Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8 ED

Let's have a look at the Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8 ED. The first one. From the 1980s. The first one. Let's have a look at it. The Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8 ED, from the 1980s.

It's the chap in the middle here:

In the middle there. The Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8 is a fast telephoto zoom with a pushy-pully-twisty-turny design. It was launched in late 1987, and at the time it was Nikon's top-of-the-range photojournalistic lens. My hunch is that many thousands of images of Milli Vanilli, Madonna, and the Berlin Wall were taken with a lens very much like this one, perhaps mounted on a Nikon F4, which was released a few months later.

Nowadays its one of the cheapest decent 80-200mm f/2.8 lenses on the used market, partially because of its age - it was discontinued in 1992, so mine is at least 31 years old - and partially because it uses screw drive autofocus, which is fading out of history.

What is screw drive autofocus? From 1985 until roughly the turn of the millennium Nikon's cameras had a system whereby the autofocus motor was in the camera body, with the gears in the lens. The motor drove the gears in the lens with a little spring-loaded screw.

The system worked, but it was noisy and buzzy, and it had trouble with big telephoto lenses, so starting in the late 1990s Nikon gradually switched to a new arrangement that had all of the mechanical bits inside the lens, which meant that different lenses could have different motors etc.

As of 2024 a couple of Nikon's top SLRs still have a screw drive motor, and at least here in in the UK Nikon still sells the screw-drive 50mm f/1.8D, but screw-drive lenses are a dying breed. None of the new Z cameras use it.

They're interesting on the used market because they mostly still work with modern Nikon cameras - at the very least the aperture mechanism and exposure system work - and if you're prepared to focus manually they can be a bargain.

The three lenses pictured above illustrate three different generations of fast telephoto zooms. The Vivitar 70-210mm f/3.5 Series 1 on the left is a manual focus lens from the 1970s that attracted a lot of press at the time. It was slightly longer, slightly wider, and slightly faster than the 80-200mm f/4 zoom lenses of the day. It also had a clever macro mode that went down to a surprisingly close 1:4.

It's actually not bad by modern standards, if you stop it down a little bit, viz the following images shot at a local air show with this lens on a Fuji S5 at f/5.6:

The Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8 ED is a decade newer, with autofocus, and the Canon 70-200mm f/2.8 IS on the right is newer still, with image stabilisation. It was launched in 2001, which is technically almost a quarter a century ago but still feels like the modern age.

Belluno, in the foothills of the Alps

I'm not going to formally compare the three lenses. They are however essentially a stop apart - the Canon 70-200mm f/2.8 is sharp in the middle at 200mm f/2.8, the Nikon 80-200mm doesn't get as sharp until f/4, the Vivitar 70-210mm is the same again but at f/5.6.

The Vivitar 70-210mm has some nasty purple fringing in the edges that never goes away. It works best on crop-sensor cameras, where the edges are cropped out. The coatings or glass of the two autofocus lenses mostly eliminate red/green and blue/yellow colour fringing, but the Nikon 80-200mm has purply highlights wide open, perhaps because it was designed in the film era.

The Vivitar 70-210mm is noticeably more zoomy at the long end than the 80-200mm, more than the 10mm difference would suggest, which makes me wonder if the 80-200mm is more like an 80-180mm.

Let's see what the Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8 is like. The following image was shot with a fourteen megapixel, full-frame Kodak DCS 14n using the 80-200mm at 200mm. This is straight from the camera, hence the tilt and the unretouched dust spots. f/2.8 is at the top and f/4 is at the bottom:

The vignetting is still obvious at f/4, but it's not especially offensive. Up-close at f/2.8 the 80-200mm is obviously softer, with a purple colour cast, but not disastrously so, and it's probably not an issue if you're photographing portraits (again with f/2.8 at the top and f/4 at the bottom):

Subjectively the whole image is sharp across the frame at 80mm f/4 and 200mm f/5.6, and even wide open only the very edges are blurry, and then only slightly.

Here's a more extreme example of purple, again at 200mm f/2.8 and then f/4 - pay particular attention to the BMW logo:

Do you know what BMW stands for? It stands for BE-ME-WE. The company was founded in the late 1960s by a hippie who was keen on communal living. He believed that we should all BE, and that we should eliminate ME and become WE instead. Later in life he developed a type of house that used bottles and cans as building materials. His name? Brian Malcolm Williams. Of Cologne, Germany.

