cone round her neck as well. The cone really confused her and she'd literally walk into the wall and stand there not knowing what to do - poor thing.
She'd always make me laugh when I'd talk to her and she'd cock her head to one side listening. She knew all her toys individually and you could get her to fetch them one by one, telling her by name which one you wanted. She's shake paws with you and do all sorts of silly things. But her one obsession was food! Anyone would have thought that I never fed her, she was always after food and if you were sitting eating with a plate on your lap, she'd sit right in front of you and stare and the plate, then you, then the plate, then you, literally trying to will the food into her mouth. One not so hilarious evening, my housemate had cooked up something in the oven and left it in there to cool down. Sasha breaks into the oven and eats the entire tray of whatever it was, which I soon found out was loaded with chilli's! To say that the butt explosions she experienced later on were horrific is an understatement! Her face was hilarious, sort of 'what the hell is happening to me?' - sadly Sasha being Sasha never learnt the lesson.
Sadly at the beginning of this year Sasha was diagnosed with an aggressive bone cancer and had a tumour in her lower jaw. Surgery wasn't really an option as it would basically have meant removing her entire lower jaw, with a long and painful recovery, that would only have bought her an extra year or so and at ten years old I couldn't bear to put her through that. She had medications and continued to be happy, mischievous and playful but the lump in her jaw got bigger and bigger until only about a week ago it started to affect her eating and it broke my heart when she couldn't pick up her soft toys to play.
I got home on Saturday to see her mouth dripping with blood and I knew deep down that this was probably it. So I scooped her up and took her to the vet. They were brilliant with her and said that there really was nothing more that could be done and it really would be kinder at this point to put her to sleep, which was heartbreaking as apart from this horrid disease in her mouth she was just her normal self. So reluctantly I agreed, as I really didn't want to see her get any worse or be any pain.
I have to say it is the most awful thing to have to go through. You hope that your beloved pet might die peacefully in their sleep, but to do this is nothing short of horrific. I stayed with Sasha throughout the whole thing, stroke her head, looked into her eyes, talked to her and it might sound silly, but I think I actually saw the moment when she went, her spirit/soul whatever you wish to call it. She was there and then she wasn't.
My house seems to empty now. I keep expecting her to come running out from somewhere, or to jump on my bed and curl up with me the way she used to, and Neo (the cat) seems a bit bewildered as to where his friend has gone.
I miss that little dog so much. She was always cheerful and happy and I could never really be angry at her because she was so funny.
Cherish your animals, love them, be good to them.
R.I.P. Sasha Brain - 1998 - 2009
Sasha was one in a million, a unique little dog that had bags of personality from the day I got her. A German Shepherd cross Collie, she was always going to be super smart, a little ditsy and cheeky as anything. I remember picking her up at six weeks old, she was a chubby little ball of fluff who refused to sit still in the car and actually managed to crawl under the pedals as I was driving - DOH! Typically one of those cheeky pups that you would put on the paper or take outside for ages, only to come in a pee on the carpet, but you really can't help laughing at them.
We went through a few rough times when she was young as I was moving here, there and everywhere. She'd often sleep in the car while I did a shift at work (only in the winter mind you), or go to doggy daycare which she loved. We had to live in a B&B for three weeks, which was highly entertaining. But she adored long walks and playtime on Plymouth Hoe and was constantly losing her kong on a rope and chasing the skate boarders.
When my little house in Plymouth was finally ready to move into, that really was an invitation for little doggy to go to town and trash as much as she could - teething years are always so awful. She literally ate my vinyl kitchen floor, ripped the seals off the fridge, stole and ate wooden spoons out the draws. I actually came home one day and couldn't find her, only to go upstairs, find my bedroom door open and the cheeky monkey sprawled out on my bed chewing away at the top of my chest of draws. Bizarrely for some strange reason she always used to eat anything wooden that she could find.
She was never really a sociable dog, her best mate was a complete Heinz 57 called Ricky. She adored him and they'd race around the park and get into all sorts of mischief. That was until I brought Neo home, a typical English farm cat (well kitten). You've never seen anything so small try to make himself look so big, with a tail like a loo brush, hissing and spitting and taking swipes at the dog. But these two became firm friends and would always look out for one another.
