issue 02
Editor’s Note
Hello, and for those of you familiar with us, welcome back!
This is our second issue of Umarell // Where the Heart Is. The theme we set out for this issue was Home, we were amazed by the breadth of work we received and are super happy with how it all turned out. Thanks again to everyone who helped to make this issue as good as it is.
Home is an innately human concept, a place to belong and to feel safe is how we responded to the brief but the individual responses we can see paint a far wider picture of our own nature than we ever could have imagined.
The theme of Home was chosen by us as we believe it brings to light the wide variety of experiences, we all have throughout our lives. Whether you consider home a static moment or more of an ephemeral concept, the definition of home will alter between individuals on small and large scales, however, we hope you all can find something relatable or provocative within this issue.
One more time, thank you to all who submitted their work, we are amazed by the breadth of work undertaken and the quality of it. There will be more from us coming soon, we are going to be assessing how we work to see if we can make any changes to increase the quality of Umarell for all involved.
Lots of Love
The Umarells x
Contents
Leaving Britain and its Identity
The Aquaduct
Birthday Stories
Dwelling in the Collective Memory
X
A new kind of Home: Co-Living in the maximally same Flat.
(A RUPTURE?)
Bothy
Parachute Silk & Barn Sublimation
Housing Anarchy
HWNS
Abby Hopes
Richard Fisher
Grace Thomas
Endri Kicaj
Andrew Lord
Liv Fox
Sebastian Bietenhader
Matthias Moroder
Caleb Lightfoot
Rory Thomas
Tom Kinghorn
Thomas Whiting
Flo Barbour
Leaving
If, I come home
I’ll return with a new body my heart wasn’t in it before, sorry.
as home is where my old Clothes live and they try to keep me there where nothing fits and I don’t fitin Leaving home I find myself grieving like every Queer Leaving for the big city where we make our own outfits from broken homes or Clothes that don’t fitonly now I get it.
funny that my accent always takes me back four-hundred-and-seven miles to be exact.
in coming back
I found that home moved too ‘cause Mum wanted to move Six doors down thought she’d be happier there; dreamed of having a big conservatory with three bathrooms for cleaning and three wardrobes to fill the void of me Leaving -
Abby Hopes @archopes
Britain and its Identity
I do not imagine that I am alone when considering the ambivalent nature of my relationship with the island I call home. When put under some scrutiny a confusing mixture of warm, fuzzy feelings are rubbed up against a whole other stock of reluctant and shameful ones, like pouring cold milk fresh from the fridge into a boiling hot cup of overbrewed tea. This results in a hazy feeling of lukewarm indifference, which is still recognisable as a morsel of national pride but lacks any solid framework to bolster it. This conflicted feeling arises due to right-wing politics’ chokehold on any form of British patriotism, mild or extreme, and there is good reason for this.
When Britain was carrying out its imperial project, the idea of “Britishness” was pushed heavily by the English both at home on the island and abroad in the outer reaches of the Empire itself as a synonym for the bringing of “Civilisation”. This idea of a vague international identity was used, on a smaller scale, to bind together the separate nations England, Wales and Scotland during the brutal expansion to ensure political unity at home, while also being used on a much larger and nebulous way abroad as a justifying factor assuming control of lands that were not theirs.
This rebranding of English as British worked tremendously in giving the Empire a loose unifying identity that wasn’t wholly based on race and was particularly effective in tying together the ever-diversifying population of white Brits and immigrants from the ex-colonies in cities like London. It is because of these reasons that it is impossible to untangle what it means to be British with the long and ruthless history of the Empire without delusion. The Empire is to the Brits what the Civil War is to the Americans, or what the Revolution is to the French, it is the bedrock on which the likeness of the people is built.
In the early to mid-twentieth century, the Empire was falling apart which triggered a rapid redefinition of what it meant to be British. The image of Britishness was softened from the merciless overlords to something more recognisable and acceptable to the standards of a postcolonial world. The issue lay in the
fact that almost all previous signifiers of what it meant to be British were intrinsically linked to the country’s former imperialism, meaning that a weak set of quaint images and ideas had to be evoked instead.