The purple fringing is an issue if you're photographing shiny things, although it has to be said that Photoshop will easily fix that. Unless the subject is also purple, in which case the job is more complicated. The only other optical problem is a hefty dose of pincushion distortion at 200mm, noticeable here at the top of the image (the metal barrier was straight and level in real life):

Historically the 80-200mm f/2.8 ED was one of the first lenses for the Nikon autofocus system. It was released back in 1987, a year after the Nikon F-501, which was Nikon's first modern autofocus SLR. The first batch of Nikon AF lenses had naff-looking shiny black plastic bodies, but the 80-200mm f/2.8 has an attractive crinkle finish that looks more modern than 1987.

Mine is the original, mark one version, which has a three-position focus limit ring. I left it in the "full" position because I paid for the lens and I'm going to use every bit of it. The focus limiter works with a pull and a twist. I suppose it would be handy if you were at an airshow or sports venue etc and you expected to focus on distant things all the time.

When the autofocus system misses the lens takes a couple of seconds to whizz from far to near and back again, and it's very noisy, but the only time I've managed to completely fool the autofocus system was by trying to photograph things through rainy glass windows or fences etc.

The minimum focus distance is about a metre and a half, which is standard for lenses of that era. The Canon 70-200mm f/2.8 from a decade later is the same. Unlike the Vivitar lens it doesn't have a special close focusing gear.

Incidentally ED stands for extra-low dispersion. It's a special type of glass designed to ensure that the different wavelengths of light focus at the exact same point. As mentioned up the page it works very well, although there's still a bit of purple.

In 1992 the mark one 80-200mm f/2.8 was replaced by a mark two version that had a focus limit switch instead of a ring. It also added distance information to the autofocus system - it was an AF-D-for-Distance lens - which tied in with Nikon's flash automation, although otherwise it was optically the same.

In turn the AF-D version of the lens was replaced in 1997 by a mechanically revised model with a twist-to-zoom design, although again the optical design was the same, or at least the number of elements and groups didn't change. It's entirely possible that the coatings were improved or the interior was tweaked somehow. Surprisingly the mark three screw-drive 80-200mm f/2.8 appears to still be on sale, or at least Nikon's US website lists it as a current product (at $1,224).

In 1998 Nikon launched a non-screw-drive 80-200mm f/2.8 that was briefly sold in parallel with the screw-drive 80-200mm. It was the first of Nikon's new non-screw-drive AF-S-for-Silent Wave lenses. It was only in production for a few years before being replaced by a 70-200mm f/2.8 lens that had image stabilisation.

Judging by the serial number mine is one of the earlier lenses, from 1987-1989, but the push-pull mechanism still feels grippy. The back end of the lens is sealed, and it seems tightly-made; mine doesn't have any obvious dust. It's a chunky, solid lens that doesn't rattle.

There are a couple of awkward things. Manual focus is activated with a clutch mechanism that involves pressing a button and twisting the entire barrel of the lens, which has the side-effect of preventing the lens from having a tripod foot, because the collar would have nowhere to go. The front element rotates as it focuses, and it sticks out, so you have to be careful not to bash it against anything. If you're using a polarising filter be sure to rotate the filter after you've focused.

As with all Nikon lenses from this period you have to make sure that the aperture ring is at f/22 when you put it on the camera, otherwise the electronics get confused, but that's a Nikon thing. Nikon people already know about that. Or at least older Nikon people know. Modern Nikon lenses don't have an aperture ring.

The bokeh isn't especially great, although with a 200mm f/2.8 it's easy enough to arrange the photo so that the background is a wash of colour. The following is an unusually bad example:

I think it's something to do with fishing. The only Italian I know comes from train announcements - allontanarsi dalla linea gialla is burned into my brain - but pesca looks like it has something to do with fish, so my hunch is that zona di pesca regolamentata is "zone of fishing regulations".

Can I sustain a relationship with an Italian woman if we only talk about yellow lines, platform numbers, and fishing regulations? Is that enough? No, it probably isn't enough.

