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This is a question Broken Promises

Thebigfella tugs our coat and says: Are you a LibDem minister, a cheating partner, or maybe you have an annoying friend you can't be bothered with? Tell us of promises you've broken, or if you've been on the receiving end.

(, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 12:40)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

A Christmas True Story
Nothing causes more broken promises than an addiction to alcohol. Work, family, friends, they all bear the brunt and eventually stop calling, visiting and finally, stop caring.

This is a true story.

In Glasgow, most of the high rise blocks have a concierge office … basically one of the flats in the building has one or two guys who look after the place, letting in workmen, monitoring the CCTV, making minor repairs and helping out where possible. Some are better than others, but let me tell you about John (for that is his name). Now he has actually been recognised for his work in organising charity football matches, and he also runs trips to places like the Science Centre for local kids and runs things like OAP meals and trips to the bingo, but forget about that, let me tell you something that happened last Christmas.

One of the residents he looked after was an alcoholic (let’s call him ‘the man’). An alcoholic who was in such a bad way that although he was only mid forties, he had problems leaving the house, and no amount of talking and persuading would stop him drinking. He was killing himself slowly. What John did was to talk to every other person around his flat, saying ‘Look I know you think you’re doing this guy a favour by getting him drink. Don’t. Get him milk, tea, toilet roll, food. If he wants booze he’ll bloody well have to get it for himself.’

This resulted in a few sober days where John managed to have a few talks with him, discover things about his old job, his estranged mother and family, and helped him start to tidy up the flat he lived in, which through years of neglect was in a very bad way.

He still drank, a lot. No-one would help him get drink, but if he wanted it badly enough no-one could really stop him. There’s no overnight cure, especially if the person looking after you is just essentially an employee of the landlords of the building you live in, but over the months, the flat became tidier, the man started looking after himself a bit more and occasionally got out the house for things other than a trip to the pub.

John was working on Christmas morning last year. The two concierges who were on duty called at the man’s flat early, bundled in and John said, ‘Right, it’s time.’ He was handed a razor, made to have a long wash and dressed in some ‘new’ smarter clothes. He was bundled into a car and taken across Glasgow, destination unknown.

They pulled up at a non-descript house, the man was marched up the drive, the bell was rang and the door answered by an older lady.

“Mrs, here’s your son.”


He didn’t stick around for the reaction. His second job that morning was to return to the block he looked after and make sure every child, children of asylum seekers who didn’t celebrate Christmas, children with parents who couldn’t afford it, every single child who lived there, got a present. Paid for from his own pocket. I can imagine he felt a bit tired but happy that evening as he and the other concierge sat with their feet up in their little office when there was a knock on the door.

The man, his mum, his sisters and their husbands came in with some foil covered plates, a big Christmas dinner for John and whoever was on shift with him (and a surreptitious can of beer or two for them to take home). Not much, but all they could afford, and they’d travelled across Glasgow with it.

The man’s family had welcomed him with open arms, and that day the man had discovered for the first time that he was an uncle … and his mum had got her son back for Christmas.

Apologies for length, and the wee bit of shoehorning needed to get this into the QOTW this week. This is a completely true story told to me by someone who knows him and knows of his work. As I say he has been recognized in a small way for what he does, but John is simply one of the good guys in this world. He makes a huge difference for those that need it and in doing so makes everything just a wee bit better for us all.

Cheers, Cheeses
(, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 18:01, 24 replies)
I made a hell of a promise once. I promised a young dame I'd never die.
You might be thinkin' what kind a foolhardy sonovabitch says something like that. I'll tell you what kind - the kind who finds himself in love with a sweet little pixie with legs that reach all the way to the ground. A street-hardened farmboy-turned-cop with stars in his eyes who longs to know the touch of a real woman.

Jane was her name, and what she needed was a man. She'd loved and lost more times than an adult film star with a fear of success. I leaned forward across the table in the smoke filled bar, head buzzing from one too many Shirley Temples.

"I may not be a young man or a rich man, but I can promise I'll be there for you, Jane. When the going gets tough I'm the kinda guy who sees it though."

She started to sob like an inverted hyena. If tears were words, her eyes were a German dictionary, "You're a good man, but--"

"Jane, baby, tell me what's wrong."

