Chapter 2 - Surprise

Chapter 2 - Surprise

How do you categorize ‘surprise’? Some may say that it is an emotion, other may see surprise as an automated reactive response to stimuli. 

I think surprise is a combination of the two, surprise is a pre-cursor to emotion as a result of unexpected stimuli. In clinical terms it could be likened to a pre-medication, a drug whose purpose is to help prepare or placate someone into a state receptive to the full anesthetic that will be received shortly, something to help us cope with whatever is to come next, good or bad. Surprise often causes your body to release adrenalin, a chemical your body uses to prepare you for what is about to come, fight or flight, good or bad. And what comes next can be defined as emotion, emotions that come in numerous and varied forms.

The 12^th March wasn’t, until this year, a date that would produce any surprise for me. No great excitement or loss occurred that required the pre-med of surprise to prepare me for what was coming next, at least not until this year.

Its Sydney’s Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras 1996!

I’ve been working with a group called CSN (Community Support Network) for over 6 months as a volunteer. We help anyone in the community around Sydney who is battling against HIV/AIDS, anyone who could use a little assistance. We can cook, clean or simply be some company for someone no longer able to leave their homes due to the progression of the disease or its associated infections. I threw myself into this venture with everything I had, I was soon the treasurer of the organization as well as assisting with recruitment interviews for new volunteers. It wasn’t an easy way to volunteer your time, things were pretty grim still for those people who couldn’t get onto trials for new drugs (that were still in the process of being tested), or for those where possible treatments had arrived too late. New volunteers needed to be able to cope with a wide range, of sometimes not very pleasant and often quite depressing situations. It was easy to become attached to the person you were caring for and more difficult to hold their hands as they left if you happened to be present when the end came. Because of this our attrition rate for volunteers was high and recruitment was always at the top of our agenda. Mardi Gras provided us with a great platform to spread the word about what we were doing and hopefully attract some interest from new volunteers. It was a way to celebrate our achievements and get our name out to the wider community. We had spent months planning and constructing our float which had to represent our fundamental purpose, so, we constructed a giant vacuum cleaner. The whole back of our truck became a shining new Dyson  with a huge flexible hose extending over the top of the cab ending in a massive nozzle which was to be supported by a couple of our biggest, burliest guys who could move from one side of the street to the other cleaning up the crowd. Finally, a few days before the parade, after many weeks of late nights working on the float, and not a little partying, I was going to spend an evening with my little Chilean power-house, Jorge, my boyfriend at the time, who I had been neglecting during my hectic pre-Mardi Gras work-up. The knock on the door announced his arrival but as I opened the door, to my surprise stood……… 

 I will have to get back to Jorge later, I may need to do a chapter, or four, about the men who changed my life, but not right now.

I was saying that surprise is a pre-cursor to an emotion and I have to say that the person who stood before me at that moment managed to give me such a surprise that my system was overloaded with a wide and varied range of emotions jostling for dominance. Troy was a best mate through high school. He was, and is, tall, dark and handsome, the sort of guy who seems to exude confidence with a physicality that overpowered those around him. I remember the two of us going to see SPLIT ENZ, ‘Enz of an Era’ concert at Festival Hall in Brisbane in 1984. We had something to eat at JoJo’s before heading to the concert, and because Troy sailed with one of Stefan’s nephews we were able to get hold of a bottle of champagne even if we were only 16 years old at the time. I don’t remember much about the concert, I wasn’t a huge fan of Split Enz if I’m honest, but it was our first concert on our own so any band would have been great and we were ready to party. When the concert came to an end we headed back to JoJo’s and managed to get a few more drinks in before they also closed. By now it was getting late and we would have to rush to get the last train home, but as always Troy had other ideas, so we agreed to keep the party going, the night was young, as they say. So after calling our parents and telling them that the concert was running late and that we would be home when it finished, off we went to find somewhere we could get into without any ID. There are things about the club we ended up in that I will never forget, it was called “Hollywood’s” and was somewhere at the top end of Elizabeth Street. I remember having to walk down stairs to get to the front door and that ID was not an issue as there was no-one on the door because they obviously didn’t care where their business came from, so in we went. The floor of the club had a layer of water 1 inch deep which stretched from the bar across to the dance floor, well I say water but couldn’t say for sure, maybe liquid would be a better word. It was a dark, smoky club and in retrospect it was a shady dive, but we didn’t care, bolstered by the fact that we had gotten in and with the alcohol already in our systems bolstering our confidence we were ready to enjoy ourselves. We had girls trying to pick us up, their boyfriends wanting to fight us, all manner of incidents that we assumed were ‘par for the course’ when clubbing and we were completely oblivious to the danger we were in most of the time, and didn’t really care anyway, this was a new experience and we were eager to savor every moment. By the time both our meager bank accounts were empty it was 3 am and there was nothing to do but head for Central Station and wait for the first train home. We sat on the empty platform, the energy that had built up inside us from the nights adventure slowly draining from our souls as we waited under the harsh florescent lighting, we sat quietly on the platform bench in a drunken haze when footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Looking up to see who was joining us in our morning vigil  I will never forget the image of my father as he came across the platform to collect us, we were still too drunk to contemplate why and how he had found us we just followed him to the car and headed home. Neither of us actually copped much trouble from our parents for our misadventure and later my mother did admit that watching me suffer my first real hangover gave her enough joy that she didn’t feel the need to inflict any other form of punishment upon me. It turned out that both Troy’s and my parents had been talking to each other all night out of concern for our welfare, each blaming the others son for being the bad influence. Troy and I remained friends until a few years after high school and had a couple of other adventures I may discuss later, but we slowly moved apart and lost touch, although our mothers remained best of friend from that night on until the unfortunate passing of Troy’s mother a few years ago which was the next time I was to see Troy after the period I am about to discuss.

