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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2100230-Bloggerholic-II
by Acme
Rated: 18+ · Book · Biographical · #2100230
The loneliness of the long distance ranter--all visitors are welcomed and forewarned.
Back in 2007 I blogged.

I blogged a lot.

I closed all 3 and went cold turkey for a few years, but, a bit like cigarettes, the craving never really goes away, so I am back. Still an addict.

Still a...

... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **


A HUGE thank you to Nada for the fabulous awardicon *BigSmile*

I'm docked at "Blog Harbor from The Talent Pond, a safe port for bloggers to connect.
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June 14, 2017 at 6:17pm
June 14, 2017 at 6:17pm
#913281
2017 continues to challenge. My apologies to all my marvellous WdC friends for my absence--especially to my friends WakeUpAndLive️~🚬🚭2024 and GabriellaR45 who I made commitments to that I couldn't keep. Please forgive me.

My youngest child was admitted to hospital 10 weeks ago--Easter Sunday, actually. I have been inconsolable with sadness. They are still in hospital and will take a long time to recover, but I am in no doubt that they will recover given time, patience, care, love, support and understanding. I found out this week that the extended and exceptional care they require once they leave hospital may not immediately be with me and that care professionals may have to support them away from the home environment. I feel as if the universe has torn my womb out. I keep thinking people must see Munch's Scream when I pass them. I can't sleep, I can't smile, and I can't express my pain adequately. There is a mute, inner howl that resonates in every muscle, bone and nerve ending. I am bereft.

Mental illnesses are cruel: you can't see the disease; you can't sign a cast; often they puppeteer the person, piloting them like possession tales from horror movies. They foster a community of loneliness, where all those involved are cast adrift on seas of hurt, unable to cling to each other. Any illness with no tangible outward signs is hard to understand and work with.

It's been a strange journey over the past weeks. Why write now? Well The StoryMistress reminded me that my home from home was still thinking of me on my 10year account anniversary by sending me lovely and thoughtful post from across the pond. Writing.Com Support sent me renewal notices, and Alan Philps , alfred booth, wanbli ska , Legerdemain (and a whole host of other FaceBooking WdC buddies) notifications were sent to my off-site email. I realised I was guilty of denying myself of something that comforted me, inspired me and made me feel at home: WdC.

I don't know how often I will be able to log on. I don't know how long I will be able to log on for. I don't know what use I will be when I am here, but I will be here. I need to be. I miss the place. I like the place. There's an Acme shaped space for me to fill here.
February 5, 2017 at 2:53pm
February 5, 2017 at 2:53pm
#904013
She had a good innings.

Nana Lena has died.

She was in her 101st year, and passed peacefully in her sleep this morning, having assured me yesterday that she was not in pain, just tired.

I picked up Definitely Em from uni at 11pm last night; after telling her nana looked worn through, she wanted to come home and see her. We got back after midnight, shared a bed and shared our memories of the amazing carnie queen that was her great-grandmother, and planned a long visit with nana for this afternoon. It wasn't to be. The call came through at 8:30am. The sisters were handling all things logistical wonderfully. I didn't know what to do. I am not known for being useful. So I went to Mass. Junior came too. BA went to a friend's.

This afternoon I visited the sisters. They were a tonic. I dropped Jnr off into the safe and reassuring arms of her boyfriend, taxied BA from one friend to another set of friends and came on home alone. It's at times like these I just want some reassuring arms around me. I have WDC instead. Most reassuring, I assure you. I tidied up "Invalid Item

Glad I did. Reminded me of all the nana-based history shorts I have written, including this oldie. Based on one of many life stories, the image of Blackpool lasses doing battle with Manchester mill girls for the affections, and silk stockings, of the Yank lads during WWII still makes me smile:


 Saturday Night, circa 1944  (13+)
Blackpool girls take on the town in Blitz Britain.
#1284096 by Acme


Class act. In very loving memory of Nana Lena: 1916-2017 *Heart*
February 4, 2017 at 5:34am
February 4, 2017 at 5:34am
#903914
There was an explosive bang. My seat hit me, which was weird, because every time I have seen a car crash in a movie, the occupants look like they get thrown back into their seats, but I wasn't: my seat was thrown into me. In the same split second, everything went dark, even sound. I shut down.

