Sole Survivor

It`s true, friends, Mrs Noah has jumped ship and I am left all alone to care for the animal cargo and to thus assure the continuance of the admittedly limited species aboard the Ark. Before you all jump to the conclusion that she has run off with another,  I will state that we parted on excellent terms, and her temporary absence of a month is to visit with our daughter in Plymouth and to accompany her on a package holiday in Turkey. I could have chosen to go too but sun-bathing on a beach palls with me after half an hour and I become restless and hard to live with.
  I took her to Bordeaux this morning to catch her plane to Bristol where Alyson picked her up. Unfortunately La Rochelle airport doesn`t open until May to do its Bristol flights.  Incidentally this is a lost opportunity for the airlines as La Rochelle is always heaving with Brits going and coming and there must be plenty of trade for at least a weekly flight. Kim doesn`t like flying and got so jumpy she took a Zanax and probably slept all the way, the poor thing. Still, I have heard by SMS that she has safely arrived so everybody can relax.

 I shall take the opportunity to get some DIY and decorating done while I can leave the place in a disorder which would not be sanctioned under Mrs N`s supervision! So everybody will be happy doing their own thing...For a start I have mended the cat flap on the stair-door and the damage to the door itself caused by Laika this morning at 530am, for goodness sake. Yes you can well look ashamed,wretched creature! She broke out of her sleeping cage, attacked the door and the cat flap presumably to try to come upstairs. When I descended to find out what the whining was about, I found she had turned the snib on the stair-door so I was locked out of the kitchen and the only way of reaching the ground floor!  I was seriously thinking of climbing down from the bedroom window but eventually forced the door, damaging the edge of it. Oh, no,it`s not all beer and skittles running an Ark!
         Bye for now!

Royal Wedding Preview

No, not that wedding, silly. I can`t gather up much enthusiasm for that one though it may serve a useful purpose in cheering up a somewhat morose UK. No, this wedding was a much closer affair and involved a member of our church at Matha. Sara was marrying her beloved Benoit and all the congregation were invited to attend. Surely every wedding is a royal one to its couple and all brides look like princesses to their princes on the day
  Kim and I being part of the choir had an important part to play and were suitably nervous but the choir`s contribution sounded good, you will be glad to hear.
  A French wedding is organised a little differently to an English one. For a start it seems odd to see the couple mingling together with the crowd before the church door before the ceremony. Still this is perhaps due to the fact that a wedding in church is not valid in France, the defining ceremony takes place in the Mairie and it is the Maire who ties the knot. Still with this slight amendment the actual ceremony is very similar to an English one, and the Minister gives the impression that it is he who does the deed, whatever the Maire thinks, God taking precedence over the state.
  After, the whole congregation were invited to the Vin d`honneur at the bride`s mum`s house and the newly weds created an impression by arriving en caleche.
 We all had a good chat and ate lots of nibbles and drank various tipples. A good time was had by all, even by the bemused English couple who had hired the attached gite and were surprised to find a wedding reception taking place arround them!

Motorcycle mayhem

A little time ago I wrote of my love affair with this bike, the Triumph Twenty-one pictured  here. Tonight I will make your blood curdle with the most scary time I had astride it, or indeed astride any motorcycle.
   To set the scene, I would say that at the time I lived in Portsmouth and made occasional trips to Plymouth to visit my Dad for the weekend. I would leave Portsmouth on Friday evening after work and reckoned to be in Plymouth, some 180 miles away by late evening. This particular evening I had set out as usual and had got as far as Ivybridge, only 10 miles to go. The bike was well capable of such a trip, having plenty of poke and an excellent headlamp.
  It was by that time very dark, being early in the year.  I left Ivybridge and accelerated hard along the road towards Lee Mill, at that time one of the few stretches of dual carriageway. There were  no streetlights and no traffic on the road as I reached cruising speed of 65 or so.  Suddenly stark drama-- the headlamp suddenly went out, plunging the scene into total darkness! It was as though I was riding the bike with my eyes shut, not a good thing at 65 mph! I didn`t panic at first, sometimes a main beam filament burns out and I did the sensible thing in flipping the dip-switch. Unfortunately this did nothing and now I did panic in earnest. I hit both brakes as hard as I dared and searched my memory as to where the road was going the last time I had seen it. It seemed to me it was trending slightly to the right and more importantly it had a solid looking post-and-rail fence on the left with which I didn`t want to get involved. I therefore veered slightly right, still braking as hard as I could For a nameless interval somewhere between a split second and a century I rushed blindly through the pitch darkness, till suddenly the bike ran onto the grass central reservation, span and fell on its side. Still in darkness it slid to a stop and the engine stalled. Everything was still and stationery.
  I made a mental check and found I was unhurt but coudn`t move my right foot. This was because it was trapped under the Triumph... I pulled hard and my welly came off, freeing me from the machine. I mentally made a short prayer of thanks, pulled out my boot and put it on profiting by the protection to give the recumbent bike a severe kick. The headlamp immediately came back on! I found that the `off-side-headlamp` switch on the headlamp casing had become worn and would turn beyond the `headlamp` position to a further unauthorised `off` position. I could have fixed this as soon as the light went out if I had known but tinkering with the electrics is contra-indicated at 65 in total darkness...
  The bike was substantially undamaged thanks to the wet grass and I was able to restart it and continue my journey. I will admit I have never been so frightened in my life before or since!
 

