Blade in Hull…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.


Blade installed at Queen Victoria Square, Hull.

Blade installed at Queen Victoria Square, Hull.


A massive turbine blade, manufactured by Hull employees at the new Siemens factory in Hull, was transported overnight to Hull’s city centre. As Made in Hull was packed down, the blade was en route to kick-off the next phase of Hull 2017 – Look Up. But it wasn’t just any old blade. It was Blade. A temporary, readymade artwork, we’re told.

Conceived by artist Nayan Kulkarni, Blade has been created as the first of a programme of temporary artworks that will be thrust into and around the city’s public spaces and places.

Blade uses one of the first B75 rotor blades made in Hull and changes its status to that of a readymade artwork. At 75 metres it is the world’s largest, handmade fibreglass component – cast as a single element. According to the Hull Daily Mail, Blade weighs the equivalent of four bull elephants squeezed together on the same scales. Not sure why you’d go squeezing bull elephants on to the same scales, but it makes a change from comparing large things to football pitches and Olympic-size swimming pools.

Is it art? You decide. I think that’s the point. As I tweeted, I’m impressed by the bull elephant scale of this hefty public intervention. It is an enviable and undeniable feat of engineering and an interesting talking point. If it gets us questioning the relationship between corporate sponsorship of arts and cultural events (which will increase, as public funding declines), that’s also a worthwhile by-product.

Culture crowds…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

Made In Hull final night

We went to bid farewell to the Made in Hull installations because they’re so gob-smackingly superb. We knew there’d be a crowd, given this was a final chance to see them, and that word had got out beyond the city that it’s well worth coming here for a look. But, blimey, there were so many people on the streets of the city centre.

Earlier, in the projection-free daylight hours, I bumped into Martin Green, 2017 CEO and Director, on Jameson Street. As he puffed away on a fag, I told him how great it was that Made in Hull – “the story of a city and its people” – had struck a chord with so many people. Mr G already seemed quite taken aback by the response that this opening week has had. I like that he’s as overwhelmed as the rest of us. So I do hope he was in a big blubbery mess at the turnout tonight. Such a buzz, such pride, and such a great job done by all the artists involved. It was a very special week that built to something that transcended everyone’s expectations. Go Hull, is about all I can say.

The brilliance of Bowhead…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

Bowhead at the Maritime Museum.

Bowhead at Maritime Museum. Audience members find out more.

I sat in front of Louise Dempsey’s brilliant Bowhead – a whale model and animated interaction – for quite a while. But not as long as Louise, a third year student at Hull School of Art & Design – has. She started work on it in her second year as part of her client related practice and is taking it forward now as a multi-disciplinary research project. In the true spirit of collaboration, the accompanying soundtrack for this installation in the Maritime Museum has been composed by students studying music in the  new School of Arts at the University of Hull. It’s a stunning piece of work that showcases some of the best of the city’s emerging talent in music and games design and Louise’s skills in 3D design and digital animation, as well as the support she was provided with by my former colleague and Games Design lecturer Paul Starkey, who’s one of many extremely talented lecturers that do their thing without any fuss, and often confronted with no praise and shocking apathy from their masters at Hull College Group, over at HSAD.

I overheard a funny comment while I was sat there, prompted by a woman sat in front of me who is “writing a book about the whole year.” “I’m not sure how I feel about seeing this in a whaling museum,” the potential contributor to this book said in a jolly tone. “I mean, look at these beautiful creatures that we murdered. It’s such a shame.” Not sure that was the planned take-home from the installation, and I’ve never really noticed that the Maritime Museum celebrates this part of Hull’s history; rather, it just documents it. But it’s good that Louise’s great work has the power to provoke these thoughts on a past that Hull was built on.

Bowhead’s on until March 19 and I’d urge you to swing by and see it.

Hull before culture…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

So Day Five of Hull’s journey in 2017 included me appearing, albeit briefly, on Radio 4 as a contributor to part-one of a two part documentary called Hull Before Culture, produced by Mary Ward-Lowery.

