Full circle

It’s bin a filey since ma last blog! As ye’ll see fae ma gigs n stuff page, I’ve bin a busy cheil. Nae enough oors in the day maist days an am gettin a bittie burnt oot. Am dein it again…

Roon aboot the end o last year, I wis slowin doon. Ma best pal passed awa an I wis in deep grief (again). I’d made a decision nae to ging mintal lik last time an gradually wear masel intae the grun. I’d also been awarded time wae a creative coach through Coaching for Creatives. Fan I read through their list o folk the fabulous Sarah Longfield jumped oot at ma an I wis like – deffo her. Sarah wis as brilliant as I’d hoped, guidin mi gently through some exercises tae quell ma inner saboteur (the nefarious Gertrude) and helpin ma become a bit mare o a planner, rather than the absolute pantser that I am.

I made a plan. Pit in some fundin applications an bids for ither hings. Ace, noo I kin chill for the shiny season.

It wis a nightmare. Am nae fond o the shiny season as it is, bit iss een wis particularly hideous wae grief sittin on ma lik a weet jaiket. I wis BORED OOT MA NAPPER an couldnae wait tae ging back tae wirk. At wis topped aff bi gettin a knockback for every.single.fuckin.hing I applied for (except one, bit I only got half the money so even at hid severely limited potential) and January lasted 5 million years, so I wis feelin scunnered afore the year hid even stairted.

Then, as ayways, the licht comes…got a few gigs booked in. Anither wee trickle o poems. Couple o wirkshops here an there, and noo it’s halfwye through April an I kin see the chaos comin (for once) so mibbes I need to slow doon a bit again, mak some plans. Weirder hings hiv happened.

Am fair chuffed ma wee poem ‘Waves’ is in an exhibition currently on at The Suttie Arts Space. It’s a tribute tae ma curly heided bestie. I’ve bin readin it at open mics an gigs. Choke every time. It’s a sare een likes. I ken for a fact she’d nae want me to be sittin aboot greetin an mopin, so I’ll hae anither wee bubble an then get on wae it.

Glesga, Oban, Mull an Iona… an Padraig O’Tuama

Towards the end o March, I’d a few things conspire tae happen roon aboot the same time. Wint tae see Yard Act wae ma brither (the OG fave o faves), competed in the Scottish National Slam Championships an got 4th place (nae bad for an auld wifie) an then it wis aff tae Oban for a nicht afore the ferries tae Mull an Iona.

Usually on a retreat, I’d be screivin lik a demon an come hame wae the bones o at least 20 poyums. Iss een wis different, rest, relaxation, conversation – aathin I didnae ken I needed. I’ll get mibbes five poems oot o ma scribbles, am am totes fine wae at. Met amazin, kind, interestin fowk fae aawye. The scran wis top notch, an the view…see abeen. Nae filter required. It wis kin o obvious that I wis the only wirkin class person there, bit for eence, I didna feel less than or wis deekin above ma station. Different, aye, bit nae less.

I even managed tae spikk tae Padraig athoot bein a total gleck. Partial gleck aye, cos I did get a bit fangirl, an I got really emotional thankin him for the podcast Poetry Unbound. It saved me sae mony times ower lockdoon. It still saves me in tough times. I hoard episodes lik a bug o poetry sweeties, so I nivver run oot. If ye dinna ken it, yer in for a treat. It’s lik poetry meditation. Gie it a whirl – ye winna regret it.

On Iona, we wis introduced tae artist Mhairi Killin, fa did a talk for us on the final nicht. Incredible wirk interwoven wae the history an community o the island. Am listenin ma wye through the podcast series fae een o her projects On Sonourous Seas that stairts wae a whale washed up on een o the beaches. I’ll reccomend at ana. Like a podcast, ken.

As weel as aa yon, I’ve hid some stellar gigs, includin performin wae Jackill an Laura Booth at The Lemon Tree efter ‘And the Birds did Sing’, bit the highlight sae far wis the muckle anticipated return o Hysteria at Spin. Fit a rare mix o regulars fae back in the day an new performers. Felt affa humbled tae be headlinin an it felt like comin hame. Superb nicht wae the best folk.