When I moved up to Wales and had a little rented house, I always remember the neighbours complaining about how much she barked when I wasn't there, as she suffered from separation anxiety quite alot. But there was one evening when her barking came to the rescue. Sasha was at the back door, making a fuss, barking and whining and scratching to go out. When I let her out she ran straight to the top of the garden and started whimpering, so torch in hand I followed her, only to find Neo dragging himself through the grass. He'd obviously been clipped by a car and had hauled himself all the way from the road, through several gardens to end up back home. The poor thing had a smashed pelvis, fractured hips and had to be wired and plated back together again. But it really did prove the bond between cat and dog, who would quite frequently curl up together at the end of my bed, which was wonderful to see especially after they'd been playing with one another, having boxing matches and taking swipes at one another - who says cats and dogs can't be friends?
Sasha used to love long walks in the fields and swimming in the river, although she wasn't a very good swimmer and wouldn't really go much further than she could stand.
When I moved to Dubai I brought both animals with me. They flew pretty well and seemed to acclimatise pretty easily. Sasha enjoyed her long desert walks and the odd trip to the beach. She had an amazing personality and was cheeky as anything. I had to have child locks on the cupboards and a bungee around the fridge, otherwise she'd break in and steal food or just generally mess about with stuff. You could always tell if she'd been up to something, as you'd come home to find her at the bottom of the stairs, head laid on her paws, giving you the puppy eyed look, tail wagging like mad, but looking guilty as hell. :-)
One day I came home though and she was looking green as anything and being sick, throwing up huge waxy balls which I couldn't figure out what they were. Even my friend J had no idea either, so I rushed her down to the vets and it turned out she'd broken into the bathroom and eaten not one, but three bars of soap! Her insides were literally filled with foam and poisoning her internal organs, so there really was no choice but to open her up and flush it all out - pretty gross. She did look a sight when I got her home, with a little T-shirt on to stop her having a go at the stitches and a cone round her neck as well. The cone really confused her and she'd literally walk into the wall and stand there not knowing what to do - poor thing.
She'd always make me laugh when I'd talk to her and she'd cock her head to one side listening. She knew all her toys individually and you could get her to fetch them one by one, telling her by name which one you wanted. She's shake paws with you and do all sorts of silly things. But her one obsession was food! Anyone would have thought that I never fed her, she was always after food and if you were sitting eating with a plate on your lap, she'd sit right in front of you and stare and the plate, then you, then the plate, then you, literally trying to will the food into her mouth. One not so hilarious evening, my housemate had cooked up something in the oven and left it in there to cool down. Sasha breaks into the oven and eats the entire tray of whatever it was, which I soon found out was loaded with chilli's! To say that the butt explosions she experienced later on were horrific is an understatement! Her face was hilarious, sort of 'what the hell is happening to me?' - sadly Sasha being Sasha never learnt the lesson.
Sadly at the beginning of this year Sasha was diagnosed with an aggressive bone cancer and had a tumour in her lower jaw. Surgery wasn't really an option as it would basically have meant removing her entire lower jaw, with a long and painful recovery, that would only have bought her an extra year or so and at ten years old I couldn't bear to put her through that. She had medications and continued to be happy, mischievous and playful but the lump in her jaw got bigger and bigger until only about a week ago it started to affect her eating and it broke my heart when she couldn't pick up her soft toys to play.
I got home on Saturday to see her mouth dripping with blood and I knew deep down that this was probably it. So I scooped her up and took her to the vet. They were brilliant with her and said that there really was nothing more that could be done and it really would be kinder at this point to put her to sleep, which was heartbreaking as apart from this horrid disease in her mouth she was just her normal self. So reluctantly I agreed, as I really didn't want to see her get any worse or be any pain.
I have to say it is the most awful thing to have to go through. You hope that your beloved pet might die peacefully in their sleep, but to do this is nothing short of horrific. I stayed with Sasha throughout the whole thing, stroke her head, looked into her eyes, talked to her and it might sound silly, but I think I actually saw the moment when she went, her spirit/soul whatever you wish to call it. She was there and then she wasn't.
