As I’ve mentioned before, oohh about 8 million times, I was a 90s kid.

A 90s kid as in I was 15 in 1990, so my teens and early to mid 20s was spent in cherry red Doc Martens, opaque tights and either little black dresses or long floral numbers, twinned with crocheted cardys or mouldering vintage leather jackets I rescued from Charity shops.

I was an Indie kid to the very core.  From the moment I heard The Senseless Things, Wonderstuff, Mega City 4 and Lemonheads at 17, I felt elated by the buzz of fast guitars, a crashing snare and a bouncy sing along tune.  Thursday nights were spent at Rock City.  My reading material was mainly the NME and Melody Maker, and I tended to spend any spare dosh on singles.

So when Virgin books asked if I’d like to review Jo Whiley’s Autobiography, I jumped at the chance.

Why?

Well,  Jo Whiley and Steve Lamacq (pronounced Stoooyve L’Mack) fronted Radio One’s Evening session from 1993 to 1997.  They played everythng that was hip and trendy…if you were an Indie kid.  They showcased Britpop, ligged with music’s big boys and girls, and were mates with the cool people.

As the years have passed, somehow Jo Whiley has remained kind of cool.  She’s still at radio one, albeit recently in a new slot.  She has 4 gorgeous kids, the oldest born in 1992, the youngest in 2008.  She’s presented Top of the Pops, brought to us the joy that at times is The LIve Lounge, and has sat on a hay bale in a muddy field with the wonderful and sadly missed “John Peel”, and been a judge on E4’s Mobile Act Unsigned.

She often comes across a bit awkward and scatty, but in my opinion this is actually quite endearing as it conveys the message of ‘normal’ and approachable, so I was interested to see whether her book would echo this, or if the ‘real’ Jo Whiley would surprise me.

She doesn’t.  But that’s ok.

The voice that tells her story is completely familiar.  She writes as she speaks.  She is matter of fact, humble, self effacing and seems to have a quiet appreciation for good music.  I loved her eclectic taste and her openness, and the fact that, well, she comes across a bit geeky really.

I enjoyed the playlists that accent different parts of her life.  ’The goth years’, ‘Coco’s birth’, ‘Frances’ – her much loved sister who suffers from ‘cri du chat‘ and has been a huge and irrepressible influence on Jo and her family.  Jo’s description of her relationship with her sister is honest and very moving and more than anything highlights the importance of family, a thing that has perhaps helped her to remain grounded.

As you would expect there are a plethora of musical anecdotes, from the time she booked L7 on The Word where one of them decided to bless the late night Friday show viewers with some full frontal nudity, to the time Girls Aloud came to tea.  And she talks with some degree of pride about The Little Noise Sessions, a series of Charity shows she has organised with Mencap, ‘the voice of learning disablility’ a cause she works closely with.

Her story is at times moving, sometimes funny and is illustrated by 2 groups of glossy photographs that show Jo with family, friends and musical legends, as well as bad haircuts, bad outfits and a few seriously cheesy tongue-in-cheek poses.

As someone who has always liked Jo Whiley, I’ve really enjoyed this insight into her life and her career.
I love that she still seems normal and real and likeable, as well as hardworking, passionate and a little bit ambling at times.

My one criticism would be that at times I felt Jo repeated herself which made me wonder how much time was spent on the editing of this book, but I suppose you could also argue it means she definitely put it together herself.

If you’re a fan of Jo Whiley, a lover of live music, or a 90s kid then it’s likely you’ll find something in this book to enjoy.  And even if you’re not, you might be pleasantly surprised.

I mean I don’t fancy the Hoff or anything…well..not anymore, but when I was about 10, I thought he was lovely, and I wanted his car, and I wanted my brother’s Knightrider watch, even more than I wanted my other brother’s A-Team watch.

SIghhhhhhhh.

Those were the days.

De de la derrrr,

De de la derrrr,

De de la de de derrrrrr…

A few years ago some friends of ours were storing a ‘Kitt’ in their garage for an Uncle who toured with famous vehicles.

When nobody was looking I stroked it a little bit.

Shhhhhhhhh.

My sis-in-law and I headed into town after our meal as we decided we were both definitely in need of a little more entertainment.  The night was dull and rain cleared the streets leaving bars jam packed with hot and slightly damp smelling people.  