John Godber, the third most performed playwright in the UK, bundled me into a car at the end of November and a microphone between the pair of us captured a chat as John drove us over to Hull KR’s KC Lightstream stadium. I was a bit unwell at the time and had absolutely no idea if what was coming out of my mouth made any sense. I had to ask John halfway through if I was talking gibberish, as I kept losing my train of thought. Miraculously, Mary managed to find some stuff that didn’t make me sound too much of an idiot. I also sound like I’m from Hull, which is a relief. Good to hear Nick Lane on there too, my old mucker Phil Codd and Kardomah94 owner Malcolm Scott, who once gave me the keys to his office block without realising that I’d sleep there on the odd occasion. In fact, I once slept on top of a giant carrot suit. Happy days. Don’t work in the arts, kids.

Anyway, you’ll be able to listen to Hull Before Culture Pt 1 again here.



Pot luck…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

Pot Luck. Pic by Graeme Oxby.

“I don’t know about you,” I said to tonight’s audience, “but I have no fucking idea what day it is. And we’re only four days in.” I swore early on, because the night I was compering had a line-up of folk who don’t hold back when it comes to language. So I thought I’d set the tone. It’s as good as a parental advisory sticker and somewhat fruitier. Which is fitting, as the venue for the night was Fruit, Hull’s finest former warehouse turned arts space.

Pot Luck, it was called. An idea that prompted people to take a punt on a night, purchasing tickets for something that might not be their cup of tea, from live music, a film screening, an evening of art and spoken word. We were actually allowed to spread the word about the line-up in the morning, and as a result quite a healthy crowd turned out to see Dean Wilson, Attila the Stockbroker, eye-linertastic Luke Wright and the bloody brilliant cultural terrorist Joelle Taylor. Maybe they’d have gone anyway, such is the hunger for culture already.

Nobody, it seemed, was surprised at what they’d turned up for. “Do you all know why you’re here?” I asked. There was a resounding yes in response. Nice audience who clearly wanted to have a lot of fun.

I think I’m right in saying that this was the first official ‘gig’ of the year. Nice to be a part of it in a small way and share the stage with four very talented poets.  Joelle Taylor completely blew me away with her short but very powerful set.

Pot Luck is part of the Made in Hull opening shebang, overseen by Sean McAllister, currently the most popular man in the city and being stalked by his own ever-present camera crew.  I’m hoping Graeme Oxby, who captured me reading off my scraps of paper, will do the same for me. Hang on, what am I saying?

#challengehull week 1…

The first challenge of 2017 in Hull? Make a self-portrait.

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

DW Self Portrait

What was it like to draw yourself?

Trouble with my dad being a half-decent illustrator and artist, when he wasn’t creating signage for Jackson’s supermarkets, is that I avoid drawing anything because I know I’m nowhere near as good as the old man was. I have no desire to put in the hours to get good at it, but generally it was a fun 90 seconds with a nice pen.

Did you feel self-conscious?

Shouldn’t you, when drawing a self-portrait?

What did you want to share about yourself?

That I’m conscious of having a big nose, and bags around my eyes, and loads of frown marks, and that when I look in the mirror I’m often puzzled as to why a short-cropped Keith Richards appears to look back at me.

Community groups and organisations from across the city have teamed up with Hull 2017 and 64 Million Artists to set a weekly creative challenge that everyone in Hull can participate in.

Made in Hull…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

Imitating The Dog's Arrivals and Departures. Pic by Ben Hames.

A real sense of pride. That’s what we felt, as we followed up our night at the fireworks by taking to the streets to soak up Hull 2017’s Made in Hull trail, the work of an “eclectic group of extraordinary artists”, headed up by creative director Sean McAllister, writer Rupert Creed, and with sound design by Dan Jones and lighting design by Durham Marenghi.

Where to start? Perhaps where we did, in Queen Victoria Square, for Zsolt Balogh’s We Are Hull – the “epic” retelling of the past 70 years of Hull people and their history and a deft use of image mapping lighting up the City Hall, Maritime Museum and the Ferens. For me, the mapping worked best on the Maritime Museum – the old Dock Offices, former home of the Hull Dock Company that ran the entire dock system in the city – partly because of that grand architecture and the use of the windows, partly because of the fishing industry headlines that would have caused headaches for those that used to work in the building but mainly because when the epic focused on the Blitz, it really did look like the building was alight.

We loved We Are Hull so much that we watched it from every available angle, spotting different moments in history, different faces, different headlines and marveling that, whatever the angle and craggy wall surface, Deano always cracked that volley into the back of the net.