My house seems to empty now. I keep expecting her to come running out from somewhere, or to jump on my bed and curl up with me the way she used to, and Neo (the cat) seems a bit bewildered as to where his friend has gone.
I miss that little dog so much. She was always cheerful and happy and I could never really be angry at her because she was so funny.
Cherish your animals, love them, be good to them.
R.I.P. Sasha Brain - 1998 - 2009
Saturday 15 August 2009
Time to fight the flab and get fit
It's amazing how some of us have wonderful intentions of leading active lives, full of exercise and outdoor activities, while enjoying an amazing healthy diet. The reality on the otherhand for many of us is far from the truth.....I say this as I sit munching my way through crispy tiger prawns and honey fried chicken!!!! Although it was accompanied by a very large glass of chilled water and followed by a cup of Green tea :-/
It never ceases to amaze me however, that as an expat living in such a hot climate how easy it is to pile on the pounds. They say the average is about a stone, well I used to run at around 52 kgs and am currently 61 kgs - eeeeekkkk! Time for some drastic action! And although I'm a huge fan of wake boarding, I have come to the realisation that this in itself is certainly not enough to get me back the tight, fit little bod that I used to have - oh where have my abs gone - they're made in kitchen not in the gym you know!
The problem I find is that we can become inherently lazy. When it's pushing 50 degrees outside, you really don't want to do much. Plus as much as I used to be in the gym, I actually hate gym workouts with a passion, I seriously can't think of anything more boring than running on a treadmill whilst staring at a TV screen or using weight equipment after other people have dripped their wonderful sweat all over and not bothered to spray and wipe the machines down - urgh! (ok, maybe that's the slightly OCD side of me coming out, but still). I did however used to enjoy classes such as Body pump and Combat, even though I am possibly one of the most uncoordinated people you are ever likely to come across. Yoga? Hahahaha don't even go there!
Also in a place where you can get virtually anything delivered straight to your door, it very often works out cheaper to get takeouts, than buy food and cook it at home for a more healthy option, plus the endless choices of brunch, if you're a girl free drinks during the week, eating out and your work mates constantly making super yummy double chocolate muffins and bringing them to work and those calories are soon adding up - where oh where did my waist go?! ARGH! Although at this juncture it has to be said my male friends keep commenting how amazing my enhanced bust area looks at the moment. Ladies we all know it goes on the hips, bum, waist and boobs.
So enough is enough, it's time to sort this out once and for all! At this point I have to say that I'm not a fan of hopping on the scales every morning. As someone who used to compete in various sports, you soon realise that muscle weighs more than fat does, so you need to throw those scales out the window and go on your body size, shape and how you feel. For me this means dragging out the pair of skinny fit jeans with the teeny tiny waist, that I keep in the back of the wardrobe for such emergencies, hanging them in plain view and keep envisioning myself getting back into them.
So as of tomorrow (scoff - how many times have I said this!) it's battle stations! Calorific foods are banned from the house, the dog is getting dragged on extra long walks, those running shoes are getting dusted off - even though running here is akin to putting a treadmill in a sauna. Out comes the skipping rope and that strange half blown up rubber ball thing my best mate A left me will start to get a workout. Oh yeah and what's that big rectangular thing filled with water out the back - ahhhh a swimming pool - lengths ahoy then, rather than floating round in a rubber ring sipping Cosmopolitans.
So I've got my determined head on now, wish me luck, the challenge starts now!
It never ceases to amaze me however, that as an expat living in such a hot climate how easy it is to pile on the pounds. They say the average is about a stone, well I used to run at around 52 kgs and am currently 61 kgs - eeeeekkkk! Time for some drastic action! And although I'm a huge fan of wake boarding, I have come to the realisation that this in itself is certainly not enough to get me back the tight, fit little bod that I used to have - oh where have my abs gone - they're made in kitchen not in the gym you know!
