Using your loaf

I thought I might write a blog. Then I realised that nothing has happened to me for days so I couldn't. Later, as I pottered at some unremarkable task or another, it came to me that I knew a story, dated from the year 1305, about a Scottish bloke watching a spider. If that was enough to pique people's interest maybe I could think of something. So, here it is.

Yesterday, as I sorted the recycling in the rain, someone papped their horn as they passed the gate. Now horn papping is currently a big event in Culebrón; worthy of investigation. I duly investigated. It was a white van and our next door neighbour was buying something from the driver. I kept my distance but I wondered what he was selling. Instead of asking in person I asked via WhatsApp. First I asked a British family who live on the other side of the main road, the one where they disinfected the streets today, if they knew anything about travelling shops. When the response hadn't come within an hour or so I sent another WhatsApp to the Spanish family next door. They told me it had been a bread van coming in from Pinoso.

My search for new challenges, for novel experiences, is almost boundless. Obviously ordering bread via WhatsApp just had to be tried. Tapping out my order I suddenly realised that I didn't know the names of a particular sort of loaf I wanted. This is not new. I had the same problem in the Waitrose in Huntingdon about 20 years ago when I (apparently) wanted a Farmhouse Bloomer. This time though I couldn't point. It was a very long WhatsApp message to get an ordinary sort of loaf and a couple of breadsticks. The comparison with the bloomer still holds. "Please can I have a brown farmhouse bloomer?" versus "Please can I have that large brown crusty loaf with rounded ends and parallel diagonal slashes across its top?"

The British family responded in time. They didn't tell me about Javier the baker though, they told me about Augustine and his travelling grocer cum greengrocer's van. Bread on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, groceries on Tuesday and Thursday.

Like a magician I revealed all of this to Maggie. Well a van from Carrefour (a huge French owned supermarket) passed the other day she said. There seems to be just so much that I don't know about shopping in Culebrón!

And something completely different to finish. I was talking yesterday to a bloke who lives in a nearby village called Cantón. The official figure for the population of el Cantón is 103 but I'd be amazed if that many people actually live there all year around. Nonetheless my pal says that in the village, as nearly everywhere in Spain, every evening at 8pm the neighbours get out on their balconies and back patios to applaud, shout and generally make noise to show their support for the people keeping us going at the moment and particularly the health workers. I'm sure it happens in Culebrón too but we're too far away to hear or be heard.

Heart in the small talk

I'm a sucker for gestures. The bit in Casablanca, where Laszlo says "Play the Marseillaise, play it!" and Rick nods, and they do, and they out-sing the baddies always makes me tear up.

I was just watching a video of someone called Gustaf Farwell banging out Nessun Dorma from his balcony in Barcelona just like Gavinana Maurizio Marchini did in Florence. Every time I watch the TV news I see health workers applauding patients coming off ventilators, I see the people clapping to cheer on the lorry drivers, health workers and everyone else who is keeping us going. It's good and positive. I even approve of the glossy videos being put together by the banks and supermarkets so that we identify them with the white hats when the time goes back to shopping and opening accounts. Lots of gestures.

I'm not so keen on the complaining. Complaints are often justified, I enjoy a good complain myself, I complain a lot, there are plenty of daft buggers in the world and plenty of stupid processes to complain about. The problem is that picking fault with everything and everyone isn't really that useful as it's happening and unless there's something to be done about it.

I had a headteacher when I was at secondary school who was as stupid and as pompous a little man as you could ever wish to meet. He did, though, habitually defend (what was then) British Rail with what I considered was a sound argument. It's all well and good, he said, complaining when the points freeze and the trains are thrown into chaos for a couple of days every February and pointing out that in Sweden they have heated points but the truth is that the conditions are different, the situation is different and if British Rail did spend millions on installing heated points then someone would point out the waste of money.

It does seem to me that, once the game is on the best you can do is the best you can do. Obviously when it's all over you can do a bit of finger pointing and calling to account. Maybe things can be improved so that next time the mistakes are different ones. In the meantime I'm all for the gestures of solidarity. To the politicians trying to do their best, to the health workers being forced to manufacture protective clothing from bin bags, to the volunteer food deliverers, to the celebrities giving money, to the people sewing masks or using their 3D printers to produce ventilators, to the cleaner in the old people's home who has decided to stay on, to the singing and non singing police officers and to those people who can't do those things so instead they organise an online yoga session, dress up as dinosaurs on the balcony, shout Happy Birthday across the street or make uplifting YouTube videos.

