And The Living's Easy

Large McDonald's strawberry milkshake.

Paul Simon's Graceland on the headphones.

Sun in the sky and barely a breeze.

I love summertime...

....Even when it arrives in March...

Washed Out

When I started this blog, way back in 2006, I lived in Lochgilphead in Argyll.

At the time, I joked that it rained on two days out of every three.

For the past fortnight, Mrs Wife and I have been on holiday in nearby Inveraray, the town where we married (also in 2006).

And I've realised that my "two days out of every three" joke wasn't a joke.

Barely a day has passed without us being subjected to a torrential downpour. Which has meant that we've spent the majority of our time confined to the static caravan where we're staying.

Which, in truth, hasn't been as bad as it sounds. It's been good to get away from home and work for a while, taking with us piles of books and DVDs. The weather has stayed dry long enough for us to have the occasional walk, we've visited a traditional sweetie shop (twice) and we've caught up with family and friends.

But today we head home to what I expect will be a mountain of mail. And Scotland v Czech Republic on TV (which I haven't actually told Mrs Wife about yet....)

Season 2009/2010: Match 7: Montrose v East Stirlingshire

Having missed last week's Links Park 4-5 thriller, today was my first live football match of 2010, and the first I've seen since mid-December.

Anyone hoping for a match as exciting as the previous week's must have been was sorely disappointed. The most exciting thing that happened (even more exciting than Shire's 18th minute winner) was the referee injuring himself and the stadium announcer sending out a call around the stadium for a registered referee or linseman.

Thankfully (or not, given the dire fare on show today) one of the matchday stewards also doubles as a match official and ran the far side touchline for the second half.

Montrose were abysmal. I don't think they had a shot on target - in fact, they had barely any shots at all. Shire were better, but never looked like they had to step out of first gear.

There can be no denying now that Montrose are the worst team in the country by a long, long way. Aside from John Maitland, not one of the players looked remotely confident. Allied with that was a complete lack of ideas.

Steven Tweed may have a long-term contract as Montrose's player-manager, but something needs to change. Only the Scottish Cup run has injected any enthusiasm into a dire season, but that run will certainly end at Easter Road in a fortnight's time.

It's been a grim winter with more grimness yet to come.

Berwick Raingers

Today, as is my usual practice every second Saturday, I set off around 2pm bound for Links Park.

The focus of today's attention was to be Montrose v Berwick, but when I arrived at the ground at 2.20pm it was apparent all was not well. Groups of people huddled in the shelter of the ground's front entrance, and the turnstiles weren't open.

Angus has been bombarded by torrential rain over the past few days, and I assumed that even Montrose's plastic pitch had proven too soggy for football today.

But the club employees inside the stadium informed us that one of the teams was stuck en route due to a road closure between Perth and Dundee.

Now, I would have assumed that the team unable to make it Links Park today would have been Berwick, seeing as how they were coming from England. But the Berwick team bus was parked in front of the ground, and small groups of their fans were wandering around nearby.

No, the team unable to make it to today's fixture was the home side.

It's a funny old game Saint....

Home Alone

Thanks to rain of Biblical proprtions yesterday - it was raining heavily when I got up at 6.15am, was still chucking down when I got home at 5.30pm, was absolutely belting down when I went to bed at 10pm and continued through the night - I am stuck at home.

Despite the fact that we're in one of the wettest parts of the world, our rail system can't cope with the water, and all trains are cancelled or severely delayed.

Which means that I'm "working from home" today, which means that I'm working in significantly greater comfort than I'm used to.

For a start, I'm in jeans, a jumper and thick woolly socks. NME TV is on in the background. I can eat what I like when I like.

And I'm realising once again that there's no way I could ever work from home permanently - I just don't have the discipline. I need to be in an air-conditioned office wearing proper work clothes to get me in the work frame of mind.

Still, one day isn't going to hurt.

Flyin' Gigs

It's bloody cold here in deepest, darkest, Jockshire. I think last week was the first I can remember when it snowed every day for a week.

The streets of Aberdeen are still covered in snow, and it's still deep in fields lining my train route into the city each morning. Curtains of frozen water cling to the cliffs between Aberdeen and Stonehaven, and the pavements in the city are, in places, dangerously slippery.

All in all, it's not ideal gig weather, but last night a few friends and I set off to Moshulu to see Late of The Pier.

