Cuba Take One: Flight of Miracles

Well I have finally managed to work out how to make my Flickr account visible so that you can all see the slideshow. You will see the first slideshow above this post! As mentioned in an earlier post, there will be MANY Cuba Trek 2009 updates for you to plough your way through, but don't worry - I won't do them all at once! Here is Cuba Take One: Flight of Miracles (and Bus of Despair).

Day one: Wednesday 18th February, 2009.
Clare and I have stayed in a hotel right next to Heathrow airport. It has the slowest service in the world and the coldest air conditioning in the room that I have ever encountered. However, thanks to the best plexi-glass double-glazing we heard nary a plane the whole night through. That cold morning, donning our MIND t-shirts of the brightest blue (using the left-over colourant from the old artificially blue Smarties that used to render our tongues an alarming shade of turquoise and send us children skittling off the ceiling), we headed to the airport to meet the rest of the MIND team.

I'll be honest. Things did not look good at the start. But before explaining why, let's introduce the team.

When Clare and I arrived, at the unearthly hour of 5:15am, we were met by a tanned young lady from Mind, to whom the word 'svelte' applied most aptly. This would be RT, who had organised the trip. We were joined by a young woman called JK, who seemed very quiet and who hails from South London.

Two ladies in their mid-40s (so we thought - they were actually in their 50s but looked AMAZING) came shining up, smiles and song, while a few of us drabbed around, cold and still tired. Instantly we forgot which one was Mary and which one was Sally. Eventually, thanks to me not thinking before speaking, I nicknamed them the Golden Girls, and the name stuck.

A young, tall man came gangling up at this point, bags all askew and dropping items out of his pockets/everywhere. This was RP, whose penchant from losing/dropping/misplacing or just taking off his trousers and shoes to go for a swim and leaving them on the forest floor, on the stairs of a hotel, right in front of where you were standing or, indeed, anywhere where they would be in the way/get lost was remarkable.

Another tall chap with a long black beard and glittering eye, and a lucky pink scarf, joined us. Thanks to the modus networkandi that is Facebook, we knew him to be Dave, aka 'Boomerang Jones'.

An older couple (Mary and Richard) appeared and stood quietly in group with Ron White (Ron Bianco) talking doctory stuff, while RH, known to us through Facebook, got together with an Essex chick called Liz, who declared: "I haven't trained since last year. I've not been to the Gym for three months. I need a fag." And they trotted off to partake of the nicotine stuff before the ten-hour flight precluded them from indulging in the New World leaf.

It was at this point, while waiting for Grace and Emma, the remaining two members of the team to arrive, that Libby the tour leader appeared, ethnic silver jewellery and glam hair-do included. Immediately I rued listening to Clare who had dug me gently about putting my make-up on that morning, so that I had neglected my eyeliner. I fished it out of my bag.

But the eyeliner was not to be lined on my eye, at least not yet. For Christianly Action would soon need to be called on. And this was made evident by young RP informing us loudly that 'We are not booked on the flight'. Let me explain a little about him. He is a super chap, and has a certain condition (more of that later) which can mean he sometimes finds it hard because of the condition to adapt to sudden or unexpected changes in the situation. This is made worse if the times that he takes his medication are altered for reasons of time-difference or illness.

Libby took him off to one side to deal with the situation. And returned to tell us that indeed, KLM had informed us that there was NO FLIGHT TO CUBA FROM AMSTERDAM THAT DAY.

Which was impossible, our tickets had been booked since the previous July.

No, said KLM. We do not fly to Havana on Wednesdays from Amsterdam.

This is when Christian Action kicked in. I texted some people at church and asked them to pray. I then told the group: 'WE will get to Havana today. My church is praying." They looked. What they thought of me at that moment I dare not ask. But Emma moved away a little and a group of them went off for another fag.

Half an hour and much waiting around while all we could hear was the irritating whizz-whirr of the electric advert spinning around in its infinitely rage-inducing loop, we were informed:

"Oh, actually, we ARE going to Havana today. KLM made a mistake." Evidently, as we were flying MartinAir to Havana, not KLM, which, had the assistant noticed at the first, would have prevented a panic attack.

BUT things were not to be so smooth.

Clare, who had arranged to travel straight back to Leeds, had not been registered on the flight out at all. So she had to be booked on which took nearly forever.