But I never do have the time

Do you know that Louis XVI wrote Rien, French for nothing, in his diary, on the day the Bastille was stormed? That was 14th July 1789, one of the key days in the French Revolution and one of a series of events that would lead to Louis losing his head. If you do know you'll probably be aware that it was an entry in his hunting diary, to record the number of animals he'd caught, but it's a better story if you miss that bit out.

My diary for yesterday could say nada, Spanish for nothing, though without any reference to the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable. Well not really nothing. I drank several pints of tea. In fact I'm drinking so much tea at the moment that I've stopped flushing every time because our cess pit only has a capacity of 2,000 litres and we could well fill it really quickly if this quarantine continues.

Reading too. Actually the two things go together, drinking tea, sitting close to a gas heater and reading. I nearly always have a book on the go but normally it takes me a couple of weeks to finish one, maybe longer. I'm on my second since we've been in confinement and I read about 100 pages yesterday. For me that's a lot. It looks as though my new Javier Cercas book is going to last me four days though it's possible I might knock it off today, day three. I probably have a book, a book with paper pages, waiting for me at the newsagent in Pinoso but, at the moment, five kilometres is a long, long way. Thank goodness for Kindle.

Watching the news too. That's become a key activity. The 3pm news on one channel and the 9pm new on another. The bit I enjoy best are the little uplifting stories. Normally I'm more of a radio man and "newspaper" man. I usually listen to the radio, live or as podcasts, as I do those household jobs or drive from one place to another but I only seem to be listening to the radio in the morning at the moment. It seems odd considering that I have more dead time. That could be because the heavy rain of the last few days has kept me out of the garden and weeding and listening go so well together. It's the same with reading news. I've kept up my consumption of Spanish news in written in English but reading Spanish news in Spanish has definitely tailed away.

Evenings it's Netflix, Amazon Prime and broadcast telly but a lot less than I would have expected. I have joined Maggie in watching the British News though which is something I don't usually bother to do.

Occasionally, I pull out the little book that I use to write down new Spanish words and I have a few minutes trying to unsuccessfully memorise that new vocab. Twitter and Facebook and WhatsApp are there all the time. I still haven't worked out Twitter properly, following threads can be very difficult, but I've been using it quite a lot over the past eleven or twelve days. Facebook meanwhile is full of rules and regulations and information from Town Halls and police but there are even more cute animals, clever quotes and hoaxes than usual. More hoaxes than anyone could imagine. I noticed that I was getting the same hoaxes in English yesterday as I've been getting in Spanish for days.

You will notice there are no chores, no jobs around the house, no catching up with painting. Thank goodness that hasn't changed.

And, blogging of course. Even though I've nothing to write about.

Surprisingly unsettling

I've just been into town.

There's a video doing the rounds on social media of a woman runner scuffling with a couple of police officers in Madrid. We don't see how it started but the woman is screaming blue murder and shouting for help. The comments on the sound track by the person taking the video and from the neighbours on the adjoining balconies are not supportive of the runner. A loose translation might be something along the lines of "Smart arse, you should have stayed at home - you twat".

We're fine in Culebrón. We have space, inside and out, there are only the two of us plus the clowder of cats. Since I went to the supermarket on either Monday or Tuesday I haven't been outside the front gate. The time has passed quickly though and I'm not finding time to do enough reading despite apparently having endless days in front of me.

I see on the telly, hear on the radio and read in social media that, in Spain, the place where I live, people are facing the hard times with determination and with humour. The examples of moral support, such as the applause for hard pressed medical staff or the concern for the lorry drivers who are keeping us all going but can't get a cup of coffee or anything to eat along their route, are legion. There are almost endless examples of good, decent action like shoe workers turning their machines to sewing medical masks. Not everything is positive though. There are plenty of selfish people too. Runners seem to be right up there and I've seen lots of Facebook posts from local police forces reminding people to be civically minded and to comply with spirit of the current rules. A simple example is that people are choosing to get their bread from a baker on the other side of town as the cover for a bit of a stroll. There are examples of lock ins in bars and I just saw a video (photo on this post) of the traffic jams out of Valencia city on Friday evening as people headed for their "holiday homes" content to risk taking the virus with them and happily flouting the one person per vehicle instruction. There are still some politicians crass enough to think that now is also a good time for point scoring.