It’s April, which also means EscApril or Glo/NaPoWriMo. Write a poem ivvery day for the hale o April. Iss is the 5th year o dein it wae a wee group online. We hae a FB messenger thread for blethers, accoontability an the occasional moan (we’re poets efter aa, come on), an a Google Doc far we post oor poem o the day. It’s ace fun an I LOVE seein the varied responses each prompt conjures up. I ay get a few beginnins oot o it, which is jist as weel cos am workin on ma second poetry collection. Mare news aboot at waaaay intae the future.

As brilliant as aa iss his bin, am inveigled in enough things anoo, so a wee plan wid help ma nae tak on ower muckle (again). I genuinely love aathin I dee, so it’s nivver a chav. An thank fuck for at, cos somedays life is. I’ve a few artist dates an wee spaceys o creative time carved oot in amongst aa the graftin, itherwise fit’s the point? Aa wirk an nae cairry ons maks Jojo a driech cheil. The plan pairt is for fit comes efter summer…bit dinna watch iss space, cos I only manage tae write in it eence in a blae meen hahaha. Peace oot moofos 💜

Divine Sofa Divan (So Far)

As ye leave for the widds wave back yon spectre sat in yer chair micht wreck yer hoose in rage manners cost ye nithin ye ken (Jo Gilbert) Flood my living room with blue as flowers bloom in the shadows of the day, crisp, framed, watching me and the armchair sail by. (Mai Hindawi)

Divine Sofa Divan (So Far)

Readin an writin lik a demon

Weel, it’s been aas lang since aa wrote a blog, aa cannae even mine fan it wis. Nae that aa hinnae been writin, cos aa hiv. Bit keepin iss website caper up tae date is nae een o ma strang pints. Aa jist aboot cope wae social media, bit findin time in amongst aathin kin be tricky.

Am only managin iday cos I’ve a wee spare five minties afore the next roon. I’m nae moanin, cos it’s fine tae be busy, bit aa jist cannae seem tae operate it the same livvel as pre-plague. A few folk aa ken are feelin the same – owerwhelmed an knackered – a lot. It’s the body’s wye o tellin us tae slow doon aa suppose. Mibbes aa’ll listen iss time.

Am affa chuffed tae hae an poem in iss exhibition it The Suttie Arts Space. Featurin a pucklie o the airtists at wirk it Grampian Hospitals Art Trust. We dae a wheen o rare hings, so gies a follae, or ye kin sign up tae be a patron, if ye want tae support oor wirk. I’ve nae managed tae ging up an see it yet, bit hopin aa will noo hings are stairtin tae shift.

Indeed it is, an as ma title sais, aa’ve been scrievin lik a demon iss past filey. Am in a EscApril/Na/GloPoWriMo group wae the best cheels anoo sae I’m gettin a poem a day in for the hale o April. Managed sae far, wae the odd day o catch up, bit am determined tae finish it. It’s rare tae see far aabody taks the prompts an it’s guid for me tae hae at accountability ana. Ye’ve ay deidlines tae motivate ye intae finishin hings, bit iss is FUN an gettin tae play, an for me ats jist as vital if nae mare so tae ma creative practice. Ye need tae let loose an play as weel as aa the ither caper, itherwise, fit’s the pint?

Aa keep buyin poetry books. Cannae stop, even tho aa’ve a pile tae read it wid fear ye. Keep readin single poems folk post an get obsessed – need at need at need at. Recent purchases include: Tom Sastry, Frank O’Hara, Wislawa Szymborska, Jenny Lindsay, Morag Anderson, Kimberley Petrie (of course, it’s ma pal’s debut) and John Ashberry tae name bit a few. Its makks me sad that I’ll nivver read aa the poems aa’d like tae. There’s sae mony aa’ve nae discovered yet. Aa’ve still time though. Nae plans tae stop ony time seen. The mare ye read, the better ye write or so they say.

Aam still potterin awa wae ma writin groups – although the feedback een his bin mare active o late. We meet ivvery month tae crit wirk online via the zoom o doom. Gies a shout if yer interested. It’s really helpin me wae hings aa wis aboot tae relegate tae the nivver folder, or chuck entirely. We’re a gentle bunch an it’s aboot honest feedback, nae savaging folk’s wirk for the sake o it. Supportive an helpful. Jyne us!