Maybe it was only mere moments, but I rebooted. Sound came back in, like a muffled dub mix, panning from black to grey, rather than from left to right, the discordant melody of my son's voice screaming my name.

I stopped my head from lolling and tried to shake off the fuge. I sat there. BA was upset, but ok, in control, rifling through my handbag, finding my phone and calling the emergency services. He even found the hazard lights. I couldn't. I knew they were there, but had no idea where to locate them. I felt drunk, thick minded. Nothing made sense. I couldn't have reached the button, anyway: the seatbelt had done its job perfectly; I was pinned. The seatbelt was locked. I couldn't grab as much air as I needed. BA undid me. I expanded, like Alice eating cake. Then BA clicked me in again, saying something along the lines that we were still in the road, blocking a junction.

I looked around me. We were at the junction of a roundabout, where I had stopped to give way to traffic from the right. The car behind me had not stopped. I was their brake. I probably passed out briefly, because my head was turned to the right during the impact.

The other early evening travellers were trying (successfully) to get around both my car and the car behind me, but we were still blocking the road. Everything else is a bit blurry--it is nearly 2weeks after the accident and bits and bobs are slowly and sporadically coming back to me. I have a recollection of the man who hit me coming to my window, asking me why I stopped, and saying my car was ok. One of us suggested we move out the way of other cars. I am pretty sure it was me. After he had gone back to his car, I think I started crying, putting my blubs on BA.

"I have to move the car. I don't know how to move it. My head is wooshy. How do I make it work?"

"The car or your head? Don't drive if you can't, mum."

"It's sensible to move it. What do I do?"

"Turn the engine over--put the clutch down?"

I have no idea how I moved the car. I may as well as have been sat in the cockpit of a shuttle on an Apollo mission. I remember leaving the hazards on, simply because I couldn't handle the mental trauma of finding that particular button again. BA was in charge of hazard lights.

BA was in charge of lots of things, bless him. I couldn't get out of the car. I was in shock I guess. No broken bones, no cuts, but a fuzzy head, painful right arm (seatbelt, perhaps), dull aching back and gee-whizz, what a headache. BA arranged police and ambulance, took the other driver's details, kept me sane and calm until a bigger, better grown up than my pale impersonation of an adult could come along and rescue us. I was just a bucket of salt tears and snot.

I remember wailing like a hard-done kid, the way I had done around 7 years old, when I fell off my bike, scraped my knees, grazed my hands, and a big boy stole my bike, rather than help me. Poor BA. He tried to call loved ones to comfort us and come to us, whilst we waited for the ambulance. My twin did not answer. I cried. My little sister did not answer--perhaps she was feeding her newborn. We called her husband. No answer. I blubbed. BA called two more non-answering friends, to the background accompaniment of wailing. It got louder and more forlorn each time a phone rang out to answerphone or an electronic voice, "The person you are calling is not responding; please hang up and try again later." Later on, we would both admit that the biggest elephant in the car, was not the one with the snot-filled trunk, but that we had both wanted to call my ex. We couldn't. He had to stay an ex, but we acknowledged we both loved him, needed him, but couldn't hurt ourselves further by contacting him. We did what we should have done in the first place: we phoned Granddad.

Granddad is sometimes nicknamed Valium Man. Put him under pressure, in a crisis, in the fray, and he is an oasis of calm. I have never heard him raise his voice in anger or panic. He's such a quiet chap and nothing seems to ruffle him. Turns out, he's one of those extreme experience junkies--he climbs impossible mountains (literally), used to be a test pilot for tucks, wrecking them (scientifically) by crashing them in quarries, became an advanced driver, rode deep-throated motorbikes, took 100mph zip wires...too many crazy things to mention. So being like that, real life, including car crashes, is pretty mundane. He is very practical.

For BA and I, our trauma ended as soon as we literally handed control of the situation to other people. The ambulance came. One paramedic looked after us, the other moved my car to a safe place. They took me to the hospital, and there, waiting for us, was granddad, who had also managed to rustle up my twin, the assertive, no-nonsense, one. Officialdom and authorities quiver before her. By the time I had been checked over and returned home with painkillers (5 hours since BA and I set off on our half hour journey), Twinnie passed over a fully written report of the entire incident and processes, from police incident log numbers, ambulance crew identifiers, timings, people, places, weather conditions, visibility, order, order, order.