I know which side I want to be on. But we had no eggs, bread, tomatoes, peppers or juice and our alcohol stocks were down to strangely coloured liqueurs and the wine in plastic bottles. The cats also seem to have remarkably healthy appetites.

Shopping aside there were a couple of other reasons for leaving the house. One of the things I've found time for over the last couple of days was to sort through my old English teaching materials looking for stuff to throw out. That had added about 20 kilos of paper to the usual recycling stash of cans, cartons and bottles sitting by the front door. Just to top it off Amazon were threatening to take my order back out of their delivery locker if I didn't pick it up by Sunday. The just about justifiable reasons for a quick trip out were building.

I chose to go out for the supermarket dead time just after 2 pm. It was a good decision. The rainswept roads were almost deserted and there was easy parking just outside the supermarket. I didn't have to queue to go in and I got my handwash and plastic gloves within seconds of entering. It was really quiet and nearly everything was in stock. I didn't like it though. It was all a little unsettling. When all this started I was one of the "well the flu kills 35,000 people every year and nobody notices" crowd  but I found myself hanging back whilst someone in front of me moved on from the area of the shelves where I wanted to be - no point in being foolhardy. It's impossible to go anywhere in Pinoso without bumping into someone you know. There were pals and acquaintances in the supermarket but the conversations were nothing more than polite or humorous exchanges of a few phrases. I have to say that I felt really uncomfortable; a mixture of concern that I was doing wrong by being there and that I was putting myself and Maggie at unnecessary risk.

I did all my jobs without any complications of any sort but I was really quite pleased when I closed the front gate and got to wash my hands.

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Talking to a couple of people on the phone back in the UK I've realised that people there are unaware of the restrictions here in Spain. This list is not exhaustive and it's not official but I think it gives the basic scope of the restrictions.

During the validity of the state of alarm, people may only circulate along the roads or spaces for public use to carry out the following activities. They must be carried out individually, unless accompanied by persons with disabilities, minors, the elderly, or for any other justified reason.

1. to buy food or other primary necessities, or to get prescription medicines from the pharmacy
2. to visit medical facilities in case of urgency
3. to go to your workplace or to carry out labour, professional or company duties
4. to return to your habitual home
5. to visit banking or insurance institution
6. to assist and care for the elderly, minors, dependants, people with disability or especially vulnerable people
7. for reasons of overwhelming force or situation of necessity
8. for any other activity of an analogous nature duly justified
9. to walk your pet (close to home and quickly)
10. to fill your vehicle up with fuel.

All retail businesses are closed the exception of those selling food, beverages, basic necessities, pharmacies, those offering medical, orthopaedic, optical or veterinary services, those selling newspapers, petrol or hygienic products, technological and telecommunications equipment, those offering telecom services, those selling animal feed products, dry cleaners, launderettes, hairdressers for health related home visits, E-commerce or commercial activities by phone or mail. Vehicle workshops may also open

All "food serving" businesses are closed: Tabernas y bodegas, Cafeterías, bares, café-bares. Chocolaterías, heladerías, salones de té, croissanteries. Restaurantes, autoservicios de restauración and similar. Bares-restaurante. Bares y restaurantes de hoteles, except when providing services for their guests. Salones de banquetes. Terrazas.

Museums, discotheques, auditoriums, sports facilities, attraction parks, leisure activity centres, processions, popular fiestas are all closed or cancelled.

Attendance at places of worship and at civil and religious ceremonies, including funerals are possible only if  there is no crowding and people can be kept at least a metre apart.

Out to play

I like to get out and about. Anything from a film to a fiesta, a gallery to a concert, the theatre and, occasionally, even sports events. Doing things suits me. On the other hand in the last seventeen years I have had a couple of short stays in hospital - one in the UK and one here. Much to the surprise of those around me I quite enjoyed those brief medical sojourns.

So far I'm finding the same with being confined to home. I'm not longing to go for a walk or ride the bike or sit in a bar or even go to the pictures. The situation has changed and I'm being told that the best thing for me, and more particularly for everyone else, is that is that I stay at home; so stay at home it is. That said I did go out today. We needed food.