Weel, ats a million dollar question (I wish haha). Errs hings aa kin tell ye, an hings aa cannae. Check oot ma gigs an stuff page for aathin. Easier than pittin it aa doon twice. Naebody even reads iss apairt fae me so it disnae metter. Nae doot it’ll be anither year or so afore aa get roon tae postin summin. Aa’ve a few subs in anoo, sae fingers crossed I’ll hae some wee bits o news tae share afore lang. Or hae a greet aboot aa ma rejections hahaha sic is life. Aam @mucklewriting on FB, Twitter an Instagram, so ye’ll find ma nae bither. Cheerio, peace an love tae yeez aa.

#Scotstober

A filey back, aa seen on Twitter a rare idea fae Dr Michael Dempster – heidy o the Scots Language Centre.

#Scotstober is a bit o fun usin Scots wirds as creative prompts. Ye kin scrieve, scribble, paint or fitivver takks yer funcy!

Aa’ve been a bittie busy kin ower the wikkend so am catchin up noo. A posted day een ‘Mirk’ on FB, Twitter an Instagram earlier on.

Since aa’m a bittie ahin, aa decided cheatin wis acceptable tae catch up, sae twa an three are mashed igither. Aa’d nivver heard o ‘seelie’ afore, sae aa hid tae luik it up. Fit a rare wird! An plinty scope wae meanin ana. Luck kept poppin intae ma heid an fan aa seen iday’s wird wis ‘nicht’ a thocht made ma lauch, sae a ran wae it… here’s a parody o Frank Sinatra’s ‘Luck be a Lady Tonight’

Seel be a wifie the nicht

Cheels caa ye wifie seelie,

bit errs ay room fir doot,

afttimes ye hae an affa unwifie

wye o rinnin oot.

Yer oan a date wae masel,

pickins hae been rare,

an afore iss nicht is ower,

ye micht gie me the hoof.

Ye micht nae mine yer mainners,

ye micht refuse tae bide,

an sae the best aa kin dae is,

pray seel be a wifie the nicht.

Seelie if ye’ve been a wifie fae the stairt,

seel be a wifie the nicht,

seel let a mannie see

jist hoo muckle a wifie ye kin be,

aa ken the wye

ye’ve haunnled ither mannies

ye’ve bin wae,

seel be a wifie wae me.

A wifie nivver laives her escort,

ats nae fair avva,

a wifie disnae wanner aawye,

blawin on some ither cheel’s dice,

sae keep iss pairty nice,

nivver bide oot ma sicht,

stick wae me quine,

aa’m the mannie ye cam in wae,

seel be a wifie the nicht.

A wifie nivver flirts wae toonsers

she’d hae a hert, she’d be nice,

a wifie disnae birl aa ower a room,

blawin on some ither cheel’s dice,

sae keep iss pairty nice,

nivver bide oot ma sicht,

stick wae me quine,

aa’m the mannie ye cam in wae,

seel be a wifie the nicht.

Did ye sing it? Aa’m gan tae hae a lugworm fan aa ging tae ma bed wae at tune burlin roon in ma heid. Ats fit aa get for swickin. Mine if errs ony weel tae dae musical producers oot there, am recht up fir scrievin a full-scale Doric version o Guys an Dolls. Although mannies an quines soonds kin o sinister. Mannies an Hoors? Oh fit I’d gie tae see at in lichts on Broadway ahaha! Ach weel back tae the scrievin board. I’ve been affa needin a bit o licht-herted fun in ma creative practice, an iss is jist the hing. Jyne in! #Scotstober #CreateInScots #poetry #amwriting #Doric

I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll go out…eventually.

I needed a change of scenery. I’m finding writing at home after living/working/staring out of the same window for nearly 8 months uninspiring to say the least. The library space that I’d often go and write in is closed and in the current financial climate, I can’t afford a studio space. I decide to treat myself to a day of writing elsewhere. Take myself out for breakfast, settle down in one of my favourite writing spots and I’ll be sorted.

Easier said than done – what a bloody palaver. After much huffing, puffing, procrastinating, and generally thinking myself out of doing anything I defeat my expert level villain whose skill is making the simplest things massively complicated.

Bearing that in mind, getting to the place was one thing. Who knew a trip to a coffee shop could become a panic laden ordeal? When I finally have the courage to take my notebook out of my bag, the following scribbles were the result (well, more came after, but I’m nae allowed to tell you about that yet, so I need tae button ma lip).