Now there is physiotherapy, form filling and a new car to find.

Real life is pulling me away from my preferred life here on WDC. It has been 28 days since my last blog entry. I hope the next entry doesn't take as long.

January 6, 2017 at 7:18pm
January 6, 2017 at 7:18pm
#901459
Some folks like tower PCs, some laptops, some iPads.

I like laptops. Mine is on its last legs, being over a decade old, full of my degree, and unable to have more than a "window" open at a time.

I hate my iPad. Sure, that's a First World problem, but humour me. It is a pig to write and review on. I am thoroughly aware that a bad workman blames his tools, but, I shit you not, I have just looked through the quality of the reviews I have written in the past few days and you wouldn't believe the work-to-fuck-up ratio displayed there. Some are out and out predictive text changes that simply do not make sense: a possessive apostrophe in the multiple expression 'stanzas', the word 'play' changed to 'okay'? Wha? Too, instead of to, when I have used 'to' in a big ole list before hand. I wouldn't mind, but I have some good points to,a,e, but, honest
Y, who is going (yes, I can see that. I was trying to type: "I have some good points to make, but honestly, who is going..." And then I wrote "trying to type" and it auto corrected "trying two types", which just autocorrected "trying two types so" ... AAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!

I look like an illiterate fool to everyone I communicate with.

Going to bite the bullet and buy a frickin new laptop et weekend (et = next).

feckadoodledoo.

Oh, and I have had to edit this frickin' post 5 times, now, too--sheesh.
December 26, 2016 at 2:33pm
December 26, 2016 at 2:33pm
#900294
Midnight mass was lovely, as per usual: church bathed in incandescent candle light, the altar and quire softly spot lit (the choir needed to see). Did good in the dedicated alto parts, but sounded like a victim bagpipe in knife attack when I had to take over some soprano melodies, so they in turn could go for the descants... Thank goodness God loves a tryer, and at least my fellow Christians are a forgiving bunch.

Got home at 2am, but as per usual, I woke up early and full of excitement following the fat man's visit. I was told by the teens to go back to bed, as it was too early. I waited, very impatiently, until 10 am, then bounced on their beds. Bloody sensible children then insisted on doing their ablutions, grabbing a cup of teas, and then settled down in an orderly fashion to go through their stockings like Victorian gentlemen in a politeness duel:

"After you." BA motioned to Jnr, who had carefully removed the first, crapply-wrapped gift from Santa Mum.

"So kind, but, really, after you!"

By the time they had opened their first gifts, the last piece of shredded paper was fluttering down on my pile of goodies 1. I was in that horrid position of having nothing left to open. Whilst they savoured theirs. I must learn patience.

Anyhoo, pressies opened, dressed and pressed, it was off to my sisters. It was lovely to be around the family. We all missed mum, but what a lovely thing to share the day with nana Lena, who was celebrating her 100th Christmas and Finley, my nephew, sharing his first. Ace.

I am glad it was lovely and that I had lovely people to share it with, but as petty as it sounds, Nana, Finley, and I were the only singletons. Even the teens had girlfriends/boyfriends. First Christmas without the ex. I got through it, but not before Jnr intervened and confiscated my phone. I was spending too long looking at it.

"I know what you're thinking," she sagely said. "You're thinking, Why hasn't he called? It's really over. He hasn't called! but you're forgetting that you don't really want him to call, because you don't really want him. I mean, come on, what would you think if he sent you a text?"

"I'd think, Why are you texting me, you daft bastard? I don't want you to text. I want to get on with my life."

"He can't win, mum. But you can. Gimme the phone."

What a treasure.