Opening act Connan Mockasin (yep, both of those names are spelt correctly) were already on stage when we entered the venue. They were oddly ramshackle - a drummer in a deerstalker hat and a young guy with an unruly shock of blond hair playing an odd assortment of instruments while singing in a strangled yelp. They were better than that description makes them sound, honestly....

They were followed by Micachu and The Shapes (it was a night of bizarrely-named bands), who were, if truth be told, the most interesting band of the night. A lead singer who looked like a 14-year-old boy, but is actually a 21-year-old woman, led the three-piece band through a fast-paced set incorporating quick rhythm changes and clever harmonies. Definitely ones to watch.

And so to the headliners. I hadn't heard much of Late of The Pier's stuff prior to the gig, but I expected a noisy, fast-paced set - and I wasn't wrong.

As the gig was an over-14s event, the crowd was young and excitable, two features of the audience the band played on to rollock through an electro-punk set. The band's arrogance, while it undoutedly spurs them on while onstage, became a bit grating as the set wore on, but they were well worth the remarkably low entrance fee of £9.

All in all, a good night was had by each of us, especially given the less than ideal weather conditions outdoors.

Snow Rest For The Wicked

How much I wished I was a child today.

When Baby Brother and I were younger, we lived around 30 miles from our high school, so when winter hit properly, we could often be snowed in for a whole week, six-foot drifts making the roads unpassable for all vehicles, never mind school buses.

But instead, as Aberdeen was smothered beneath a blanket of white powder, I was in my company's office from 8am to 5pm attempting to make sense of dozens of interlocked spreadsheets forecasting vessel utilisation and other equally riveting topics.

What I would have given to have instead spent the morning launching snowballs at Baby Brother and sledging down increasingly steep slopes, before moving inside once I'd lost all feeling in my extremities to warm up beside the fire.

Season 2008/2009: Match 15: Montrose v Elgin City

In the bleak midwinter, many matches across the UK were cancelled yesterday due to frozen pitches and conditions more suited to sitting inside and watching TV than sitting in a concrete and steel cowshed and watching what passes for football on this chilly wee island.

Angus alone saw both Brechin's Glebe Park and Forfar's Station Park deemed unplayable, but we're made of sterner stuff in Montrose. And our pitch is plastic.

So, having passed a 10.30am pitch inspection, Links Park was ready for action come 3pm. And by 3.05pm, Montrose were a goal behind, having conceded a goal to Kenny Wright, a striker decked out in pink boots.

Seriously, isn't there a law against Third Division players wearing pink boots? There was a time when only the super-talented, multiple cap-holding world superstars wore even white boots, but now we have part-time players on the lowest rung of the Scottish professional game wearing pink boots. I think FIFA needs to get involved.

Anyway, Montrose were trailing from the fifth minute, but never really looked like losing the match. They equalised in the ninth minute, Roddy Hunter sending a low shot skipping across the plastic and under Ally Ridgers for the equaliser.

The Links Park side were ahead a minute into the second half, Paul Hegarty's son Chris scoring his first Montrose goal from the penalty spot following a foul by David Niven on Stephen Black.

Skipper Keith Gibson added a third in the 73rd minutes, Ridgers again beaten by a shot from the edge of the box, the ball again slipping underneath him.

Gibson had the ball in the net again later, when it appeared he chested it across the line, but referee Craig Charleston deemed the finish to be handball and instead booked the midfielder.

So, Montrose recorded a win in their first match of 2009, moving back into the play-off spots in the process, although they've played more matches than most of their near rivals.

But on form like yesterday's, they're worthy of their billing as promotion chasers.

Season 2008/2009: Match 11: Montrose v Huntly

They say a week's a long time in football, and today seemed to prove the point.

After last week's inept performance against Dumbarton, Montrose today eased into the third round of the Scottish Cup with a win over high-scoring Highland League Huntly.

Since last week's match, Montrose have appointed former Dundee United and Celtic defender David Hannah as caretaker player-manager, sent last season's top goalscorer John Baird on loan to Second Division side (and local rivals) Brechin City and taken Calum Smith in the opposite direction.

If last week saw Montrose lacking focus, this week they coped admirably with a feisty Huntly side. Hannah selected himself at the heart of defence, and remained a vocal figure throughout.