George Orwell, who is seen as one of the most paradigmatic and prophetic Englishmen to ever live by both the left and the right, wrote in his essay “England your England” when attempting to immortalise what his country was like in case it would be destroyed by an invading Nazi force in 1941 wrote:
“When you come back to England from any foreign country, you have immediately the sensation of breathing a different air. Even in the first few minutes dozens of small things conspire to give you this feeling. The beer is bitterer, the coins are heavier, the grass is greener, the advertisements are more blatant. The crowds in the big towns, with their mild knobby faces, their bad teeth and gentle manners, are different from a European crowd.”
This extract from the essay is a perfect example of the twee nature of the British identity in this period and the lack of clarity around it. The conversion from the hard-nosed imperialist to the fanciful, mild mannerisms of a folkloric England served particularly well for uniting a country that was engaged in a world war and desperately needed a new comprehensive personality.
The combination of the dissolution of the Empire and the de-industrialisation of Britain throughout the following decades into the 80’s meant the shrinking of the economy and presence on the global stage. Almost seemingly in exchange for this downturn, Britain’s cultural prominence was on the up, with the island producing some of popular culture’s most notable music acts of the 20th century, such as David Bowie and Joy Division. This culminated in the 90s with “Cool Brittania”, which was decorated with the somewhat ironic use of the Union Jack and other on-thenose references to what it meant to be British at the turn of the millennium. The movement in itself was already a self-aware callback to the glory days of swinging 60s London which was rife with mildly satirical and over-the-top icons of the country’s former glory.
Somewhere in the confusing melting pot of what being British means, there is some sort of synthesis of the Empire, the antiquated English countryside manner of being, the international popstar status of the likes of John Lennon and the ironydrenched flash of “Cool Britannia”. When broken down into its constituent parts we are left with a disconcerting taste of many distinct flavours, which seem like they shouldn’t, and couldn’t, go together. Yet all of these strands are recognisable elements of a greater whole, the layers of character that build on what came before. It is perhaps the case that, this juxtaposition of contrasts may be what is at the heart of the British identity, and you must only look at what is happening in modern Britain to see them.
In the post-Brexit era, there are many unanswered questions about the future and the nature of what it means to live here. The nationalist fantasy of British exceptionalism is at a high, as shown with the Brexit vote, although there are justifications for it being a move for the country towards a more internationally focused future. Liberty is held up above all else in what it means to be English, although many hark back to the glory days when we oppressed nearly 25% of the world’s land mass. During the Windrush scandal, British citizens who were asked to come here from former colonies were “sent back” to where they came from, exposing the blatant confusion that there is on who it is that registers to fall under the term British.
As I’m writing this now in 2023, the atmosphere that hangs over the UK and its sense of identity is undeniably gloomier than what came before it, yet there are perhaps some beams of hope shining through. As we emerge from the complete atomisation of the lockdown caused by the Covid-19 pandemic and face the challenges that the new world brings there is hope for people to find strength in their unity. Figureheads such as Mick Lynch of the RMT are exploiting the individualistic myths that dominate the alleged “free market” and his words are obviously connecting with the people of this country with union memberships surging across different sectors. All of this combined with the current Tory party eating each other like rats on a sinking ship is making people less likely to look upwards for guidance but to each other for support.
I am not suggesting that I have all the answers or that these big questions are easily answered. Britain, like all nations, has its unique history that produces the issues that make it what it is today. But it doesn’t take a Freudian to tell you that an inability to face up to one’s past can have catastrophic impacts on the present. The tides do seem to be changing as a more general awareness of the horrors of the Empire is beginning to enter public discourse but the establishment still seems to refuse to accept it. The ever-stereotyped emotional repression of the British is stopping a chance at metamorphosis for the national myth, from which we could emerge a more tolerant and self-aware country.
Richard FisherThe Aqueduct
‘The Aqueduct’ reimagines the concreteraised motorways and flyovers that can be seen all around the UK. These monolithic structures become shells that the new architecture lives under like a snail, a true parasitic symbiotic relationship.
The housing typologies themselves look toward our future and are designed for those with neurodegenerative diseases such as Parkinson’s, Dementia, and Multiple Sclerosis. The scheme is not a care home or assisted living scheme. Instead, it is a way of rethinking ‘normal’ residential housing to; centralise and condense key areas, reduce fall risk, encourage active decision-making, create meaningful interactions, independent routines, and ensure that the caregiver matters too. The scheme also aims to improve the quality of life of its residents with the use of biophilia
specifically access to ‘blue space’ via the flooded motorway that becomes the aqueduct! The ‘feminist street’ has also been carefully considered with tactile paving, protected cycle routes, wider paths with rest stops, community meeting places, and biodiverse SUDS landscaping.