In need of cheesy music and an opportunity for gratuitous dancing, we headed into the 70s and 80s bar. The floor was sticky, the clientele were sticky, and we were allowed to head downstairs with our drinks by a sympathetic bouncer when we informed him we couldn’t stay upstairs as it smelt of feet.  Nice.

It was full of people mainly older, or a lot younger than us.  There was dancing.  There was a mixture of occasionally cool, and often hilariously bad music played by a scary Ron Jeremy look alike who would not smile.  And for a newly single woman there was a sudden awareness of feeling vulnerable.

Not that I’m a skinny little chick with the word ‘breakable’ crayoned across my forehead, I am not, nor will I ever be skinny or in the least bit physically breakable.   But I was suddenly aware of eyes on me.  Of men who just seemed to watch.  Their gaze boring into me with an intensity that was at first flattering, then later kind of unnerving.  They weren’t out with mates.  They weren’t part of a group.  They weren’t there for the music.   They were alone, looking for a woman.  Any woman.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for freedom and as long as you’re not hurting anybody then your life is your life, but when a man suddenly steps between you and your friend, stares down at you intently and presses against your body his face looming at yours, it’s a little bewildering to the inexperienced.

I’ve been with Mr B since I was 18 years old.  Before that I had one boyfriend and was with him for 8 months, but I was a very naive kid and it was a fairly innocent relationship.  Bullied at school and with little self esteem I didn’t flirt, didn’t date, didn’t dare talk to boys really.  Then when I finally lost some weight and kind of bloomed at around 16 I bagged myself one of the cool Upper Sixth Form boys and then didn’t have to worry about any of that other stuff.  

When we broke up I was sad but hell I was 17, there was no rush.  I spent Thursday nights at Rock City in my Doc Martins, dancing the night away with a ton of mates.  I had one encounter, an evening of kissing and conversation with an older man at a house party, but nothing else until 6 months later when I got together with my future husband.  (A drunken New Years Eve snog doesn’t count right?)

So what am I saying?

I’m saying that I felt like that kid again.  A bit lost, a bit nervous, completely unsure of how to react, and it’s left me feeling kind of scared.  I no longer have the protected veil of a relationship.  The ring on my finger that meant I didn’t see the stolen glances, didn’t have to think twice about any men that were getting too close, didn’t have to make choices.  Didn’t have choices.

Part of me feels exhilarated but another part feels terrified.  How do you avoid the predators?  How do you know if a person is nice or not?

Blimey I’ve got some catching up to do, but I’m glad that my eyes seem to be open and I’m aware of what I don’t want.  

I don’t want to be the woman in the corner being groped by the bloke who’s tried it on with half the other women in the room before he turned to you.

I’m not up for a quick squeeze and a tongue sarnie after a few thrusts on the dance floor.  I don’t want to snog random strangers.  I need more than that I think.   And while the thought of a really slow sweet kiss with lips gentle at first, tentative almost, asking permission, checking that it’s ok, is wonderful, sighhhhh,  it’s not likely to happen any time soon and I don’t think I’d be ready for that anyway…  

..unless you’re David Tennant, Colin Firth, Liam Neeson or Simon Baker, or you look a bit like them in a certain light, or you take the time to talk to me and you make me laugh.

Ok?

Good.

UK celebrity, Myleene Klass, singer, classical musician, TV/radio presenter and bikini wearing jungle babe has recently joined the Mummy club and while working on the production of her mini me, the gorgeous Ava, she also wrote about her experiences for a book entitled, ‘My Bump and Me.’

Yes it’s a pregnancy book.

No I’m not pregnant. 

But I have been, and,  well, maybe if I do a good job on this one they’ll send me other FREE books to write about.  Shhhhh, don’t tell. 

Truly, honestly I wouldn’t have been able to write about something I would not want to read, even if it was free, but I’ve always though Myleene was a really lovely girl, even though most women should probably hate her as she is intelligent, talented and gorgeous.  (I know, it’s sick.)  

But she’s also, in my opinion, very likable, and I could imagine enjoying a night out with her on the town. And as I learnt on reading ‘My Bump and Me’, she’s bezzie mates with the fabulous Lauren Laverne, ex Kenickie singer, funny girl, and presenter of The Culture Show.