But on the day, it was the weather that was the talking point. Montrose played against the gale-force wind in the first half, a wind so strong that one goal kick flew back over goalkeeper Greg Kelly's head and out for a corner. Huntly also tested their luck from long range on several occasions, with three shots from 40 or 50 yards coming close in the first half.

The first half was extended by almost five minutes due to the number of dead balls delayed while the kick takers attempted to get the ball to sit still long enough for them to take the kick.

Referee Mat Northcroft, who spent most of the game behaving in an over-pernickety fashion given the conditions, engaged in a "wind inspection" during the break, finally concluding that abandoning the match wasn't necessary.

And so Montrose, already ahead despite playing against the conditions, saw out the match with the wind at their backs. A 2-0 win over a side scoring for fun in the Highland League was a good result for Hannah's first match in charge of the Links Park size.

The two men who were arguably the biggest influence on Montrose's promotion push last season, manager Jim Weir and goalscorer John Baird, have gone, but the Hannah reign has at least started in a winning way. With the gaffer on the pitch, Montrose seemed more assured of themselves than in recent weeks, and new loanee Calum Smith, signed as part of the deal that took Baird to Glebe Park, looked lively throughout.

Yep, a week's a long time in football.

No Slow Train Coming

At some point yesterday afternoon, there was a landslide that covered a section of the East Coast Mainline between Stonehaven and Montrose.

As I understand things, ScotRail became aware of the problem around 4pm.

I arrived at Aberdeen railway station at 4.30pm, intending to catch my usual 4.41pm train home to Montrose. I was allowed to board the train as normal, and as usual it was fairly close to being full, with only a few seats free.

No announcement was made to tell passengers there was a delay until 4.50pm, and at that point we were informed that this was simply a delay.

At around 5.30pm we were told to get off the train as substitute buses would be running from Dundee onwards, and that separate buses would transfer passengers to Stonehaven, Montrose and Arbroath as required.

The announcements made over the station tannoy system were inaudible, leaving hundreds of passengers milling around the station concourse, joined each minute by new arrivals unaware of the problems.

Finally, all passengers bound for Edinburgh and Glasgow were urged to move outside (into the pishing rain) to queue for substitute buses. Everyone else was informed they should wait in the station.

Having waited until 6.30pm, I went out to seek further information. I asked a ScotRail employee whether any buses were running to Montrose, to be told "Oh, it's just left".

No announcement was made to the scores of passengers inside the station. There were still hundreds of people queuing on Guild Street in the rain, waiting for buses they were assured were "on the way".

I decided to stay in the queue, in case another Montrose-bound bus should appear unnanounced. While waiting, I got talking to the three people beside me, who were trying to get to Edinburgh.

At around 7.45pm, one of the women I was talking to set off to find more information. She returned around 8pm to inform me that a member of ScotRail staff was gathering a group of Montrose-bound passengers to travel in a taxi.

Thankfully, I managed to grab a space in the taxi, which left Aberdeen at 8pm, three-and-a-half hours after I had first arrived at the station, and I finally got home just after 9pm.

It is safe to say that I have never had the misfortune to deal with a company as disorganised, poorly managed and generally useless as ScotRail. At least three members of staff in Aberdeen station were truculent, moody and sarcastic when asked for information.

If the company is stripped of its operator's licence, it won't be a moment too soon.

Weather Or Not

The weather here in deepest, darkest Jockshire can't seem to make its mind up at the moment.

Saturday, which saw Mrs Wife and I host a barbecue for around 50 people, was scorching, and several of those present, myself included, ended the day a more lurid pink than they had started it.

But by the next morning, the debris in the garden was soaked by a constant, core-soaking drizzle that never seemed to depart.

This morning, after Mrs Wife and I made it to bed around midnight following a late evening showing of The Dark Knight, we were awoken around 6am by rumbles of thunder that were, well, thunderous.

And now Dungroanin' is shrouded in a mist that has rolled in, presumably from the North Sea.

Hasn't anyone told the weather that it's meant to be mid-summer?

Happy Holidays

Having never enjoyed the benefits of Bank Holidays off work when with my previous employer, I'm always very appreciative when I get a Monday off with the rest of the working world.