The aqueduct also acts as a water source heat pump which combined with solar panels, Passivhaus standard building fabric, and low carbon technologies such as infrared heating panels, ensures residents will always be able to keep warm at a low cost. Additionally, circular economy principles have been employed through the design process to fully tackle the issues of embodied and operation carbon that contribute to the climate emergency.
So what if all our housing was designed to age gracefully with its occupants?
Grace Thomas @thefeministarchitect
Grace Thomas @thefeministarchitect
Birthday Stories
As I’m writing this, I am only wishing I could do so much more. But you are far away, and I miss you, so I am pouring myself into work. I wish for you to have found that place you really call home. Just how you always liked it, with dark tones, but full of sunlight. And I wish that you have that big sofa where you read during your favorite time of day. And next to it, you have your workplace. You must have put it there intentionally because you like watching from the window from time to time, and often you work late and fall asleep on it. You were always too lazy to make the trip to bed.
I know you don’t have the time, nor the patience for plants, that’s why I wish you find the perfect one, a dried branch maybe, or a big cactus that brightens up the place but doesn’t need too much care. I wish there were some of my sketches on the wall, maybe from future gifts, to remind you of me. Of course, you’ll have the old ottoman at your feet, as I know how much you like to stretch your legs now and then, the eighth cup of coffee in one hand, while the other is trying to keep Pancho off the keyboard. Most of all, I wish I was there to wake you up from sleep late afternoon because you told me you had work to do. I wish I could do more, and I wish to be home again soon, too.
Give my best to Pancho,
E. Endri Kicaj @bad_luck_kicaj
Dwelling in the Collective Memory
In his playfully poignant “Species of Spaces”, Georges Perec recalls all of the places he’s ever slept. He illustrates this ability with a lengthy example, but with a focus on the elements of a space that, once remembered, unlock a further series of associated memories regarding time, place, circumstance and more. He describes this unlocking process, writing, “The resurrected space of the bedroom is enough to bring back to life, to recall, to revive memories, the most fleeting and anodyne along with the most essential. The coenesthetic certainty of my body in the bed, the topographical certainty of the bed in the room, these alone reactivate my memory, and give it an acuity and a precision it hardly ever has otherwise.” 1
We can probably all invoke a similar experience by picturing a room or space we once lived in. Perec recalls a cup of tea being delivered to the room every morning, a young woman he was courting that summer, a decision to pursue a career in writing. Other examples could be the muscle memory of opening a kitchen drawer, the scene of a heated argument with a loved one, the seat on the stairs where one could keep tabs on everyone else. Memories of that sort of clarity and strength tend to project themselves to the forefront of our thoughts about the past. Like Perec, we can often draw clear connections from a strong memory to the specifics of the space it took place in. The spaces we lived in, the ones we routinely experienced and in which a physical or often visceral connection was developed with, are the easiest to discern and trace during a bout of nostalgia.
But what of those fuzzier images lurking further in the background? What about the rooms and spaces in our memories that are far less defined, unspecific, or of unknown origins? These auxiliary memories can often contribute to our nostalgic or otherwise perception of the past on a level equal to or even greater than their clear, crisp, narrative founding counterparts. It’s possible some of these background memories are not fully our own - that they are subconsciously augmented by the collection of media we consume over time.
Since the late 1980’s the American
suburban “living room” has been the standard setting for multi-camera sitcoms. Picturesque versions of the primary spaces of the western suburban single-family house typology, these recreations on soundstages of studio backlots have been a defining element of television for the better part of five decades. Arguably dating back to the 50’s and I Love Lucy, this set type and format has dominated network programming creating the backdrop for some of television’s most iconic family friendly fixtures: Full House, Everybody Loves Raymond, Family Matters, etc. In cataloging the film sets of such hits, the “living room” is found to be the place where most of the life of these characters is played out (at least the parts the viewer is privy to). A closer look reveals a similarity of finishes and detailing (wood flooring and moldings, wainscoting and pastel wallpapers, familiar furnishings and window treatments), but also of elements serving as clues of typology: an arched opening to a smaller space beyond, a dual-swing door to a kitchen, an open stairway in the background.