"I can't lose you. I've lost so much."

"I've lost something too, baby. My mind. Because of you I can't think straight anymore. I try to work, but you keep barging into my thoughts like a sex-crazed Kool Aid man and I'm the only glass in town."

She welled up, "Oh Frank--"

"I'll be with you forever, sweetheart. I promise you I'll never die."

She looked at me with eyes like headlights, and headlights like two bald men fighting over a chicken wing, "Surely, you can't promise that."

"I can, toots, and don't call me Shirley."

Regrettably, it was a promise I couldn't keep.


We'll miss you, Les.
(, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 23:51, 3 replies)
Promises, Promises
I promised my ex-flatmate not to laugh at his terrible, world-shattering news.

Now about my ex-flatmate, let's call him Tom.
Tom is a nice enough guy: home educated until GCSEs, did well, then went to a proper sixth form, where he discovered girls, booze, drugs and the sexually lubricating effects of playing the guitar well.
So needless to say he did pathetically in his A-Levels, dropped out, became a musician and developed the sexual morals of an unspayed alleycat.

Some years later, we got back in touch. We both lived in Sheffield and were both paying too much for our respective tiny rooms, so we pooled our resources and got a nice house together and the good times rolled.
Tom was a great bloke to go out on the piss with, a constant source of high-quality herbiage and a purveyor of women so loose they only wore panties to keep their ankles warm. Happy times.

Tom's downfall came in the form a particularly loose, and particularly stupid woman named, ooh, let's say Amanda.
Amanda was extraordinarily slutty, deeply in love with Tom, and so stupid that the only knife in the draw less sharp was actually a spatula.

Example: Amanda is in our front room and is cold. We're all pretty sloshed, so I point to the thermostat control and say: The Thermostat's there, turn it up if you want to.
Amanda: ...
Me: Just there, see?
Amanda: ...
Me: Is there a problem?
Amanda:...What's a thermostat?

Fast forward several months. Tom and Amanda have broken it off. Tom has a new girlfriend. He gets a call from Amanda.
She's pregnant.
It's his.

He tells me and is obviously distraught. I'm supportive, for a while, but I have the devil in me. A week or so later, Tom is wondering around the house like a lost soul, and decides to turn the heating up.

I creep up behind him as he approaches the control, crouch down and say, in a high, childish voice:

"What's a thermostat, daddy?"

I'm going to hell, for that, if nothing else.
(, Tue 7 Dec 2010, 12:37, 1 reply)
Nick Clegg

When people meet a comedian, they often say "Well say something funny". Likewise, when they meet a politician, the first thing that springs to mind is "Tell me a lie then..."

But we thought Nick was going to be different.

In the Liberal manifesto, at the last election, they pledged to resist and vote against any increase in the tuition fees. Further more, over 500 Liberal candidates at the last election signed the following:

"I pledge to vote against any increase in fees in the next parliament and to pressure the government to introduce a fairer alternative"

Take note of the part where they said they would pressure the government - implying that they knew they weren't going to BE the government but would use their votes to resist.

All through the campaign, in speech after speech Clegg promised that tuition fees were his line in the sand. Something he wouldn't compromise on. He gave his word, he signed a pledge, he crossed his heart and hoped to die......

Then, at the first whiff of power, Deputy Prime Minister in fact, he abandoned his principles, betrayed those that voted for him and his party, and showed the world what a lying, two-faced, corruptible cunt he really is.

There's promises and there's promises - especially in politics - but there are some things that you have to stand up for. And giving your word, signing a pledge and making that pledge a core part of your manifesto, is one of them.

Nick Clegg - you're a contemptible, lying, oath-breaking, untrustworthy, piece of shit. I wouldn't even give you the cheese under my foreskin if you were starving. Enjoy your year or so in the spotlight because, when the next election comes, you're going to be destroyed and wiped from the face of British politics. A taste of what's to come will be in the Council elections in May.

Cheers
(, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 22:33, 49 replies)
Sticker Tears
I've never been one for making promises because I tend to try my best to stick to them and this causes a great deal of stress. Therefore, I'm too selfish to be selfish.