We Are Hull set the tone and the standard. Invisible Flock’s 105+dB in the fab Zebedee’s Yard virtually sent us out into the centre of the KC Stadium, although nobody in their right mind would stay for the entire Hull City game that this “spectacular stadium of sound” was recorded at. It’s an aural and visual assault: We moved on with a chant of “Steve Bruce’s black and amber army” hurting our ears, having been blinded by the floodlights.

Then we took in Whitefriargate, a right rag-bag of installations in shop windows – the highlights being Preston Likely’s veracity-questioning Amuse Agents, Sodium’s We’re All Going On A Summer Holiday, featuring the Roaring Girls playing Scrabble in a mock caravan and miraculously not giggling like they do in real life and, again, Invisible Flock, this time with their Reflections.

Quentin Budworth’s Hullywood Icons is a fantastic collection of recreations of iconic big screen images and included so many of our mates that I’m still not sure if I like the pics because of their artistic merit (which is high) or if I’m just amused by people that I’ve consumed booze with dressing up (or in the case of Rupert Creed, standing on his doorstep in his underpants).

Jesse Kanda’s recreation of the club scene in Yorkshire – Embers – seemed to baffle most people, although the footage was fun. But it wasn’t the rave we were looking for. MakeAMPLIFY’s (in) Dignity of Labour looked beautiful but, having read the blurb, which promised something that gave voice to the unemployed, I’m not sure the narrative was clear enough – but one heck of a crowd took it all in.

We posed for Urban Projections’ Vantage Point, a large scale selfie that put us in a work of art, which was fun. And we ended up at The Deep, for imitating the dog’s Arrivals and Departures, my personal favourite of all of the Made in Hull happenings, which told the story of the ebb and flow of people, and animals, into Hull and, like We Are Hull, was a fantastic use of mapping technology.

It was a great trail to follow, most of it impressed greatly and there was a terrific buzz around the city, as people realised that this was not only the start of the year but a bloody good one at that. The team that pulled it all together deserve all the plaudits that will come their way – they instilled a real sense of pride in every one from Hull that experienced the trail, will no doubt silence critics outside of the city, and this opening salvo bodes well for what will follow in the coming weeks and months.

The city of culture speaks…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

2017 opening fireworks display. Pic by Pritti Mistry.

Like everyone else, I imagine, I woke up somewhat bleary eyed on January 1, 2017.

Typing some notes into my phone in a bed in Willerby – which, for the uninitiated, is a place sufficiently on the edge of Hull that it may as well be in it – and trying to make sense of what I was thinking and feeling, I felt a bit pre-match over-emotional. It was about 8.30am. This was a big day. The big day. Hull’s big day. The first moment of a year of moments. A time to change those misconceptions about the city. To turn a new page, and start as we mean to go on.

I tweeted something about loving Hull in ways I can’t describe. And I’m not afraid to admit that there was a tear trickling down my face. Maybe more than one. But I’ll put that down to the fact that I’d been cleaning up the innards of a few giant party poppers from our hosts’ carpet at 5.30am, and the amount of beer, wine and rum I’d consumed, not to mention the rather frenzied salsa dancing that could well have been confused for a fit of some kind. I was still rather drunk. If I could have thrown my arms around the city at this point, I’d have slurred “I love you,” a hundred or so times until Humberside Police were called in to cart me off and may well have appeared in a shambolically provocative piece of editorial in The Sun or the Daily Mail.

I bobbed downstairs, put the kettle on, and hunted the house for a piece of paper on which to write the thoughts that were swirling round my head. I couldn’t find any. This was a house jammed full of vinyl, stylish carpets and impressive light fittings. But there was no paper. None at all. What is it with suburbia?

I considered butchering a couple of our hosts’ Christmas cards. Or rifling through the drawers for an old bill to scrawl on. But I didn’t want to get caught in the act because, although these were nice people we’d spent the night with, they’d also have no hesitation in hitting me over the head with a baseball bat if they mistook me for a burglar. So I gave up. The moment had passed. And I decided to head back upstairs with another coffee and annoy someone with my post-New Year’s Eve chatter.