There is a familiarity with this particular backdrop that allows it to actively recede in a way that is strange given its often busy composition. And yet, these are the objects, the colors, the textures, the arrangements that are almost directly equated with the suburban American perception of “house”. They are the bits and pieces of the collective memory of a culture, assembled in a manner that is simultaneously irrefutably correct, and wholly unspecific. This type of television program is dialogue driven, and location and setting serve only to provide a sort of visual white noise on which the dialogue can rest gently, sinking into the well-worn sofa. The house is a passive character in the scene.
But that passivity has permeated into the collective memory of a sizable generational demographic, one that finds itself at the crux of a global trend of dwelling shortage within major urban centers. For many belonging to this particular generation, the conception of “house” has as much to do with where they grew up and lived as it does with the version of “house” which was taught to them by the television shows of their youth, a version of “house” that has become practically unattainable
to many. And while this situation may be directly correlated to a clear lack of supply of units, a statistical analysis falls short of capturing the reality at hand.
Herein lies the more pressing issue: there is no such thing as a housing crisis. On the contrary, housing is having an existential crisis. The shortage is not sudden, the lack of new stock is not surprising, vacancy rates are not unexpected. This shortcoming has been predictable for decades by simply comparing rates of residents moving to city centers versus new housing units being produced. What is somewhat surprising is the sort of spatial dysmorphia occurring for a generation whose preconceived notion of “house” does not align with what is available to them on the market.
Our conversational vocabulary is slanted in a similar manner. When referring to dwellings, we find ourselves regularly reverting to the same word, despite its inapplicability: “Can we stop by my house first?” Except, I don’t live in a “house”. And neither do so many of us, spawn of the suburb, children of the culde-sac, fruit of the sprawling loin. For us, “home” is forever tangled in the weeds of “house”, despite none of the places in which we currently reside having a front yard to even make overgrown foliage an option.
Referring back to those passive characters from bygone television programs, there are hints that help to explain these discrepancies. Pieces of the architecture begin to help classify the space at hand: a staircase hints at a whole second level of living space, a dining table to the side or in the distance relays a message about programmatic organization, a molding detail references a particular style. Collectively, these clues give an insight into a typology, one that is obviously very familiar. Perhaps even more interestingly, this entire set is just that: it’s a mere reference to the typology in question, a set of clues to trigger an already deep rooted nostalgia.
The stairs lead to nowhere, the front door is a threshold into more of the same empty space, there’s not even a ceiling. The image of “house” is packaged into as few spaces, objects, and surfaces as possible, with the expectation that the viewer is able to recognize and construct around them the remaining elements of
the typology.
This situation has created a feedback loop. House is “home” because home should look like “house”, comfortable, stable, drawn from the nostalgic collective memory.
And regardless of if this particularly specific example is a portion of your own personal nostalgia, conceptions of what a dwelling ought to be are actively clouding decisions regarding the new dwellings being constructed in city centers in an attempt to match demand for new housing stock. This reality is a factor of risk: for typical newbuild housing developers, nostalgia breeds comfort, and comfort is safe for investment. A consolidated, watered-down version of “house” is reliably more marketable than any less recognizable version of dwelling. Even the nomenclature used continues to permeate, as our methods of quantifying the dwelling are reduced to three simple measurements: number of bedrooms, number of bathrooms, and total square footage. Just like the film set house, the rest of the elements of the typology are assumed as part of the package, left for the viewer or potential tenant to mentally construct on their own.
It is here that can be found the difficulty of the disagreement of lifestyle, housing typology, and nostalgia of the user. The typological realities of the suburban condition have been thinned out and applied like a coat of paint to urban housing types, with the tenant left to make sense of how to create a life in the resultant space. Like the classic sitcom trope of a character on two dates at the same time, the user is pinballing between the reality of their living arrangements and their nostalgic expectation of home, like a fire being stoked in spite of the chimney missing.
Unfortunately, this issue won’t find itself resolved by the end of the twenty-two minute episode.
Andrew Lords @andrewlords 1. Georges Perec, Species of Spaces and Other Pieces (New York: Penguin Classics, 2008), 21-22.
X marks the moment of intersection between two lines. X marks action, collision, and unity. X is where the home is.