Anyway, I was reminded of another reason why I don't tend to lie/cheat/break a promise at work today. I teach English to primary school kids in Japan. They go absolutely mental over a sticker system I made to reward winning games or being creative with English. The only other group of people I've seen get that agitated and excited were junkies waiting for their methadone.

I forgot to bring my stickers with me last week for one of my lessons. I promised that I would bring them with me the following week and that I would give the winners two stickers as a reward. As I walked into the classroom today the cutest 6 year old kid you've ever seen came up to me with a massive, warm smile. She stuck out her hand in anticipation of her delayed prize... and then I realised I had forgotten them again.

She did not take this news well and I could see the spark in her eyes extinguish. She told me in Japanese that I had broken a promise and then she turned around close to tears and sat looking at the empty spaces on her sticker reward sheet. I've destroyed her trust in adults and foreigners forever.

Little bastard has made me feel guilty all day.
(, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 14:57, 2 replies)
Dear P2P,
You promised me a sexy dwarf amputee having sex with a camel, but all I got was this lousy Rick Astley video...
(, Mon 6 Dec 2010, 18:06, 3 replies)
"I promise never
to strip naked, cover mayself in goose grease, come over to your house, roll around on your freshly-cut lawn, and claim to be the 'Grass-Bigfoot'"

"I promise never to do it again."
(, Sat 4 Dec 2010, 1:36, 3 replies)
Wham!
In the song 'wake me up before you go go' George Michael sang "i'm not planning on going solo"
Then look what the cunt went and did.
No wonder Andrew Ridgley doesn't talk to him.
(, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 22:30, 5 replies)
A Life Lesson, With Tragic Consequences
I learned a valuable lesson on betrayal in primary school, as well as a deep insight into the inner workings of democracy (sort of). I ask you to cast your wavy lines back to the summer of 1995. I was a sprightly, naive 10 year old, and for the first time in my life, I was winning 'sports'.

I was a scrawny child. I combined a lack of confidence with a lack of stamina, strength, endurance and technique to be one of the kids who got picked last for everything. However, this sports day, everything was going to change. I would be racing against fatties, and I was going to fucking win.

We had a ‘houses’ system at primary school, and ours was Saxons. And we were shit. The Normans, appropriately*, would trounce us every year. Each house was split between boys and girls. The Romans had half a dozen of the finest sportsmen available. We had 2 fat kids and me. I don’t know why the teachers would do this to us.

However, the upside, as I alluded to earlier, was that the qualifying phase for each race was purely ‘in-house’. The top 2 finishers then went through to the inter-house final. I ran my approval-seeking little heart out in every single event to embarrass those fatties, and it felt fucking great. I’d burst triumphantly through the tape, hardly out of breath, and turn around to see them barely past 10 metres, panting, red-faced and jiggling along, each desperate to beat the other.

The crux of this story is that before sports day, a vote would take place between the houses. This was to decide who the Captain, and Vice-Captain of the respective teams would be. Once again, bewilderingly, this was divided between boys and girls, so our vote was once again between me and the fatties, again with only one loser. The winners got badges. Not plastic, round ‘Happy Birthday’ badges. Real fucking metal badges, colour-coded to your house, with actual metal pins and everything. The only other way of getting one of these badges was to have ‘Librarian’ written on it, and fuck that for a game of soldiers. Needless to say, I wanted that Captain’s badge.

We only had 1 vote to cast between the 3 of us. If we all voted for a different person, it would be a tie and a re-vote. In the pre-vote planning session (break time) one of the fat kids approached me with a golden proposition. If I voted for him, he would in turn, guarantee me his vote. As you couldn’t vote for yourself, that would ensure that the final kid’s vote would make one of us Captain, the other Vice-Captain. Sure, it wasn’t a guaranteed Captain’s badge, (which for some reason I felt I deserved), but it was a guaranteed mother fucking badge, and that was better than nothing. So, I agreed. He would get my vote.

Results day finally came in, after all the votes had been counted, and re-counted. I could barely contain my excitement. Was it to be Captain, or Vice-Captain? Which side of my chest would I pin it to?

‘And the Captain of the Saxon team is..... Fatty#1!’

Shit. Oh well. I knew this was a possibility. Life goes on.