Sigggghhhhhh. I used to love Kenickie.

Cough.  Anyway, the book.

As Amazon notes, “From conception to birth – via morning sickness, raging hormones, cravings, baby names, sex, sleepless nights, opinionated in-laws, ‘bump envy’, and the labor itself – Myleene offers practical advice, essential medical information, and an honest account of what’s in store for anyone with a baby on the way. ”

For the most part I would agree with that description.  Written in a simple, friendly style that is easy to access, Myleene comes across as a pretty down to earth girl.  Obviously there are perks to being a celebrity mother-to-be, such as being given a case full of flat pumps and the whole range of M&S maternity clothes, but as she was modelling in the M&S ad campaign at the time it’s hardly surprising.  

In a week by week diary format, Myleene talks about the difficulties of keeping her pregnancy under wraps for the whole of the first trimester even though speculation in the press has her labelled a diva, a party girl, and as suffering with an eating disorder.  She details the effect her hormones have on both her personal and professional relationships, the weird stuff many pregnancy books don’t tell you such as the fact your feet will probably go up a size or two, and she even admits that embarrassing name we all give to our growing foetus ‘Rice’ (Miss E was Plum-Bob, Miss M was The Bump until 20 weeks when she was Miss M).

A few reviews I’ve read seem to take offense at the fact she describes the problems she has while working on a shoot in Cape Town, and the fact she complains about being too tired to party with fellow models, but let’s face it, most of us wouldn’t buy a book on pregnancy written by your average Jo (that would be me).   Anyone who buys this book is purchasing it for Myleene’s experience.  That’s the only one she can give, and as a celebrity it is bound to differ from yours and mine.  

• She can afford to go private when her Doctor is unpleasant to her.
• She is given a vast array of freebies as well as gifts from fans.
• Her pregnancy photos are, erm, gorgeous.
• And when she and partner decide their London flat is too small they are able to go out and purchase a home more suited to their requirements without the financial worries many of us have. 

But Myleene handles this in a way that portrays her as a woman working within a certain industry, with all the problems and advantages that particular industry brings.  She’s completely matter of fact, doesn’t gush and finds good homes for any extra goodies she receives.

She is also not afraid to reveal that she became a spotty, hormonal, scary lady at the start of her pregnancy, which I know I was kind of hoping for, mwah ha ha haaa, AND, she had terrible morning sickness, so even in her somewhat enviable position, in the end she is slave to whatever pregnancy decides to throw at her just as we all are.  Her fears are the same as mine, her excitement, her joy, and it was great to hear her partner’s insights as well as he was equally non-showy and honest.

This is not a book you would buy to guide you through every aspect of pregnancy, but then it doesn’t claim to be. It’s more a journey you can share in and relate to, and a bit of a sneaky peek into a celebrity world that is intriguing and exciting to some of us normal folk.

So would I recommend it?  

Yes.  It’s a positive, honest and at times funny book with a happy ending.  What more could any pregnant woman wish for?

Apart from salted mushy peas on toast.  Or was that just me?

Blimey.

So my post today is a little idea I grabbed from lovely Groovy Mom. It’s a question and answer type thing where the answers are pictures. Here’s what you do…

1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page, pick an image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into this mosaic maker.

My Answers:

1. What is your first name? Jo
2. What is your favorite food? Risotto
3. What high school did you go to? All Saints
4. What is your favorite color? Brown
5. Who is your celebrity crush? David Tennant
6. Favorite drink? Vodka and Lemonade
7. Dream vacation? The Galapagos Islands
8. Favorite dessert? Anything chocolatey
9. What you want to be when you grow up? Healthy
10. What do you love most in life? My family
11. One Word to describe you. Silly
12. Your (blog) name. Jo Beaufoix (Like Kate Moss but Not)
(On #12, if you have a Flickr name, use that one instead of your blog name.)

I’ll be back with a proper post tomorrow after I have slept. I NEED SLEEEEEEEEEP.

Spare a thought for Holl as she is travelling home at this moment and it took her about 5 hours to get here yesterday as traffic was bad. Let’s sll put our heads together and think ‘clear road ahead.’

Did I say weird? I meant, really, really, unbelievably weird and kind of slightly disturbing.

Those of you with a delicate disposition, oh and you mum, look away now, the following information may freak you out a little or cause nausea.