Cutting Edge 2 The Laguiole

mmmIn my earlier blog I told readers that I am a pocket knife enthusiast ( see Cutting Edge published in March ) At the time I promised, or rather threatened, to review a bit closer the regional knives of France.  I hope I don`t bore my readers by riding my hobby horse, but if I do please tell me. I might pay attention....
  OK, today I`d like to look closer at the most popular knife in France, the Laguiole. It`s easily recognised by it`s slim blade with the `stop` on the blunt edge, its narrow curved handle, and above all by the `mouche` or `abeille`attached to the end of the spring which retains the blade open or closed,

Laguiole is a small town in the Aubrac,  a high basalt plateau bordering three Departements, the Averon, the Cantal and the Lozere. A few small forges were sited here around 1830 which began making knife blades and fitments and the distinctive shape is said to be influenced by the Spanish navagas, which the local shepherds brought back when seeking work there. These Spanish knives also have a distinct `elbow` on the handle and a `cran force`, a system where the spring has a hook on the end which partially locks the blade in the open position. It is my theory that the earlier knives were true lock-knives and the `mouche` served to lift the spring to close the blade; nowadays a firm pressure on the blade is sufficient to close it.
   Laguioles normally have a ferrule at each end in steel or brass, though `plein manche` versions are found. The handles can be in almost any material, wood, horn, ivory or even mammoth ivory !
  The rivets which hold the sides of the handle in place are often arranged in a cross, as in the example in the top picture. Tradition has it that the lonely shepherd looking after his sheep during the summer on the high pastures could spike the open knife into their table and thus have an instant crucifix before which to make his devotions .
   Laguioles have usually just a single blade,  though a spike is sometimes found. When the empoverished shepherds sought work is Paris, often as Limonadiers in the late 19th Century a corkscrew was added and the fame of this attractive knife was spread beyond its rural origins.
  I hope this brief summary has whetted your appetite to know more of the regional knives of France; I might return to the subject later.  Bye for now!
 

End of an era?

A minor tragedy put me in mind of my change of state yesterday-- rushing to answer the phone I knocked down and broke my CIS mug one of the few reminders of my last employment. I realised that I had moved on and have never regretted leaving this employment or indeed any paid employment. Rude persons may say it`s because I`m lazy and I would admit there is an element of truth in this. Still I find it a little sad when a person admits that they live for their job, however fulfilling it may be. Besides in modern times there is danger in this: if you associate too closely with a position what do you do when you retire or worse, if you are suddenly made redundant? It can be a devastating shock and destroy the person`s self-confidence.
  I have a theory that it is a good thing to change career several times in your working life.  That way you cease to identify yourself with a job--you dont describe yourself as a Doctor or a plumber and thus if you cease to do the job you don`t lose your identity or self-worth. I will admit it doesn`t do much for your pension prospects, but that can be sorted by investment or by buying a French house while they were cheap!
  On another note, do you like the new header for the Ark? I spent yesterday afternoon while Kim was working on her patchwork in drawing the new heading picture and eventually succeeded in loading it onto the site.  I like the effect, hope you do too!  Bye for now.
  

