Now it can be told

Precious little wargaming content again I’m afraid, though we do now own the house out here and thoughts have finally turned to decking out the games room… so stay tuned (he said desperately).

Now, despite Nundanket’s previous warning that all the cool kids are doing AWI I’ve begun to dabble in that period a tad myself. Hopefully the cool kids won’t give me a Chinese burn and take my tuck money off me when they find out that I recently purchased these:

Pendraken AWI 10mm wargaming click bait. 

A proper wargamers tome.

The AWI is something I hope to explore alongside my Elizabethan pike and shot project; flipping from period to period as I slowly create two sets of opposing armies.

So then In lieu, once again, of any decent toy soldierly content let me regale you with a quick kafkaesque yarn about French bureaucracy in the hope it keeps you vaguely entertained for a mo.

Followers of my old blog will recall that the then ongoing Brexit shenanigans pushed The Current Mrs Broom and I into selling up and returning to Blighty in 2019. We moved to Wales and had only been there a couple of months when a very ominous “Avis de Reception” letter from the French tax authorities arrived. Although we had been solely resident in France for over 5 years someone in the bureau des impôts (tax office) had convinced themselves that it was a holiday home we’d sold and that we jointly owed the French government 6k in capital gains tax.

Mmmm.

It was an easy assumption to make I suppose since a lot of half here and half there Brits were fleeing their French nests around the same time as us. But in our case they were wrong. In my bestest French I wrote back explaining that it was not a holiday home and they were mistaken. A month later a second letter arrived but this time the sum owing had risen to 8k due to the addition of several late payment penalties. 

Cripes. 

A further explanatory letter was swiftly sent with copies of adhoc documents proving we were resident in the property full time…and then… 

Nothing. 

Two years of nothing to be precise. Two years of nothing in which nearly all of our accumulated French bills and paperwork were chucked away as no longer being relevant.

Two years of nothing  …until surging UK house prices made a financially impossible return to France suddenly possible. 

They say that if you want to make the gods laugh you should tell them your plans, so it was with impeccable timing that three days after putting the offer in on our new gaff, and getting it accepted, a third and entirely unexpected letter from the French tax guys flopped onto our Welsh doormat.

This time it said we owed 16k. 

Gulp. 

Now I’d not lost any sleep about the previously alleged 8k charge because they were in the wrong, and anyway what the hell were they going to do about it when I was safe and sound in post Brexit Britain? That said, owing 16k to an uncaring and inflexible bureaucracy when I’d just committed to moving back into their manor was another thing entirely. 

An urgent email was sent to madam Javayon in the Gueret tax office stating my case. She wrote back advising me that if I could prove that we’d been full time residents by producing five years of EDF (leccy) or Veolia (water) bills for the property then they’d drop the charge. 

Pah! Easy peasy. 

It was only when I dragged the box files down from the loft that I recalled the mammoth chuck out session TCMB and I had indulged in only months before. Of debt clearing documentation…we now had…erm…precisely nothing.

I called the lady at EDF who seemed uninterested in searching their archives and put the phone down twice rather than deal with a language mangling étranger asking her to do something slightly difficult. The lady at Veolia was nicer and more than happy to send out the required hard copies, but she could only send them to the address listed on the invoices, ie the property we’d actually sold up and left.

Aargh.

I was on the point of tearing out what little hair I have left when she asked why I hadn’t accessed our internet client space at the company. All the documents I needed were apparently there to download and print off if I just logged in to get them.

Okay, now I was getting somewhere. The web site was vaguely familiar but I was buggered if I could remember our old password. Guessing it three times got me locked out. Two days later when I tried again I went straight to the « generate a new password » option which the computer did, pinging it straight to my phone, my old French phone that is…the phone that I no longer had but was the only one their computer had on file and which I couldn’t gain access to to change.

Double aaaargh. Everything I needed was there…just out of reach.

Plan B - I sent a copy of my Carte Vitale to madam Javayon. Something I’d only hung onto for sentimentalities sake. The card allowing you full access to the French healthcare system, the card only issued to me in 2015 after giving up my NHS healthcare rights and which I’d naturally only do if I lived in France. No that was not good enough.

Plan C - I sent a copy of my Carte de Séjour obtained in 2016. This was only issued to those who could prove they were financially self supporting and were permanently resident in France. Not really necessary at the time but hey I’m a belt and braces kind of guy. Nope. Not acceptable to madam Javayon either.