That's especially true when it seems that summer has arrived, as was the case today with barely a cloud in the sky. And so, armed with the Magic Tune Box loaded with the newly-acquired albums by Portishead and The Courteeners, Alexander McCall Smith's fourth No.1 Ladies Detective Agency book and a drink, I spent most of the afternoon baking in the May sunshine.

As a result, my arms are now a lurid lobster pink - which is a progression from corned beef grey, the standard hue of the Scotsman on his own soil.

But now the haar is rolling in and the working week is lumbering in to view. And my arms are stinging a bit.

Still, it was good while it lasted.

Back To Work

6.15am is an ungodly hour of the day to get up, especially in winter, and double especially after a two-week holiday.

Waking up and going to work when it's dark, cold and wet is the ideal way to ruin a good day.

I just can't understand those people who, having won twenty million quid on the lottery, announce: "But I won't be quitting my job, I just love it so much".

Unless you're a rock'n'roll star, professional footballer, Playboy photographer or porn star, why would ANYONE continue working if they didn't have to?

You get up at the crack of, or well before, dawn. Spend eight hours in a shitty office doing something boring with a bunch of people doing equally boring stuff, go home again in the same dark and shitty weather, and pay tax on it all.

I'm only 27, but I'd retire tomorrow if it was financially viable. I've suggested this to Mither and Mrs Wife in the past, and they both claim I'd be bored.

Nonsense. I'd have a whale of a time, doing what I want when I want. I'd write a novel eventually, I'm sure I'd manage to squeeze one out over 40 years. I'd play a lot of computer games and read a lot of books and watch a lot of movies and listen to a lot of music.

The first day back at work ALWAYS sucks.....

Wet Wet Wet, Cold Cold Cold, Beaten Beaten Beaten

Playing football in horizontal driving and freezing rain is not an entirely enjoyable activity.

Especially when the match ends in a 9-2 defeat.

Even if I did score an opportunistic goal with a sweetly-taken shot using the outside of my boot.

This is Aberdeen - it's supposed to be dry over here.

I am now recovering with pear cider and chocolate.

That is all.

Cold Days and Classic Movies

There's a nasty nip in the air today (no Pearl Harbour jokes please) here on the east coast of Scotland, and it's clear that winter is most definitely either here or on the way.

When Mrs Wife and I made the decision almost a year ago to move east, we did so knowing full well that the weather would be drier, but most certainly colder. But I'd forgotten just how bitterly cold it can be over on this side of the country.

The heating in my office didn't seem to be working too effectively this morning, and hopefully this won't be an indication of things to come, as the days will certainly get colder as we reach mid winter.

And this evening, I am left to my own devices, rabbit-sitting duties aside, as Mrs Wife is in Edinburgh for training. Last night, faced with the prospect of a free evening, I decided to watch the The Shawshank Redemption for the first time.

I don't know how I'd managed not to see the movie before, but I'd heard a lot about it - with several friends placing it amongst the greatest movies ever.

And my verdict - yeah, it's good, but I don't think it's quite deserving of the legendary status bestowed on it by some people.

Certainly not a patch on Star Wars.....

Everywhere You Go

It's been a funny summer so far here in North East Scotland.

April was scorching, with weather that you'd more typically expect in July.

June and July weren't much to write home about - in fact July was pretty much wet and overcast throughout, the occasional day of sunshine aside.

But on Saturday, August at least threatened to play by the rules, with hot sunshine and a warm breeze coaxing Mrs Wife and I from our shelter. Montrose was busy with Saturday shoppers and football fans heading to Links Park to witness the dawn of a new season and the start of Irn Bru's sponsorship of our national game. By all accounts, it was a drab match that ended in a 1-0 defeat for the home side, so I'm not too fussed that I missed it.

Sunday came, and, typically, so did the rain. A lot of rain.

So much rain, in fact, that the road I take to work was flooded this morning, forcing me to take a detour and, as a result, arrive at the office late.

Every man and his dog now seems to think that global warming is to blame for everything. But we've always had weather, and it doesn't always stick to the plans we'd like it to. There have been mild winters and cold summers in the past, but there have also been years where we've had six-foot snow drifts in February and six weeks of sun in the summer.

There's not much we can do about it. In fact, there's nothing we can do about it except get on with things.

It won't stop me wishing for a bit of sunshine mind you.

(Not So) Good Morning Vietnam

I recently published a post that harked back to an email I sent to the folks back home whilst travelling around the world in 2003-2004.