Happiness, happiness

The other day a facebook link was saying that the British are uniformly miserable and unhappy and at the time I begged to differ. I have mused on the question a little since and tried to decide whether it is true or not.  It is true that there are an awful lot of moaners who are not content with their lot but is this the same thing? It is a characteristic of humanity to dream of improving their life, and this is not necessarily a bad thing or we would still be living in caves and THERE WOULDN`T BE ENOUGH CAVES TO GO ROUND! But there is a difference in striving for improvement and moaning about life in general.
  I have always, like Ken Dodd been blessed with a feeling of happiness although things have not been easy sometimes.  I have found though that if you`re patient and not too hasty things tend to get better after a time
   Mind you, I feel that I was born at a fortunate time. My elder brother was borne 4 years earlier than I ( I was born in `42 ) and he had to live through post-war austerity. My late teens and early twenties coincided with the Swinging Sixties a time of national confidence and full employment. Even the cars and bikes were much more interesting than the current look-alikes. It`s true they were less reliable but they were also less complicated and  if they did break down you had a chance of fixing the problem with a screw-driver or spanner rather than a diagnostic computer!
  Houses were also more affordable though it was always a gross effort to afford a mortgage. The first house I bought cost £4525 Unbelievable now though wages were much lower too. Inflation is of course the reason for the increase but if you already own a house this gives a feeling of profit.
  I suppose it`s paradoxical  to comment as I`m writing on a computer but I`m glad that most of my life was spent before they became commonplace. They are not an unmixed blessing and have done much to spoil job security and increase unemployment. The rapid changes they foster gives a feeling of insecurity to the generation raised before they arrived and the current generation are hooked on them to the detriment of their health.
   I also feel privileged in being able to retire at sixty in good health. For many months after retiring and coming to live in France I had recurrent nightmares that I would be told there had been a mistake and I should return to the office to recommence work. It was like a permanent holiday, doing what we always did on holiday! The generation working now face pressure to retire at 70 or even 75 to spend a shorter retirement in poor health. Poor things!
  I hope these musings don`t seem the work of someone moping after the past I do feel that I have been lucky to live through a vintage set of years. I hope there will be a few more to savour in the future!

Snip, snip, snip...

This afternoon as some of you may have seen from Kim`s status on Facebook we took our three ginger cats to the vet for the dreaded snip.We face a choice here of doing something about it or being overwhelmed with kittens.  Every house or farm here has cats and we have always sterilised our queens to avoid the Ark changing from overloaded to capsized!  It is usually not worth doing just the toms, as others will move into the power vacuum.
  Our cats at La mort Limouzin have always been very small,  perhaps a survival trait where food used to be scarce. Our three little ginger Toms are very small in size but from the rear there is no doubt of their sex. It`s as if their appurtenances were the only part to be of normal size! The result is that when they pursue the few receptive queens they get beaten up by bigger cats. The resulting frustration is expressed by loud howls and a tendency to mark territory, even in the house. We decided that we would have to bite the bullet and have them snipped.
  We had to keep them in and not feed then from last night till their appointment at three thirty today, a further heartbreak as they love their food. Finally we loaded them into two cat boxes and made the fatal journey.
 Our vet is lovely and a good friend. I chickened out of witnessing the proceedings, well someone has to do the shopping, but Kim bravely assisted (as an ex nurse she`s used to it, though I don`t suppose it`s an op often performed on the National Health, come to think of it! ) We took the cats home very comatose but well-wishers will be glad to know they are now quite chirpy and not holding our perfidy against us. Cats are much more forgiving than humans!

All gas and .....

It`s quiz time. What do you imagine these objects are? They were found in our building when we first moved here.  Give up?  Well I`ll tell you. They are a pair of leather gaiters as worn by farmers yonks ago.
  We have always found that when we buy a house in the UK there is always something worth-while  abandoned by the previous owner if, it`s only exotic plants in the garden. In our Plymstock house the ex-owner was a deep-sea diver and we proffed a case of wet suits of impressive thickness. However the wily French make a clean sweep and you`re lucky if they leave the light bulbs. Even things that in England would be Buildings or Fixtures and Fittings are regarded as Contents and moved out. When we viewed this house we admired a small enameled solid fuel stove in the kitchen only to be told by the Immobilier that it belonged to the vendors We subsequently bought it very cheaply but it was a surprise nevertheless.
  I think perhaps it`s a question of patrimoine dear  to the heart of all French people  One of the items that
WAS  left in an obscure outbuilding was a sort of wooden plough with an iron-shod plough-share designed to be pulled by a horse between the rows of vines. It was very worm-eaten and of no possible use or ornament, and we thought that even the vendor had no further use for it. However a few years later, after the funeral of the vendor, a lovely old chap, his son came by and was interested in seeing round the old place again.  We had thrown the plough on our `to go to tip`  heap, but he was aghast at the thought and gladly took up the ruin in the boot of his smart car, to the barely suppressed horror of his wife! Goodness knows where he put it in his very posh bungalow, I expect he`s falling over it to this day!