Plan D - Bank Statements…the ultimate clincher. The lovely folks at Credit Agricole sent me five years of bank statements. The statements showed regular bill payments to EDF, Veolia, Orange, hell even the monthly tax d’habitation paid to madam Javayon’s own department and only levied on those adjudged by them to be actually living in France. Nope. Not acceptable. Her criteria was fixed…proof of residence could only be provided by the actual bills from EDF and Veolia - not indications we might have paid some that we’d received.

My final punt was to walk her through 35 or so randomly selected extracts from those same bank statements. They painted a clear if somewhat mundane picture of daily life, small cash withdrawals in Aubusson shopping at the Intermarché in Felletin the next day and so on.  Ahh, said madam Javayon. That proved nothing, I could have given my bank card to someone else to use while I slipped back across the channel to my other residence in London.!

So, I enquired sarcastically, how do the bills you want me to produce showing electricity usage in my old house prove I was actually there? Could I have not in fact have arranged for some local chap to go in and turn the lights on and off once in a while - while I luxuriated in my imaginary London pile?

Email silence ensued; if there is such a thing.

Desperate to resolve the matter I decided to go over the head of a mere fonctionnaire, only to discover that she was in fact the head of the self same recovery department!

Damnation.

Further emails went unanswered. At night I imagined the extra late payment charges she’d be slapping on out of spite. The sheep I counted while struggling to get to sleep all had little euro signs on them.

Then we moved…and this massive unresolvable black cloud moved with me. 

The world turned.

Four weeks ago, give or take, I met a guy who lived in a yurt in some nearby woods. Don’t ask. It’s the Creuse. That kind of shit happens here all the time. Anywhoo it turned out that his sister worked at the Veolia accounts department in Aubusson, the place where our water bills used to come from. He confessed that he’d had his eye on some old oak beams currently residing in our barn, so we cut a deal.

Yesterday he rocked up with a flatbed truck for the wood and a bundle of our old water bills printed off by his sister. Within the hour they were scanned and on their merry electronic way to madam Javayon’s office. This morning I received verbal confirmation that the matter was being dropped. No apology mind you. 

So then I suppose that’s proof, if proof were needed, that what my old fella used to tell me is true. It’s not what you know it’s WHO you know that counts.*

****** LATE EDIT ******

This just in… Jeremie said I could take a picture of his mysterious yurt in the woods!

The yurt in the woods, it’s got a stove and everything!

* along with his other invaluable advice - “trouble wears a skirt” & “never eat yellow snow”

The devil finds work for idle hands to do

First off, apologies to everyone whose blogs I normally comment on. Although you have kept me greatly entertained of late, I’ve been temporarily reduced to accessing the internet through the hotspot of a single 2007 iPhone. Let’s just say that the waving of the local trees has made access difficult and leaving comments virtually impossible. The current Mrs Broom assures me this is a temporary issue that will be remedied very shortly. Mmm. We’ll see. Hopefully I won’t have to resort to fashioning a tin foil helmet and sitting on the roof again. 

Honestly, the things I have to do these days for 4G coverage

Unable to do much of anything until the sale of this property is complete I’ve been faced with a sudden surfeit of time…thinking time… 

I was musing on kitting out the new gaming table the other night, revisiting the perennial problem I have in deciding if boards or cloths are best…when I had a brain wave. 

How about this stuff…?

Green sand! Possibly not the future of gaming terrain, but hey it’s cheap. 

A 6x4 walled trough, for want of a better description, filled with say a three inch layer of green sand. Hills, rivers etc would be easy to sculpt and the topography could be changed from game to game - as required. 

Now obviously it’s not a great idea because if it was it would be in regular use by others, but if anyone has come upon this concept before or have used something similar I’d be pleased to hear more about how it turned out.

Thinking time has also allowed me to address the issue of monotony that I often experience when focussed purely on one project. To address this I shall hopefully be flitting back and forth, painting wise, between my current Elizabethan Pike and Shot lads and something entirely new (to me) like the American War Of Independence.

Rules by Littlewars TV - Norm sent me. Cheers Norm.

Having just purchased these rules (which really tickle my fancy) I will be sticking to my now favoured 10/12mm and looking forward, as much as anything, to reading up on an entirely new subject.