I’ve just taken a sip of my wanker’s coffee (one shot mocha made with coconut milk – I know but it’s so fiiiiiiine) and all seems well with the world again. I’m just out of a tailspin where I was on the verge of packing up and going home.

The one day I decide I’m getting out of the house to write, it’s pishing doon. Sod’s law. Nae jist a wee shower either – fucking torrential rain, flood warnings etcetera. Effing marvellous. I’m starving, nae eaten a thing since 6.45am. Spent most of the morning trying to convince myself it’s worth going out. I’m sitting down to a fairly healthy lunch just after 12. Lovely.

Then I look up. Here’s a trail o miserable lookin drookit rats, peerin in the windae starin at every moofae o soup my shakky haun dithers tae ma lips. Bastards. Fuck off. I tell myself they are forlorn, starving too and judging the great big fat wifey takkin up a table o four tae hersel. Their accusatory eyes boring into me are sayin ‘nip on’. I dinnae dare tak oot ma notebook. Fa dis she think she is?

I’m now on the verge of a panic attack. I was going to get a coffee and mibbes a wee bit cake, but I’m nae sure I can actually do that. I contemplate gan elsewhere, but picture aawye else hoachin wae germ spreaders an tin foil hatters that winnae bide a metre awa nivver mine two. Other places are nae as nice either and I’m nae keen on gein ma pennies to chain places that pay fuck all tax.

I’m actually shaking. Then I realise. This is the first time I’ve been out for lunch on my own since the beginning of lockdown. I’ve only been to a supermarket twice (a special hell of it’s own, but that’s another story). I’ve been down to the beach with a pal for a cuppa, but we sat outside. The one time we were forced indoors by killer scurries, we didnae bide long.

I finish up my lunch and burst my heid about what to do. I see my table letter and smile.

A wee sign from the universe that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. I really needed that reminder that I’m allowed to take up space. I’m allowed to be here. It’s okay.

My notebook and pen come out of the bag. Mask goes on. It says ‘Fit ye sayin’ on one side. Appropriate. Folk kin think fit they like. I go up and order my coffee and cake – nae too much caffeine – I’m feeling weird and paranoid enough as it is, making myself more so, deliberately is not a wise choice. I promise myself some arty things later. I want to puddle around with paint. Playing and frivolity are as important as working.

So is setting out to do what I planned, or changing my mind. I got outside. I wrote something. These small achievements are to be lauded, celebrated. Only by me, of course. I’m the worst judge and critic of myself, what other people think is zilch compared to the doings I get from my inner saboteur, so nobody else matters. If I can do my best a day at a time, live in my own skin and sleep comfortably – I’m chalking that up as a win.

Obligatory Lockdoon Bloggeroonie…

In ma desperate quest tae keep masel amused durin lockdoon, aa discovered that aa hinna deen a blog post in ower a year. Spikk aboot time fleein! Aa did hae a draft o a post (dated August 2019) it wis basically aboot how I nivver hae time tae dee onythin cos aa work too much.

Nae muckle his changed since en. Ah’ve only twa jobs noo, bit aa dee a lot mare stuff writin wise, so it is technically 3 although aa still dinna class writin as a job. Ahm still enamoured wae the process o writin an discoverin ither folk’s work. Poetry his been a godsend (as it ayeways his bin) durin lockdoon – ye kin jump in an oot o collections as ye feel like an poems are maistly short – so dinna require mintal amoonts o concentration time like a film or a book.

I’ve been writin a bitty ana – errs a wee group o us dein #EscApril – same idea as #NaPoWriMo – writin a poem ivvry day fer the hale o April. True tae form, I decided it wis a rare idea tae dee baith…FML

I’ve nae managed tae dee baith. I’ve kept up wae the EscApril prompts, but am wye ahin on the NaPoWriMo eens. Ats aright, am savin em up for May. I’ll keep dein it for as lang as lockdoon is on an mibbes beyond, fa kens fit will happen. Ahm gettin summin oot o dein it so as lang as ats the case, I’ll keep dein it!