No, I didn’t eat anything untoward such as a menu created by Miss M, or the cast of Desperate Housewives, or an elderly slug.

And I didn’t kill or maim anybody or attack them with my bionic elbow or anything.

And there were no animals involved.

But even so, it was bad.

Are you still with me?

Right.

I dreamt… I had “relations”… with Pavarotti.

Yes, THE Pavarotti.

MR Luciano Pavarotti.

He of the big voice and the big smile who has sadly left this mortal coil and now sings every Tuesday at the great big Concert Hall in the sky.

Oh my Bob.

I didn’t want to. Even in my dream I felt kind of awkward and a little grossed out by the idea and luckily I can’t remember details, but it happened. I do remember one of the reasons I went ahead was because I knew he was dying so I felt a bit sorry for him and that it would be really mean to say no.
Pavarotti: “How about some horizontal gymnastics young lady.”
Me: “Erm no thanks.”
Pavarotti: “Cough, wheeze, cough.”
Me: “Go on then, seeing as you’re sounding a bit peaky.”

I mean, I’m sure he was a lovely man, and his voice was amazing, and his erm, eyebrows were not at all scary, but what does it mean?

Do I have a secret longing for large older men in penguin suits with unfeasibly dark hair?

Have I developed an urge to be lured into the boudoir by the power of opera?

Or do I just fancy a nice real Italian pizza with eyebrow shaped peppers and a singing waiter?

Feeling a little concerned I decided to investigate further and consulted a Dream Dictionary. While there wasn’t an actually category for bonking one of The Three Tenors, I did find a category on S E X, and one on death.

Apparently, if you dream of doing the naked lambada with a celebrity, you ‘wish to be more popular or accepted by those around you.’

If you dream about ‘the death of a loved one, this suggests you are lacking a certain quality that the loved one represents.’

Hmmm.

Is it wrong to be disappointed that there isn’t a category for dreaming about ‘doing it’ with a dead celebrity or just a dead person in general?

It is?

Ok, ignore that bit.

Cough.

Soooo, apparently my dream means that I want to be more popular, and would either like to sing better or have more facial hair.

It must be the first one as my facial hair is already stunning.

Sighhh, I am blessed.

You see tomorrow,  ‘The Blockheads’, as in , ‘Ian Drury and the Blockheads’, are playing  in the market square in Nottingham, along with the ‘English Beat.’

Although sadly Ian Drury is no longer with us after succumbing to liver cancer in 2000, his  music lives on with his fabulous band who can still knock out the coolest bass lines this side of anywhere.

The English Beat always remind me of The Specials which I also love.

We’ve never taken the kids to a live gig before, unless you count The Wiggles…

I can’t way to see how they react to this.  I’m hoping they’ll love it.

I’ll let you know.

And why am I excited about the rest of the week?

Two days of  Holl and the babes.  Sighhhhhh.

Perfect.

You know, one where I thank each and everyone of you lovely, creative, sweet smelling and attractive creatures who have read my blog and waded their way through the 376 posts and left one of the 5,456 comments that document my first year of blogging.

I was going to write about the all the truly amazing friends I have made whose support, wisdom and creativity inspire me to continue on my adventures in blogland.

I was going to thank the cast, Miss E, Miss M, Mr B, Ashley and of course my glamorous assistant, Babs who’s daft yet alluring fizzog makes me smile every single day.

I was going to point you in the direction of my first post which was immeasurably bad and wholly embarrassing. Snort.

But then the doorbell rings and all my plans go down the swanny.

An exhausted looking postman hands me a small white envelope, and steps aside to reveal the biggest parcel I have ever seen.

Mr B helps me drag it inside then goes off to work, which is lucky really, because I open the envelope and discover this…

And inside the package?

This…

An enormous chocolate cake, purchased from the delightful Choccywoccydoodahs the best cake shop in Brighton, and the same place my sister got my 30th birthday cake from, because she loves me.

As I inspect the fabulous confectionery wonder, a slight tapping noise informs me that there is more excitement yet to come, as my huge chocolate gift holds something more than just cakey goodness.

I smile knowingly. Babs has been missing since Tuesday night, “Gone to see how Britney is getting on” she told me on the phone, but I have a suspicion her true whereabouts is about to be revealed as I imagine this…

But I am wrong.

