On hydrants (mostly)



The other day, one of my readers wrote me an email commenting on my last post.  He started his comments (and I translate directly from the Hebrew):  “This post is, as usual, full of nonsense and lovely pictures but it’s nice to read and even somewhat interesting to know what comes next”.  Well, well, well.  Nonsense?  Really?  I wasn’t in the least offended because (a)  I had used the term “nonsense” myself in an earlier post and (b) it reminded me that the push to start this blog was to find a way of letting some people see some of the pictures I take and for me to comment, if not on them, then at least about the some of the thoughts that surround them. And as for the “what comes next?”, I find that quite often I, too, ask myself the same question as I sit down to write.  Just like now.

I’m sometimes in a quandary as to how far it’s safe to stray off the beaten track.  There are days when I have some interesting photographs to show but the imagery is overshadowed by “current events” so I give vent to my exceedingy jaundiced political views and then generally get told off for writing them, first at home and occasionally from some of my readers. (There are a few who read me seriously.  Seriously!).

Just after I started with this blog, almost two years ago, I posted a piece that explained my fascination with fire hydrants, those objects that, in one form or another, are dotted around the streets of cities everywhere.  Actually, it was post #7 and I’ve now done 120 more between that one and this.  It’s not really a fascination let alone an obsession but I keep on seeing these things as if they were faces with expressions so that it’s very easy to fit captions to them.

I wrote that when I started photographing in Tel Aviv in September 2007, I had noticed these red fire hydrants and photographed some of them because they seemed to have “eyes” and a certain “character”.  At the time, I had just “graduated” from Apple’s iPhoto application to their then new and now defunct photo-editing application Aperture, which had a Face Recognition facility, and it was recognising the hydrants as faces and this is what prompted me to see them as such as I walked around.  

At the time, it all seemed very amusing, as I began identifying a whole new population of these wonderful street “people” who were seemingly invisible to the general population.  Yet after a year or so of photographing hydrants, I realised that, perhaps more than people, variety amongst them is somewhat limited so although I didn’t stop photographing them, I certainly wasn’t doing a dozen a day.

However, every now and then, one comes across an individual who, in one way or another, looks different to the others — even unique.  And, as almost two years have passed since the last “hydrant post”, I think it’s time to offer you a few more images of these exquisitely spellbinding little creatures.  Looking through my collection, I noticed that recently, I’ve been classifying other “street people” that are not strictly such by using the keyword “hydrant”, so you may find the odd pillbox or hosepipe or phone booth, too. Please be understanding of me.

“So, if you’re sitting comfortably, let us begin”, as they used to say on BBC radio 60 years ago at 1.45 p.m. on “Listen With Mother”.  BTW, some of these images have appeared before in earlier posts.


Take the basic full frontal portrait as a typical case.  Here, the photographer and the camera are looking straight at the hydrant—or perhaps it’s the other way around.  Anyway, the the photographer says “Smile” and the hydrant complies with the request readily.  “Smile”, s/he says, “and the world smiles with you”.


Happy as Larry — Smile and the world smiles with you.

There are other happy people who don’t show their happiness with a smile but instead, they have a glint in their eye, even if the glint is no more than a chocolate or ice cream wrapper. 


Even though being a hydrant can make one happy, you don’t have to be (a hydrant, that is).   Others with a different disposition just laugh out loud to show how cheerful they are feeling.



Then again, there are others who are just happy being able to do things that are bad for them — like smoking cigarettes or chewing gum.  They know it’s wrong but they just delight in it and if it keeps them happy and out of trouble, who is a simple photographer to pass judgement?


Most of the hydrants in Tel Aviv are painted red; in fact red is the colour for hydrants throughout most of the country.  The neighbouring city of Ramat Gan paints some of theirs yellow.



Occasionally, in Tel Aviv, you’ll come across a hydrant that isn’t red, so you have to be constantly on the lookout for these social misfits.


All dressed up and nowhere to go.  Jabotinsky Street, Tel Aviv


Then, as well as the social misfits, there are those unfortunates that have a physical disability or disfigurement.


The Elephant Man. HaYarqon Street, Tel Aviv


A bicycle built for two.  Tel Aviv Port


A bicycle built for two — but there’s only a single saddle!