So here he was, outside my apartment in Sydney after almost a decade of absence from my life. The last I had heard about him was that he was in Africa working with an Aid agency giving away goats.

 

“Hi, can I stay a couple of nights?” was his opening remark.

“Ummmm, ummmm!” was mine.

I needed a drink, if only to allow the surprise of his appearance time to settle into an emotional reaction I could make sense of. He dropped his bags inside without further response or confirmation from me, it wasn’t like I had ever denied him anything he had asked for and I wasn’t about to start now. I quickly called Jorge and told him about the change of plans, closed the door and headed for the pub. Over drinks I discovered that Troy had left Africa in a bit of a hurry, the agency had got him onto a flight for Australia which had left him stranded in Sydney, hence why he was looking for somewhere to stay. He would only be around for a couple of days before traveling back home to Brisbane. I never did get the full story of what exactly happened in Africa to require such an unplanned and hasty departure or even precise details of where he had been or what he had been doing there. I was more curious as to how he had tracked me down and found his way to my door. Of course when he told me it was obvious, his mother, still in contact with mine had gotten all my details and passed them on, just no-one thought to let me know about all the planning behind the scenes. It was great to see him again and the initial surprise soon settled into emotions of joy and excitement as we fell quickly into an old familiar camaraderie. Then I started to feel a little panic and concern, Mardi Gras was only a couple of days away. I was going to be frantic with final preparations not to mention the parade itself, what was I going to do with this big straight dude in the midst of all this queer razzle dazzle. There was nothing for it, he would just have to tag alone and be ‘queer’ for a couple of days. So what resulted was Troy joining me on our float and because of his size and looks, which appealed to most of the boys on the strip, we put him to the front of the float carrying our vacuum nozzle working the crowd. He looked the part and his ego, which had never been shy, was given all the attention it could crave. He was never one to shy away from receiving adoration so a crowd of thousands in front of which he could parade was a perfect ‘welcome back to Australia’ for him. I will admit that I did get him into a little bit of trouble though. As the parade came to a close and the crowds started to disperse we were joined by Jorge ready to make our way to the clubs to make a night of it. I spotted trouble on the opposite side of Oxford Street from where we were walking. A group of 4 or 5 straight homophobes had decided to pick out a solitary guy for an old fashioned gay bashing. I could hear their verbal abuse across the street, “faggot, and poofter”. When I realized what was happening my blood started to rise, not here, not today and not in front of me was this sort of hate going to be accepted. I didn’t wait to say anything to Troy and Jorge but ran straight across the road into the middle of what had become a ball of fists and boot pounding into the lone gay guy trapped in the middle. I wasn’t even sure if Troy or Jorge had seen me separate from them all that was going through my mind as I ploughed into the group with my fists flying towards the first guy I could reach was “This is Mardi Gras, you and your kind are not welcome here.” Luckily for me both Troy and Jorge had in fact seen me move across the street although they hadn’t registered why, but Troy was a mate and Jorge was a lover and both followed my lead and came straight into the fight alongside me. You don’t mess with a bunch of Queens at Mardi Gras on Oxford Street and expect to get away with it. I had been gay bashed enough both verbally and physically, I had spent enough nights in emergency departments wrapped in blankets cold and numb with the shock of being beaten up by groups of guys who thought beating up a queer was good sport to walk by and let it happen to anyone. 