‘And the Vice-Captain is..... Fatty #2!’

You fucking what.

He told me to my face, that vote was mine. But.. what if he told fatty #2 the same thing? Oh my God... I’ve been done like a fucking kipper. How could I not have seen this coming? How could I be so naive? I trusted him, and now my life was effectively, over.

And that’s how I became a librarian.

*I've changed the name of that house to hopefully make it seem like I know what i'm talking about historically, according to a quick google search, which might be wrong. It was actually the Romans. I can't be arsed to look it up.
(, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 15:29, 13 replies)
Oh for Fuck's sake...
I promised I'd never post a story a week late in the manner of a cunt.

And here's my story about being a dad.
As of last friday I am one.

You post the bloody question whilst we're actually in the hospital having the wee babby heaved out by three burly midwives using a sink plunger*.

I now have 8 pounds nine ounces of wee pink conehead to deal with.
Woot!

*It was a special medical sink plunger, but I shit you not.
(, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 19:37, 15 replies)
At the end of high school...
...all of the students are given a wooden katana and released into a disco hall to fight it out.

That's what a bokken prom is.
(, Wed 8 Dec 2010, 16:46, Reply)
Remember, Sully, when I promised to kill you last?
I lied.
(, Mon 6 Dec 2010, 15:54, 5 replies)
I promise not to make any more puns.
I've repunted.
(, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 2:56, 2 replies)

This sort of rolls along from last weeks QOTW.

When dad died we had him cremated. He had always been a really tight old bugger and he hadn't wanted a fancy urn or anything, so we just had his ashes in a simple porcelain jar. We had promised to distribute his remains near his favourite fishing spot. After the ceremony mum takes us there and opens the jar and shakes some ashes into her hand and says a few words. Dads frugality was always a family joke so mum says 'Hon, you know the new car and the new kitchen you always promised me? I'm going to buy it out of the insurance money. And you know the blowjob I always promised you? Well here it is....'
(, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 22:26, 7 replies)
When I was 8, I promised
that I will do my best, to do my duty to God and to the Queen, to help other people and to keep the Cub Scout Law.

Now I'm an atheist and a republican. Sorry, Invisible Sky Pixie and Unelected Hereditary OverLady.
(, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 13:44, 5 replies)
Not a Funny One For my First Post
So be warned..

My mum marrying my Dad because she was 3 months pregnant set us up for a good start. My family are Jehovah's Witnesses (except my Aunts and Uncles and me, we have our own minds) To show how happy a family life it was, my older sister admitted to Dad that our brother had been abusing her for years. My younger sister too admitted it had been happening to her. I stayed quiet when I realised what they got in return for coming forward - shunned for opening their mouths and weeks of Dad mourning the fact that something so shameful could happen in our family. No police involved, nothing, it was just never mentioned again. My older sis went on to develop a problem with drink and drugs which all stemmed back to this lack of support (funnily enough mum and dad were quick enough to shop her when they found herbs in her bedroom) and eventually had an accident after a night out on the hard stuff, killing her. Even as my Dad told us I could see the lack of sympathy on his face, as if to say "served her right". She had only just turned 18.

I moved out of home when I reached 18 and didn't want to be one of 'them' - after that Dad started treating me like I wasn't welcome in the home anymore - literally. He started locking the front door on me when I went out. Around the time of me getting the f*ck out of there Mum took me to one side and said "promise me if you ever get in trouble, come home. It doesn't matter what's happened, I promise your room will be here if you need it".

Fast forward 7 years, I've had nothing to do with them apart from the odd text, letter from my nan etc. Their choice, not mine. I've done well, working, got car. I'm working as live-in nanny to four children and the parents relationship is in tatters. One night he hits me in front of the kids so I pack a bag and go to a friends. Shit, I think, I need somewhere to live. My mum made that promise...I can go there just for a couple of weeks until I sort myself. So I phoned her, reminded her and said I really needed to take the offer. I'll have a word with your Dad, she says. "No" he says matter of factly, "I don't think it would be a good idea" - all stemming back to the fact that I'm not one of them. "Ok," I say, "I'll sort something" and hang up. And cry. I broke my heart crying for days. How can a mother do that, let someone else with a history of not giving a shit about others just leave her own daughter homeless? Genuinely homeless. She didn't even step in. My friend couldn't put me up for long so off to a shitty flatshare with a lad I didn't know it was for me until I got the f*ck out of there too.