The story I posted was that of the exploding Mitsubishi that drained our finances whilst we were in Western Australia and almost forced us to return home just a few months into the trip.

But before that sorry episode (which turned out well in the end), we'd had a far more exciting time whilst in Vietnam.

This email, sent on November 11 2003, had an ominous forewarning of the problems associated with the rain in southern Vietnam:

As Hue is further south than Hanoi, it is currently in the middle of its rainy season. It has barely stopped raining since we arrived here, but when it rains, it is still very hot. The rain can be pretty ferocious at times, and our hotel room is on the top floor of the building, so we are right underneath the roof, and the rain was clattering off the roof and balcony all night.

We were supposed to be taking a boat trip around various tombs and pagodas today, but the Perfume River is too high and fast after the rain last night, so we had to go by car instead. The tombs and pagodas all tend to look the same after seeing 15 of them, but some of them are quite picturesque, depending on the importance of the Emperor buried there.

In the centre of the city is a walled citadel known as the Forbidden Purple City, which was the home of various royal dynasties of Vietnam. The complex is quite large, and was occupied by the Vietnamese royalty until 1945, when they surrendered power to the Vietnamese people (the civil war destroyed much of the city, and the Communists from the north effectively seized power over the whole of Vietnam).

We have one more day in Hue, then we get the train to Saigon tomorrow morning. The journey is almost 24 hours long, arriving 10am on Thursday, which means we only have a day and a half in Saigon before we fly to Bangkok.

But those well-laid plans were threatened when we attempted to make it to Saigon for our flight. The following email was sent from Singapore Airport on November 15:

We have finally made it to Singapore airport from Vietnam, but for a while I doubted we would ever see anything again except the inside of an ancient Vietnam Railways train.

Our train from Hue to Saigon was supposed to take around 23 hours overnight, which we were prepared for. Waking up at 6am to the terrible Vietnamese pop music blasting through the tannoys, we realised that the train was not moving. The train staff spoke no english, so we couldn't find out why.

After two hours, we spoke to a Malaysian-born London man, who informed us that the train was stopped due to water on the tracks ahead. It had been raining torrentially for around two days, in which time about two feet of water had accumulated on the tracks.

After sitting around the train for another four hours, we were informed, again by means of our Malaysian translator, that the train was not likely to move for 12-24 hours.

With flights from Saigon to catch today (we woke up on the train on Thursday) we decided to take alternative measures. Six of us, all from Britain, left the train and walked along the tracks in the pouring rain to a local station, where we managed to ascertain that no taxi would drive through this weather. Instead, we began walking along the main road towards Nah Trang, the closest town of any note, 17km away.

We managed to flag down a local 'bus' - I use the term loosely to describe a van filled with people, crates, baskets of fruit and veg and with bicycles strapped to the roof - which agreed to take us to Nah Trang.

Squashed in amongst all of this stuff, we took around an hour to travel the 17km, but we were eventually deposited at a petrol station in town, where we flagged down taxis to Sinh Cafe, a travel agency which can book flights and buses to Saigon.

The woman in Sinh Cafe told us that no buses were running as bridges were down between Nah Trang and Saigon, but the cafe next door assured us that the roads were clear and that we could make it to Saigon for 4am (this was at 6.30pm).

We decamped to an Italian restaurant for some much needed food, having spent 26 hours on the ill-fated train with only Pringles and biscuits to feed us.

Our bus left shortly after 8pm, and things looked good. We travelled for around three hours, when we reached the end of a 15km traffic jam. Contrary to the man in the cafe's assurances, the bridge was under two feet of water, and we would be unlikely to move before 5am. Our driver, with remarkable foresight, drove us to the front of the tailback, where we parked for the night.

It's not easy sleeping on a roasting hot coach full of moaning English people (apologies to any southerners reading this) and surrounded by Vietnamese people laughing at us, but we tried. We were stopped in a small village, which at least allowed us to eat and use toilets.

By 8am, nothing had moved, but we were told it would only be another few hours (an hour in Vietnam is not like an hour in Britain, in that it is not a rigid length of time - it is an indeterminate length of time no less than one hour).