What people like that don’t realize is that their hate only made me stronger and I was now at a point in my life where I would no longer stand aside and let it happen and I would fight back no matter the result, I will not accept their closed minded view to encroach into my life.

 Anyway, once that incident had been taken care of and the jerks from the suburbs had been chased back to their holes, with our blood up and adrenalin pumping we partied the night away. Happy Mardi Gras!

Troy flew back home to Brisbane the following day but it was such a great reunion that my Mardi Gras wouldn’t have been the same without him. I did get a call from my mother a few days later because Troy’s mum had seen highlight of the parade on TV and had spotted Troy marching at the front of our float. “I told you he was a bad influence,” she told my mum, “He’s turned my son gay!” Tongue firmly placed in cheek. Here I was, out and proud, waving the flag of gay pride, fighting our enemies whenever the situation required and who gets the spotlight, my straight school mate who was dragged into a party he wasn’t expecting. I do love the fact that Troy is so comfortable in his own skin that he could be flirted with by every gay boy on the strip and he would happily have a drink with them have a chat and enjoy the attention without any straight boy hang-ups. Just before he left he did remark that he was proud of who I had become, that I knew who I was, that I was strong enough to stand up and be counted which was a point to which he was still moving. His simple parting remark was a great validation for the work I had put into understanding who I was and moving past acceptance into a state of being proud of my ‘gayness’ and all the gifts being queer brings into my life.

I do now have to tell a quick story about another surprise which occurred much more recently but one that will also remain one to remember.

The hospital where I work has been going through some major changes recently. The Clinical staff, nurses, doctors, allied health were all moving to a digital system to record and administer patient care. Normally I would also have been trained in a new system, even if I wouldn’t use it on a day to day basis so that I could give support to those on the ward needing help. This time however it was decided to remove administration from the process. What resulted was me watching the nurses on the ward struggling with a system that was new, complicated and unfamiliar and more importantly reducing their ability to provide patient care. Everyone knows that once things settle down and the new digital system becomes second nature it will improve the work flow, not only for this hospital but for the other hospitals in the state who are also on, or moving onto the same working model. That time still seems a long way off at the moment. To ease the stress it was decided that we needed a ‘dress-up day’ to put a little joy back onto the ward. And as it is a children’s hospital it always works to put a smile on the faces of our patients to see the nurses dressed as super heroes or dressed in their pajamas, whatever the theme may be as they administer medications, take bloods or whatever was required to complete treatment. So a sheet appeared in the nursing station calling for ideas as to what our theme should be. As the week progressed ideas came forward, not all of them suitable for a children’s hospital, although ‘naughty nurses’ may have gone over well with some of the dads (and mums) it was probably not the best choice for the kids. I love to dress up on these occasions and have collected a wardrobe full of costumes or possible pieces of costumes to suit most themes. When you are working with children it helps if you can just have a little fun and are prepared to be a little silly to bring a smile onto a sick kids face and I am quite prepared to do so any chance I get. But as much as I tried I just couldn’t settle onto a theme to add to the list. For some reason this seemed to be annoying one of our nurses, Emma, who seemed to ask on a daily basis if I had decided what theme I wanted to put down. She did mention a previous dress-up theme of ‘fairies’ and as I thought this would be simple, comfortable and light-hearted enough to raise the mood on the ward I jotted it down, although I had no idea what I was going to do, it doesn’t really produce obvious male options. Emma promptly placed three ticks next to my suggestion to indicate her agreement with my choice. Posters promptly went up around the ward to advertise the date and theme so that as many nurse who were working that day would be aware of our plan and hopefully participate. Day’s like this are always fun on the ward and the greater the participation the better the resulting enjoyment for everyone. My planning began, first I went through my costume wardrobe to see what I had that could be utilized to fit the theme, my Robin Hood costume would work, I’d go as a woodland fairy, all I needed was wings. With a nice set of white feathered wings purchased and a little bronze paint sprayed over the top to give them a little more of an earthy look rather than angelic I was set. The day set for the dress up was a Thursday which I did think was unusual as it was normally something for the end of the week, but who cares, I would dress up no matter what day of the week it was, although that did mean that it was the day before my birthday which would have been nice, but not to worry. 