In both ‘Xx on the Grass’ and ‘3 Kisses’ I use X as a motif to explore how both painting, and the world, exist of compiled moments. In these paintings, our eyes dart around chaotically, wresting still on the moments that exist between colours, textures, and forms; the space in between the two paintings also allows for this. These collisions of the formal evoke the collision of layered moments in life. Home is these overlapping moments with people, objects, memories, disasters, love. In these moments we find home.
‘Xx on the Grass’ 2023 (left)
Acrylic and Pencil on Canvas, 300x400mm
‘3 Kisses’ 2022 (right)
Acrylic and pencil on canvas, 590x840mm
Liv Fox @livfoxart
A new kind of Home: Co-Living in the maximally same Flat.
Co-living is currently sought-after. Many want a home that is more than the functionally determined post-war nuclear family flat. Our practice is developing a new shared flat typology that we call the copyness flat. Copyness is a term coined by us, for an architecture that intentionally maximizes formal sameness.
The emancipatory outcome of copyness is a post-functional multiple sameness that overcomes functional determinism, smart optimization and individualized substandardization. To precisely discuss the novelty of our proposal we will contrast it withtwocurrentlyrelevantemancipatoryco living models, namely radical negotiating and optional participation.
First, we will discuss radical negotiation through the concept of Functional Living (funktionales Wohnen), developed in the German alternative scene, by looking closely at the flat “Bahnhofstraße 38” in Gießen. The cohabitants negotiate functional uses for each room of the flat that has no private rooms. Secondly, we will discuss optional participation by looking at DOGMAʼs “Communal Villa”, which combines standardized minimal functional cells containing bed, desk and bathroom with large undefined open spaces, that allow for participation without any prescription.
The copyness flat has twelve large and maximally the same rooms, four maximally the same living rooms, four maximally the same kitchens, four maximally the same bathrooms, four WCs, four storage rooms and four maximally the same sparerooms for 12 inhabitants. This multiplicity of architecturally articulated settings provides possibilities of co-living that are based on participation, but not on constant negotiation. This allows for a shared home, also for people who don’t want to negotiate everything.
Büro Bietenhader Moroder www.buerobietenhader.com
Sebastian Bietenhader
Matthias Moroder
(A RUPTURE?)
A car wreck is a rupture in capitalist spacetime, a violent imposition of space onto the temporal continuity of the road trip. The family car as it travels from one point to another does not travel through space as much as it makes the space of the family home portable, transporting it safely from point A to B. A collision does not only disrupt the flow of traffic, it ruptures the certainty of domestic and textual codes, fragmenting and displacing them, altering the very paradigms that make and maintain them. It makes the continuous discontinuous, the identifiable unidentifiable, and the readable unreadable.
While these events are usually (and understandably) regarded as a tragedy, this work, made from scanned fragments of a Lowe’s builder catalog and a family Bible, re-maps the productive possibilities of a rupture as experienced by the author, a dual car wreck and home wreck in which the author’s father is left dead and the surviving family members (including the author) are left exposed to open air.
Is it possible to re-imagine (and recontextualize) the personal and creative potentials of a forced encounter with the outside? If the space of the working class suburban home is conditioned by binaries that also exist in the sacred text, what happens when they are broken apart, fragmented, foreclosed? Is is possible to re-map a violent event as a line of flight, a first exodus from the hegemony of the Oedipal triangle, a deconstruction, an escape? Is it possible to celebrate the freedom of a rupture?
PTO
Caleb Lightfoot @akephalos_architectures
Bothy
noun
(in Scotland) a small hut or cottage, especially one for housing farm labourers or for use as a mountain refuge.
Bothies are spread all across Scotland, Northern England and Wales, most being concentrated to the Scottish Highlands. They are places for people to stop during walks and wanders of all kinds, equipped with only the bare necessities such as places to sleep, a fireplace and if you’re lucky a shovel to create your own toilets. There is one most important rule to Bothies, however, you cannot deny another person entry.
In a sense the Bothy is a transient space in which people can move freely through, adding or subtracting as they desire, exchanging food, games and stories with one another. The history of Bothies is similar in many aspects to the wider known story of the Right to Roam and the mass trespass of Kinder Scout, however, the collective action involved in this story is more of an unconscious effort.