Ark stowaways

Our daughter Alyson suggested some time ago that I should mention some less welcome passengers on the good vessel.  I was opening the understairs cupboard some years ago, which we use as a larder. The scene runs as follows
  Me  Arrgh !!
  Kim  What`s the matter?
  Me (slamming door to cupboard) There`s a ruddy  great snake in here!
  Kim ( Re opening door) Eeek !!, there`s a ruddy great snake in here
  Me That`s what I said to you !

  After this brief but entertaining exchange it was decided that Aaron, our grandson, who was staying with us at the time should be sent to bed before we investigated further. The snake was quite large from our initial glance, probably a grass snake about four feet long. When the coast was clear we carefully opened the door and saw...nothing.  The snake was clearly hiding among the items in the cupboard, which is quite low especially at the back. No volunteers were found to crawl into the space, and it was decided to drag the items out one by one with a walking stick and search each one , After the search had been done it was clear the reptile had escaped by the same route he had used to enter. The cupboard is alongside the outside wall which adjoins our neighbour`s barn (see my earlier blog) and the snake must have crawled through the wall, though how such a stout creature could do this remains a mystery.

 Another creature less than welcome was this one found on the mosquito netting. It`s a praying mantis and its air of praying is deceptive as it can shoot out its front legs and give a nasty nip. This one was carefully gathered up in a jar and invited to leave the Ark!
 
 There are more `guests` I could mention but it`s time for lunch. Bye for now!

Mystery fireplace

In one of my previous blogs I mentioned our little building only loosely associated with the household. In fact as can be seen from the picture it is about 30 metres away and on the other side of the road. It is far closer to our neighbor`s house or to the old barn behind us  How it came to be on our title deeds is puzzling, and my theory is that someone lost it in a card game.We have never used it for much having other batiments more conveniently sited, though we did use to use it,rather cynically, to store our gaz bottles.
  A few months ago we noted that a beam had broken and the roof had sagged dangerously. As I didn`t fancy going on it we had a builder reroof it for us and the roof is now splendid, with three skylights added. Previously the stonebuilt cabin had a hayloft floor only just above head hight and was dark and spider-infested. The floor has been largely removed as it was rotten,and the spiders moved out while the roof was off. we now have quite a pleasant little shed and are scratching our heads what to use it for. Has anyone any suggestions?

  One odd thing has been revealed by the suppression of the floor; a large and well-constructed fireplace on the back wall, though the chimney has been tiled over long ago. I don`t think the place ever served as a dwelling so the hearth is odd. A smithy, perhaps? The old owner of the house obviously used it as a workshop but there is no power connected. He did however get round this by an ingenious machine which you can see on the right You turn the handle and the little grinding stone can still be used to sharpen a blade. That`s what you really call bricolage!