No, hang on. I know messia satanico as well. That might be the clincher. "Je suis un messia satanico. Voulez-vous allontanarsi dalla linea gialla avec moi?" Could that work? Is that sexy? I'll have to try it out.

Those are the 80-200mm f/2.8's only bad things. On the positive side the colours are natural-looking. Saturated but not overpowering. In most of the images in this article I've boosted the contrast a bit, but the shot of the bridge above and the vertical alleyway a few paragraphs ago are straight-from-the-camera.

Flare? I have no idea, I didn't shoot into the sun. The 80-200mm has a 77mm filter thread. As far as I can tell Nikon's official hood screwed directly into the thread - the mark two lens had a bayonet mount - which strikes me as slightly unsafe given that the front element rotates. But perhaps it connected some other way. I'm not sure.

Italy wasn't designed for cars. Or rather the nice-looking bits weren't designed for cars. And even though there are masses of scooters, there are also masses of cars, because Italy isn't great if you're a pedestrian. It has pavements that end abruptly, out-of-town shops that are only a short walk from the town but inaccessible because there are no pavements, pedestrian crossings that favour cars etc. And yet it continues to exist.

Does the original 80-200mm make any sense nowadays? I'm not a Nikon person so I'm at a disadvantage here. It would be interesting to compare it with one of Nikon's modern 75-300mm f/4-5.6 consumer-level zooms with image stabilisation, or the perennial 180mm f/2.8. My hunch is that the image quality at f/8 would probably be about the same, and with the modern zoom you would be able to shoot at f/8 because of the image stabilisation, but there's a lot to be said for f/2.8. It subtly blurs out backgrounds and makes the subject stand out.

On the used market the early 80-200mm f/2.8s hover at around £250 or so, give or take £100 depending on condition, and of course the newest examples are very old. I waited ages for a good copy. I was originally going to pair it with a 35-70mm f/2.8, which was Nikon's contemporary fast normal zoom, but that thought reminds me of something else - the 35-70mm f/2.8 apparently has a problem with hazy elements that get worse with age, whereas judging by internet reviews the 80-200mm f/2.8 keeps on keeping on, because they were built to be used and bashed about by professionals.

And that is the Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8. Good but not excellent wide open, slow and buzzy autofocus, really well-made, no obvious quirks, nice but not overpoweringly contrasty colours, cheap, durable, chunky, holds its value.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Let's have a brief look at The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, although at this point in time Skyrim has so completely overshadowed the rest of the Elder Scrolls franchise it might as well just be called Skyrim. Not Something Something Skyrim or Skyrim Something, just Skyrim.

The ironic thing is that Skyrim is one of the few Elder Scrolls games with an actual Elder Scroll on it. Skyrim Skyrim Skyrim. Are you sick of reading Skyrim yet?

The huge success of Skyrim raises the question of what Bethesda will call the sequel. The Elder Scrolls VI: Whatever will just confuse people. People want Skyrim! They want more Skyrim! They don't want The Elder Scrolls: Whatever. It's just confusing. The Elder Scrolls VI: Skyrim 2 sounds like a football score. Will it be called The Skyrim Chronicles: Skyrim? Skyrim: Ages of Skyrim? Skyrim and Knuckles and Knuckles and Skyrim Featuring Knuckles and Knuckles and Skyrim?

Seriously, I have the impression that most fans of Skyrim aren't even aware there are other games in the series. The lamers! The fourth episode, Oblivion, was a big hit on the PS3 and Xbox 360 way back in 2006, but that was a long time ago. The earlier games were pretty obscure. Morrowind sold well back in 2002, but Daggerfall and Arena were PC-only role-playing games of no great distinction. Skyrim on the other hand is one of the best-selling games of all time, with sales of over sixty million copies, more than the entire rest of the Elder Scrolls franchise put together.

What is Skyrim? It's a first-person open-world role-playing game by Bethesda Software. It takes place in a generic fantasy world based heavily on Norse mythology. It has dragons, magic, swords, simple technology etc. Bethesda's games have the same basic template. There's a relatively dull main quest accompanied by masses of short side-quests - players often ignore the main quest entirely, in favour of the side-quests - plus a bunch of busywork. In the case of Skyrim the busywork includes cooking, making potions, mining for ore, building houses, none of which are essential, but they pass the time. The cooking minigame is particularly pointless, and yet I found myself compulsively hoarding piles of salt (an essential ingredient), because the food looks so attractive, and it made me feel hungry. If nothing else Skyrim captures the feel of chopping wood on a cold winter's day before going indoors for a hot bowl of soup.