End of the story (Jesus this is getting long), I'm now happily with my man, I'm 13 weeks gone (mum couldn't even bring herself to congratulate me despite two miscarriages) and she'll never meet her grandchild. Don't even ask whether my Dad will. I'm ashamed to admit were related.

Religion sucks and if you ever meet one of these people, run. Run away very fast. Especially if they have my surname.
(, Tue 7 Dec 2010, 13:18, 13 replies)
icy religious people
i promised, not 20 minutes ago, that i would read the book of mormon that was given to me by the 2 nice mormon gentlemen that picked me up after i fell on my arse on the icy street. i promised to take it seriously and discuss it with them on tuesday, when they call at the house.
the wrong house.
in the wrong street.
i also gave them the wrong name.
i know it's a bit cuntish, but i'm an atheist who was feeling more than a little shaken up after my fall, so i just didn't have it in me to tell them to fuck off.
(, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 17:36, 6 replies)
After my mother died...
.. a rather long time ago, my father ended up back on the dating scene. So many years of marriage had dulled his instincts and he ended up with someone who can only be described as a gold-digging whore of the Heather Mills school of gold-digging whoreishness.

To cut a long story short, her true history only really started coming to light after the wedding bells had stopped ringing. She had never worked a day in her life and been married six times before each one terminating with a very generous (to her) divorce settlement. She was a serial wife, verging on professional scam artist.

The inevitable divorce ensued. He made her an offer which, in the context of her past and their very short marriage, was very generous. She however, was determined to get in front of a judge, shed a few tears and rake in the cash, just as she had done many times before.

Then as luck would have it a friend alerted him to something else that was going on. One of her previous marriages had resulted in a child and she was currently involved in a custody dispute. The judge in that case was already particularly unimpressed with her behaviour and was considering granting custody to her ex-husband: details of her latest behaviour could be the straw that broke the camel's back. Well, since she was clearly not fighting fair, my dad decided a little blackmail was in order: accept his settlement or he would go to her ex-husband with information that would lose her the child.

She squirmed, screamed and threatened for a bit, before she finally realised she was defeated. She eventually relented and took the settlement.

I guess it was a case of him breaking his pro mrs.
(, Wed 8 Dec 2010, 15:19, 6 replies)
I was promised a trip to the park and an ice cream :(

(, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 21:11, 1 reply)
Go on…
I promise I'll delete them if we ever break up.
(, Sat 4 Dec 2010, 10:18, 10 replies)
betrayal within betrayal
when i was 16, my family went on holiday to turkey. having a serious dislike of flying, coupled with a tendency to burn in even mild sun and an intolerance of temperatures over 25 degrees celsius, it was decided that i would stay behind to guard the family fortress for 2 weeks. i promised my parents faithfully that i wouldn't have any parties.
that promise lasted a whole 6 hours.
a bunch of my mates arrived as soon as they were stocked up with booze and we proceeded to trash the place. for 9 days, my house was party central. people i didn't even know were turning up with booze and weed, looking for somewhere to cut loose. i knew things were getting out of control, but it was awesome.
on day 10, i fell ill with the 'flu. my sister's friend had been invited by my parents to stay with me and promised to take care of me while i was ill.
now, i only get the 'flu about once every 10 years but, when i do, i get a fever so high that i hallucinate. i'm totally out of it for 3 days. i was relying on my sister's mate to keep things together for me.
day 14, 6 hours before the family were due home, i woke up fully dressed in a bath full of cold water, clutching the taps. i had no idea how i'd got there and my sister's mate was nowhere to be found. the house was a complete wreck and all my so-called friends had scarpered, leaving me to set things to rights myself.
dear readers, i cleaned like i've never cleaned before. beds were stripped and remade, floors were swept, hoovered, mopped and scrubbed, the kitchen was attacked with martha stewart-like zeal. i even managed to get the stains off the couch. i still felt like death, but at least the place was clean.
half an hour before my family got back, sister's friend turned up, full of apologies. supposedly, she'd been to sort a few things out with her father. she told me she hadn't let anyone in whilst i'd been ill, but hadn't been able to clean as she was ill herself.
funny, she didn't look ill to me.
when the family got home, it took mum almost 5 minutes to find something to yell at me for. it took her 5 hours to stop, though. as the house was still standing, i was let off pretty lightly.