Footnotes
1  It is probably worth mentioning my stocking. 20 years ago Jnr was new, and hubby was pretty new, too. That first Christmas was very special. For them. I know it is not supposed to be about the presents, but I got nothing. Nada. Nowt. I watched them on the bed, hubby opening 'one for him, one for Jnr, one for him, one for Jnr', and thought, Not next year, sunshine! Ever since, I buy myself a little nonsense once a month--it might be an eyeliner, a Darth Vader toothbrush, a model-making kit (got a tank this year,)--the point is, I end up with 12 pressies in my stocking, most of which are a genuine surprise, thanks in part to a bad memory, and that I giddily wrap them as soon as I buy them

December 24, 2016 at 9:23am
December 24, 2016 at 9:23am
#900151
My sister is a very practical person. She also shares the "up and at 'em" family trait. One of her keen clichés is a clean cliché: a tidy house makes for a tidy mind.

Now, I don't know if you have never read American Psycho, and to be honest, it was so long ago since I read it, that I have pretty much forgotten it, except, that is, that it felt like the first half of the entire novel concentrated on the main character's fastidious nature, in how he kept himself and surroundings. Sort of put me off cleaning (or served as an excuse not to).

Anyhoo, Christmas Eve is here. The house is a bit unloved (the curse of finding better things to do in life than clean), but what if...? What if Santa really is real, and he comes in, all prepared to acknowledge I have been slightly more good than bad this year, and the hair balls in the bathroom plug holes, the fascinating collection of dead moths on the windowsills and the crispy bits in the dust bunnies down the back of the sofa tip his judgement towards coal?

I cleaned.

It is now possible to see out the windows when the blinds are opened. A burglar could now tiptoe up the stairs instead of crunching up them. The swollen tin of peaches with the hopeful use by date of 1998 has hit the trash, and those possessed of a darkly perverse nature could now eat off the toilet, should they be so inclined (*Sick*).

Cleaning actually made me feel better--not that I plan to make a regular occurrence of it, but it even encouraged me to do other stuff. I went OTT homemaker! I baked an oat and linseed loaf and made soup. I felt incredibly Doris Day. I felt a little too Doris, if I am honest. I adore the woman, but whiter than white I am not, and a creeping fear that Santa may go completely 180 on the coal and bring me some unholy gift, like an iron, or something, gripped me. So I cut my hair. Well, I cut a fringe (bangs, if you orefer). Not had a fringe since the last century, but pleased to see the effect on me is not girl next doorish, more Betty Page. Ace.

Right, loaf is cool, soup is calling. Happy Christmas Eve folks.
December 23, 2016 at 11:19am
December 23, 2016 at 11:19am
#900101
I may have been conspicuous by my absence, lately. There is a truth in Bridget Jones’s assertion of a universal truth that when some areas of your life are going well, others turn to shit.

I won’t be sorry to say goodbye to 2016. By nature, I am very much the optimist, so I have my sights set firmly on fabulousness in 2017. Put it this way, it has to be better than this little list of crapness:
• Youngest child, Baby Acme (BA), diagnosed as suffering from depression, after a series of self-harm incidents and suicidal thoughts—but they are hanging on in there, accessing counselling, medication, and a heck of a lot of love supports them
• 100 year-old grandmother is no longer living independently—hopefully she will recover some of her former fire and physical prowess in the lovely, and homely, care home we found her
• Big Bully Boss (BBB) spat his dummy out about me smoothing office bitching and creating a tolerable working environment for all (he freely admitted in my dressing down that he wanted to shout at people and I spoiled it). The result is no pay increase for me this year and a “loss of my respect for you” from him, and I’ve sort of been sent to Coventry by the management team for the past few months as punishment. Next year I will carry on carrying on doing my job, and be thankful that having a halo-slip means that I will be pretty much left alone to do my job
• Boyfriend of past few years dumped me because I was spending too much time on WdC. Quite proud of that, on account of the fact that I didn’t think I spent nearly enough time on here, and now I can, minus the eye-rolling. Funny thing is, I can’t remember a time when we were in each other’s company when he wasn’t checking in on FaceBook… ah well

On the plus side of 2016, it has given me a new nephew who will be spending his first Christmas in the family’s company. I have also been selected for babysitting duties in February. I only ever dropped each of my children once, and they were much smaller and slippery. More importantly, they got over it. I have confidence I can hold onto him, especially if I use the grippy gloves we have at work for glass-handling in wet conditions. I will be prepared. Oh yes.

Right. Now to catch up on a couple weeks’ worth of emails, visit a couple ports, and go and see what’s happening over at Project Write World.
November 19, 2016 at 7:20am
November 19, 2016 at 7:20am
#897891
Fun Fact Friday!