As blind as … the proverbial hydrant


Occasionally you come across some that tell a life story … 


Delivered by Caesarean section and waiting to be reunited with mother

Death approaches.jpg

On the cusp of its own demise

Crown Prince

Princess and tiara — maybe one day Queen with a crown (but she needs to clean up first)

Youngsters wear such bright clothes

Tut-tut-tut! Youngsters wear such bright clothes these days!



The Afro

And then there are the hydrants that remind you of something from long ago!

Conjoined twins

Screen Shot 2017-10-23 at 11.26.58.png

And there are those that simply have a story to tell …

Blow your nose, for goodness sake

For goodness sake, blow your nose, child!

All tied up

Sorry.  Can’t speak right now.  I’m all tied up.

Wild about …

Have you read Trump’s last tweet?



Turn around, child.  Don’t be shy! He only wants to take your photograph.  

Oh how my head is spinning

Oh, how my head spins when I see her pass by

All eyes on the photographer

Big Brothers are watching you.  (An everyday street scene in Central London)


Hang your head in shame

Look at your appearance!  You may well hang your head in shame!


Skinheads, Punks, Hippies?  Or just plain yobs?  London, 2016


Checkmate!  You’ve had it, mate.  You’ll come with us if you know what’s good for you!

Early morning hangover

I think I had a little too much to drink last night.  What time? day? is it?

Private conversations

Rooms for two very private conversations (if you can find a way in)

Finally, while walking home the other day, I spied a niqab-hydrant, which only goes to show that Israel is an open society for these would not be permitted in parts of Europe or Canada!


Finally, a couple of different shots for the sake of variety.  Last week, I was returning home on the bus after meeting a friend in town.  Sitting opposite me on the other side of the aisle was a not-so-young couple having an earnest heart-to-heart conversation as not-so-young couples sometimes do.  I was looking at them and, in particular, at their hands so I plucked up the courage and asked them if they minded me taking a photograph.  The bus was moving and the light wasn’t great but I thought it made a lovely photo.

Hand in hand.jpg

And I’ll conclude with a photo from the never-ending saga of the drainage-sewage-electricity-water infrastructure replacement that’s been ongoing along the street since the beginning of the year.  Our short section took four and half months and then there was a break for a week and a half.  In the interim, all the neighbours received a flyer from the municipality regarding the continuation of work on the last section of the street — dates, traffic arrangements, etc.  

Now, we live on a corner house and we had expected the work to continue where it had been left off, i.e., continuing eastward along the same street. However, the Municipality  notification had neglected to mention an important piece of information.  So, you can imagine the amazement when on Sunday of last week, neighbours (we included) discovered the diggers creating a channel on the street perpendicular.  The reason was simple.  The pipes and things at the northern third of Stricker Street connect with those on Shlomtzion HaMalkah, the street that had just been done.  So I snapped the bemusement of some of the neighbours who went to collect their cars only to find that they couldn’t drive them along a channel where the street had been just a few hours earlier!

Bemused neighbours.jpg



Rain, rain

Rain, rain

A stormy day, Tel Aviv Port.  January 2013

When I was young[er], like many kids brought up in the British Isles, I learned a nursery rhyme that went (in one variation):

Rain, rain, go away
Come again another day
Little Stanley [or Brigid or Fatima] wants to play

Well, by the time you reach mid-October in Tel Aviv, this rhyme is about as useless as 100 teenage girls from Devon (with Basil Fawlty’s full support) singing the praises of Torquay United, exhorting them to win the F.A. Cup this season.

It actually rained at the beginning of the week for a few minutes in North Tel Aviv but not enough for even 0.1 mm to be registered.  Just enough to leave marks on the cars reminding us of what’s to come (hopefully) over the next few months—and to change the scent of the air for a few minutes after almost five months without precipitation.  Today (Thursday) and yesterday, the temperature peaked at around a coolish 25ºC and with the relative humidity at around 50% rather than the summer’s 80%-90%, it really felt rather pleasant.

Not only has the weather struck a change (although there will undoubtedly be several very hot hamseen days yet before winter sets in) but Israel reached the end of its 23-day tunnel that constitutes the “festival season” — New Year, Day of Atonement, Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot) and Rejoicing of the Law (Simchat Torah), which in the synagogues marks the end of the reading of the Torah cycle (Deuteronomy 31:10-12), followed immediately by the beginning of the cycle (Genesis 1:1–2:3).  