Anywhoo I’d better ditch this post now cos the winds getting up again and it’s not comfortable sitting up there on those ruddy ridge tiles.

Toodlooh for now mes amis.

A world turned upside down.

What goes around comes around, a phrase never more true than when it refers to my life it seems.

I’m safely back in France again, less than 40 miles away from where I used to live and in a very familiar rural locale. Here there’s a sense of timeless peace that oozes up from the soil. A geological pace of life that makes you realise how trivial many of our cares are in the grand scheme of things. There is also a sense of a great wrong now almost made right. I’m back where for some reason I feel like I belong.

Part of the new back garden. Gotta love the Creuse. It’ll be nice to see some snow again too. Never had any when we were on the Welsh coast.

The move itself involved a sixteen hour drive and the separate services of a Romanian removal specialist who I kept calling Bogdan, (even though I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his name). Everything seems to have arrived intact but it wouldn’t be me or indeed France without at least one mini disaster so on the first day we had a major flood when I turned the water on, the wife fell down the stairs, and the cat did a runner.*

On the plus side we have internet, of sorts, TV, walls, floors, and furniture - so a definite improvement on the first time around.

The new chez broom has seven bedrooms and I’ve already marked down one for a dedicated gaming and modelling space. I’m thinking of using kitchen cabinets and a  6 x 4 tabletop for a gaming surface, perhaps with the whole shebang on castors, but I’m not sure about the height of the thing overall. Might be nice not to have to lean over something at regular kitchen table height for extended periods of time.

Anywhooo… just thought I’d throw this post out there, in order to see if the internet here will allow it. Might still be a little while before any gaming takes place I suspect. Next week is all about dealing with officialdom so we’ll see how damned calm I remain then! Lol.

Kiki the wonder cat would like a word about the “unpleasantness” that occurred upon her arrival.

Toodleooh for now mes amis.

* Turned back up eventually and now keeps waking me up at 4 in the morning to remind me how annoyed she was.

Vive la France

They say moving house is one of the most stressful things you can do - and that’s amusing when you consider that I’m both singularly Ill equipped to deal with stress and that I’ve moved 15 times since 1983. Lol. I’ll spare you the rollercoaster hell scape that was my September (this post was originally entitled « for the want of a nail ») and skip right to confirmation that I’m now finally bound for France at last… despite madam Truss and her genius Chancellor.*

Special thanks should go to everyone who’ve kept me entertained via their blogs during this period and an even bigger thanks to master Crook who completely unbidden sent me a lovely big book about Elizabethan England. Essential reading…and just when I needed it. It does make a change to get post that’s not just death threats written in cut out newspaper letters. 

We’ll be departing blight (y) on the 10th October and living in what will be our gîte while the sale on the main French property concludes in mid November - (whereupon we get access to the whole site).

Meanwhile I’ve been stocking up on essentials to see me through the winter.

A bulk order of cravats will provide essential attire while I learn to smoke…

…these…and sneer disdainfully at anyone who has not read this chap…

…in the original French.

Painting miniatures will hopefully recommence in early November and gaming in the Spring when I’ve evicted the last of the family members sucking on the Broom family Christmas teat.

The only thing I’ll be able to report on over this period will be my homebrew Star Trek ship to ship combat rules so it’s going to be slim pickings for a little while I’m afraid!

Toodleooh for now, or as they say in France…erm…Toodleooh.

*Apparently there are three types of people in the world…those that can count…and those that can’t.

A quick march past

Further research into 16th century combat formations (via a whole slew of new books) has forced me to reconsider the size and layout of the English Elizabethan company of foot I’d detailed in my last but one post.

An English Elizabethan company of foot circa 1595. Pikes in the centre, calivers and arquebusses on either flank and a sprinkling of longer range and harder hitting muskets to the fore. Figures are Pendraken 10mm based on 3x1cm stands for muskets and 3x2cm stands for the rest.

Rear view of the same bunch. The central stand at the back is the command group plus a couple of halberdiers to guard the non existant standard - still deciding which one to use!

A contemporary drawing showing several company’s grouped together but still adopting the smaller formation layout.