2 days later, i was facing a furious mother, who accused me of running a brothel in her absence. it seems that, when i was sick, sister's friend had been screwing my brother's friends all over the house, including in my parents' bed. despite my protestations of innocence, mum didn't believe a word i said.
it took 10 years for them to trust me to look after the house alone again.
still, it was worth it.
(, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 18:53, 4 replies)
The goverment of South Africa
They campaigned and beat apartheid on the basis of the Freedom charter. One choice bit that they have pissed all over is:

1 Our country will never be prosperous or free until all our people live in brotherhood, enjoying equal rights and opportunities.

How is this bullshit? Well for one we have Black Economic Empowerment. A very noble idea that would allow blacks to get a foothold in the economy. It basically states that employers must give blacks preference over whites when employing any staff. If you count creating a rich Black elite from the upper echelons of government then this has been an unmitigated success. The fact that the presidents son, who is in his low 20's, is just about to become a Billionaire is testament to how this policy is being used to line the pockets of our "leaders" and their families. The policy has been severely criticized by non other than old Arch des. That's Desmond Tutu to you. It's a dismal failure at creating a multicultural and fair society.

Oh,and for those of you of Indian or Chinese persuasion you may be interested to know that in South Africa you are for all intents and purposes classed as Black. The reason being that they were initially excluded from any of the BEE benefits. So they went to court and successfully lobbied to have themselves reclassified as black. Perhaps another indication of just how absurd racial policies are becoming in SA.

You may think it's justly fair that these policies favour blacks because of Apartheid, however that is taking a simplistic view. They aren't doing anything other than create a mega-wealthy elite and for the vast majority of black South Africans life hasn't improved much since 1990. Unemployment still stands at around 35%. We have the highest aids infection rate in the world, there were over 17 000 murders last year and the rape stats are appalling. So where is all this crime? About 95% of it is in traditionally black neighborhoods.

I'd like to go and live there one day, but it looks like it's slowly going the way of every other african despot ruled state. The system of getting to the top and filling your pockets with money is alive and well in good old South Africa.
(, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 10:59, 3 replies)
Yes, you can has cheezeburger....
Silly kittehs lolwtf!!!!11
(, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 10:03, Reply)
"You do know"
"That your daughter sleeps with her mouth open don't you?"
(, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 17:20, Reply)
My teachers at high school swore to me
that the vegetarians in my year would not be offended at the end-of-year dance with meat in the dinner. I knew these teachers had reputations as practical jokers at such events, putting unexpected cuts of meat in unusual recipes but with so many dietary requirements I couldn't afford to take a chance so I made them cross their hearts and hope to die on the matter.

The starter and main course went off without a hitch, but the bastards were pissing themselves laughing as we bit into our frozen dairy desserts to find some foul tasting leathery meat inside. It turned out they'd found a dead badger and slipped it into the ice cream maker.

That was a brock in prom ice.
(, Wed 8 Dec 2010, 14:04, 8 replies)
'Yes we'll make the position permanent'
"You've been doing the job anyway, it's yours"
"We just have to interview other people as a formality, but the job'll be yours"
"It'll be announced within the week"

"No, us giving it to someone else was nothing to do with your pregnancy"
(, Sun 5 Dec 2010, 9:41, 2 replies)
Where...
the fuck are all the flying cars and automatic shit we wuz promised yonks ago?

WELL????

Popular Science, you got some 'splaining to do...
(, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 14:45, 1 reply)
"Nonono,
I'm not saying you have to; I'm just saying that the sight of my own semen makes me beat women."
(, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 17:41, 3 replies)
"Yeah, I'll warn you. Mmm. Hey, this is a really amazing blowjob, wasn't it?"

(, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 17:31, Reply)
"I tell you what"
"What doesn't go in your mouth, you can rub on your tits."
(, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 17:16, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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