We headed back to the city of culture, plonked ourselves on a sofa and, as you do on Hull’s big day, vegged out by putting The Goonies on. The temptation to sack off the fireworks was high. I mean, they’re only fireworks, eh? We’d do all that Made in Hull stuff another night. But we had a table booked at Ambiente where we’d be joining some of Hull’s biggest cultural misfits so, having discovered One-Eyed Willy’s hidden fortune we did finally manage to get cleaned up, wrapped up warm and thought we better go and join The City Speaks’ poet Shane Rhodes and filmmaker Dave Lee and their entourage and hurl some tapas down our necks. It did the trick, along with a few pints of Mahou. So, having maxed out our allocated table time, we headed out into the hustle and bustle in order to locate Zone A and a spot to stare skywards.

I’ve been to enough large-scale spectacles to realise that the moment isn’t so much about what you might end up gawping at but the company you’re keeping as the spectacle unfurls. Surround yourself with the right people and you could watch a packet of indoor fireworks from Dinsdale’s Famous Joke, Trick & Fancydress Shop splutter out pathetically and you’d still have the time of your life. That we’d been promised an epic display to light up the skies and the Humber Estuary and one that would better London’s New Year’s Eve didn’t really matter, then. We practiced our “oohs” and “aahs” in readiness, sang along to a couple of the tunes that Bonny Boat DJ Linda Levantiz (who usually spins her Neil Diamond and the like to 80 punters down the boozer), found a bench to stand on to elevate us another 24 inches (600mm) and braced ourselves, not really caring too much about what we may, or may not, see. The vibe was pretty good, everyone was in fine, if eerily (hungover?) subdued, spirits, we chatted to complete strangers, as you do, we pondered that we might be stood in completely the wrong place and tutted about the volume of the sound, and the absence of street entertainers, and the size of the screens. But none of it really mattered. Because we were with each other and this was about us.

I bumped into Sam Hunt, 2017 Executive Producer who had programmed the night’s shenanigans. He was ridiculously calm, given that 25,000 people who’d all elbowed thousands of other people out of the way for tickets for the night might be about to judge him. I like a calm head at a big event. Sam was at the point where it was happening anyway, there was nothing he could do to change anything now and he was a punter, like the rest of us. I never saw him again that night, but if I had I reckon I’d have seen a fella with a big smile on his face for a job well done.

Yeah, the In With A Bang fireworks were grand. They looked lovely and were in-sync with the accompanying soundtrack that was nicely slammed together. Was good to hear Kingmaker’s Really Scrape The Sky, amid the Ronno riffology, EBTG and The Housemartins, and a few other less obvious gems as colour splashed over our heads. I have no idea if things started on time or not – something was due to start at 20:17, somewhat predictably, but whether that was the fireworks or the pre-fireworks film screening or just that, at 20:17 it would be 20:17 in 2017, not sure. Nor do I care. But the countdown to whatever it was was a nice bonding moment for 25,000 of us.


The highlight of this evening was the 5’13” of The City Speaks, a screening of the film made by Dave Lee, with a soundtrack by Steve Cobby, of the poem by Shane Rhodes. I’ll express an interest here – I’m a big friend of the author. I had to endure him wittering on about the first line of his poem after he wrote it, his excitement at describing the Humber Bridge as a harp, and the estuary as chocolate, and how the word ‘peel’ would be reprised, as the word ‘peal’. I asked him to shut up but he wouldn’t stop. For five months. And a draft was wafted under my nose a few months ago for proofreading purposes (a few others were asked to do this too. We were mainly focused on whether ‘trawlerman’ was or wasn’t a compound noun. We’re from Hull. We should know this shit). And even reading it off a few sides of A4 was a quite moving experience. The City Speaks is a lovely bit of work, a short history of the city and its people and Shane’s relationship with Hull and reflects the uncompromising nature of the fella that penned it. So it was quite fantastic to realise, quite quickly, that people were most definitely listening to the words being read by Stan Haywood. And the spontaneous applause at the film’s close was very fitting and a tangible sign that this really could be our year (but don’t take my word for it; rather, the words of youtube commenter William Braquemard, who feels that The City Speaks is, “dull, cliched corny rubbish aimed at those who wouldn’t know a poem if it slapped them in the face.” Very Hull, that comment).