FINALLY we managed to get 15 minutes to get through security and buy some breakfast before rushing into the departure lounge for a flight that was an HOUR later than the one originally booked, thanks to KLM's stupendous mistake.

Then: 'LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WE ARE SORRY TO ANNOUNCE THAT THE 9am FLIGHT TO AMSTERDAM HAS BEEN CANCELLED OWING TO A FAULTY ENGINE"

This caused consternation, but Libby was wonderful - she made us all sit together in our Mind shirts (16 fruit loops rocking to and fro without a flight could be dangerous, as RH whispered to me), while going to the information desk on our behalf and trying to sort out whether we could all get on the next flight out - the one at 10.

While she was there, I got out my moby again. I texted the prayer team. 'Flight to Amsterdam cancelled. Hundreds of people vying to get on next flight at 10. Please pray that we can all get on that one.'

Libby returned. We can all get on the 10am flight. HOORAH!

But we will miss the 11:45 plane to Havana (boo).

"No we won't" I say. I feel Clare cringing as she knows what's coming next. "We will get to Havana today. I have people praying that we will. So we will." More looks. Richard (p) enjoys my confidence.

Inwardly: 'Ok, God, I'm staking your reputation on this one. Please make good!'

Dave Cook the KLM representative comes over to us again with Libby. "Please rip up your transfer tickets to Havana as you won't be going to Havana today."

"Don't rip them up!" I say. "That plane might be delayed - transatlantic flights often are. Ours might get in early. We still might make it."

Libby looks at me and tells the rest of the group: "Good idea. Don't tear up your tickets just in case."

Dave Cook also looks at me. "You're an optimist aren't you? Well I'm a realist and you know what a realist is? A pessimist with experience." He laughs at his own joke.

I reply, without raising my voice or batting an eyelid: "I am not an optimist. I am a Christian. And I have experience of miracles. We will get to Havana today, we will get on that plane, and when we return, I will find you and take £5 off you."

Dave Cook is taken aback at this assertion. He muntles off (my word for muttering and shuffling off at the same time) and leaves Libby to tell us what our options are when we get to Amsterdam. Apparently she has worked her wiles and got us into the best hotel, with all expenses paid by KLM, plus all travel, and they will have to shell out for the whole group to stay an extra day in Amsterdam.

I could see the £££ signs flickering in KLM's eyes already, not in a good way.

"That's all very well, I mutter to RH, International Woman Of Mystery. "But, we will be flying to Cuba today. I have the prayers of my church backing us up."

"But the next plane to Amsterdam gets us in 10 mins after the Havana Plane is due to leave" says Clare.

Does she know me so well!?

On the flight to Amsterdam I am seated next to a young black woman and to Clare, but Clare and RP swap places half-way through. RP is loving the way I dealt with Paul Cook at Heathrow and is still laughing about it.

"SO you're a christian? What does that mean exactly?" (that's not the first thing RP tells me, the first thing he announces when he sits down is that he has Paranoid Schizophrenia. I am sure there was an intake of breath from some of the passengers around). How little we know about mental illness. This trip is really going to open my mind about a lot of things.

I tell RP about the verse in Matthew's Gospel - "Take no worry for tomorrow"... and speak to him about my faith in this God who knows when the sparrow can take off and fly, and who will make sure we all take off and fly.

I look next to me. The lady has taken out her bible and is looking up the same passage. RP is stunned at the way this lady and I get on although we've never met each other before. She is on her way to her mother's funeral in Uganda. She is praying also for us to get to HAvana! Judging by the two folk in front who are also turning around now and then, they are also christians, and also praying for us. There are now about 20 or more people praying for us to get to Havana.

RP is really heartened by this. As the plane draws into the runway at Amsterdam, all of us MIND people are stuck at the back of the plane. A set of steps are drawn alongside the rear of the plane. A voice comes over the tannoy.

"Will the group going to Havana today please disembark from the back of the plane where you will be taken to your connecting flight."

A shout of joyous disbelief from the Mind team. "We're going to Havana!" The couple in Front and the lady next to me give us smiles and hugs. "I told you so" (I allowed myself a few of these). RP is overjoyed. "Dave Cook is going to be so gutted! You were right and he was wrong". "I told you God would get us there!"