Bethesda's role-playing games tend to have a "never mind the quality, feel the width" element. Skyrim itself doesn't have a particularly lengthy main quest, but it has dozens of hours worth of dungeons to explore and mysteries to solve. On top of which it's fun to just explore the map. It takes place in a large open world that has a day-night cycle, weather patterns, plus several hundred independent non-player characters who live their own lives.

I'm old enough to remember the likes of The Hobbit on the ZX Spectrum and Midwinter on the Atari ST, and in theory Skyrim should blow my mind, but it's easy to take it for granted. One of the most popular sports on the internet is Bethesda-bashing, whereby fans who have played Bethesda's games for thousands of hours compete with each other to insult Bethesda as harshly as possible. In their minds Bethesda sucks, Starfield is the worst game of all time, and Todd Howard - the public face of Bethesda's games - is a moron, a liar, a lying little speck of a man. And yet they can't walk away, because they're addicted. Todd Howard has the last laugh.

Skyrim was originally released in 2011 for the PC, Xbox 360, and PlayStation 3, and then again in 2016 as Skyrim: Special Edition for the PC, Xbox One, PlayStation 4, and then again in 2017 for the Nintendo Switch, and again a year later as Skyrim VR for virtual reality headsets, and again in 2021 as Skyrim: Anniversary Edition for the PC, Xbox Series X, and PlayStation 5. Did you get all that?

As of 2024 Skyrim is still available as at full price. In theory £40 or so, although it frequently goes on sale. Along with Grand Theft Auto V and Minecraft it's one of a handful of games that has been on sale continuously at full-price for over a decade, which is an impressive feat given that it has spanned three whole console generations.

Incidentally I played it on the PlayStation 4, because it was on offer for the PlayStation. The screenshots in this article are taken from the unmodified PlayStation 4 version of the game. I found the fixed field of view frustrating when indoors, and aiming arrows is awkward with a controller, but otherwise the experience of playing the game on a console felt painless. The game did make my PS4 chug air, though, so be sure to leave a lot of space around your console for ventilation.

This character is voiced by Lynda Carter - the actual Lynda Carter, of Wonder Woman fame. There's something immensely gratifying about being praised by Lynda Carter.

Why is Skyrim so popular? The obvious answer is that it's a good-looking, good-sounding game that builds on Oblivion without doing anything particularly wrong. I'm not a fan of role-playing games, but I quickly picked up the gameplay mechanics. Combat consists of stepping forward, swiping, and stepping back again, and you can go a long way just with those moves, but there's enough depth to allow for flexibility.

Unlike Dark Souls the gameplay is mostly mellow, and one upside of Skyrim's pervasive narrative blandness is that it never becomes emotionally overwhelming. As pictured throughout this article the graphics are still attractive today - everything is blocky, but the colours and lighting are lovely - and during the COVID years Skyrim even had a second wind as ambient entertainment for people who couldn't leave the house. At a time when people were flocking to Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020 for their travel fix, they also binge-watched 84-year-old Shirley Curry as she gleefully power-smashed raiders and giant spiders in, yes, Skyrim.

It has aged well. Oblivion was in theory an A-list title, but it felt janky. It had roughly a dozen voice actors for a cast of over eight hundred non-player characters, so the characters ended up sounding the same. The AI mostly worked, but the results were often bizarre. The combat became tiresome at higher levels, and on a visual level it was all over the place, as if the monsters had been sourced from a bunch of different public domain libraries.

Furthermore the pervasive use of bloom locked the game visually into the mid-2000s. Skyrim has a side-mission that sends the player back into the past, at which point the graphics, amusingly, turn into Oblivion:

In contrast Skyrim is visually, tonally, literarily-ly, writer-il-lilly restrained. It has none of its predecessor's camp excesses. The writing and voice acting are low-key, almost dour, as if the developers made a conscious decision that Skyrim should be less camp and more grown-up than its predecessor. The landscape is rendered in autumnal tones. The character models have a deliberately stylised look that resembles wood carvings.