On this day in 1928, Walt Disney's "Steamboat Willie" starring Mickey Mouse was the first successful sound-synchronized animated cartoon. What is your favorite cartoon?


With a handle like 'Acme' my favourite cartoon may be a tad obvious. I had no feelings for or against the Roadrunner--he was a plot device, not an adorable character. The real star of the show was Wile E Coyote. He was an inspiration to a child. Fortitude, determination, invention, drive and passion to fulfill his desires, Wile was a real role model and all-round hero. The other unsung hero of the show was the awesome imagination and inept execution of the collective minds at the Acme Co.

"What do you want be when you grow up?"

"An astronaut."

"You can't be an astronaut. You're British." (These were the days before Helen Sharman and Tim Peake) "Pick a real job."

"I want to be an inventor. I want to work for the Acme Co."

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Edit: after reading other bloggers blogs, I forgot that the cartoon universe is not just made up of 15 min afternoon tv memories, it extends to films and, graphic novels that become films... Since playing Judges and Mutants (our version of Dungeons and Dragons) in the early 80s, I have been a voracious reader of 2000AD. I cried when Johnny Alpha died, still cry out "BIG JOBS!" like Mekquake when we have a big job on at work, and still fantasise about dour-faced law men doing fabulous, if unspeakable, things to me, whilst leaving their boots and helmets on (but that's the stuff of other writings). One of my favourite places to toodle off to twice a year is Whitby, for the Goth Weekend. Didn't make it this year, but thought you might like to see fancy dress Acme as mutant, space-age, vampire Strontium Dog, Durham Red, alongside Death Note demon, Ryuk:

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **


Creation Saturday!

When someone says "And this is where the magic happens!", what are they referring to? Take this prompt in any direction your imagination lets you.


The most magical thing I can think of is Physics. Theoretical or applied, the whole darn study of the physical universe is mind-blowing, from the sub-atomic, to the unseen, but very real, results of the conversations at play between energy and matter. Need an example? Turning a light on: clicking a switch and, hey presto, illumination! Ohms, currents, capacitors, resistors, men in white lab coats, crazy-haired professors, re-animated monsters, quantum cats in boxes, event horizons--I love 'em all.

I love physics. I don't get it. I have no idea how it all works, but I know that it does work and that other people know how it works. Back to that light switch...I have been known to stand at the bottom of the stairs clicking the hall light on and off in wonder, with an expression not dissimilar to Dr Watson's when Holmes deduces something. Another personal favourite is staring intently at slowly rotating lasagne, softly exploding in the microwave, whilst neither its supporting glass plate nor my eyeballs join in with the exploderating. Awesome.

Mr Godley, physics teacher with the patience of a saint, kindly allowed me to study it as an option in secondary school, even though the possibility of me ever being able to study it at the academic standard required to pass the final exam, was recognised as being near-impossible. After a string of failed exams, where my answer to 3b, Why do birds on electrical overhead cables not get electrocuted?2 was read out to the class as an example of what not to write in either a physics, biology or religious paper, he took me to one side.

"Why do you like physics so much?"

"It's really like magic, when you get to thinking of it all, isn't it, Sir?"

"Well, no, not really, and that's sort of the point of it...Do you not mind being last in the class all the time? Doesn't it make you feel bad? Wouldn't you be happier in Drama?"

"Oh no, Sir! I have so much fun here with gold leaf stuff that bends, the pretty colours from the prisms, and the zappy-electric crystal ball that makes my sweet fro bushier and standy-uppy. Please don't make me do drama. Please let me stay in your class."

He smiled.

"I'm not trying to get rid of you. You're my favourite student. You have the same passion and enthusiasm I had as a kid. I wish half the kids in this class were as enamoured of the subject as you."

"And we're you rubbish at it, too?"

"No, no, dear. I was brilliant, and still am. You are not, and never will be, but," he gave me a big grin, twinkling wink, and a pat on the shoulder, "don't let the fact you can't do something ever stop you from having a go if you love it enough."