So we get to the embarkation point for our connecting flight with MartinAir. We are told that our luggage will not be arriving that day. "We don't care" is the happy answer. "Our luggage will arrive today" I say, having made ANOTHER hasty text to the prayer warriors at Thornton Heath Evangelical Church.

NOW people are asking me to get prayers for their luggage.... interesting, isn't it?

I suspect another member of the team, Dr Ron, might be praying too. I'll have to ask him if he's one of 'My People'.

We get on the flight. Our seats have been changed. Instead of being booked onto the flight, they took us off it and gave our Standard Class seats to some other people instead.

So the only option is for them to give us... FIRST CLASS CABIN SEATS!!!!

GET IN THERE MY SON!

We are travelling in Luxury on a flight they said we would never get, on the day they said there were no flights.

HAHAHAHAHA. My God is a Great Big God. He did not want a group of charity workers stashed in the cramped cabins at the back, but arranged all the flight worries so that we could all have two or three seats each in first class. Don't tell me I don't get Romans 8:28. YEAH BABY!

This isn't the end. As we wait for our luggage at Havana Airport, it becomes increasingly obvious that there is nothing coming around the carousel. Even my optimism is waning but I can't believe that God will let me down now, especially as I staked His reputation on the line. Emma says: "Even your optimism must be running low - we're not going to get our bags." I am about to doubtfully agree with some compromising platitude, when one of the Golden Girls cry out...

Our bags are here!

They have been lined up along the wall, sent 'Special delivery.' It seems our bags, by some miracle, have got to Havana before us... not a single piece of luggage is missing or ruined.

Now that is a flight of miracles.

JK (and others) come up to me. "Please thank your church for praying that we will get here." RP is still on a high about the look on Dave Cook's face when I demand that £5. The power of prayer has got us to Cuba in the face of obstacles, and the trek itself is going to be a FANTASTIC TREK, full of more miracles, self-revelation, breaking through fear barriers and meeting amazing people....

MY VIDEOS NOW WORK

So here is a very cute video of little Monty when he was just a wee kotteb, playing Fetch with a chocolate wrapper...

Red Nose Day... or Red Mist Day

Red nose day 2009

Well, you can't have escaped the fact that, in the good ol' UK, we're celebrating Comic Relief for charity - aka, Red Nose Day. Ostensibly a day for sporting silly red noses and watching comedians making special shows to help raise money for children in Africa. Today already, I have seen The Pink Panther paw his fluffy way onto the Victoria Line. I saw a herd of schoolchildren perform a percussion noise pollution type thing outside Oxford Circus Station. Many people were wearing specially-designed Comic Relief t-shirts.

But I am not here to talk about the billions of pounds this will raise for children in Africa. I am not here to celebrate the wonder of a nation coming together in a united and charitable cause. Nor am I here to extol the virtues of laughter and the bond it creates as a social cohesive.

No. I am here to talk of a tale of failure, murder, death, feathers and 3am shrieks in the night. All in the name of Comic Relief.

IT ALL STARTED ON MONDAY, when a friend rang to ask if I could make hot cross buns for his charity sale in aid of Comic Relief.

At this point, I should have, could have, said, 'not this time'.
Stupidly, I have a habit of saying:
"Yes of course!"

And that set me on the path of doom, failure, murder, death (doesn't murder intrinsically involve death?), feathers and 3am shrieks in the night....

Thursday night, after GCU, I went to the big Sainsbury's in Streatham to buy yeast and strong bread flour. It took ages to find the yeast - a motherly older lady came to my rescue - and finally I was home, bags bursting with food and ingredients. And a good Jamie Oliver recipe for 'easy' hot cross buns, buns which are supposed to look like THIS...

Nice Hot Cross Buns

HOWEVER
The '15 minutes' that pounding the dough into a proper consistency was more like 45 minutes, during which I got cross and hot. I had to resort to singing hymns to stop myself thinking murderous thoughts.

Then I got fed up of pounding, so I just rolled it in some dry flour and put it back in the bowl.
FOR ONE AND A HALF HOURS.

OH YES. You let it stand for 1.5 hours. (by then it was already 10.30). So by 12 it would be DOUBLE in size and ready for me to make small buns out of it.

Okay, I could cope with that, although I was already knackered beyond thought. I dozed off and set the alarm for midnight.