French property buying as she is not done

  Reading poor Piglet`s problems { I really feel for that girl) reminds me of the ups and downs we had in buying our house here. It was so long ago that it was priced in Francs (remember them) and the exchange rate was about ten francs to the Pound which was easy to calculate on the fingers of even a disnumerate like me (see my last blog )
  We had gone through the usual stages of Compromis ,approval by the agricultural people who stymied Piglets sale (they had a different initial then, why do French organisations change their initials so often?) and were nearly at the Acte de Vente stage. For those who don`t know this is a final meeting where everyone concerned gathers in the Notaire`s office, the contract is read out in full in case you can`t read, and most important the remaining 90 per cent of the sale price is handed over. The penalty for not having the finance are said to be severe and can result in the sale being cancelled and the vendor keeping the ten per cent, so it is vital that there`s no hitch.
  although we had the money to buy we had decided to have a loan from Credit Agricole, who seemed curiously amateur at the time and kept delaying confirmation and demanding yet more documents. They promised however that the loan would be at the Notaire`s office on the day, but Kim, wisely as it turned out had serious doubts.
 We decided to hedge our bets by taking the purchase price with us to the meeting and to ensure no snags we`d take it IN CASH in Francs. We arranged to draw the money from our Abbey National office in francs. The Manager had to have a special Securicor delivery just for us of 100,000ff. It made a surprisingly small package but I`ve never handled so much cash in my life. We had bought two money belts and split the sum between us for the ferry ride to France terrified that someone might steal it we never took them off
  Imagine us then at the meeting. The two Notaires were there the vendors, a lovely elderly French couple, our Immobiliers quite a croud  After the legal formalities had been dealt with. we asked the Notaire if Credit Ag had sent the loan as promised No,was the reply and everyone started to look extremely grave. Never mind we said we`ve got the money here and we turned out the contents of our belts onto the desk.
  We expected consternation but they didn`t turn a hair, split the money in two and started to count it. The vendors smiled and made clutching motions to take it with them there and then which the notaire forbad on security grounds. As for us we felt as if a load was lifted from our backs and I was never so glad to hand over money to someone responsible in my life!

Pulling teeth

Kim was clearing up the other day and found the two items pictured on the right. They have prompted me to make a confession of two parts of my life which I have kept close to my chest for fear of attracting universal opprobrium.  Yes, I fear it`s true I have worked both for the Inland Revenue and in the manufacture of dental forceps!
  Now, it`s not a bit of use after your initial dismay, coming to me with your tax queries. I was the most inept Tax Officer that can be imagined, and came within a whisker of being dismissed for incompetence. This was in fact not really my fault, but that of the interview board when I sought a job with the Civil Service. The initial idea was a job with the Forestry Commission where perhaps I could have seen the wood from the trees. However the Board insisted that I should go to the Tax Office.  I even demurred pointing out that maths was not my strong suit. They replied that only simple arithmetic was required in the Tax Office, adding,subtracting etc. I opened my mouth to say that this was precisely the area I had problems with, but then I closed it again, realising that a candidate who confessed to disnumeracy was unlikely to be offered a job in ANY department .
  I served a number of years in the Revenue, even getting promoted mainly by having the sense to buy one of the earliest pocket calculators on the market, but I must warn any aspiring Tax Officers that the job is the only one I`ve found which is both difficult and BORING at the same time, something I would have thought impossible before.
  In the event the job nearly drove me to suicide and both I and the Revenue decided to part more or less simultaneously (I resigned in the nick of time)
  Being temporarily unemployed, a new and unpleasant experience, I decided with Kim`s encouragement to seek a job in Plymouth rather than at Portsmouth where I`d ended up thanks to the Admiralty (another story) Although I`d nearly always done office jobs I somehow landed a job in a factory making dental forceps as a Filer.  I discovered an unexpected facility in a craftsman`s job which was the perfect antidote to Civil Service life. Working to transform rough stainless steel forgings to the gleaming works of art pictured above brought a strange satisfaction and if you`ve suffered from one of my masterpieces just think, you`ld have suffered far worse from an untreated toothache!

Mowing the grass

 I thought you might like to see how we keep the grass down in La Mort Limouzin with our woolly mowers>  Take a bow Rosie ( when much younger ) Rosie as she is today, Segoline and Toto the Patriarch. Much more fun than a Honda mower!!

 

Birds and Bees

  No,  not those birds and bees, anyone expecting salacious revelations is going to be disappointed and had better seek cheap thrills elsewhere.  What I wanted to talk about today is the thrill of  seeing wildlife never to be sen in Britain or even in regions further north of France.
  What brought this on was the sight of the little fellow in the pic on the right. I would be the first to admit that this is not the definitive shot of a hoopoe but it is recognizable and all my own work. Now you may be blase for all I know and say that your house is surrounded by huge flocks of the creatures, and it`s true they are by no means rare here in Poitou Charentes. However, I had never seen a live one in Devon or Hampshire and a photo like this published would result in an invasion of twitchers in the UK. Yet there it was yesterday going hoop oop oop on the electricity pole outside our bedroom window.  Magic!

