It’s not that I have nothing to say; it is that I have too much to say, and it all gets stuck on the way out. And I’m so, so tired, and getting it unstuck seems like such hard work.

Oh well. Things will get better soon, won’t they?

Once upon a time I had an English boyfriend, whose mum liked to rearrange things around the house a lot. I stayed with them twice. Sometime between the first and the second time she had installed some shelves next to the sofa-bed we used to sleep in and filled them with –among other things– books. I like being around books. One morning, alone in the room waiting for David to finish doing something or other I decided to pick one of them –randomly– and open it –equally randomly– in search of instant wisdom. The plan seemed to go somewhat wrong when I realised that the first book I had picked was one given out for free with the Cosmopolitan magazine – a symbol of many things, of which wisdom isn’t the most characteristic – but I decided to persevere. I opened it. There was a chapter dealing with the “why do I get so very scared when I fall in love?” question, and there I read something along the lines of this:

“As a very wise woman I know once told me, ‘love brings to the surface everything we have inside us that is not like it’.”

I’ve known two things ever since: that you can find wisdom even in unlikely-looking places, and that love brings to the surface everything that is not like it. (It would sound good to also say I stopped looking down on Cosmopolitan, but it would be a lie.)

I told Martijn this story (while making spinach pie) a couple of days before he had to go back to the Netherlands the first time he came to visit me in Athens. It made perfect sense, as did everything back then. That was January. Nine funny –strange– months later it is October; not so many things make sense; and I need to remind myself. Love brings to the surface everything that is not like it. There is a reason why those nine months have been funny. And it’s all for the best.

Why did it have to rain before my clothes were dry? And why did I wake up at half ten despite having gone to bed very late? Will I manage to write down any of the proper thoughts that have been floating around in my head? And why is my heating not working will my heating work after all?

How can you read this and not want children? How? And as the boyfriend put it a long time ago, how can you love people if you don’t love children? I really think that when he said this was when I decided I would probably stay with him for a very long time…

The title of the post, by the way, comes from an in-joke. On the night before Easter, me, my brother and the boyfriend had driven to a small village vaguely near Thessaloniki with the intention of going to church there as it would be prettier, and more quiet. Well, it was quite pretty indeed, but as for it being quiet… half the town of Thessaloniki had had the same idea as us apparently. We couldn’t even get near the church. So we decided to sit down at a cafe-bar thingie and have some icecream. Apparently we weren’t the first ones to have this idea either cause we took ages to get served… but that’s beside the point. From where we were sitting (in the street, in fact) we could see people as they were heading towards the church, which meant me and the boyfriend got to aaaah and ooooh at every cute, all-dressed-up kiddie that went by. There were a lot going by so eventually my brother asked:

“Do you… er… plan on having one of… er… these?”

It still makes me laugh. I informed him that we were going to have at least three at which point my brother gave me his nice my-sister-is-nuts look, whereupon the boyfriend kindly added: “And they will all want to visit their uncle a lot.”

I might not say it often but I have to admit: this boy rules.

I think the reason I like weekends lately is because I can do the things I usually do, without thinking I have to do them. This, I think, is also why I like evenings: because the feeling that I have to do something with my day is somewhat lifted, and I feel free. Strangely enough (or not) this often the best and most creative part of the day. If only I could convince myself not to feel I have to be doing something all the time… (Unschooling is, as I see it, a homeschooling philosophy that states that children should be left to do whatever they want, and that this brings them round to learning, sooner or later. It is a bit hard to reconsile this with the fact that –at least in this life, the one that I’m leading now– there are things that have to be done, but still: whenever I’ve tried it, the results were quite amazing. My house didn’t get much untidier while my life got a lot better and I had some of the best ideas I’ve ever had.)

I forgot to say that we have finally finished the Occasional Flickers website. What sort of a webmaster / manager am I when I forget to advertise my own website / band? (Actually, I’d rather you didn’t answer that. Thanks.) So yes: my friend Yiorgos, whom I usually call Georgie for reasons that sound to complicate when I try to explain – they have to do with a poster we were designing and Georgie Fame the band and the fact that he noticed that their name was written and a joke another friend made… I told you it was complicated! But what was I on about? Oh yes: my friend Georgie is (in) a band called the Occasional Flickers, and he is great. I won’t tell you more cause you can read all about it here, and listen to his songs here, which you should do. And I should write that statement of mine…

I wonder what everyday life in Tasmania is like. It might seem like an odd thing to wonder about on a Monday morning but I have my reasons: that is where Anthony Rochester comes from, according to the Radio Khartoum site. The same site states he comes ‘out of nowhere’ and wouldn’t know most of the bands you’d use to describe him. Presuming he does read his reviews though, I thought I’d add some more bands for him to discover. So to the fact that he sounds like Eggstone (a fair point, of which I would have never thought myself) and like a singer-songwriter Stereolab on a Sunday morning (with which I was going to disagree until I thought better of it – and concluded it is a very good description indeed) let’s add that there is an early Clientele feeling about his songs.