At midnight I looked into the covered bowl. The dough had NOT doubled in size. It looked exactly the same size. It WAS the same size.

Well I made the balls out of it anyway and glazed them with egg.

I looked at the recipe. "let the buns stand for another 1.5 hours". ANOTHER 1.5 HOURS? That would take me up to... 2am.

Great.

I dozed off to sleep again. 1.5 hours later, there were NO risen buns. They were the same size. GRRRR.

I piped the crosses onto the flat buns. The cross dough just rolled off. Oh well. By then I couldn't care less, I just wanted the buns to cook.

But, just as I was getting ready to put them into the oven, the murder happened.

For Monty-The-Cat suddenly jumped in at the window from the still darkness of the 2.30am morning, with a mothering pigeon dead in his mouth. He'd waited up a tree until he saw a nesting pigeon. Then pounced and killed. And brought it in on the side where I was glazing my buns.

I screamed. He dropped the pigeon on the windowsill and ran under the bed, dropping downy grey feathers over the side and floor, a soft, delicate dusting of death. But my scream had scared two women outside who also started to scream. Lights went on around the houses. Lights went on in the police station behind my flats. Monty came out from under the bed and lay on the floor, bloodied paws stretching and wiggling in murderous, tired joy.

I slammed the buns into the oven and gave up even trying to make anything of them. If I had left the dough out or in the fridge it might have been okay. But I had given up. I knew by then, of course, that there was no way I would be taking in those buns, comic relief or no.

I then betook myself to cleaning the flat, putting the pigeon into a bag and clearing up the feathers. I then had to wash the cat, who was covered in evidence. So the poor thing is in the bathtub, being showered down, trying to crawl up the tiles (or me, eliciting more screams). During which time the buns burned. They were NOT buns at all. These buns were dead, deceased, no more. The buns were non-buns.

3:10 am I finally get to bed, with a poor, wet, bedraggled and confused cat.

It's a rare old world!

HOLA!

Dear all,

Well, it's been a while since I was able to write anything online. Thank goodness I keep a diary! I've missed blogging and I've missed catching up with all my blogging friends. But there is great hope on the horizon - I may be given the luxury of time back very soon. There are exciting plans ahead for me which will entail me being able, at least for most of the week, to work from home. This will give me back 2.5 hours of my day otherwise spent travelling. An extra 1 hour to add to this will be the lack of me having to get dressed and cleaned up. Nice. Smelly Mermaid. Mmm... arome du home-working writer. Nom de Fume.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Anyway, I want to thank you all who kindly sponsored me in my walk in Cuba, and who sent me kind wishes and thoughts. It was a fantastic success, and really life-changing. I will tell you more about Cuba in Cuba part ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE AND SIX. AND SEVEN.

Believe me, there are LOADS of photos for you to snore your way through. So be prepared for an onslaught.

PS. Oh yes, the mermaid has also found a mer-man.

Snow

It apparently did. Some bother with transport, a school might have closed early. £10 lost at Primark.

I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary though. Did any of you?

iShuffle - and iLove it!

I love my iPod nano. I know it's not the latest one, or the most technologically capable iPod out there, but it's revolutionised my gym and travelling sessions.

Now, instead of using the gym for thinking-about-important-stuff time, I listen to music
Now, instead of using travelling time to read and expand my mind, I listen to music
Now, instead of buying 50 cds a year at sale prices and uploading all the songs (probably about 1,000 songs), I buy individual tracks for $1. If I were to buy 1000 songs for my iPod over the year, I would be paying $1,000.

Ain't that brill? The best bit, however, is the potential for humorous juxtaposition of songs.

I've downloaded the entire Messiah as I love the music. But when you stick songs on shuffle, the best combination of music is possible.

Here are two recent juxtapositions which made me snort with laughter publicly (once at the gym, once travelling). I might get arrested for this one day.

The Messiah: 'And he shall stop their mouths'.
The section ends: 'And they shall shake their heads, saying.........."

"Caught in a trap/There's no way out/Because I love you too much baby...."

And then:
The Messiah: 'And suddenly, there was with the angel, a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying....

"Can you feel it? Can you feel it? CAN YOU FEEL IT???"

Snort!

Nein!