However, another feature of the Simchat Torah synagogue service is the recitation of the Prayer for Rain,  “Mashiv ha-ruach u-morid ha-geshem” (“He causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall”). From the recitation of this prayer until the first day of Passover after which the Prayer for Dew takes its place, these words are inserted into the second blessing of the Amidah prayer, central in the Jewish liturgy.  

Personally, I find it all a little like “Rain, rain, go away” in reverse but this creates a sort of Catch-22 situation when an old cynic (and former sceptic) like me states categorically that there’s no connection between the incantation of the prayer, no matter how often it’s recited, how fervently and how loud it’s intoned and the physical event that is called rainfall—and that’s because not long after the onset of the first serious precipitation event of the season, those who prayed for it to happen will claim that it occurred because of their prayers.  Which, of course, is a no-win situation for hapless doubters, me included.

When the rain eventually does come this year, I am curious to see what happens in our street.  In years past, the drainage system has been unable to cope with what happens soon after the onset of a heavy downpour.  Usually, within five minutes, the street turns into a raging stream.  However, now that Tel Aviv Municipality has invested heavily in a new drainage system (and sewage and electricity and whatever else) and we have endured 4½ months of what seemed to be never-ending noise, dust and sand as the diggers, the bulldozers, the steamrollers and other heavy equipment chugged away just a few metres from our living rooms and bedrooms from 7 in the morning until 4 in the afternoon, it should be able to cope.  


Shlomtzion rain

Except for the fact that the work is not yet complete and the team has just returned to attack that last 40% of the street.  I had to laugh the other day when we received—along with all the other neighbours—a flier detailing the “new” traffic arrangements in the four months it is scheduled to complete the job of replacing the infrastructure under the street after which (I hope) they will lay the final road surface along its whole length.  However, given that they estimated at the outset that our 160m would take them 2½ months and in the event, it took them two months longer, I have a funny feeling that their guess this time around might be equally awry as one stretch on the the last section includes a large elementary school and a public car park (opposite one another).  Should be fun!  My guess is that it may very well be spring before we can drive from one end of the street to the other by which time the rainy season should be over and it should be time for the dew to reappear.  

Meanwhile, in the absence of sand and dust we prepare for the rain, the mud, the muck—and the continuing noise.  I attach a picture of a prematurely happy neighbour a week and a half ago. He was happy to see what he had thought was the back of the men working in the street and who not only had prevented him from using the parking space in front of his house but also managed to damage it in their search for the route of the sewage or drainage pipes underneath and which took them the best part of another week to put to rights.

Thumbs up

And we now have a temporary storage space for bricks, blocks, and whatnot directly across the street and daytime on-street parking restrictions on the street perpendicular to the one being worked on.


With all this chat about rain and street works, I seem to have neglected pictures from the past two or three weeks of strolling around (mostly) North Tel Aviv.  And even in secular North Tel Aviv, come this time of the year, one can observe the phenomenon the sukkah, or the temporary  hut constructed for use during the week-long Jewish festival of Sukkot (Tabernacles).  These booths are topped with branches and are often well decorated with autumnal, harvest or Judaic themes.  Traditional Jewish law demands eating and even sleeping in the sukkah. However, people aren’t expected to remain there if they were  to feel very uncomfortable. (For instance, some people might feel a little vulnerable sleeping in a sukkah constructed on a footpath in a busy street in Tel Aviv at nighttime.)  And if and when rain falls on the sukkah, nobody really expects you to stay inside (and my dear wife is convinced that it always rains during Sukkot although I haven’t checked the rainfall statistics to check out this questionable claim.)

Succot 5

Communal sukkah, Dizengoff Street, Tel Aviv


Succot 1

Private sukkah, Nordau Boulevard, Tel Aviv

Succot 3

Private sukkah, high up there.  Bavli neighbourhood, Tel Aviv

Succot 0

Private sukkah, almost hidden.  Ussishkin Street, Tel Aviv

The structure of the sukkah should consist of a roof of organic material that has been disconnected from the ground (often palm fronds) and it must have three “walls”. Apparently, it should be at least a metre tall (presumably so as to permit people other than children, midgets and dwarves to enter and sit comfortably) and it should be positioned so that all or part of its roof is open to the sky because only that part of it which is under the sky is  fit for use (or kosher).  This often leads to some peculiarly specific architectural designs so that everyone who wishes can eat, drink, and sleep kosherly. 