I’m now going for a 1:2 ratio and a company of about 150 men. The pikes form a solid 3 base block at the centre of the formation with two sleeves of arquebus troops projecting slightly forward on either flank of them. Muskets were not as common as the lighter arquebus until the very end of the period so I have included two smaller stands of them which can be swapped out for longbows (still officially in use until 1595 with the trained bands - though markedly inferior to the archers of the past since very few people took the time to routinely practise with the weapon).

Blocks of troops composed mainly of pikes, like the earlier Swiss, had relatively open flanks that were vulnerable to sword and buckler men or halberdiers. It is conjectured that the flanking columns of arquebus men eventually helped provide some protection in this regard but the length of the subsequent column covering the pikes resulted in a fairly narrow firing frontage compared to later formations. The concentrated use of short arm melee weapons faded away in all continental armies following this development.

Having finished this company and now adapted my own portable rules (top right) I shall be wrapping up further work until I’m on the other side of the channel. It’s anticipated we’ll be moving (all being well) on the 23rd of the month and that’s close enough now that I need to start packing the last of my kit away. 

A last march past before going into their box for transport.

How the men are to be arrayed in column - according to Sir John Smith.

On the march to their camp, which they’ve not yet realised is in a big cardboard box.

The purchase process in France still has a couple of months to run but luckily we will be renting the gîte that comes with the main property - until the acte de vente is signed. I suspect that I won’t be able to get gaming and modelling again until mid October (ish) so for any readers that have blogs of their own I will be getting my gaming fix solely through your posts. No pressure. Lol.

Toodleooh mes amis.

The day of the rat

Do you remember those bri-nylon trousers you could buy from catalogues back in the sixties and seventies. Drip dry, stay pressed, always came in beige…or grey, gave you crotch rot apparently.* Yeah them. I mention them because in the UK they’re called « slacks » a word which along with « flesh » makes me shudder with distaste whenever I’m forced to utter it. 

Bizarre. 

Anywhoo. Fortunately in the interests of balance there are two words I really do like, the first being « mellifluous » because it just sounds nice, and the second - which is linked to the subject of this post is « malfeasance » with its suggestion of dark fiscal naughtiness and general wrong doing. 

Yeah I love that word.

In the absence of anything meaningful (wargaming wise) to put on the blog this week I’ve chosen to offer up this semi humorous tale of thwarted ambition and animal cruelty instead. It doesn’t reflect well on me, but it does involve malfeasance (oooh…love it) and it might just give you a chuckle (once again) at my expense. 

We’re going to need to jump in the acme Broomco Timetunnel (pat pend) again for this one. 

Right. Stand over there and keep still for a minute.

(Queue swirling psychedelic lighting effects as we fall deep into the unwinding aeons).

Bollocks that’s a dinosaur - we’ve gone too far. Hold on. We need to go forward a tad.

(Queue more swirling psychedelic lighting effects and for some reason a floating image of Einsteins head).

Ah here we are. Thank goodness. It’s 2013. Remember 2013? A lost halcyon age - a time before you could order a pint of milk to be delivered within ten minutes by a zero hours contract wage slave on a bike, a time when shops had a plentiful supply of exotic goods like groceries on their shelves, that you could afford to actually buy. Honestly; I tell my grandkids and they think I’m making it up.

Okay 2013. At this point I was busy accounting at an art company in the centre of Birmingham, an art company that had just been taken over by a bigger outfit called Castle Galleries. 

They were, (and probably still are) a big concern in the art world and thrusting dynamic me** could smell the sweet smell of opportunity in the air. You see Castle Galleries had a network of outlets all across this septic isle and for some time there had been the hint of fiscal malfeasance (did I mention that I love that word?) around some of them. The talk on the underground grape vine was that they needed a diligent go getter to root out such malpractice, someone with a forensic approach to accounting who could travel the land and descend with righteous fury upon any gallery suspected of cooking the books. I could see it clearly. Me a fiscal cowboy, tough, mysterious, riding into town to meet out my own brand of pecuniary justice on the bad guys. The purchase ledger girls would swoon over me of course but they would know that their love was doomed for I would always be the mysterious stranger who was just passing through. 

Ahem…where was I? 

Oh yes. Fortunately for Castle Galleries I knew just the bloke. Waddya mean who? I’m talking about me, goddamit.

As luck would have it the new groups head honcho, Udi  Shelleg***, was coming to our branch in a whistle stop tour of his new acquisitions. As a provincial nobody (company wise) this visit would probably be my one chance to meet and impress him - an essential step in securing the talked about role.