The supernatural elements are also toned down. Skyrim still has mysterious underground cities, and the player can major in magic, but it has none of the deep lore of Oblivion, with its multiple planes of reality and occasionally baffling excursions into the minutiae of the Elder Scrolls franchise. Did you know that the moons in the sky are actually the decaying corpses of dead Gods? And the sun is actually a hole through which magic enters the mortal plane? None of this troubles Skyrim.

The player can role-play as a cat person, or a lizard, but those races appear only fleetingly in the game itself. For the most part the baddies are generic barbarians or more-or-less realistic wild animals, with the occasional zombie. There's a stereotype that fantasy games are full of Playboy models wearing chainmail bikinis, but Skyrim has none of that beyond the occasional bare arm.

Now, I'm 100% heterosexual, but if Tsun here ever needed someone to plait his chest hair I would happily volunteer.

Chest hair. Even the main plot feels more grown-up. The Empire of Cyrodil is being pressured by its more powerful neighbour to give up its old superstitions. The Emperor agrees, but this causes the most traditionally-minded part of the Empire to break away. A civil war seems inevitable - a war that the Empire can ill afford - but just as Skyrim gets going a more pressing issue arises. Dragons! They were killed off long ago, but now they are returning, led by a particularly bad dragon who wants to use the people of Skyrim as food.

The player is an amnesiac drifter who begins the game under arrest, on pain of imminent execution. I decided to role-play as Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin, because the game is full of Vikings, and the main character has a special power whereby their voice can knock dragons out of the sky, which is true of Robert Plant as well.

Skyrim is full of books. They're mostly just flavour, although some of them can boost the player's skills. I was amused by the presence of a fighting fantasy / choose your own adventure book:

Is that postmodernism? I think it is. The developers intended for the civil war to be a dynamic wargame along the lines of STALKER: Clear Sky, but for whatever reason most of it was cut during development, with the result that the war only amounts to a pair of mission chains. I have to admit that I wasn't even aware Skyrim had a civil war until I started playing the game. I thought it was all about dragons. Dragons in Norway, because the map, the accents, the buildings are all based on Old Norse mythology.

Skyrim suffers from erratic writing. Sometimes it's good. The rebel leader, Ulfric Stormcloak, is a particularly interesting figure. He has some dubious followers who believe that the province of Skyrim should be Vikings-only, but the Empire itself is no better, forcing the aforementioned cat-people to conduct their business outside city walls and only grudgingly allowing the lizard-people to enter cities. But on the other hand Ulfric's actions weaken the Empire at a crucial time, and yet if the Empire continues to give concessions to the baddies, why does it exist?

None of this is highbrow, but it's surprisingly nuanced. In the hands of lesser writers Ulfric could have been a cartoon villain. Instead he comes across as a tragic figure, doomed to long-term failure no matter how the war goes. In a nice touch his home city is, as he points out, run-down and neglected, because the Empire doesn't care about its distant provinces, insert political shoehorn here.

In contrast the main plot, with the dragons, is much simpler. Which leads to the game's biggest problem. For all its size, for all the things that exist to divert the player's attention, none of it feels meaningful. It doesn't have an emotional payload. I didn't care much about the civil war, and the dragons don't come across as a particularly dangerous threat - after the player has levelled up a few times the periodic dragon attacks lose their shock value and become slightly irritating interruptions. The chief evil dragon, Alduin the World-Eater, has an awesome name, but I never had a handle on his character. He's just a big mean dragon. For gameplay reasons the side characters tend to be interchangeable, so despite the mass of NPCs Skyrim often feels empty.

Fleetingly, intermittently, I felt things. One side-quest in which I helped a ghost find justice stood out because the voice actor - Babylon 5's Claudia Christian, no less - really sold the role:

And another sequence, in which I infiltrated a cult that had committed ritual suicide, stood out for the following terse note:

Followed by the horrible realisation that the small steps I had just trodden on were not steps:

But for the most part the quests blend into each other. Each one involves clearing out a dungeon, or the lair of an undead dragon priest, and although the environmental storytelling is much more elaborate than it was in Oblivion, it's not on the same high level as the Fallout games. After a while it felt as if the game was washing over me.