Succah balconies

As I noted at the outset, the weather in Tel Aviv has cooled down a bit although when I went out one morning last week it was already 27º at 8.30 in the morning although you’d never know it from what some people are wearing!  


I suppose whether you put on lots of clothing or very little depends in part on what sorts of physical activity you participate in.

Beach volleyball

But then there are those among us who are heated up from the inside and find release by discovering and redeeming those miscreants who because of their misdeeds are about to enter the gates of that fiery place known to some of us as Hell.  However, although there may well be lots of potential victims about—probably a majority of Tel Avivians by some accounts—I’m not sure that the gentleman in the picture was going to find too many clients along the Tel Aviv beach near the Marina early in the morning, especially given the identity of the saviour he purports to represent.

Jesus saves sinners


Last Friday saw the annual Sukkot bike ride around Tel Aviv.  We got inadvertently caught up in this a few years ago when we found that we couldn’t get a taxi to take us to the airport that particular morning.  It must have taken us half an hour of phoning around until we found a taxi company in South Tel Aviv that appeared to be unaware of what was going on and they sent us a taxi driver who seemed not to mind in the slightest threatening to get out of his cab to remove police barriers in order to get us where we needed to be and on time.  But the mind boggles at the unnecessary inconvenience caused to ordinary Tel Aviv residents who, trying to get to work or do their shopping or get to their favourite café, find that several of the city’s main traffic arteries are blocked for there next four or five hours.  

Even crossing the roads was a hazardous undertaking as several thousand cyclists and their children and their dogs cycle or roller skate or scoot round the city.  Interesting and fun though it may be for the velophiles and velomaniacs and their entourages, the same cannot be said about some of the security guards employed to oversee matters!


On duty at the Round Tel Aviv cycle ride.  HaYarqon Street, Tel Aviv

Meanwhile, tourists come and tourists go, cycle rides or not.

Another day on the bus

And behaving like the proverbial fly on the wall, except walking around and watching more than listening, I saw some other fascinating things.

The proverbial fly on the wall

For instance, I stood and looked this thing in front of an apartment block on the west side of Arlozorov Street for quite some time until I came to the conclusion that yes, indeed, something was missing.

Something's missing

And then around the corner from us on Yehuda HaMaccabi Street, I came across what I could only think of as a bedraggled Arsenal supporter after they’d been unceremoniously beaten by Spurs.  Then again, on second thoughts, it might as well have been a Manchester United or Liverpool supporter following this weekend’s miserable goalless draw at Anfield.

Arsenal? Liverpool?

And, ah, yes, the designer jeans!  I often wonder whether they’re home-made or whether their wearers buy them that way — and if the latter, do they pay more for what is obviously and evidently less?  Maybe they pay for the skilled work involved in cutting and shredding.  Who knows?

Designer jeans

Walking through the park the other day, there was a kingfisher perched on top of a pole, trained to pose, no doubt, by a kingfisher trainer.  And when I returned along the same stretch of park an hour later, there s/he was still in posing position for all and sundry to shoot (photographically, of course).


I also came across a chewing gum repository—an electricity pole. I considered this to be a very thoughtful gesture on the parts of the masticators, as this awful stuff usually gets thrown straight onto the ground, ending up on the soles of my shoes and those of others, if we’re not careful.

Gum repository


And then on Friday morning, I came across a young woman who must have been in somewhat of a hurry.  She was not all that easy to photograph and needed even more exposure than the already considerable exposure that she herself had on offer.  I didn’t notice the dog when I snapped the first one but three minutes later, after the dog’s doings had been cleaned up from the middle of Nordau Boulevard, there they were—off together for coffee and croissant, I suppose.

No time to zip up

Overexposed.  Dizengoff Street, Tel Aviv

No time to zip up 2

Overexposed with dog.  Nordau Boulevard, Tel Aviv


Finally, here’s a tattooed youth, one of an increasingly large number of individuals, both young and old, male and female, who seem to take a delight in having their bodies inscribed, engraved and painted in shades of dingy blue-green and diabolic off-pink.  I can’t really fathom why people want to have themselves tattooed; at some later stage in life, when they mature (or if they’re already older, when they get come to their senses) they may very well feel that they wish to remove these elements of body-art (which I think is the politically correct term to use these days).  