   Talking of bees there is an insect we see each spring again never spotted in the UK and called ,I think, a Carpenter bee. I don`t have a pic at present but imagine, if you will, a large bumble bee but not fuzzy as is normal chez les bees. No, this one is more  of a hells angel in the bee world and appears to be dressed in black motorcycle leathers. to add to the exotic aspect its wings have a bluish shimmer and like all bumble bees work overtime to keep its heavy body airborne so all that can be seen is a blue irridiscence in the air over it.  Unusual you will agree. A visitor from Lille expressed horror so it must be a southern creature.


    What do you think of the creature above?  I assure you it`s real, not a piece of jewelry  I don`t know what it`s called but it was about 2 centimeters long and is a sort of scarab beetle.  I could go on but I`ll retain the real horror stories of French fauna for a later edition as the Ark crew are demanding their evening feed.  See you aboard later I hope!

Old Stones Continued

The builders of these old houses have left some intriguing traces. For example, what do you make of the picture above?  It consists of two little niches in the wall, one over the other and about 8 inches wide ( say 20 centimeters for you moderns ) The stone between the niches is pierced by a hole the size of a broom handle. ( What do you mean,you`ve never seen a broom?  OK, 3 centimeters wide,then.) Well I`ll tell you. It is a hitching point to tether an animal, a horse, goat or a cow. Saves using expensive ironwork.
  What about the photo on the left? A stone slab with a central runnel juts from a wall. This is the overflow from the old-fashioned stone sinks that can be seen built into the outside walls of old local houses. The slab carries the discarded water clear of the wall into the street ( ! ) where it can drain away without affecting the foundations or using costly metal pipes. There would have been a small round window above it but it has been blocked up.
  If you keep your eyes open you can see many such traces  mute witnesses of a vanished way of country life.   Bye for now

Old stones and wooden beams

I want to point out a curious fact about our house--as you can see from the two photos it is twice the size at the front than at the back! This apparent mystery perfectly illustrates the development and slow alteration these old houses have lived during their long lives
  The building is said locally to have started life as a cognac or eau-de-vie distillery well before the Revolution and must be over 300 years old. It was then probably a single storey building alongside the next-door barn. At some time long ago it was extended and altered by someone relatively wealthy as it has, as you can see, an upstairs with large windows. Most older houses here are single- storey with a `grenier` or grainstore above with tiny windows, which was used to store grain in sacks  secure from mice and moisture.  The mice then must have been a feeble race as the mice of today don`t seem to have much difficulty in ascending stairs, I can tell you!

The house thus consisted of an entree and single room downstairs and two bedrooms above divided by a flimsy partition. That is the part you can see at the back and the lefthand half of the front elevation.
  Possibly at this time the Madame insisted on a separate kitchen,but where to find space? The problem was solved by knocking a door through to the next door barn which must have been in their possession at the time A large oblong kitchen was then walled off from the barn area leaving an L shaped barn , and a grenier with a small window constructed above the kitchen. That is the section you can see on the left of the top photo and the mystery is solved!
  The barn has passed to our neighbor whose house is the grey one to the left of our house, his barn being the grey door on the right in the same pic ( confused?  I`m not surprised.) Our house is thus squeezed in between Adrian`s house and barn and judging what is his roof and which is ours is not easy!  Lucky we get on well.  I`ll tell you some more of our odd house in my next
 

Four wheels bad, two wheels good...

I found this photo of me and my Triumph 21 taken in the early `sixties ( the era, not me! ) Wasn`t I a handsome lad?! And weren`t the bikes better-looking than the feeble 50 cc `scramblers or the overweight and under-powered scooters that are all the rage in France?  350cc twin cylinder a quiet but deep exhaust note, it really makes me nostalgic!  All my bikes have left a memory, but this one was my darling.
  I started my 2-wheel life with a 200cc single cylinder Triumph Tiger Cub, swapped to a brand-new Ariel Golden Arrow ( 250 two-stoke twin) then the 21 pictured above.  I then went on to 4 wheels, a Morgan Plus Four, but that`s another tale for later perhaps.
  But matrimony and car costs sapped my bank balance and I made other forays into motorcycle riding, Owning a 150 Ducati, a Francis Barnet 150,  more cars,  then went over to the enemy with a little Suzuki B200 , on which I think I rode further than on any other bike.
  Are there any other outwardly respectable citizens in whom this roll-call of vanished names rouses a pang?