One of the stories I have been editing today is about a fund manager who does skydiving in his spare time. One particular paragraph really set me about laughing, however, as I felt my editing skills put sorely to the test in the face of very inappropriate humour.

The paragraph ran thus:

‘Eric has jumped with people of all ages. “The youngest was my daughter, who I took up for her 15th birthday. The oldest was a man aged 82 who had landed on Normandy beaches during D-Day. It was very emotional for him as the jump was onto a Normandy beach.”’

I really want to edit it to read:

‘Eric has jumped with people of all ages. “The youngest was my daughter, who I took up for her 15th birthday. The oldest was a man aged 82 who had landed on Normandy beaches during D-Day. It was very emotional for him as the jump was onto a Normandy beach and we had arranged for a German soldier to be waiting for him with a Schmeisser.”’

Oh well something had to make me laugh this miserable new year.

Mermaid's got the new shoes blues

Here's a perfect illustration of my latent stupidity... I blame being blonde, but I suspect that most women have a similar tale, and probably some men as well...

This is the story... cast your minds back to a warmer time (May), when the sun shone and the time for little kitten heels and bright yellow shoes was just what the fashionistas ordered.

There was Merms, standing on Streatham station platform in her new bright yellow shoes, with matching top and her best jeans, ready for a first date in London with some chap she met online.

Anyway, there was Merms, waiting with her best friend, Paddy's mum, who had stayed chez Mermaid overnight after a concert.

The train rolled in... and Mermins realised, to her chagrin, that her cute yellow kitten heel was caught in a trap, there was no way out, because she'd stepped onto a drain grating, baby. As she struggled to free herself, the train pulled in to a hissing stop. The doors opened. People got on, all the while looking at Paddy's Mum and the Mermins desperately attempting to set my foot free from its griddled metal prison.

The train driver got out of his carriage.

'You alright miss?'

'It's okay, I'll get the next train, thank you,' quoth I.

The driver got back into his cab, and continued to watch us from there.

'Why isn't the train moving?' I asked myself. By this point, both of us were kneeling on the station platform. I had taken my foot out of the blasted darn yellow piece of leathery overpriced crap, and was twisting the shoe this way and that while Paddy's Mum was kneeling down trying to hold the metal grating down.

At this point, I glanced up at the train. From somewhere in the train came a wispy tannoy announcement, too faint for me to hear. Was it a warning about baggage? A travel update? No no no... it was evident what the driver's message was to those passengers.

For, as the train slowly pulled out of the station, every person on our side of the train was standing up, or sitting right next to the window, watching the spectacle and videoing on their mobile phones.


I wandered lonely as a cloud... until I saw a host of golden shoes!!!

Merry Christmas one and all!

Well my darlings, I have been a neglectful mermins, not wishing you all a wonderful Christmas, or swimming onto your blogs to pass on seasonal tidings of comfort, joy and watermelons.

However, blame the busiest season for Christians, together with being in hospital with a burst ulcer, yucky yuck, as well as a lot on at work... you get the picture... mermins not lucky enough to get the opportunity to even see her own blog and the lovely comments you posted. Thank you.

I do hope you have all had a lovely Christmas; I was thinking of you all on Christmas eve at my mum's, wishing I could get onto the internet and post yuletide greetings to you. So I hope that the Christmas week was lovely for you all.

And I do wish you all a fantastic New Year. Whatever the New Year may bring. I know that whatever trials await me (including an endoscopy on 20th January and a 98k hike in February, My God is able! I can trust that I won't have another dull year this coming year. Whether redundancy, or ill health, or - no, I am sure this year will be mermin's year for love - or the loss, then, of my sanity completely, that 2009 will be a year of growth, comfort, fellowship and new opportunities.

So every blessing to you all for 2009 and beyond. And May the Mermin of happiness throw plenty of fresh fish your ways.

Mermaid, formerly of Moorgate

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Modern-day parable

I was standing for an hour in the cold, collecting in Piccadilly Circus station this morning for MIND. Of course I was there to raise money for charity, but it certainly was an interesting social experiment.

As I stood there, watching all the well-heeled people with jobs pass me by, with very few stopping (and the vast majority of those who stopped were middle-aged men in suits) I was aware of someone shuffling up to me: an old man, matted hair, very shabby clothes, crawling slowly along on crutches. But he wasn't trying to pass me by like the rest of them: balancing on one crutch, he reached into his dirty pockets, pulled out all the change that he had and put it into my collecting tin.