So arriving to work on the day I got changed into my costume and came onto the ward. I always start earlier than the oncoming nurses so am always the first on the ward in costume on days like this, it is then a matter of watching people arrive to see how many were getting involved with the fun. Fairies began to appear as everyone on the day shift began to gather for hand-over, wings and wands abounded. We are all at work though and not a party so the day continues like any other, it is just fun to walk down a corridor or into a patient’s room to perform a task and give someone a bit of a giggle.

But there was something weird going on, I was constantly being bombarded by doctors, nurses and allied health staff coming up to me and wishing me a happy birthday. I was really starting to get confused when even parents of our patient’s began to join in the well-wishing. Although it was very pleasant to be wished a happy birthday I couldn’t work out why everyone thought it was today or how they knew it was my birthday at all, I had said nothing to anyone. Like I’ve mentioned it is a date that may be important on my calendar but not one that I would publicize or expect anyone else to really care about. The day progress like most others, busy, but with an added touch of whimsy, until it came time to head for lunch. Exiting the lift and heading back towards the ward after my break I noticed that the door separating my desk and the central nursing hub was closed, I normally keep this open but there must be a meeting going on inside that needs to be kept private. In front of my desk I ran into Mel, the Nurse Unit Manager and we started discussing new options to decorate the ward, another activity that I tend to get heavily involved with for the ward, it lets me exercise my artistic flair to brighten the place up a bit. Our conversation continued as we walked back into the ward around to the internal door of the hub, I noticed that someone had strung up a cellophane curtain across the doorway, ‘That’s going to annoy people.” I thought, but it was fun so who cares. Then it happened.

We opened the door and inside were all the staff, the table set with food and a cake, polka dotted balloons festooned the area and I was greeted with a full rendition of ‘Happy Birthday to you”.  Talk about surprise, I had not picked up any clue as to what their plan had been but as the initial surprise settled into its emotion state of pleasure and appreciation it all began to become clear. Knowing that it I always enjoyed dress up days when they came around they had devised the list to make the theme match whatever suggestion I made, hence Emma’s extra ticks next to my option to highlight my choice. Although when anyone asked why we were having a dress up day my reply was that it was just a fun day the ward had decided to have to bring a little fun onto the ward, they all knew the real reason, and had been telling everyone, parents included that it was to celebrate my birthday, that explained all the unexpected well-wisher that had been heading my way all day. I must admit, for once they had managed to keep a secret and keep it well, because I had no idea that this was what they were up to. I was presented with a “small” gift which was a money box labelled ‘travel fund’, I jokingly remarked that it was customary to place money into a new purse or money receptacle before giving it as a gift to bring luck. As I opened the box, inside I discovered that they had in fact gone beyond the usual spare coin and it did in fact contain a not unsubstantial number of notes. I truly was speechless. Maybe because it’s so fresh but I really am having trouble trying to express the feeling the whole day gave me, the love that I felt was honest and amazing and was truly a surprise that I plan to, and will, remember. What they didn’t realize was that they had actually given me one of the best birthday surprises I think I have ever had because it was a true surprise, completely unexpected and from a group of people that I work with who, although we all get on fabulously I would not have expected to take the time to create such a special moment for me, I was truly grateful and my spirits were raised as high as my little fairy wings could get me. 

It’s unfortunate how birthdays change as you get older. As a child, it is a date to look forward, even plan for. We eagerly await its arrival as they becoming symbols of our rites of passage. You’ll be a big boy soon, at the age of four with school just around the corner, then again age ten announcing that we reach double figure, another mile stone to be marked of our lists. As children our rights change with each additional year until we find ourselves as adults and the passing of years are no longer steps towards greater freedoms, more privileges or badges to wear on our lapels announcing our maturity but only a representation of another year lost. But this was supposed to be a story about the pleasant emotions associated with surprise so let’s focus on the party and not the passing of time.