Culebrón itself is festooned with police tape to seal off the public spaces which I noticed as I passed through the village to drop off the recycling. Pinoso, our town, was quiet. Not dead quiet but quiet. I parked without any difficulty outside the bank and by the supermarket. I did have to queue to get in the supermarket but only for five minutes or so. One of the staff was on hand to ensure we maintained a "safe" distance and when someone came out someone else could go in. The free gift on entry was a squirt of alcohol based handwash. The buying looked absolutely normal to me. People were comparing prices and ingredients, nobody was shovelling products into their basket/trolley and most of the shelves were full. I couldn't get mince for the chilli nor butter for my toast and I wondered if that was because of us Britons. Spaniards do use both products but nowhere near as much as we do. By the checkouts there was parcel tape on the floor to remind shoppers to maintain a distance. The only incident of any kind was that there was one chap buying fruit or veg who wasn't using plastic gloves. Someone from the store pointed this out to him and he was less than polite in his response.

Obviously my situation is very straightforward. I don't have the virus, so far as I know, and nobody I know has it either. So far all the dead are just statistics to me. More prosaically I'm not having trouble getting to work, my kids are not at home all the time, my mortgage is paid, I haven't had to close down my business, my income is relatively secure and so on. For some people this sudden stop must be throwing up all sorts of problems and heaven knows what the long term effects will be.

But for an old, fat, English bloke this week's idea of getting out and about was dropping off the recycling, going to the cash machine and the supermarket.

Everyday life

It's really strange. Nothing much has changed and yet everything is very different.

I'm sure you know that Spain is in a "State of Alarm". Basically what that means is that Central Government has taken special powers for itself for the next fortnight at least. In effect Central Government can change the usual rules. Lots of those things would have happened anyway but the response is now more coordinated. For instance where we live the Valencian Government had already decided to close nurseries, schools and universities but with the Central Government now in charge that sort of closure has been made uniform across the country. The general principles of the measures are easy to understand. Close all of the places where there are usually lots of people (day centres, schools, parks, theatres, restaurants, fiestas), tell people to stay at home, try to keep the economy ticking over, keep basic services open (food shops, chemists, petrol stations), limit travel and when travel is necessary ensure that it is a solitary affair. The more governmental "curfew" type things include putting lots of police and the less militarised parts of the army (the emergency response section) on the streets, requisitioning supplies of things like masks and hand wash and making it possible for the health authorities to draft in extra help like nearly qualified medical students and private medical staff if they need to.

I have been in equal measure amused and ashamed reading the comments of my compatriots on the Spanish Facebook page of the Citizens Advice Bureau. So much of it is patronising, bellyaching and thinly veiled anti Spanishness. Several of the entries are of the "Look how smart I am" variety. An example. "So, if you can only travel one in a car and neighbours can't visit each other does this mean that single carers will have to leave their children unattended at home when they go out for food?". There are, though, plenty of genuine questions and real problems "My sister looks after our dad's medication, she knows what he needs and why and she collects his meds every month from the chemist but she doesn't drive and I don't know enough about his medical history to do it myself. Can I give her a lift?". For this type of question I think it would be really difficult for anyone to give an answer, especially as taxis are still in business (with rules about disinfection) but I am 99% certain that if the woman were stopped in such a situation then the police or whoever would be appreciate the genuineness of the case. Then again there are lots of examples of people who were moving home today, who are camping in the remains of a packed up house, and where the removal companies have said that they are not allowed to work. No flexibility there and probably quite rightly even if it does seem hard.

The old fashioned sources of information - radio, telly and newspapers are keeping us informed about the bigger picture and they have turned Fernando Simón into the sort of media star that Ian McDonald was in the UK during the Falklands War. On the other hand the stuff coming via WhatsApp and Facebook is notable for its mix of mischief making, point scoring, genuine information and heroic or heart-warming kitten type stories vaguely related to viral infection. I can't really tell you what it's like out there because we are not going anywhere and where we are there are very few other people. If we were in a city or town we may notice that there was no traffic, we could join in the applause for the medical services or even sing the Spanish version of "I will survive" from our balconies. Out here, in Culebrón, hardly anyone passes our door and I had to stand on top of the old water deposit to see if there were traffic on the main road (that's what I did for the photo at the top next to this post). Anyway it's drizzling today and a bit miserable so it's a good day to drink tea and read books.