The Lord Jesus Christ was once standing in the temple in Jerusalem. His disciples watched people walk past the treasury box. A poor widow - no welfare state then - came and dropped in two small, copper coins. Jesus turned to his disciples and said: "You see this poor widow? She has given more than all the others. They gave out of their vast wealth, but she, out of her poverty, gave all that she had." (Mark 12:41-44)

This is the link to my fund raising site: Simoney's Mind Sponsorship Site

Thank you for stopping by

Think of the children

lolcats

Mermins should not be allowed near them. Children, that is.

Yesterday, Merms had been in a three-hour meeting, including lunch, at a clients HQ and then had to cram onto a late late train back to office. At Holborn, a pikey family or three with lots of small schoolchildren, pushed onto the already packed train and stood encircling me, pressing their heads into my bladder with every twist and jolt of the Central Line.

Given that matter (ie my digesting lunch) exists in three states: solid, liquid and gas, something had to give.

But I waited until it was time for me to escape the train before I farted in their general direction, head level. Some of them even had their mouths open.

Was that mean and unchristian?

What has the Mermaid been up to?!?!?

EVERYTHING!

Working, freelancing, doing notes for her mother, dating, putting her flat on the market, becoming the first woman editor of a christian publication, back to her youth groups and charity card making and jewellery making and in training for a 98k trek to Cuba to raise money for MIND! (because I'll need their services one day no doubt!)

EEEKY!

How does she do it, you ask? Well, easy - dating goes out of the window! But the window is still open he he he he. Merms has a fishing rod.

Anyway here's some of the exciting stuff I am making for a charity craft fair (again to raise £ for MIND - the mental health charity). And here's my fund raising page!

If you have any ideas about how to help us get our target Id' be grateful - at the moment I'm auctioning myself off on facebook, doing a cake bake, collecting at stations, holding a fund raising party, my best friend is holding a charity raffle and book sale and my old school is having a Cuba day - how cute is that?

Some days...

I know this is cheating - I have not really written anything of great social or political import... but some days you just need to laugh at another's misfortune...




This is almost my favourite one


This looks like Monty!

Poor pup

My personal favourite. I will marry the man who came up with that caption.
Basement cat
Opussy bin Laden
We are the knights that say MEW!
Watch out before you sit down







This will be me





My kind of cat

Ha ha ha!

Poor fat beggar

You just have to have a laugh... or you'd cry

Why I Love Ben Ainslie

Ben Ainslie
... by someone who is now definitely over Alan Rickman

I LOVE Ben Ainslie.

I spent an hour alone with Ben in a room. Sadly it was for the purposes of interviewing him about his sailing career and finances, but I can say that I interviewed our Olympian gold medalist! Totally down-to-earth, self-effacing, quiet, modest - and totally gorgeous, er, I mean, totally worthy of respect... um...

You can read the profile wot I wrote here The beautiful Ben Ainslie

Or you can just look at his website and feel proud of our home-grown sailing hero! Our hero!

Paris Hilton's top 10 tunes

Guido's fabulous post on the presidential candidates' 10 favourite songs Guido is here has got me thinking how great it would be if Paris became president. Let's face it, under the American constitution and Bill of Rights, it is more than possible that she should be a candidate. Presidential precedent even suggests, nay, demands it:

Ronald Regan was an actor, and Paris has been in a movie (I think it might still be on YouTube).
Bill Clinton was caught in an impassioned er, situation, as has Paris (YouTube comment still stands).
Nixon stank, and Paris has launched her own perfume.
Bush is verbally challenged; Paris is verbal and challenged.
The Kennedys were shot - there's hope for a bright, but brief, political future for her.

So what would her top 10 hits be?

I venture

1) Money, Money Money (Abba)
2) One Toke over the line (Brewer and Shipley)
3) Because I got High (Afroman)
4) Love Shack (the B-52s)
5) Honky Tonk Woman (Stones)
6) Blow, Gabriel Blow (Marti Webb)
7) These Foolish Things (Ella)
8) Love in an Elevator (Aerosmith)
9) Gangsta's Paradise (Coolio)
10) Californication (RHCP)

???????????????