So what did I get?

Or should I say, who?

“Why hello there Mr Tenannt.”

“And in your lovely kilt too. Sighhhh. Come over here, you’ve got a little something, erm, a little something on your shoulder.”

Slurp.

P.S.  I forgot to say, it is the fabulous Iota’s Blogiversary today as well.  Happy Blogiversary Iota, David and I send our love.  Now I must be off, we have, erm, stuff to do.

So I set you all that challenge.

You know, the one where I said,

“I want to know about your first ‘celebrity’ crush. You know, the one you fancied from that band, or that film, or who read the news, or who won Gold at the Olympics.

Did you have their pictures on your wall or in your locker?

Did you dress like them, style or colour your hair like them, follow them, meet them, marry them? (It could happen.)

Photos of THEM would be good, photos of YOU at the time you liked them would be even better.

Also, if you have time, I’d like to know whether they had any influence over your life, the person you became, or if they were just an embarrassing blip you would kind of rather forget about.”

And I bet you were all thinking, Jo must have a reeeeeally cool celebrity crush, someone like Bob Dylan, or Mark Bolan, or (tries to think of someone cool from the eighties/nineties but fails miserably), erm, somebody else who was cool.Well, I was born in 1975, and though I ‘liked’ certain pop stars as I grew up, and fancied a couple, it wasn’t until one band hit in 1988 when I was 13 and, erm, hormonal, that I finally fell in love with some.

I was one of those kids who generally followed along with her big sister. She liked Duran Duran, I liked Duran Duran. She liked Bros, I liked Bros. But in my defense, I always fancied the ones nobody else fancied, because;

a. I wanted to be different to my big sis
b. I wanted to be different
c. I had a thing for the underdog

But when THIS band arrived, I heard of them first, so they were mine.

To be honest, it wasn’t a musical thing. I still hadn’t found my music, but it was totally a teen thing, a heart throb thing, a jumping on the bandwagon and enjoying the ride thing. Even then, I knew that musically that were a bit cack, but there was something for everyone there, and the way they were marketed meant even the shy, chubby kid with the glasses and the less than cool outfits was made to feel accepted and loved.

They covered my walls and ceiling. Literally.

Their names covered my school books, along with variations; Jo Knight, Jo Whalberg, Jo McIntyre.

When a new single, album or video came out I rushed to HMV and bought them, or begged my mum and dad for them, or ‘taped’ them off my mates. When I got home I’d play them again and again till I knew every word. I’d sing along plaintively or sit glued to the TV making little excited whoops and cheers, like a large and mostly bald chi hua hua.

I saw them in concert 5 times.

In short, I loved them.

This continued for several years, in fact, basically the whole of puberty. I suppose it helped that they were a similar age to me, the oldest, Jon, was 7 years my senior, the youngest, Joe was 3 years my senior, so, you know, perfect marriage material. And I suppose they were a safe outlet for those new and confusing feelings that came with the breasts and the armpit hair.

Whatever it was, these 5 men are my embarrassing secret.

I wrote them poems, knew everything there was to know about the, and discussed them daily with my mates.

In 1991 I won a competition in Smash Hits magazine and ended up having a weekend in London with my sister. I was 16, she was 18. We had a night at the Ritz, a chauffeur driven limousine, a trip to Harrods, dinner at The Hardrock Cafe, tickets to see ‘Return to the Forbidden Planet’, and £500 to spend.

You know what I spent it on?

Mostly these…

Yes, if you hadn’t already guessed it, I was a fan of ‘New Kids on the Block’, or NKOTB,
which stands for “No kids Ought To Buy” or occasionally, Nice Knitted Octopi Try Ballet.
(But generally it’s the first).

There.

It’s out there.

For you.

Are my cheeks red?

Well that’s kind of a personal question, but yes, a little.

Thanks God I hit 17 and developed musical taste. The hormones were settling down, the ‘being my own person and actually finding music I like’ was coming to the forefront, and bands such as The Wonderstuff, Senseless Things, The Stone Roses, Happy Mondays and Lemonheads were in the charts.

Sighhhhh.

I got me some docs, some stripy tights, a very tiny skirt, and headed off to Rock City to find myself, and I never looked back.

Until now.

And then, I find this…

(There seems to be an annoying ad first, but it gets to them in the end.)