As the sun rose, we were joined by local children who had been excused school due to the floods. The were highly amused and intrigued by our presence, asking us a barrage of questions in near-perfect English. The Vietnamese football tops sported by myself and another passenger proved to us the international status of the England national side - the shirts are red and bore the numbers 7 and 10, sparking cries of "Beckham" and "Owen". They scampered off to locate a ball, and we spent around an hour being humiliated by their footballing prowess.

We finally moved around 1pm (we were meant to be in Saigon at 4am), and saw the Vietnamese rapidly attempting to repair the bridge. Nevertheless, we made it across.

We presumed that, because we had travelled three hours the previous evening, that we would have only five hours to go. We were a little surprised, then, to roll into Saigon at midnight!

All in all, our journey from Hue to Saigon took 61 hours, this was to cover a distance of 10,000 kilometres.

We checked into the first hotel we found in Saigon, and slept soundly after much-needed showers.

This morning, we walked across the road to get money for our airport departure tax. As [Mrs Wife] input the amount of money she wanted, the cash machine went dead. The power had cut midway through the transaction!

The woman in the shop found this hilarious. We, needless to say, did not, as [Mrs Wife's] card was still in the dead machine. The woman called the bank, but I'm not sure that she appreciated that we were due to fly an hour later.

Eventually the man from the bank arrived, removed [Mrs Wife's] card from the machine, and we went back to our hotel and our still waiting taxi - the Vietnamese don't give up on a western fare.

As we still had no money, the hotelier paid half of our taxi for us, and we made it the airport on time, paying our departure tax in Singaporese dollars. So we have finally made it to Singapore, and leave for Bangkok in an hour. Sorry for the lack of Halong Bay/Hue-type imagery, but all we've seen is rain, water and the insides of buses and trains.

The age-old cliche that "you can laugh about it in hindsight" comes to mind, but spending three nights on crowded trains and buses wasn't much fun at the time. But I suppose it allowed us to see "real" Vietnamese life first-hand. Unfortunately, it also meant that we didn't get to see any of Saigon, which was a disappointment.

And The Living's Easy

I'm almost loath to write this, but (whisper it) it seems that summer may finally be here.

So far, July has been an almost complete washout here in Angus. By my reckoning, there have been two days of sunshine so far this month, with the remaining 25 days marred by heavy rain, howling winds and towering black clouds.

But this morning I awoke to glorious sunshine, a cool and gentle breeze and blue skies as far as the eye could see, dotted only occasionally by fluffy white clouds.

By acknowledging that summer has begun, I've probably gone and jinxed it, and my planned lunch hour in Duthie Park will instead turn into me seeking refuge in the car as hailstones batter down on northeast Scotland.

Wonderful Weather and Woeful Weather

The weather over the weekend was magnificent, and gave the people of Montrose their first glimpse of a real summer.

On Saturday, when my friend came to visit the town for the first time, we walked into town and along the seafront, but the heat and the humidity made it a tough trip.

But by Sunday, the humidity was gone and the sun blazed down on the Montrose Donkey Derby. Despite several attempts, I was unable to pick a winner in any of the races, and also failed to kick a football through a hole in a wooden board. Regardless of these shortcomings, a fine time was had by all, and we returned to Dungroanin' for an impromptu barbecue.

So, when we went to bed last night, I expected that today would dawn in glorious sunshine, as July finally remembered that it is supposed to be the height of summer.

But it's not. It is freezing cold and pishing with rain once again.

So summer lasted two days. Wonderful.

Weather or Not?

The weather here in Jockshire over the past 24 hours has been, for want of a better word, changeable.

Last night, as I drove home from Aberdeen, a lightning storm began to rip the thick black clouds apart, a forewarning of the Biblical rainstorm that followed.

All of last evening, as I sat in the house alone, the rain battered down, the lightning continuing for at least four hours. In fact, the thunder was still rumbling as I went to bed. I attempted to capture it on video, but unfortunately my mobile phone couldn't do the weather justice.

On the one occasion I ventured out in it, as far as the garage, I was utterly soaked, and the noise of the fat raindrops belting off the horizontal steel garage door sounded like bullets ripping into a metal bucket.

But this afternoon, as my colleagues and I left an Aberdeen restaurant following a "working lunch", the sun was drying Scotland out, beating down from a clear blue sky.

Which bodes well for a weekend when I have Dungroanin' to myself and when Mrs Wife is taking part in a sponsored walk up a Munro.

I sense a full hammock day is approaching.