The problem I find is that we can become inherently lazy. When it's pushing 50 degrees outside, you really don't want to do much. Plus as much as I used to be in the gym, I actually hate gym workouts with a passion, I seriously can't think of anything more boring than running on a treadmill whilst staring at a TV screen or using weight equipment after other people have dripped their wonderful sweat all over and not bothered to spray and wipe the machines down - urgh! (ok, maybe that's the slightly OCD side of me coming out, but still). I did however used to enjoy classes such as Body pump and Combat, even though I am possibly one of the most uncoordinated people you are ever likely to come across. Yoga? Hahahaha don't even go there!
Also in a place where you can get virtually anything delivered straight to your door, it very often works out cheaper to get takeouts, than buy food and cook it at home for a more healthy option, plus the endless choices of brunch, if you're a girl free drinks during the week, eating out and your work mates constantly making super yummy double chocolate muffins and bringing them to work and those calories are soon adding up - where oh where did my waist go?! ARGH! Although at this juncture it has to be said my male friends keep commenting how amazing my enhanced bust area looks at the moment. Ladies we all know it goes on the hips, bum, waist and boobs.
So enough is enough, it's time to sort this out once and for all! At this point I have to say that I'm not a fan of hopping on the scales every morning. As someone who used to compete in various sports, you soon realise that muscle weighs more than fat does, so you need to throw those scales out the window and go on your body size, shape and how you feel. For me this means dragging out the pair of skinny fit jeans with the teeny tiny waist, that I keep in the back of the wardrobe for such emergencies, hanging them in plain view and keep envisioning myself getting back into them.
So as of tomorrow (scoff - how many times have I said this!) it's battle stations! Calorific foods are banned from the house, the dog is getting dragged on extra long walks, those running shoes are getting dusted off - even though running here is akin to putting a treadmill in a sauna. Out comes the skipping rope and that strange half blown up rubber ball thing my best mate A left me will start to get a workout. Oh yeah and what's that big rectangular thing filled with water out the back - ahhhh a swimming pool - lengths ahoy then, rather than floating round in a rubber ring sipping Cosmopolitans.
So I've got my determined head on now, wish me luck, the challenge starts now!
A Festival of all things Hop
Another year, another Hopfest at the Irish Village in Dubai. To say that this event has become a victim of its own success would be an understatement. Every year for three days a medium sized tent with the capacity to hold around five hundred people (increase this by a couple of hundred just to make sure it gets super hot and sweaty) is erected to showcase over 120 beers and ciders (for those who choose not to partake of the brewed variety) from a round the world. There's an elevated stage for the amazing bands to perform and superstar DJ extraordinaire Chris Fisher to spin his tunes from. Many of the picnic tables were removed this year, to allow for more standing space, just to cram an extra few people in for good measure.
The first day (Thursday) is always the best for me. Purely because I can get there early, whereas most people are still at work so the venue is only at 70-75% capacity until late on in the evening. The atmosphere is always great and the main emphasis for attendees is to have a good time in a relaxed environment. It's always a giggle though seeing the various groups of people rock up. Some in fancy dress, others on a mission, some girls completely inappropriately dressed upto the nines with six inch heels where flip flops are far more the norm for wading through the sawdust scattered on the floor.
It always starts off very civilized, until a few bottles, pints, jugs down when inhibitions come down, people loosen up and the fun really begins - or I become a bit 'special' as I was enthusiastically reminded by a few of my friends. Or 'aggressive man hater' I think were the exact words. Really? I don't remember being that bad, surely my so called friends are just making these things up! Especially as I managed to rescue one close male friend from making the same mistake he always does, by getting hammered and cosying up to a certain psycho maniac who finds it amusing to mess him about like there's no tomorrow. Oh wait maybe it was the fact that I tore strips off her and told her what I really think - yeah hmmm that could be it!
Thursday was a great night out - loved it, couldn't have had more fun bouncing around like Zebedee from the Magic Roundabout on Speed.