Can you believe it?

My celebrity crush have reformed, and have their first performance this week??

So will I be watching it??

Nahhhh.

They got me through my teenage years, but they’re just not my ‘thang’ anymore.

So, embarrassing blip?

Musically yes, but emotionally?

Well, they still hold a little corner of my heart.

Now click on the lovely list and go read everyone else’s celebrity crush stories. I know I will.

The wonderful and talented Robin of the Pensieve is hosting this week’s Fun Monday. And she says, ‘please share words that inspire and motivate you–brief or bloviatory, silly or serious, from great world leaders to last night’s Comedy Central…from a Hallmark greeting card to your favorite book. Choose one, choose many; let the quotes stand on their own or tell where you first read or heard them and how they affected you. ‘

The one quote that came to mind for me was a piece of complete silliness from Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, a pair of British Comedians who are beyond daft, but are also so creative with words that they make me tingle.

I’ve never forgotten this quote, probably because it is sheer lunacy, and also because it just makes me smile.

When I see them they make me feel good. They can lift my mood in a second, and I love how their heads work. When Mr B was a teenager he loved Monty Python. While I also adore them, my teenage years were Vic and Bob, and they’ll always hold a special place in my heart.

And the quote?

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t climb a ladder with a bell in both hands.”

Makes perfect sense to me.

Happy Fun Monday, and go check out the other quotes. I can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with.

NEWS FLASH

By the way, I will be hosting next week’s Fun Monday and here is your lovely challenge:

I want to know about your first ‘celebrity’ crush. You know, the one you fancied from that band, or that film, or who read the news, or who won Gold at the Olympics.

Did you have their pictures on your wall or in your locker?

Did you dress like them, style or colour your hair like them, follow them, meet them, marry them? (It could happen.)

Photos of THEM would be good, photos of YOU at the time you liked them would be even better.

Also, if you have time, I’d like to know whether they had any influence over your life, the person you became, or if they were just an embarrassing blip you would kind of rather forget about.

Okay?

Please leave me a comment below, and let me know if you’d like to join our merry band. You won’t regret it, and I’d love to add you to my list…

1. Swampwitch, Anecdotes, Antidotes & Anodes who was last week’s fabulous host.
2. Robin of the Penseive
3. AOJ from AOJ & The Lurchers
4. Rosie at Parenting Issues
5. My4kids at my4kids
6. Faye at Summits Musings
7. Patience Please from Patience Please
8. Kayta Bug from mommak3lilmen
9. Alison at RDH Mom
10. I am who I am at
11. Pamela at The dust will wait
12. Celeste at Rag Racers
13. Molly at Return of the white robin
14. Sayre at Sayre smiles
15. jientje from Heaven in Belgium
16. Lovely Nekked Lizards (Lady and Man) of Nekked Lizards and NEXT WEEK’S FUN MONDAY HOSTS
17.Swamp Angel at Swamp Angel
18.Kitten (Katie) at kittens-homeschool
19.Hootin’ Anni at hootin’ anni
20.Gattina at Writercramps
21. Mariposa of Mariposa Tells
22. Jenn at Fast-dogs
23. Holly at holly’s nevereverland (Go see Holl, it’s her first time and I heart her more than chocolate.)
24. Tigger Lane at Tiggerlane
25. Candidmama at Roses-garden
26. Nikki from Antics of a crazy mom
27. Stephanie at mama drama
28. Junebug at God put a smile upon my face
29. chrisb at Ms Cellania
30. Jill/lil mouse at lil-mousehouse
31. Janet From the planet of Janet
32. Sauntering Soul from Sauntering Soul
33. Hula girl at heart hulagirlatheart
34. Mamalang from Mamalang
35. ari_1965 at Beyond my slab
36. Beth at The first of six
37. Karina at Candid Karina
38. Lisa from Lisa’s Chaos
39. Rotten Correspondent at Confessions of a Rotten Correspondent
40. Melanie at her new URL Our happy happenings
41. Jan of The Prytz Family
42. 21st Century Mummy of 21st Century Mummy
43.  You??

P.S. We are still under construction here, so if you’re missing from my blogroll, you’ll be back. Ashley’s adding things bit by bit. And if you get an error message when youleave a comment, don’t worry, they’re still getting through.