Surprise unfortunately is a two edged sword, it has a purpose, it tries to prepare us for what’s coming next and sometimes it’s not as exciting or uplifting as parades or birthday surprises.  

So what am I talking about today? As I sit here I am setting a new date into my calendar, one that now holds as much importance as the date of my birth. It’s not difficult to remember where and when I was when the surprise arrived that would change my world. It is etched into my memory like a wound that won’t close, a scar that will never heal. 

Walking into the doctor’s surgery that day was nothing special. My doctor had arranged some tests, more for the sake of having them than anything else, I had been sick with a flu the weekend before that knocked me about a bit but nothing serious but my doctor liked to do routine tests for everything including a flu. I sometimes think it was a ploy on his part to be able to charge Medicare for two consultations rather than just one. I would be given a script for antibiotic or told to drink plenty of fluids and rest for whatever ailed me, but would need to come back to discover that my kidney function was great, cholesterol was at the lowest end of the scale, blah, blah, blah. I usually made my doctor jealous of my results, fit and healthy, with results that would be good for a much younger guy were always the order of the day. I had received a call from the reception to tell me that my results were back and my doctor wanted to catch up so I made an appointment for that afternoon after I finished work. As I cheerfully walk into the surgery the first thing that struck me was the greeting from the receptionist. She was never a happy soul. A heavy set Indian woman with dark hollow eyes, who even after 13 years of seeing me at the surgery would never look me in the eye and greet me when I arrived at the counter. She always seemed to be having a bad day that would never end. Her manner made me feel like a naughty school boy facing the principles secretary because I had been sent to the office by my teacher.   “Take a seat,” she would say, barely lifting her eyes from her computer screen as she spoke, “The doctor will see you soon.” I always just took a seat quietly, feeling like I was in trouble for some misdemeanor. Today she surprised me, as I entered the surgery, before I had been given the opportunity to make my way to the front desk to present my teacher’s slip for misbehavior, she was up, out of her chair and coming towards me from around the desk. “Hi Dean, just take a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly,” a smile cracking the concrete mold of her familiar stern facial expression. Had she received so many complaints about her attitude that she had decided to turn over a new leaf? Had I finally reached a length of time as a patient coming to the surgery that she deemed to be sufficient to now be considered a regular patient? Someone who had earned familiarity? This surprise sent me into a bit of a spin and as the emotional response began to come through the initial surprise and shock, they were not the pleasant emotions I’ve been talking about, this was the other side of the sword, apprehension, discomfort and concern were taking hold.

Chapter 1 - Dates

So, Chapter 1 - Dates
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 Welcome to my BLOG.

 You’ve found me, so let me tell you what I intend to do, say and talk about, without giving all my secrets away all at once. First I am going to assume you are there, so I am going to talk to you under that assumption. This is going to be a combination of diary, travel log, a look back at my life so far, and a place to establish plans for the future. During this journey I hope to create something that is thought provoking, happy and sad, and hopefully entertaining, to some degree! Be warned I intend to say things as they are, (from my point of view). I have no intention in offending anyone, but, there will be adult content, if appropriate to the story. I do not intend to hold back on moral, ethical or cultural issues if they are part of my past, present or future and have, or will shape who I am. If I haven’t scared you off, then again Welcome, I hope you enjoy reading my “tale”.

We all tend to collect dates like trophies, don’t we? Birthdays, anniversaries, dates that are important to the individual to whom they hold significance. Dates that signify momentous changes in our lives, our births, or dates that change our lives such as commitments to significant others, engagements, weddings. We also collect dates as a collective, pagan festivals, Christmas, Easter, and Mayday, celebrations of wars like Anzac day or Remembrance Day. Times when families (biological or created through our own selection) gather to share each other’s company on the same regular cycle of calendar dates. Dates have become more important to me in recent weeks, more and more I find myself remembering events gone by, the when’s, the where’s, the who’s. And as I turn 50 in 2 days’ time it seems apt that my life has taken a monumental turn which revolves around a new significant date for my calendar. But before we get there let me give a couple of examples of dates which stick in my brain to maybe provoke similar memories from you past, maybe we’ll start with something happy. 

