Last night, on the train back from London, I finished Jon McGregor’s ‘If nobody speaks of remarkable things’. And, at the risk of sounding like Think Small, I decided to quote something from it:

He waits, and he says this kid, when it’s born, you mustn’t ever let it think it’s anything other than a gift and a blessing, do you hear me?

It is not what the book is really about, and it is not even the thing that struck me the most about it — but it is the the thing that struck me the most, on so many levels.

From the other day:

From sunbeam, a meme:

Post lines 6, 7 and 8 of page 123 of the book that is closest to you:

…
Splitting and splattering
Spilling and spoiling
Spellbound: the sprite

The book in question is “A journey through time in verse and rhyme”, also known as the essential Waldorf teacher’s poetry cheat-sheet. (Just kidding.)

I’m not sure how many people I need to tag, and Marianthi is already taken (damn!), so it’ll have to be Martijn, Christos and Laura. Also, the Pinefox, if he wants to use my comments’ box for this purpose.

Finally, from the addictive Spell with Flickr:

I wrote this as a reply to this, somewhat unbelievable, discussion. It grew longer and longer (possibly because I should be writing an assignment instead) so in the end I decided to post it here too.

a) It seems to be a fact of life that people will have different definitions of indiepop.

b) It also seems that those who don’t “get” a certain side of indiepop, or indiepop all together, will enjoy making fun of it.

c) This actually happens to some perfectly intelligent and nice people too. Go figure.

d) However, people who do this too seriously should better get a life.

e) I actually like Los Campesinos. I saw them live in Exeter –Exeter!– in October and I greatly enjoyed it.

f) While there are several Cloudberry releases that I am not that crazy about.

g) In fact I only own one of their releases so far, and that’s because I was involved in its release somehow.

h) Still, a year ago I told Roque that he would save indiepop in the year 2007

i) And I am very proud to see that he did, and that a lot of other people think so, too.

j) People who argue that Roque should be promoting the bands, or that 100 handmade cd-rs do not a label make just don’t get it.

k) I don’t think Roque ever wanted a “label” in the way that they define it.

l) In fact I don’t think he ever wanted anything other than a happy happy heart, to give bands something they can hold in their hands and give to their friends, and an opportunity to be heard by a few more people.

m) Being friends with a few “Cloudberry bands,” because Roque has an uncanny ability to unearth all my music-making friends, I find that they are very happy with that. They like Roque, they like the idea, they like some or most or all of the other bands, and so they say yes.

n) And then one day they get a few cds in the post, and they might even get an email from somebody across the world saying they like their song which they downloaded off the Cloudberry site, and that makes their day.

o) And that’s what indiepop –as the people who have been defending/advertising Cloudberry here undestand it– is all about.

p) I’m sure I’ve said this before, but it can not be stressed enough: Cloudberry is a project, a statement about indiepop today and a community of like-minded people, and it should be judged –or, better still, celebrated– as such.

q) In fact that the fact that Roque created all this –this scene, this fuss, you can call it what you want– out of nothing but “Myspace bands”, my friends’ long lost bedsit songs and back-yard side-projects is nothing short of remarkable.

r) In other words, I don’t think he did anything for indiepop other than cause us to sit up and look at what was already there with different eyes. But isn’t that amazing?

s) I think it is.

t) This is my antfucker-trap (Thank you, Alistair!)

u) I appreciate his dedication and his enthusiasm and I love seeing all the things that they make happen.

v) Like the release of six Pinefox songs (in the First Division and Arc Lamps eps). Getting some Pinefox songs released was one of my last year’s resolutions. And, thanks to Roque, it came true.

w) And that’s all there is to it. Radio, charts, even memorability are irrelevant.

x) Although I am sure that in ten, or fifteen, or twenty years I will remember Cloudberry.

y) I will remember the way ‘Lifetime in the sun’ was October’s hit in my front room, the way the line “how many paperbacks can you fit in a rucksack?” made me smile, the way Blind Terry stole my heart.

z) And I will be telling my children that they should follow their dreams even if they sound silly or small. Because it can be fun, and it can touch other people’s hearts.

The funny thing is that I still think of myself as a writer. Because I think of writing nearly every day. Because I think of this blog –of the handful of people who read it and the things I want to put into words and the chemistry that occasionally arises between them– and my heart beats a little faster in gratitude. Because I remember the day that I called it ‘a very nice wall indeed’ and I smile proudly. My little corner of the world.

And so I went to Derbyshire and on the way there I saw the sun setting over fields, between trees and factories, through the mist — and it looked so perfectly round and orange-and-pink, a sight ever so unusual and wintery, that for a moment I just had to hold my breath and be thankful for the six-hour train journey from Exmouth to Derby, without which I wouldn’t have found myself there in that moment in time.

And then I spent two weeks walking through Shipley Country Park, one-and-a-half mile either way, twice a day, always early in the morning and often late in the afternoon, and it was mostly a chore, except for the morning when there was frost on the ground and (what looked like) frozen airplane trails in the sky, or the night when we saw the night sky reflected on the waters of the reservoir and for a moment it looked like it was raining stars. And there was also a long conversation under a tree, and Ilkeston market on a windy Saturday, roast parsnips and sweet potatoes, and a ten-year-old that held my heart like no child has done before — a child that felt ferociously, inexplicably mine, and who said “I want you to stay forever and ever” on my last day. Which still breaks my heart when I think about it.

And yet, I left; of course; gladly even. The words ‘Tiverton Parkway’ on the departures board in Derby station on yet another Saturday morning made my heart rejoice, just because Tiverton happens to be on the right side of the Somerset-Devon border, and Devon feels, strangely, inexplicably like home in a way nothing has before. Back in Devon the rain fell softly as I walked through the big park and the big trees in the opposite direction this time, and I got to sit in the middle of somebody’s kitchen while they were cooking and chatting to me which, really, is not far from my idea of heaven.

And then I went for a walk on the beach and I picked up three shells and I came home to put one on my bedside table, one on a bookshelf, and one in my coat pocket, where they proceeded to spend the following month looking and feeling utterly at home. And the sun shone on some days while heavy clouds weighted down on others, and there was even a day when the wind blew and the sea shone in a metallic blue, and the sky was so grey it made the yellow leaves on the pavement look positively bright. And despite the horribleness of the weather and the sleeplessness of the nights before I bounced down the street in the wind and the rain, almost singing that “we’re everything brighter than even the sun/ we’re everything righter than books could plan”, because there was something that glistened and shone inside me too, something like happiness.

And there came rainy days too, and sad days, empty days, and days full of tears; days of feeling lost in the world and wondering what went wrong and whether I will ever get my happiness back; days when I didn’t even notice the weather. But then the term ended and with this a fine mist descended over Exmouth, turning it into a poem about winter. And on Friday night, two days ago, I stood on the edge of Exeter’s Cathedral Green, and said “I’m glad, too,” to somebody at the other end of an invisible phoneline, and then I looked up, at the Cathedral shining in the light and in the mist, and two things happened: Exeter seemed like the most exciting place in the world, and winter started.