I suppose my distaste for all this might be down to the fact that in my formative years—yes, in case you are in any doubt, there was such a period—people who wore or bore tattoos were generally considered unsavoury—ex-sailors and ex-criminals or perhaps sailors and criminals.  And whatever the scribblings and scratches they had on their arms and legs and goodness knows where else, it could only vaguely be termed art.  But then again, with my basically conservative nature, I find pierced ears somewhat disagreeable, too, not to mention studs and rings and things that hang from or are attached to other parts of the body, many of which I am too embarrassed to mention.  

There are times when I think: “What’s going to happen when the current girlfriend or boyfriend falls out of favour and is replaced by someone else but the names are permanently engraved on the back of one’s neck or on the insides of one’s thigh?”  Or perhaps the body art becomes sort of permanent shopping list or a reminder of what you, the subject and object of the body art, are named! 


At any rate, these people who carry around with them indelibly punctured pieces of pigmented epidermis, prior to having their bodies modified in the name of art or love or whatever else, should at least be encouraged to read the short story written 65 years ago by Roald Dahl.  I provide a link to it below.  It’s just a warning of just what might or could happen to someone with a tattoo!

Skin by Roald Dahl





Regularity and Orderliness



Well, I thought I’d manage to get another post up before we went for away for a short break, our first in nearly two and half years.  However, not only did I not succeed in getting it written but the short break planned as three days in the Negev desert turned out to be shorter than planned.  Just about everything that could go wrong did and without bothering you with all the details, what was supposed to have been a few days of quiet relaxation became un cauchemar d’absurdités—a nightmare of absurdities.  So we’ll have to try again sometime soon and plan things a little better.

Now, every now and then somebody will ask me how I have managed to keep up a fairly constant stream of nonsense on this blog over the past almost two years and the simple answer is that I’m not too sure.  I was asked this question again the other day and somewhere in the back of my mind, I seem to remember that I made a list of possible topics before I posted the first one and so I searched and found that indeed I had done so.  Looking at the list now for the first time in nearly two years, I see that I’ve covered several of the topics in one form or another and others I’ve never got around to at all. Some of the topics I’ve covered as specific posts whereas others have just got a look in here and there.


Oftentimes, I just record what I see close to home and note the changes and it’s always interesting in that more often than not, the urban landscape changes so gradually that one hardly notices the changes at all — a shop closes here, a café opens there and so forth.   However, every now and then, there’s an event which draws attention to the changes either because of its scale or because it’s sudden.  A building will be demolished, foundations are dug for a new building and then don’t pass by for a few weeks and all of a sudden there’s a skeleton of building rising out of the ground.   But that’s material that will come in a later post.  

Anyway, last week, I published a post on this blog that was overlong—although you may not remember—in which the text ran to well over 4,000 words and which, in retrospect, was in essence a book review with a couple of overlong quotations, with some unrelated photographs.  Consequently, I owe you a post with lots of images and less text than average.  So this time around, I have lots of pics (some of which might have appeared here before) and nothing too heavy in the way of text.  

What most of these pictures have in common is that they relate to some form of regularity.  My eye seems to be attracted to regularity, with things evenly or uniformly arranged, orderliness,  where things are arranged or disposed in a neat, tidy manner or in a regular sequence, and symmetry, with regularity of form or arrangement in terms of like, reciprocal, or corresponding parts.   I like these sorts of things possibly—or more likely, probably,  because these three epithets are direct opposites of the way I am myself. (I tend towards the chaotic and the unsystematic.)

Sometimes it’s no more than a wall that I think is worth photographing.  In the picture immediately below, of the wall outside the Old Cemetery on Trumpeldor Street in Tel Aviv, the straight lines between the individual stones that comprise the wall are what attracted my eye.  In the picture below it, on the outskirts of the perched village of Gordes in Provence, the stones are simply laid one on top of the other but the effect of regularity is very similar, as are the pebbles leading from the footpath to the Yarqon River in the park in Tel Aviv.  

Trumpeldor Cemetery

Gordes WallStones by river

And although these stones that make up part of the retaining wall of the Regent’s Canal near Islington hardly illustrate regularity, let alone symmetry, there is something rather orderly about the disorder.