There’s ither things that hiv been helpin ma tae bide (semi) sane durin iss weird time. Oprah and Deepak meditations are amazin, an Brene Broon’s (Brown) podcast is brilliant. Aa knit squares ana. Started dein it years ago fan aa stopped smokin tae gie ma hauns summin tae dee instead o rollin fags. The intention wis to mak a blunket for masel. Efter movin aroon several times in a few years, ma knittin bug got kinda lost in the cupboard for a filey. Ah wis nae weel ower Christmas an New Year, so hid nae option but tae bide in, so a dug oot ma knittin and started again. The blunket’ll be a bitty squint an multi-coloured like it’s owner, bit it’ll be cosy and mine.

So, that’s anither tick box deen. Update ma blog. Dinna ken fit ahm gan tae dee noo. Mak a cup o cha aa suppose an mibbes read some poems. I’ve a new een – All soul parts returned by Bruce Beasley. It is nithin less than exquisite. Aa might dig oot a few auld faves ana. There’s summin comfortin an familiar in repetition. Or mibbes I’ll jist dee summin frivolous – there’s a great podcast by Russell Brand on Luminary wae Julia Cameron (she wrote The Artist’s Way) and she spikks aboot the need for frivolity an haein fun. Feedin yer inner bairn an aa that. I’ll mibbes dee at then. Tea first though. A wee cup o tea kin makk ye feel like ye kin takk on the warld.

Laters, lockdoon dudes. Peace oot.

Fleein aboot like a mad wifie

The title says it all. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I was meant to be slowing down…

I gave up one of my jobs at the end of January. I’m saying to my pals “I’m so looking forward to all this free time I’ll have – I’ll be able to go home from work and have supper like a normal person! No more running around like a crazy wifie.”

I am deluded. I can count the times I’ve actually gone home from work and had supper on one hand. Almost three months straight of working 6 days a week and being out most nights.

February was a whirlwind. March was even busier. April has been pretty much the same apart from a mini-meltdown at the beginning of the month, where my fried brain forced me into slowing down for half a week (I actually took two days off- that I didn’t spend gallivanting off somewhere).

I know, there’s a pattern. I’m well aware this is the cycle of my behaviour but I am learning. I only have two jobs now (I don’t count writing as a job – yet). Sometimes, I can see the madness coming.

I saw a job that I REALLY wanted. Or thought I did. What I’d really like is to begin making enough money from writing to give up one of my jobs and that would gift me two whole days a week to focus on my writing AND I’d have my weekends back. That would be sheer heaven. This job was amazing, yes, but is it what I want to be doing?

Instead of steaming ahead as I usually do going runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunNEXT! – I asked a couple of friends for advice.

I’m not going for the job. I would be swapping one thing for another. I’d be committing to a whole year of it and I’d still not have any more writing time than I do now. That isn’t where I want to be.

This month, I’m doing NaPoWriMo. I’m writing something every day. Not a finished poem, because that is ridiculous and I don’t have time to do that, but I have many drafts. I’m involved in a wonderful project for Look Again Festival with artist Morag Myerscough. I’m running a workshop and doing a performance at May Festival. I’m plotting the next stage in my writing career and applying for funding. I’m working towards that dream of having two days a week to write and taking the good days with the bad ones.

I just need to be patient. I read ‘Journey to the Heart’ by Melodie Beattie. It’s a meditation/spiritual readings book. She talks about being patient, like a surfer, waiting for the right wave and when you do, ride that mother for all she’s worth.

That’s exactly what I’m doing…waiting for the right wave.

Fit ye sayin wi yer mou?

I hinna been sayin muckle wi ma mou on here for a whiley. If you look at ma events page, ye kin see exactly fit wye! Ah’ve been sae busy I’ve hardly hid time ti blink, nivver mind onything else.

Ye kin keep up wi ah ma shennanigans on FB and Twitter onywye, but ah felt like ah’ve been ignorin ma wee blog for too lang and ah wis workin on a few submissions so ah thocht I’d di a wee short blog on ma upcomin Doric Slam.

Iss is mi on That’s TV Scotland tellin folk a bitty aboot it. We’re still lookin for folk ti sign up for the slam in advance, as there will only be a few spots available on the necht. Get in touch through ma FB or Twitter or email mi on jogilbertwriter@gmail.com ti sign up.

I wis dein a series o workshops ana leadin up ti the slam, there’s een mare ti go an a couple o spaceys left on it. Book up here

There’s been a brilliant response ti the Slam so far so ah’m hopin we get hunners o folk turnin up. It’s set ti be a brilliant necht. See ye there!

