 at 6 p.m. on Saturday night. I was driving the car. It was you, our daughter, our lovely daughter, Julia. No, our son, Paul. Sorry. Sorry. And his fiance, Zoe. And his fiance. And you were on your phone. And you just said the following sentence, they've shot the president. What does Saturday mean to you? And what does Monday mean to you when we saw him walk into the arena? Talk to me, Katie.