September 2013, I’m sitting outside at a Greek tavern, mad crowds of tourists wander past, looking at their maps to try and find their place in the world. The open square encircled with restaurants has seating throughout the central paved area, taxis drive around the narrow street between the kitchens that enclose the square and the seating area outside. I discovered this area earlier in my travels in Athens and have slowly sampled each restaurant to compare their kitchens. I had settled on a favorite, the seating closest to the road gives me a clear view of the passing traffic of travelers, I can watch the taxi drivers who have been hired for the day as they sit drinking beer at the adjoining tables waiting for their clients to return from marveling at the local sites. I have been in Athens for a few weeks now and have navigated its narrow street to the extent that I no longer needed to consult a map to find my way around. I will admit this gave me immense joy as it gave me the power to laugh at the lost throng of people around me as they tried to find the Acropolis which towered above their head beyond the maze of meandering cobbled streets. I sit comfortably in the misted shade with a Mithos beer in my hand waiting for my lunch. I had quickly gotten into the habit of adopting a Mediterranean diet which meant that my main meal was taken in the middle of the day and not in the evening when the body doesn’t need the calories. So come midday as the temperature rose, I would settle down as I did this day for a large meal before further exploring of the city in the afternoon. So what does my lunch have to do with my discussion about dates? I had ordered octopus for lunch and had expected to receive baby octopus as this was the only way I had eaten octopus in Australia but what arrived at the table was a complete leg of the octopus hanging over the edge of the plate, which must represent good value for the restaurant owner as he gets to serve 8 people with the 1 octopus, you can only get 2 legs off a lamb. It was delicious and I have never experienced anything like it again so this day sits in my memory due to a single meal on a sunny afternoon in Athens watching the world go by.

How about the 28^th November 1992, here is another day of significance to me. After working for a shoe company for only 2 months, around rolls the Christmas party. I had only moved to Sydney from Brisbane a few months earlier and had yet to develop any great circle of friends during that time. I arrived at the party which was being held in the function room of a yachting club on the North Shore of Sydney, not knowing anyone other than those I worked with in my particular store. Everyone was in a good mood and things were going well when I spotted a cute guy sitting alone up at the bar. I asked Kevin, my manager, who he was and was promptly introduced. Thus started the most significant relationship of my life, so far. Don’t think I wasn’t already a “player”, no virgins lost youth story happening here, I knew I was gay by 13 and had been actively gay from the moment I had finished high school, but my relationships were short lived, anyone who reached the 2 week mark was deemed a long term relationship in my eyes. This was about to be the start of something different, a connection that would change my values, my world view, basically a new invention of who I was and who I would become. From our first introduction we bonded, the remainder of that night was spent with the 2 of us completely engrossed in getting to know each other, to the exclusion of everyone else at the gathering. I don’t remember how we made it back to my place that night but I do remember that we made love in a frenzy and eagerness that is hard to forget, but more about Andrew later.

I mention these dates not only because they are important to me but also so that you can see that dates can signify joy in our lives. Moments when great and momentous thing happen which can alter our lives to such an extent that we are changed from that moment on. Unfortunately not all dates which mark these changes in our lives begin as our greatest moment. Someone once said “we have to take the good with the bad” and I want to talk about the bad. I am determined to turn this new date around from one of complete and utter despair into a day that I can, not so much celebrate, but rather to not hate or regret. 

This new date is March 12, which held no great significance to me until this year. Six days after my younger brother’s birthday, not quite the ides of March, which according to the Roman calendar falls on the 15^th. Yet the twelfth day of March in the year 2018 will now remain a date that will stay with me for the remainder of my life. So now I have a new date to add to my collection, a date that will create the need for even more new dates demanding marks on my annual calendar.

Dates, dates, dates, the calendar of our lives placed into a box with 365 square segments, like a butterfly display case with every day separated and on display. Every square empty until our births, at which point we fill our first day, our birthday. Slowly more squares are filled with dates to remember, our first love, weddings, births or deaths, all manner of significant moments.

 What happens if every square is filled and no more space is left? If some squares are filled with colour, representing our positive, joyous dates other will be filled with darkness representing our negative dates, will we be judged at the end by this balance between colour and dark? I want to fill my calendar squares with colour, I want to take a brush, dip it into the brightest paint I have and re-colour those dark days. It’s going to look like a fucking Piet Mondrian painting, pick a colour, any colour.