Far does the time go?

Far does the time go?  Behind us, or in front – depending on fit wye yer lookin. Ah’m nae aywis sure that time is a linear thing. Blink an ye’ll miss nearly five months o yer life.  That’s jist fit happened ti me jist noo. I’m on ma events page updatin it an looked at ma last blog. May.

May 2018 but still awa back yonder. Time is fleein by ma. I’ll come oot the Doric noo, cos spellcheck disna like it….

It got me thinking and feeling quite reflective.  There was me banging on about not getting published and now I have a short story published in Northwords Now and a short story and two poems coming out in the FWS New Voices Anthology.

I was awarded Creative Funding to host poetry workshops and a Doric Poetry Slam.  I’ve been commissioned to write spoken word for two short films.  I got a small part in a short film. People keep asking me to do things and long may it continue.  So much has happened in the past few months, I’m living in a creative maelstrom.  It feels fantastic.

I went to Moniack Mhor on a tutored poetry retreat with Jen Hadfield and Billy Letford with the intention of writing some new poems to put towards a first collection.  What a valuable investment that was. I’d forgotten how much I need feedback and in depth discussion of my work. I’ve really missed that since uni. It makes me want to start up a writing collective (SPEAK TO ME if you are interested).

If you ever get the chance, GO. It was an amazing experience.

I came away from that week with some lovely new friends, six new poems and an idea for my second collection.

Yes I know, I’ve not finished the first one yet.  There are drafts of a few more for the second collection already and lots of titles.  I’ve no control over what comes out of my head, it demands to be unleashed whenever it feels like it.

Part of my creative funding is for a retreat to finish a manuscript to send off to publishers.  I’ll be up to my eyes in stacks of paper at a secret location in early November, deciding what goes where or if it makes the cut. I’ll also be asking for advice, so poetry people beware! I’m hoping I’ll have it more or less ready to go out in January.

Exciting times!

 

 

Being a writer is nine tenths rejection…

I need to remember this golden nugget of advice I received from my dissertation tutor. I’ve been drowning under a raft of submission rejections the past few months and that elusive validation of seeing my work in print seems further away than ever.

I ignored all the success I’ve had so far and homed in on the one thing that I’ve not achieved yet and used it as a measuring stick to beat myself with. Then the comparisons to others surface and I am sucked into a spiral of despair where every word I have ever written is rubbish and what I am I doing all this for anyway?

The answer to that question is I am doing this because I LOVE it. My head demands it. Words have poured out of me for as long as I can remember. Some of those words are rubbish, but getting rid of the crap makes room for fresh ideas and new words. I recognised the spiral before it pulled me under, and submitted to another two publications and began working on another two. Pick yourself up and carry on. Stay out of the vortex of self loathing.

I’ve recorded audio to send off as a submission and am beginning to type up my scribbles from NaPoWriMo. It is the first year I have done it. I started off so well, then life happened. I lost a dear, long term friend and I’ve been wandering around feeling heavy-hearted for weeks. I have rough gems that I can polish up and that’s what counts. I’m gently reminded by loved ones that I don’t have to do everything in one day.

I am also chuffed as fuck to announce that I am headlining Speakin Weird on Wednesday 11th July. People of the North East – please come, so that it won’t just be me and a couple of randoms. I know it is the summer (well as close as we get to it) but I’d be affa pleased to see more than three folk there. There will be swearing. Dinna say I didna warn ye.

Before that, I’m doing a wee set at the second Women’s Open Mic at The Cult of Coffee On Monday 14th May. The last one was fabulous and the headliner for this one is the grand master of Speakin Weird – Sparklechops. You don’t want to be missing this one.

In addition to this awesomeness, I’ve been asked to do a couple of sets at the Fringe, on Thursday 9th August, I shall be appearing at Ray Fordyce and Other Spiffing Personages and later on at Max Scratchmann’s Poetry Bordello. Click on the linky treats to take you to the deets.

As I’m typing this, I see how warped my perspective is at times – right now I’m thinking fuckin hell, I’ve got all this amazing stuff coming up. I am doing just fine.

P.S.

I still want my writing in print.

Peace out people. Love n bosies goin out to y’all fae the jojo corner…