Now if you’re half an indiepopper, or maybe just a Clientele fan, you’ll know that this precious praise, not given lightly. But it is true. There is this dreamy, cool but cosy, arty but sweet, lazily happy popness about them that I haven’t seen around since the summer of 2001, when I first got my hands on ‘Suburban light’. And my, had I missed having some half-sad songs about suburban trains, cats and happiness. I spent most of my norther-european summer mornings playing ‘Music for librarians’: as the boyfriend said, it turned into the soundtrack of the summer. A rainy, half-sad sort of summer that Anthony made a little better.

With winter fast approaching – even my south-east autumn is nearly here, and it never lasts long – I thought I’d write to say thankyou.

The Budgies have written a song using the boyfriend’s review about them for (part of) the lyrics. It doesn’t make me any happier Tali White never liked the things I wrote about his music that much, for which I think I have secretly been hoping, but never mind that: ‘Think small’ a very good song. It is good in a Tidy Ups, Second-hand furniture, teenage Talulah Gosh sort of way — and a hymn for (indie) pop on top of that.

We want to get to meet you
we want to be your friends
take pictures to remember the good times we spent
A friend of ours once put it in a song
he said “pop love will save the world!”
and we know he’s not wrong

I might feel all grown up these days, but I can’t help but grin at how much this rings true — especially when I look back at the last year or so.

How great is (all) that?

So I grumpily stumbled out of bed at 8 am, tried to keep my eyes open and waited for the plumber, who came on time, shyly asked for a basin and some kitchen paper and then worked silently for half an hour before sitting down, smoking a cigarette and telling me that a person’s aim in life is “to get married, have children and make as much as he can his own.” (By the last one I think he means buy a house, be self-employed – that sort of thing.)

I just smiled; I know that a lot of people would find his remark infuriating if not ignorant but come to think about it, for me, it’s not such a bad way of putting it.

I got bored of looking at that George post, so here I am, with some good news and some bad news. Good news: the landlord decided not to raise my rent this year. Bad news: the kitchen sink leaks badly. Good news: it will get fixed tomorrow. Bad news: it will get fixed at 8.30 am. Bad news: the boyfriend left on Tuesday morning. Good news: I like what’s being said on his blog-magazine-thingie about it. Good news: a lot of the time, life seems a lot better these days. Bad news: sometimes it doesn’t. Good news: I have hope. Bad news: I worry. And I’m not sure what I worry about. Other news: I have to make my dinner. In a wet kitchen. Such is life.

A couple of weeks I asked Salvatore what I should listen to. “I like this” he said and even though it sounded strange –you have to admit George is a funny band-name– and my taste is usually rather different to his I decided to give it a chance. ‘A week of kindness’ sounded great after all. So there I was with a list of 15 songs, trying to decide which one to play first. I skipped the first one (too obvious) but the couldn’t resist the title of the second one: ‘My fear keeps god a-hiding’. I hit play… and… I think it was late at night, which is usually a rather intense, magical time for me, which goes some way to explain why I was just stuck there, awe-struck in front of a song that sounded every bit like a Sunday parade, my heart leaping to its tune. It was a bright, sad, sing-along sort of song, with a prominent drum beat and a man and a woman singing quietly together that made me wonder why more pop music isn’t like this.

I instantly named the two people in George Jane and Michael. Jane after the Jane who sings ‘It’s a fine day’ and Michael… well, I suppose just because, though it has something to do with Michael Winterbottom and the images from his film ‘Wonderland’ that have remained in my mind, all these years after I watched it. This namedropping, by the way, isn’t random; it’s supposed to sound indicative of the sort of feeling I get off these songs even though it’s probably not very helpful. So let’s try to put it differently: there’s an element of innocence –of the the childlike playfulness that can be found at Bearsuit gigs or Architecture in Helsinki records. There’s also a certain simplicity, an almost folk sort of sound. And, finally, there is what I call a middle-England feeling, the sort of feeling I get off Po! for example.

Despite all this, if I were being honest, I’d have to say most of this record doesn’t appeal to me very much. It’s not that it’s not good enough – I think it is pretty good; it’s just that it’s not indiepop enough. On the other hand, the parts that I like, I like a lot. (Especially ‘Older too’.) These George people have made some prety perfect music: extraordinary, exhilarating songs, songs that bring with them the joy that comes after a great sadness, or that of really, really quiet times.