And then I snapped out of that odd sense of pride about my bald-headed mate – a council estate kid done good – and returned to the friends that I was with. And went in Butler Whites, comparing notes, laughing, drinking and chatting, and sharing and enjoying each other’s company in the city’s first moment of a year of moments as the crowds headed for home.

Not a bad start at all. Here’s to the next 364 days.

Hull’s moment – T minus one day…

365/17. Daily notes from the City of Culture.

“The first step – especially for young people with energy and drive and talent, but not money – the first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in. To write the books. Make the music. Shoot the films. Paint the art.” – Chuck Palahniuk

Every time I take a seat in the theatre I hope I will witness the most life-affirming piece of work that has ever been created. When I plonk myself in cinema flip-up velvet I expect to see the greatest story ever told. When I hold a book in my hands I want the words that I read to move me, change me, make life worth living just that little bit (or a lot) more. When I stand in front of a piece of art, I want my understanding of life, the universe and everything to be enhanced. When I gaze at the TV my fingers are crossed that whatever I watch will blow my mind away. In the company of comedians I want them to be hilarious, thought-provoking and brilliantly cranium bending. I’ve never gone to a gig without wanting it to change my life, and the tunes and performances to stay with me forever.  I’ve never put the needle on a record, a cassette in a walkman, a cd in a player, pressed play on an mp3 without absolutely wanting shivers to run up and down my spine and for this to be THE tune. When I go to a club night, I want to dance like nobody is watching and to feel the best I’ve ever felt. And so on and so forth…

I want to be someone who believes in the transformational power of the arts, entertainment and culture. And I do believe. Because I know what the finest art can do, and what creativity can do, and that by creating an environment in which the arts are embraced and accessible to all, and one in which artists can thrive and not only develop their work but find an audience for it, our cumulative deposit of knowledge, experience, beliefs, values, attitudes is enhanced, positively. I’ve known this since I watched my dad paint when I was a toddler, and when I saw my sister dance, and when an uncle of mine threw a book at me that opened up the world to a whole trip of self-discovery that is still ongoing.

I was asked to contribute some words to some 2017 thing a couple of years ago, in which I stressed that the year itself isn’t necessarily for people like me, who somehow have managed to burst out of council house accommodation in the city and fumble a kind of living out of the arts for a while, but for the next generation of talent. I honestly and whole-heartedly believe that is the actual point, without wishing to become some Whitney Houston-style saccharine evangelist for ‘the kids’. Apparently some of those at 2017 towers nodded sagely at those words of wisdom, with at least one punching the air and shouting “Yes!” That’s what they’re like, positive lot that they are.

And so, with one day to go, I am genuinely excited by next year and what it means to Hull, and the changes that it will bring, some of which are so tangible (the public realm work, for one, which is mighty fine, and I love those mature trees) that they can be seen already. Being the 2017 UK City of Culture is the right thing for the city, at exactly the right time. We’ve been waiting for this, the planets most certainly aligned, there’s been a groundswell of grass roots movement over the last decade and our cup overfloweth with the necessary ingredients to put on a decent show.

And I would say that it will be “amazing” but there’s something about that word, and other similar adjectives, and their overuse, that is starting to irritate me. Already. And the year’s not even started yet. As I indicated in par one, I want the year to be absolutely the best, and I’m sure it will be fab and groovy and excellent and put a big smile on faces, and I’ll be going to as much of it as I can, bank balance and time permitting. But the arts are a funny thing. Some of it will fail, and should be allowed to fail, because that is the nature of the beast. We want our artists and art to take risks; otherwise, we’ll be left with meaningless pieces of work that don’t say owt* to anybody; generic pieces of entertainment that follow a predictable trajectory and are hollow at their heart, and are not reflective of the city in which they are produced. But, fucking hell, there’s a big team of producers working on this, curating** their arses off, so I’m sure they’ve got that covered. Yes? Yes.