On the morning of his visit I’d arrived early in my best bib and tucker, only to discover that the auditors who’d been working late the previous evening had left boxes of documents out all over the office. With Udi’s entourage already pulling up outside I pushed some of the boxes under my desk and hurried to carry the reminder downstairs to our big roller shuttered warehouse - where Mick the store man held court. 

Mick was an ageing ex para but that morning I found him in a right old two and eight. He’d somehow managed to trap a big brown rat inside one of the industrial bins at the back of the building but was scared stiff of it and didn’t know what to do. 

The bin men were going to be on their rounds that day so the simple solution was to get the bin outside into the street and make it their problem. Charming eh. What seemed like an easy fix quickly became a nightmare however when we managed to jam the shopping trolley like wheels on the  bottom of the bin and then contrived to tip the damn thing over. As we both backed swiftly away a very large and very angry rat emerged to reclaim his freedom. Seeking cover it ran right over Mick’s feet and straight back into the warehouse. 

Yeah it’s a rat. First rule of blogging - chuck in a picture or two.

Mick was having none of this and refused to re enter the building so duty bound I picked up his knackered old store mans broom in order to chase the buggering thing back out myself. 

The rat was smart and the rat was fast - but he’d awakened the hunter gatherer in me and after a lot of cursing and crashing around to get near him I trapped the bugger in a corner. This was the point at which the rat looked at me and I looked at him…and I realised I’d made a terrible mistake. Only one of us would be leaving the warehouse alive that day.

Backed into a corner and with no way out he hissed, bared his ratty teeth and jumped straight at me. 

I’d like to say that possessing the reactions of a panther I deflected his attack, but in actual fact a panicky but timely swing with the broom caught him in mid air and dashed him against the wall. At which point I’m ashamed to say the red mist descended. 

Now I’m not sure if it’s just me but when the intruders in the Nazi castle clonk a guard on the head and lower his conveniently unconscious form gently to the ground I find myself shouting at the telly. I know that the buggers going to wake up again just after they’ve gone down the corridor and the first thing he’ll do is start shouting « Achtung Englanders! » It’s not bloody cricket chaps, it’s war. Slot him while he’s down. It’s been scientifically proven that when breaking into a Nazi castle you should never ever give a sucker an even break. Oh and while you’re at it for the love of God chuck that crappy pistol and take his ruddy MP40..!

I mention this at length because the mind set of, « when they’re down make sure you finish them » is more or less hard wired into me and it certainly informed the shameful 30 seconds or so that followed.

In the last few nano seconds of sentience before a vinegar like tide of animal rage engulfed me I realised that though the rat didn’t have an MP40 I could take, I still had to make sure that it didn’t wake up and raise the alarm. 

Those of a nervous disposition should probably skip to the last paragraph about now.

Taking no chances I struck the recumbent creature again, and then again, and then some more, until the bristle bit of the broom flew off and I was left with what looked a lot like a broken pool cue.

With the blood smeared end of the broom I picked up the pathetic piece of gore and matted hair that I’d created and with glasses askew I turned to find… most of the buildings admin staff who’d come out of their offices to see what all the commotion was in the warehouse. Pushing his way through the crowd was my line manager and directly behind him an incredulous looking Udi Shelleg.

For some reason I never got the roaming accountant / inquisition role which went to Tracy in Leeds as I recall.

Now I’m aware that my violent reaction to the rat, even in self defence, does not paint me in a particularly good light, but I’d remind you of a certain book that suggests we judge not lest we in turn be judged.

B’sides…it’s not like I punched a dolphin in the ruddy blow hole is it. That’d definitely be wrong.

Toodleooh.

*No me neither.

** translates as opportunistic obnoxious prick

*** Google him. It’s only half of the story I promise you.

Hey nonny nonny

Yes it’s a “LOOK IT - I PAINTED SOMETHING POST”…(as per Stew over at at the terrible loss of lead and wealth blog).*

I’ve already started packing away toy stuff in an effort to avoid the damage I did last time we moved (chucking things in boxes at the last minute is not a great idea) so games will now be off the menu until mid November (ish). Rather than go totally cold turkey I will be retaining a limited painting and modelling capability and to that end I’ve already started work on my new Elizabethan wars project.