At other times, it’s water and things in the water, like the ripples created by the raindrops from the first rain of the season hitting the barely moving stream of the Yarqon in the park not far from where we live.

Drops in river

Or it might be something as mundane as a fountain where, when you photograph the scene at a fast shutter speed, the water just seems to stand still.

Fountain B&W

Or it may be the bloom on the Regent’s Canal in London where the water is covered by a thick plant blanket.

Algal bloom

Then, you might come across something else animate that offers orderliness, like the cyclamens pictured below…


… or the fungi for sale at the Friday morning Farmers’ market at Tel Aviv Port.

Solarized mushrooms

And like the fungi above, which were attractive enough on their own before my intervention as a visual editor, sometimes I see things not so much for what they are but for what I think I can construct from it once I get home to the digital darkroom—i.e., the computer.

Flower (solarized)

Occasionally, there are the things that I see that are attractive in and of themselves, in this case because of the contrast between the colours the red and the green.  However, I knew as soon as I looked at it that I could make something far more exciting from it once I got to work.


Berry mandala


Then there are times when you see something in colour and you know straight away that it going to look far more spectacular in black and white.  That’s when you realise that colour may add life and reality to a subject but at the same time, it can detract from the overall impression.

Palm frond (B&W)

There are also times when  you take a picture and as you look through the viewfinder, you see straight away that a crop will add incredibly to the overall effect of the picture, like this wild flower in a field at Sagres, in the Algarve, southern Portugal.


On other occasions, just a clump of flowers might attract the eye …


… whereas a barrel of artichokes is difficult to beat — even when I think that the artichoke has to be the silliest vegetable to appear on menus!


There are so many other occasions on which nature allows you to see its regularity and symmetry such as this dragonfly parked on a window with a sky blue background.

Dragonfly Skye

Or here, in the pictures below, it’s a squirrel mirroring the curve of a thick branch on a tree along Haverstock Hill in London and a formation of ducklings in the Yarqon stream following in their parents’ wake.

Squirrel Haverstock


Or it can be something as mundane as a shattered window pane that caused me to look and then to look again and again and then to click.

Smashed window

And somewhat strangely perhaps, I often find salt and pepper pots worth a shot …

Salt & Pepper

… or the four chimney vents on top of a corrugated roof on top of one of the buildings in Tel Aviv Port or a corrugated wall in the same area …


Corrugated wall

…or as I look downwards (notwithstanding the exhortation expressed below), it might be a step on a moving escalator at any one of London’s many Tube stations.

Escalator step

… or it might even be the blank keys hanging on the wall of a locksmith’s shop on Ibn Gvirol Street in Tel Aviv … 


… or the ever-changing reflections of light on the building housing Boots the Chemist at 193 Oxford Street that many people pass regularly but which few seem to notice because it’s not at street level but one floor above.  (Many years ago, on a cold winter’s afternoon, standing outside on Wigmore Street in London as a result of a fire scare and waiting to re-enter Wigmore Hall to listen to Shuli and the other members of the Aviv Quartet perform, a retired architect standing beside me told me always to look upwards to find interesting things. And so right he was!)

Boots Oxford Street

Doors, too, make interesting subjects and it really doesn’t matter whether it’s a decrepit door near a public toilet or a grand door on Harley Street.  Either way, they’re extremely photographable.

Door, Public toilet, Primrose Hill

Door, 150 Harley Street

… or the “ceiling” of Barcelona’s La Sagrada Familia as you look straight up at it in absolute wonder.

Sagrada Familia

Then there are things you see in shops that suggest orderliness and regularity, like the shoes in a shop in the Gothic Quarter or Barcelona or the dates and walnuts at the Friday Farmers’ Market at Tel Aviv Port.

Shoes BarcelonaDates & walnuts

… or the assortment of alcoholic beverages at the bar in a hotel in Northern Israel.

Elma Bar

And kitsch and ripoff it may well be but the London Eye still provides the basis for an attractive image featuring regularity … 

London Eye (sepia)

… as does the teapot I photographed in the cafeteria at the Royal Academy of Arts in London a few weeks ago.


Finally, to return to the aborted short break in the desert that I opened this post with.  It may have been a fiendish couple of days but nevertheless it did yield a small number of decent photographs, so I’ll leave you with them.