Bothies are the remnants of houses abandoned by those who left the north for the cities (Glasgow and Edinburgh) of the Central Belt of Scotland. In the 50s and 60s the youth of these cities rekindled their enjoyment of outdoor activities and ventured north, to the locations where their grandparents had lived before migrating south. During these walks they often came across Crofters Cottages and the likes, initially locked by landowners, they would break in and stay the night so often that eventually the landowners gave up on locking the houses.
Rory Thomas @r_thomas_design
Housing Anarchy
Thomas Whiting @whitiarch
HWNS
Hackney Wick Night Shelter (HWNS) is both a name for an organisation providing routes out of homelessness and more recently, the physical site the shelter operates from. From what started out as a group of residents hosting guests and friends in different sites each night; church halls, community centres and schools, has developed into an holistic support system to help guests rebuild their lives.
In early November, Hackney council offered HWNS the use of a ground floor office unit, which urgently needed refurbishment and reconfiguration to make a functional and habitable shelter. As previous volunteers within the shelter, we began the process of developing the brief by understanding the needs of the users by having multiple and continuous conversations with volunteers, managers and local people.
The most pressing concern was funding and time. We had until January before the current guests would become displaced and be forced to find alternative (if any) means of shelter. The extent of the alteration was a constraint too, as HWNS’s occupation was still classified as a temporary measure- with plans for future development looming. Navigating the transient nature of the space and its users whilst creating a sense of domesticity and stability was a complex issue that we spent time discussing.
Small changes to the site such as the insertion of openings was an unanticipated struggle. The problems we had originally attributed to the hasty and cost effective construction of a typical office, for example the inflexibility of a steel frame, were nothing in comparison to the metal mesh infiltrating every wall. We later found that this was in fact a faraday cage, as the site was previously occupied by the Metropolitan Police.
Faraday cage: “an enclosure used to block electromagnetic fields”1- often used in prison cells/ nuclear power stations to prevent the transmission of signals i.e. from phones.”
The act of breaking this cage became an act of defiance. The history of hostility of the met towards the homeless including but not limited to violations
surrounding the vagrancy act, the racism recently reported in the Casey report2 (homelessness for BAME people has risen 18% in the past two decades)3. Relinquishing control of the space with an angle grinder and unassuming lightweight joinery interventions was all volunteer ran, led by David Grandgorge and helped by many of his students.
The result of the project was really a wide-reaching collection of people’s skills, knowledge and ideas. To name a few, Mace who acted as consultants and Modular who installed showers, Edward Bulmer- who kindly donated all paint, Arup who donated their time as fire engineers, Holte who were involved in the kitchen design and build, the Design centre who donated rugs, carpets and chairs, Camira who donated fabric, timber we repurposed from Maich Swift. Much of these donations were either misc./ surplus/ recycled materials which formed a program of reuse and in turn, a circular economy. However, the hundreds of volunteers that supported and continue to support the project are at the heart of the shelter, with specialities such as carpenters, curtain makers and electricians donating much of their time to the cause. The role of the architect was only one of many contributions, and this project was only possible with the 25 years of solidarity and sacrifice of the volunteers behind it. As the cost of living and energy forces more people into the streets, this form of shelter is necessary but only a small condolence of what is a much larger issue. The people we met at the shelter included beauticians, asylum seekers and traders . “This trend in ‘working homelessness’ is being driven by a combination of expensive private rents, the ongoing freeze on housing benefit, and a chronic lack of social homes.”4
The shelter opened its doors in January, with 3 rooms and it now has the capacity to host up to 15 guests with the hope of reaching up to 20 by the end of the month. Its official launch was on the 6th March, which was hosted by the Mayor of Hackney.
Special thanks to Clare Potter (Project Manager, HWNS) Mark Palfman (Director, HWNS), Ruth Best (Manager, HWNS) and David Grandgorge (Photographer, Academic, Carpenter).
1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Faraday_cage
2. https://www.met.police.uk/ police-forces/metropolitan-police/ areas/about-us/about-the-met/bcr/ baroness-casey-review/
3. https://www.ethnicityfacts-figures.service.gov.uk/ housing/homelessness/statutoryhomelessness/latest
4. https://england.shelter.org. uk/media/press_release/over_half_of_ homeless_families_in_england_are_in_ work,_shock_new_figures_show Flo @florencebarbour
See you next time ...