Compared to the ECW the period doesn’t seem to get a lot of attention outside of the skirmish sized border reiver games or naval themed Spanish Armada stuff, which is surprising when you consider the potential for campaigns set during the Dutch revolt, the wars in Ireland, the wars of religion in France and so on.

I’ve really taken to 10mm as a scale and Pendraken’s sculpts in particular. Fortunately they do a very comprehensive Elizabethan range, (or unfortunately if you were to take a look at my current bank balance). It’s fair to say that if you see the owner of Pendraken driving around in a Ferrari it’ll be because of my recent pre move splurge.

The only downside to the Pendraken figures is the length of the period they cover - leading inevitably to some fashion issues amongst the rank and file. Typically the start of the era sees the big balloon trews, fancy hats, ruff collars, cod pieces and long stockings, but by the late 90’s they have started to give way to something you’d recognise as thirty years war ish. 

One of the best bits of a new historical period (for me) is the research. Here are some of the sources I’ve consulted to get the low down on formations and tactics:

With Pike and Musket - Wesencraft. An oldie but a goody. Basic information on organisation of English and Irish units and written from a gamers perspective. Some useful Irish scenarios in the back too. Long in the tooth but still relevant, unlike me. 

Portable Pike & Shot - Bob Cordery. Great source of inspiration for gridded gaming in the period, especially Alan Saunders’ version of the rules.

Osprey, The Spanish Tercios - Lopez. Written from Spanish sources so very useful info on organisation, page 12 asserting that smaller brigade sized groups of 3-4 companies or “Coronelia” were often used instead of the larger Tercio.

Osprey, Dutch Armies of the 80 Years War - De Groot. Great background on the English involvement in the Dutch revolt against Spain.

Osprey, Pike and Shot Tactics 1590-1660 - Roberts. Dwells a lot on the ECW period but still useful in parts.

Elizabeth’s Army & The Armada - Tincey. Fascinating “booklet” containing a lot of original muster and organisational critiques from the Armada period. In effect it is an analysis of English preparations to counter the Armada and an analysis of their deficiencies. In general the authorities at the time seem to have had a better idea of their capabilities than I ever gave them credit for. If Johnny Spaniard had actually got ashore he’d have had a ruddy hard time of it I reckon. 

The Art of War in the 16th & 17th Century - Oman. Finally ordered a reasonably priced copy but God alone knows when it’ll arrive.

The Works of Sir Roger Williams - Williams. The day to day experiences of a soldier in the Dutch Wars. Ordering it when I get paid!

On the inter web there are of course a lot of useful sites for background info but https://sellsword.wordpress.com/2012/02/09/advises/ advances some interesting thoughts on the effectiveness of the Tercio and perhaps controversially many of the advantages it continued to hold over the wider but thinner Dutch battalions. Discuss.

I’ve resolved to use a very mildly tweaked Alan Saunders set of Pike and Shot rules to game the period (including disruption  and a card activation system) and I’ve pitched the whole shebang at company level, sort of, there being about 100 blokes in a company. Units are composed of umpteen 3x2 cm bases which will allow me to deploy them in column if required.

Pictured below are the four stands of pike in an English company circa 1588. There are a variety of weapon choices and indeed ratios of weapons to choose from, the relative organisation of the ECW being a thing of the future. Despite the variety, a company seems to have fought as a single mixed unit. Regiments, when created, resembled nothing more than a scaled up version of a single company - just with a lot more men. 

Finally - small miniatures but without bendy pikes! The start of my first English company.

Same bunch with an indication of the units frontage in cm. The 3x2 stands down each flank of the central pikes will contain six arquebus per stand and the narrow pill shaped bases at the front will hold either muskets or longbows (when they’ll be placed at the rear). The single stand at the back is for command and an honour guard of short arm melee weapons. 

Depending on where and when it was raised a company might include longbows, melee weapons and even an increasing number of the all new “muskets” alongside the pike and shorter range arquebus.

I’ll be covering Irish and Spanish troops in later posts. 

Right it’s probably time for me to sling my hook. 

Toodleooh

* Waddya mean you’ve not been over there for a look see? Stews blog is ace and merely from reading it I can safely award him my highest accolade - namely “I think I could actually stand being trapped in a lift with this bloke.” Yeah. I know. Praise indeed.