The absence of good critical voices, in and outside of the city, constructively articulating their thoughts and feelings on the year and the programme and those artists engaged with and producing work for 2017 is, I feel, something of a concern. We need commentators willing to move beyond the “amazing” and the regurgitating of whatever message is thrust at them in press releases and in well-composed boiler plates and notes to editors  towards something more sophisticated; critical thinking. Sans a substantive level of critical thinking we will never be able to recognise the value that this new ultra cultural world is making to Hull and its people. We will be left with generic pieces of coverage that follow a predictable trajectory and are hollow at their heart. A bit like a review in The Stage. And I should know, I wrote plenty of them, and realised at the time that they were utterly pointless beyond being a record of an event, devoid as they were of any critique lest it damaged someone’s ego (“not worth the paper they’re printed on,” an actor once shouted at me, when I omitted his name from a review, the only weapon I had in my arsenal when the talent wasn’t up to scratch).

And when I talk of critical thinking, I most certainly do not mean negative commentary and “slagging off” just for the sake of pissing the people involved off. I mean genuine critique. Actually grounded in engagement with whatever piece of art we’ve consumed and not passively accepting everything we’re told about it but questioning, evaluating, making judgements, and finding connections. Shock horror, this might mean being open to other points of view and it certainly means not being blinded by our own biases, although inevitably there’ll be a lot of subjectivity.

There is a strange vibe around any comment, currently, that isn’t stressing how great everything will be in a tub-thumping way that the 2017 comms team would stamp their approval on. It’s a bit like the American attitude to patriotism, where anyone that dares to suggest that the “land of the free” might be anything but is metaphorically decapitated and has their head metaphorically thrust on a metaphorical stick for all to metaphorically point at and metaphorically mock***.  But critical thinking, well, it opens up the debate. And that’s the point. But I’m sure these concerns are being addressed and that critical voices are being nurtured in some 2017 sausage machine somewhere by a big team of critical voice nurturers down High Street. Yes? Yes.

All that said, I’m not saying that my efforts to blog every day in 2017 – 365/2017, as I’m terming it, like some sad passive victim of Americanization – will add anything to the debate. I’ll probably just post a few pics and tell you how good it all was, and will probably succumb to bribes, gratis drinks and free tickets along the way and I’ll end up becoming the very thing I despise****.

Nah, it’ll just be a record of a bloody good year.  With all the laughter and tears that might bring. I want to be entertained, moved, surprised, shocked, stunned, find out more about myself, life, the universe and everything, hold hands at events with the people I love and for the city to get the leg up it rightfully deserves. And for it to make a long-lasting, life-enhancing difference to every single person in Hull. Even those “long-in-the-tooth cynics”***** that you find down every street. For, if one group or person feels marginalised by 2017, the year will have failed.

Bring on the party and be good, very good.

*Owt – anything.

**Curating – programming. ‘Curating’ is like the ‘amazing’ of the arts job title world.

***Sorry, overly-laboured metaphor.

****I won’t. Promise.

*****As written about by the Rev. Matt Woodcock in his great piece about our under-rated city for the Yorkshire Post here.

Notes to editors

Dave Windass thoroughly enjoys writing notes about himself in the third person at the foot of blog posts.

In 2017, he will be co-producing the twice-yearly Heads Up Festival, part of the Hull 2017 UK City of Culture programme and produced in conjunction with Battersea Arts Centre, brought to the city by Ensemble 52 since 2013.

He also works for First Story, currently working, as part of 2017’s No Limits programme, with five secondary schools in Hull.  First Story changes lives through writing. We believe that writing can transform lives, and that there is dignity and power in every young person’s story.  First Story brings talented, professional writers into secondary schools to work with teachers and students to foster creativity and communication skills. In 2017, First Story will be holding three large events in Hull; a Regional Writing Event at The Deep, the Young Writers’ Festival at the University of Hull and the launch, on June 21, of National Writing Day.

For 2017, he was one of two consultants on a Hull City of Culture map that was put together during the bid process and subsequently circulated far and wide. Some of his ideas were in the 2017 bid document that bagged the prize. He’s contributed a few strap lines that may, or may not, be on banners and posters around the city.  He wrote some elements of the training for Hull’s 4,000 incredibly smiley and quite brilliant 2017 volunteers.

Other than that, he is not involved in the 2017 programme of work at all, unless there’s a last-minute call. Partly, and mainly, this is his fault. But it is also, to a lesser extent, the fault of the people that told him to be patient and wait and that they would let him know when he could have a chat about what he wanted to do. Unfortunately, they left it too late. C’est la vie. Nana korobi ya oki.