It's advice I still live by today, and that's where the magic happens *Wink*

Footnotes
2  Acme Answer: "Birds have little rubber feet. Isn't God amazing? I mean, even with being able to be everywhere all at once, how long must it take Him to grab hold of them all and dip their legs in molten rubber? And why does he make some brown and twiggy when flamingos get to have pink ones, and sea birds have a lot of yellow ones...although, I guess that might be different grades of rubber at work: saltwater yellow, wam water pink, and twiggy brown must be the best type for electrical insulation. Crazy awesome, heh!"

November 17, 2016 at 2:54am
November 17, 2016 at 2:54am
#897726
The Wildcard Round! Today's winner, selected by Virtual Dice from all eligible entries, receives the Style Merit Badge!

Unicorns. They're special and unique and fun and whatnot. But what are they, really? What do they eat? Where do they live, and where do they sleep? What do they do when they're not out unicorning or whatever it is they do? And what's the proper name for a baby unicorn? Please write the Wikipedia entry on unicorns from your unique, special blogging unicorn perspective.


Very annoying thing, your unicorn is. As a child I would be chided softly about getting my mythical creatures mixed up.

Perhaps some sparkling-eyed, long-haired, peppermint-breathed cower child in the playground would want to move away from cutting my kidneys and stomach in half with a skipping rope, when pretending I was their horse, and advance me to rank of Unicorn. It seemed a similar post as Wonder Horse, with just as much bondage to the yolk of a bossy girl's whim and imaginary whip, but one with the risk of being booted out of imagination land for doing it all wrong.

"Why are you making us fly? Stop it. It's silly."

Got it wrong. Went for wings not horn. Pegasus was the cool one. Wings beat horns any day

Or,

"Are you trying to sneakily fly again, or swim? Are you swimming? You can't do that. You're not a water horse! I won't let you play."

Wrong mythical horse again. Bloody Kelpies. Still waaaay better than unicorns. Galloping out the ocean! an eye to the sky and a nose to the sea, there are two for the price of one for a start off

Water horse stuck with me though. Unicorns are Rhinos. Rhinos are better than unicorns. Rhinos are real and are truly beautiful, with their big hooded doe-eyes and foldy-woldy skin, and they can swim, and they can stampede and kill a chap. They still can't fly, though, so top trumps would have to rank along the lines do:

5. Unicorn
4. Rhino
3. Horse (only beating Rhino because it can be saddled and ridden for reals, with less chance of gouging)
2. Pegasus
1. Kelpies (they look like a horse, but are the perfect imagination steed for their marine and, in my childhood imaginings, their little-known airborne abilities)

[Embed For Use By Upgraded+]
November 16, 2016 at 9:36am
November 16, 2016 at 9:36am
#897669
War Chest Wednesday! From a previous challenger...

What Lo-Fi, non-electronic, or old school things from the past do you still enjoy today?


Books--the type with pages, not screens

Maps and walking--purposeful walks, that is. I love history, so combine visits to historical sites where possible. Had a fab time this summer recreating HenryV on a 5mile walk with readings. I lucked out, too: got the St Crispin's day speech and nailed it to rapturous applause. Then I fell over in some mud--spectacularly--let out the strangest, plaintive lament-come-whine as I landed. Even the nearby sheep looked embarrassed for me. The universe is pretty good at tempering my ego.

Museums and galleries--was at Manchester's Whitworth on Saturday. One of my favourite, little known to some, artists had 3x pieces of work on display, which was a nice surprise. CRW Nevinson.

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Running--5k every Saturday

Boxing--I seldom spar anymore, but am fascinated and obsessed about working on technique. I shoot left-eyed/handed and box as a South Paw, although I am naturally right-handed. For the past year I have been trying to go orthodox. My feet let me down. I am not built for the sport in many ways (short reach, leaden footwork), but I have the stamina and power of an ox

Making my own real ale and wine--mixed results, no consistency.

DIY--too many projects on the go at the moment. Plastering is still not done (erm, not started)

Gigs--I love live entertainment. Off to watch Panic! At the Disco tomorrow night with Acme Jnr and Baby Acme.

Home cooking--I've lost my mojo! I am a 'shishbedoo' type of cook and can never recreate dishes exactly the same way twice. Whilst this a worked in my favour for decades, I am going through a bad spell of bad dinners

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