I had intended to walk the recycling to the bin but now I'm thinking that it might be more responsible to wait until I need to go in to town and do the recycling and shopping together. Then again I'm not that sure about going in to town. We do need some things and I have no money in my wallet but I'm sure we can manage a couple of days more before hitting the cash machine or replacing our depleted supply of potatoes, thyme and tinned tomatoes.

And good luck to my sister and brother in law who were in Spain on Saturday in their motor home and decided that they would be better off in the UK. Not far to go now but maybe you should stay at home for a while once you get there!

Breathing Space

A pal had to go to accident and emergency yesterday. He was having trouble breathing and he suspected he had something lodged in his windpipe. He asked me to go as a translator. Perhaps his difficulty in breathing had clouded his judgement!

He was seen by a doctor inside about 15 minutes of arrival. He was taken to a cubicle with a bed after that first consultation. There were a couple of routine tests, blood samples, blood pressure, temperature and whatever it is they do when they put electrodes on your chest, hands and legs to get one of those wiggly line graphs. A few minutes later and he got a chest X-ray and then he was shifted onto an observation ward. Somebody came to do the blood pressure and temperature stuff again. This time they were a bit worried about the oxygen levels in his blood so they fastened him up to oxygen administered through one of those clip in the nostril jobs. Then it all slowed to a crawl.

The patient wasn't. He thought they were taking ages and not doing much. Impatient rather than patient. I thought it seemed pretty good. Presumably someone was looking at the various tests and deciding what to do. We'd been there about four hours, a bit less maybe, when I had to go to get to work. Before I went, they told me that my chum would be moved to a room and that they would have a look for the obstruction the next morning. I got a WhatsApp this morning from him to say that they'd taken some food out of his windpipe today.

The lunctime TV news reported that eight out of ten Spaniards are very happy with the service they get from the Spanish health system. Their main complaint is that the waiting times are too long between GP and specialist at around a month. I'd go along with the 80%.

It's my arm doctor

As I remember it the, "it's my arm doctor" quote was some sort of running joke. It had to be delivered with a broad Scots accent. Something to do do with the housekeeper, Janet, from Dr Finlay's Casebook.

If you have any idea what I'm talking about then you'll be old. In turn that probably means you see the doctor more frequently than you would like. Our Saturday morning coffee group is a right little hot bed of knee replacements, cataracts, stomach protectors, heart bypasses, pain relief and epileptic fits. Actually, until I fell over frothing at the mouth, having bitten off large chunks of my tongue, I felt a bit out of the conversation. Obviously I go to the doctor's from time to time but the visits have been thankfully few and far between.

Yesterday I helped a pal with his visit to the doctor. The idea was that, as I speak a few more words of Spanish than he does, I could act as a sort of translator. It wasn't that difficult. A couple of questions from the white coated doctor, a bit of tapping on the computer and out of the office in under three minutes with a prescription and an order for a blood test.

Today it was my turn. Three months since my "event" and I had a follow up visit with the neurology department at Elda Hospital. "Right oh", said the white coated doctor, (all doctors in Spain wear white coats as far as I can see. It's like British doctors have stethoscopes though one must be easier to wash and cheaper than the other.) "the electroencephalograph is clear, anything to tell us?" - I complained about a few aches and pains but said basically no. She was nice about my Spanish and she gave me the alta, the up, the opposite of the baja, the down, the equivalent of a sick note. No more treatment, no more check ups, free to drive. In the clear more or less, with certain provisos, given that collapsing in a supermarket is not a sign of robust good health.

Speaking to people about their experiences with the Spanish health system  brings a mixed bag of responses. The few times I've used them they seem to have been first rate but not everyone agrees. I'm a great believer in normal distributions, the idea that most systems are made up of the reasonably competent with far fewer poor or excellent performers. I have no complaints about the health care I've received at all. In fact I would rate it as cracking.

It was strange. Going to the local surgery yesterday I asked someone how the system worked. It was really simple but I didn't know until I asked. Today, at the hospital, I walked in to the outpatients area and there were hundreds of people sitting on hundreds of chairs. I hadn't the faintest idea where to go or what to do. The woman I asked on Patient Services was dead helpful. She rang to check I was booked in and then walked me to the chairs by the right department. Once I was settled in I realised that the people were clustered around various areas - gynaecology or cardiology or whatever. The system was crystal but to me it initially looked chaotic. As I waited I noticed that there were other people as lost as me, people asking others how the system worked, whilst others, who knew the routine, were like fish in water. I suppose we humans learn routines very quickly.