Now, Skyrim is still great fun, and as mentioned earlier the lack of emotional grip means that it's easy to dive into the game periodically, but even the Fallout games had an underlying story, an underlying theme. Skyrim doesn't have that. It's not about anything. There are no twists, just mission after mission.

Skyrim also continues the Elder Scrolls tradition of having some high-profile voice actors who are barely featured in the publicity materials, which raises the question of why the developers bothered. Oblivion had Patrick Stewart and Sean Bean, who admittedly was very good in his role. Skyrim has Christopher Plummer as an old man, and Max Von Sydow as another old man. They both have one big speech apiece. Great actors in real life, but they don't stand out in Skyrim.

The game also features Joan Allen, who gives a good performance in a difficult role. She plays Delphine, leader of an outlawed sect who quickly realises that the player character has hidden potential. She illustrates both the strengths and the weaknesses of the game's writing. Most of the decisions she makes are wrong, and as with Ulfric Stormcloak she comes across as a doomed figure, fated to spend the rest of her days trapped in an isolated monastery with a bunch of followers who no longer have a raison d'etre.

Which could have been the basis of an interesting quest - everything seems to be leading to the conclusion that Delphine's dogmatism has no place in the modern world - but it never happens, presumably because the developers wanted her to remain in the background as a source of radiant quests. The overall lack of character growth or change is disappointing, but again the developers had to build a world that worked equally well for a low-lever player powering through the main quest, and a high-level juggernaut just chilling, so the opportunity for character change is very limited. The civil war ends with one set of local functionaries being replaced with another set, but the new bosses are more or less the same as the old bosses.

The game also has Lynda Carter, as mentioned above. In the 1980s Carter married the co-owner of the company that now owns Bethesda, and she appears in several Bethesda games, presumably as a favour, dating back to Morrowind in 2002. One mission in Skyrim involves accompanying her character into battle against a particularly tricky foe, after which she praises the player to the skies. It struck me that this is one of the things that makes video games so appealing. They're a wish-fulfilment fantasy in which the universe revolves around the player, and they take place in a universe where Lynda Carter thinks you're terrific. Is that so bad?

Do I have anything else to say about Skyrim? The music is lovely. There's masses of it. I was particularly struck by a simple piano piece, which I learn from the internet is widely beloved. It's called "Secunda" and it has a clever bit where the piano goes down. That's right.

At times the combination of lovely music, butterflies, the wind in the trees etc made me wish there was a mod that could turn off the monsters, turning Skyrim into an ambient wandering experience. And perhaps there is, because on the PC at least there's a popular modding scene. This mostly seems to involve turning the characters into anime dolls, but that's because most people are manko, a word that I just invented.

Anything else? Ice-T once said "don't hate the player, hate the game". Every baller on the streets is searching for fortune and fame. Skyrim has been indirectly responsible for some of the least entertaining internet content ever. A handful of NPC stock phrases have been turned into unfunny internet jokes. "I took an arrow to the knee", "something something cloud district", "never should have come here". None of those lines are funny in the game and they aren't funny otherwise. So much internet humour is based on the simple repetition of stock phrases. It's just no good. Youtube is also full of multi-part Skyrim "let's play" videos that usually begin with the narrator saying "hi youtube be sure to like and subscribe what's up".

"But at least some of this content must be good" - if there's one thing I've learned from being on the internet for over twenty years, it's that you can comb through the creative efforts of millions upon millions of people, and still find nothing of value. You know what's the worst? Blog posts. They are horrible.

There are also entire websites dedicated to scraping content about Skyrim, notably GameRant, which regularly reposts messages from Reddit's Skyrim subreddit as news stories. "This Player Found a Crazy Detail in Skyrim", "These Players Miss This Thing That Skyrim Doesn't Have", "Here are Ten Insane Things You Might Have Missed in Skyrim", that kind of thing. Skyrim has been responsible for some of the most worthless content on the internet, but that's not the fault of Skyrim. Who is to blame? People. It's our fault. You and me. And them.

Still, in summary Skyrim has a mass of content, and as per Bethesda's other games it works as role-playing junk food. But it doesn't mean anything, and I didn't feel anything, so after finishing the main quest and a scattering of side-quests it has started to drift from my mind. Nonetheless as a form of ambient entertainment it is tops, and it looks and particularly sounds wonderful.