And they’re called Suzie and Michael. I was half-right.

listen to ‘My fear keeps god a-hiding’

You know, despite everything (described below) I quite like October. (October in Athens, that is.) In fact, what with not having a job –but kind of being able to survive for a while without one– and lovely weather, in a way it is perfect. I can get really quite excited about the weather, especially if it’s sweetly sunny or windy and now it is both of these things — and I have the time to notice it! I also have a (fairly) decent internet connection, a blog, and a fair bit of new music to listen to, which just adds to the aforementioned excitment.

[Of course I also have a university application to fill, a personal statement to write, a teacher/possible referee (who lives in a town 600km away) to meet, a website to finish, another website to write and make pages for, a weekend-long workshop to attend, a gig to organise, a house to clean, a few more things that are escaping me to do and a boyfriend who is going back to the Netherlands in four days, and of course I do need to find a job eventually, but let's now dwell on that, shall we?]

Before we went out the other day I, rather randomly, decided to play a Razorcuts song, and I noticed it said “and it’s strange, thinking back / how a single day seems to capture every shade of the summer”, which made me think of something quite complicated, like “it’s strange how a single moment seems to catch every shade of October, which in its turn seems to capture every shade of the sort of life I’d like to have.” And then I stopped thinking and we went out, and when we came back the boyfriend wrote ‘what if I stopped caring about new music and only listened to Razorcuts for the rest of my life?’ on his blog and then we went to bed, and we lived happily ever after (sort of.)

Let’s start from the beginning, or from something like that anyway.

Once upon a time there was a band that seemed to be able to write songs that changed people’s lives. They were strange songs that seemed to cast a spell on the people who listened to them a lot: they were known to walk around with dreamy smiles, use the words ‘Belle & Sebastian’ as a code for god knows what and harbour a secret desire to meet other people who did the same. Or at least they must have done because when someone had the seemingly crazy –but on retrospect deeply inspired– idea to start a mailing list about them magical things started happening. I’m telling you the truth. Friendships sprouted where before there had been strangers. People met for picnics, got drunk and ended up forming a band, going off for a trip around the world or getting married a few years down the line.

And that’s how I found some songs that somehow reminded me of who I wanted to be, and then, later on, friends that helped me turn my life upside down in the best of ways.

I have a question for the world:

Why is it that, even about half of my wildest dreams have come true in the past year I feel sick and in a bad mood most of the time?

(It’s not any of the obvious things, like fear of happiness or simple ungratefulness. It just isn’t me. I used to be in a good mood nearly all the time — optimistic, always having faith even in the hardest of situations, full of inspiration too; and now I wake up in the mornings sort of like this but it’s gone within an hour or two. Sometimes I get it back – sometimes I don’t– but it’s always fleeting. I don’t hate my life, I just am rather lost.)

Answers on the back of a postcard, please.

Oh, and if you happen to be wondering what this blog is all about, well, I’d have to admit I’m not very sure; but a friend of mine has recently sent me a song of his that says ‘I’d really like to share with you / all the things that make me keep on trying to be good’. This line has been stuck in my head ever since I noticed it (which is why it appears in the sidelines of this fortnight’s issue of the Friends of the Heroes) and it might also be able to give you – and me – an inkling.

I must go to bed now. Goodnight dear reader.

Tonight we packed for going back to Athens.

I shan’t bore you with details and explanations but I had to spend a month in Thessaloniki. When I packed for coming here it was still August, and you can see that in the things I brought: t-shirts, sandals and skirts mostly. Tonight it is October, rainy, and unusualy cold –15 °C– and they seem so out of place. I suppose that what I’m trying to say is that t’s funny how fast and how slow the month went by too.

In the past four weeks I’ve –hopefully– passed 4 exams, which brought be closer to finishing that damned (History and Archeaology) course and to the blessed moment when I will be able to shove that damned degree in my family’s general direction and go waste my time on something better. And please don’t tell me the course sounds nice, because it isn’t. It is horrible. In fact that’s exactly what my problem with it is: that they are killing something which could very well be rather great. I hate to say I hate things –it isn’t what this blog is all about, quite the opposite in fact– but I hate these people. I do.

But I digress. I’ve passed four exams (Hellenistic History, which was insane; Ancient Greek, by sheer luck, because I don’t know it anymore, it’s been years since I forgot it; The concept of time in traditional societies, which was okay; and Economic Anthropology which I actually liked) but at what price? A month of my life has gone by and all I’ve done was try to concentrate on the most boring of books and memorise information while stressing, feeling sick and/or close to tears for most of it.

In fact, I still feel sick. The last exam was on Friday and I’m not sure I have recovered. Of course having to walk in the rain for a lot of today didn’t help much but that’s besides the point. Which, I suppose, is that the rest of my life starts today. (Albeit, it is a temporary sort of the rest of my life, because I have another month of exams to face in three and a half months.)

Ready or not, here I come.