I had a similar sort of thought as I was leaving. In the entrance area there were all sorts of people from lottery ticket sellers and the people who run the various stalls and stands to the hospital staff and habitual attendees - the  accustomed regulars and the lost novices. It was gratifying to think that, at least for the while, I can number myself amongst the bewildered and lost.

Minor celebrity, cycling and house visiting

Another couple of personal tales. If you're looking for stories of Spain skip this one.

Thrashing around on a supermarket floor must attract quite a reasonable sized crowd - something for any balloon sculpting street artists among you to bear in mind. At least two people have told me they were personally responsible for picking me up and several more seem to have been interested onlookers. Even the local police chief asked me today how I was getting on. Lots of people know about the incident and they seem to know it was me. In fact, at times, I've felt like a bit of a minor celebrity. It's a celebrity I would rather have avoided but, every cloud, as they say.

There is medical advice that I shouldn't drive. So now I can feel virtuous cycling from Culebrón to Pinoso. It's not very far, it's more or less level and yet the effort makes me breathe like an steam train. Nonetheless, as I take my first unsteady steps on reaching my destination I feel righteous. Ecologically sound, part of that group that goes into sports shops to buy things other than shoes.

Getting to town or back home on the loaned road bike is already a relatively quick and only mildly painful process. I expect it to get better as my muscles adapt to something more strenuous than pushing the brake or clutch pedals. The bike is useless for transporting anything other than me of course. I've already had a couple of logistical failures with my lessons when the attempt to keep the weight and angularity of my backpack down has meant that I've forgotten some key bits of paper. My lunchtime menu planning/food buying now also takes account of the weight and bulk of foodstuffs. Night time cycling is out (though much against my better judgement I rode home after nightfall yesterday). I was not and I am not at all keen on mixing with 100km/h traffic after dark but it was actually the oncoming traffic, on the narrow lanes, that caused me most problem as I lost sight of the edge of the road.

As a driver I think those flashing red rear bike lights are great but, as a cyclist, I've had a couple of eye to eye conversations with drivers in broad daylight where there has been no doubt that each of us is aware of the presence of the other. They've cut me up anyway. They are  presumably working on the assumption that, even if I persist, I will hardly mark their paintwork. I am certain that even the flashiest of flashing rear LEDs and the most fluorescent of fluorescent jackets will offer very little protection against just the slightest tap from a vehicle driven by someone much more engrossed in their WhatsApp message than spotting that unexpected night time bike.

When I rode in a couple of days ago I was heading for the bank to talk mortgages and I thought we were just about to buy a house. I was quite taken with the idea. Culebrón is great with space and trees and stuff but it's a pain getting a gas cylinder or a bread stick. And, as the years pass, more things will become a nuisance or worse. So, living in town and being able to leave the gas cylinder outside the door to be replaced or only having to walk around the corner to the bakery sounded good. Pinoso is hardly the big city after all and Friday evening's jaunt to Santa Catalina, where we talked to Spaniard after Spaniard, was also a reminder of the pleasures of living with neighbours in a community.

Maggie knew the house or, in fact, the bunch of houses we were going to see. I reckoned that if she thought they were good then they would be. The houses are owned by a bank, collected as part of a bad debt, probably from a bankrupt builder, and sold through the bank's real estate arm. The prices are low, and similar houses are usually really good value for money. Typically they are "sold as seen" and most of them need a bit of tweaking in one way or another. We're not really rich enough to take on a mortgage but figures can be remarkably elastic when you want them to be and the bank seemed to be as flexible in their sums as we were in ours.

I was ready to having to fit a kitchen from scratch, I knew about that, but, try as I might I couldn't like the house. I looked at the cupboards, described as rooms, and wondered how anybody had decided to make the only suitable length for a bed run from under the window directly into the door. I looked at the toilet absolutely flush to the wall, wondered why, and tried to calculate if there was sufficient leg space between the stool and the bidet without actually squatting down to check. I balanced everything against the price and decided that sometimes being cheap just isn't enough.