Friday however was a whole other story. Because you see on Fridays virtually everyone is off and it was a race to get there early before the queue nightmare of the year before became an awful reality. So I rock up pretty early and end up pin balling around the venue saying high to various groups of friends (as you do). However after a couple of hours and the two bottles of cider that I'd fallen in love with the night before, having the reverse effect of making me feel good and forgetting that I am still actually sick with cold and flu, and instead making me feel quite nauseated, I decide it's time to bail, cut my losses, go home and chill out for the evening. That and the fact that it is now so packed, hot and sweaty, that nothing in the world is now going to make me feel like I'm having a good time. So I say my 'goodbyes' and toddle off into the sunset.
Today is Saturday and the final day of the Hopfest and I'm giving it a wide berth altogether, clearly as I'm sitting here writing this blog! :-) But it is a nice thing to experience every year, however the trick I think is not to over do it. Some people will go all three days and spend their time quite literally in a drunken stupor, or have a good day and a bad day, like my poor friend C who texted me quite upset when he'd got into a fight, been projectile vomited on and had a bird poop on him! (Isn't that supposed to be lucky?) Sadly in his case I think it was the icing on a crappy day.
Ah well until next year, or the Rugby 7's! But for now we have a month of quiet reflection, detoxing and chilling out as Ramadan approaches, before we all get back on it again.
The first day (Thursday) is always the best for me. Purely because I can get there early, whereas most people are still at work so the venue is only at 70-75% capacity until late on in the evening. The atmosphere is always great and the main emphasis for attendees is to have a good time in a relaxed environment. It's always a giggle though seeing the various groups of people rock up. Some in fancy dress, others on a mission, some girls completely inappropriately dressed upto the nines with six inch heels where flip flops are far more the norm for wading through the sawdust scattered on the floor.
It always starts off very civilized, until a few bottles, pints, jugs down when inhibitions come down, people loosen up and the fun really begins - or I become a bit 'special' as I was enthusiastically reminded by a few of my friends. Or 'aggressive man hater' I think were the exact words. Really? I don't remember being that bad, surely my so called friends are just making these things up! Especially as I managed to rescue one close male friend from making the same mistake he always does, by getting hammered and cosying up to a certain psycho maniac who finds it amusing to mess him about like there's no tomorrow. Oh wait maybe it was the fact that I tore strips off her and told her what I really think - yeah hmmm that could be it!
Thursday was a great night out - loved it, couldn't have had more fun bouncing around like Zebedee from the Magic Roundabout on Speed.
Friday however was a whole other story. Because you see on Fridays virtually everyone is off and it was a race to get there early before the queue nightmare of the year before became an awful reality. So I rock up pretty early and end up pin balling around the venue saying high to various groups of friends (as you do). However after a couple of hours and the two bottles of cider that I'd fallen in love with the night before, having the reverse effect of making me feel good and forgetting that I am still actually sick with cold and flu, and instead making me feel quite nauseated, I decide it's time to bail, cut my losses, go home and chill out for the evening. That and the fact that it is now so packed, hot and sweaty, that nothing in the world is now going to make me feel like I'm having a good time. So I say my 'goodbyes' and toddle off into the sunset.
Today is Saturday and the final day of the Hopfest and I'm giving it a wide berth altogether, clearly as I'm sitting here writing this blog! :-) But it is a nice thing to experience every year, however the trick I think is not to over do it. Some people will go all three days and spend their time quite literally in a drunken stupor, or have a good day and a bad day, like my poor friend C who texted me quite upset when he'd got into a fight, been projectile vomited on and had a bird poop on him! (Isn't that supposed to be lucky?) Sadly in his case I think it was the icing on a crappy day.
Ah well until next year, or the Rugby 7's! But for now we have a month of quiet reflection, detoxing and chilling out as Ramadan approaches, before we all get back on it again.
An Introduction
Being new to the world of blogging, at this point I shall ease myself into it and simply explain what I want to achieve with this. I have always been far better at communicating through the written word than anything else and through this medium I would simply like to share my life experiences as they happen.
Living in a place such as Dubai, where the powers that be seem to have their finger on the 'fast-forward' control button of your life and you live in a constant state of 'blink and you'll miss it' chaos, sometimes it's necessary to take a step back and reflect on situations, what we've done and where we're headed. Because if you don't we could suddenly find ourselves looking back with regrets and not having achieved or at least try to achieve the things that we want in life.
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