K. asked (about Pipas playing in the Netherlands):

“so.. what skills does one need to organise something like that?”

And I find answering this rather irresistible. Perhaps it is because it brings the excitement of that first gig back. (Or perhaps it is because being able to answer this makes me feel pleased with myself.) Whatever it is, I warn you: don’t take me too seriously. What worked in Athens might not work anywhere else.

The disclaimer out of the way, we can now get on to the interesting stuff! Let’s see.

To start with, one needs:

a) enough craziness

b) a band one really, really, really likes, and

c) someone who shares these qualities

That last one might be a little hard to come by in some places, and even though it is particularly helpful, you shouldn’t worry too much if you don’t have one. You can start out without it; you’ll probably acquire one along the way. Just like with most plans once you jump into it it will take a life of its own and lead you where it wants to go.

The next stage is a little more complicate. You need to make a plan that looks like it could work. For this, you need:

d) a venue

e) a band willing to play (preferably the one from above)

f) a budget

This is the slightly tricky part. You don’t want to lose a lot of money on this. If you do it is all very easy: book the most original venue (my choice: the rooftop of the neighbour upstairs) and a flight for the band, find them a place to stay, give them some nice food, get them a little drunk, and throw a party. If, however, you don’t, you need an amount of money that will cover all the above needs and which you can at least partially make back from the gig. Correctly calculating and balancing those two sums (the one that will cover your needs, and the one that you can make back) is the key to success. And that is, pretty much, it.

You also need to find said sum of course, organise everything, attract people, and pray not too much goes wrong on the last minute, but all these come later.

And to make it a little more concrete for you: we started out with two boys, one girl and the amazing amount of three hundred euros which we split between us. In the worst of cases we would lose a hundred each. Big deal: going to London to see the same gig would cost us a lot more, and this way we got to play our favourite songs to someone other than us as well. It was perfect. We got a cheap easyjet flight from London to Athens for Mark & Lupe and an extra duvet so they could sleep on my sofa bed, and that was it. We had made a deal with a (rather rundown and unpopulal) club whose owner somehow liked us: they’d pay for the (meagre) advertising and for the equipment that had to be rented, issue the tickets, and give us 50% of what they made of those (after tax). I think we needed 60 paying customers to break even.

We got 67. And an extra Sprinkled Pepper boy.

And then I went quiet again, didn’t I. I should really try harder.

(My excuse? Life is is hard…)

I have just discovered that, just now, I am sixth result for ‘autistic boyfriend’ (no quotes) and third for “autistic boyfriend” (with quotes). I suppose it won’t last. Still, I happen to find this terribly funny. I’ve got news for you, Google: he’s not my boyfriend anymore. He’s my husband. (Don’t worry though. Not much else has changed. He’s still autistic.)

Does anyone out there want to play this game with me? Martijn says it does his head in (and, if I were honest, I’d have to admit it has the same effect on mine — however, this doesn’t stop me from wanting to play it). This is frustrating because I’ve been stuck on level 8 for months and I was counting on him for some hints. Damn.

This bloody level 8 just seems impossible.

I don’t know why I don’t just give up, just like I’ve done with nearly every game in the past. Perpahs because I really like the idea of this one. I don’t know how much longer of being stuck on level 8 I can take though, it is just too frustrating. Help!

I think I can now say I am, officially, a student of this course. I got an email today stating my offer has been made unconditional, which was great to see, even though it was only typically conditional in the first place (depending on nothing more complicated than a health/criminal record check). I can’t say I celebrated (somehow having a headache and feeling crap seemed much more important); however, suddenly the (long talked-about) future seems so much closer. Which I take as a reason to celebrate or a reason to get stressed on alternate minutes.

I know, I know, it will be fine, I should celebrate, but ugh — getting there, looking for a house, looking for a job, getting our (three-quarters packed) shipped from two different countries, chosing, buying everything we didn’t pack because it wasn’t worth it (from mis-matched cutlery and battered-looking pans and hole-y bedlinen), choosing and buying and assempling furniture (and having it delivered — the nearest IKEA is in Bristol, well over two hours away)… well, ugh. That’s all I have say.

Exciting, but also ugh.

The cd is finally here. I’m off to get dressed celebrate.

That’s a line from a song my friend Georgie wrote, by the way. (A talented boy, that Georgie, even though he won’t admit it.) It’s called ‘Coastal ride’ and it has that Fairways feel about it, with just a dash of Belle and Sebastian. I just love it to bits. But anyway, that’s not what I was meaning to say. I was meaning to say that I didn’t know what to post about today, and then I thought I wouldn’t post, because we have been to the pool today, which was dysregulating fun and also made me feel very tired, so I was very tired, and I didn’t know what to talk about. But then, very late at night, and while I should have definitely been in bed, I came across this (via this). You have to go read it, but I also just have to quote this bit:

“What am I raising my kids for? For the love of it. For the gift of loving them so that they can share that gift with other people.”

(Aaaah. Those post-midnight revelations, they’re second to nothing — and one of the reasons why I don’t like going to bed. But I digress.)

I sighed. Because isn’t this why I’m doing everything? For the love of it. The writing, the indiepop clubnights, the wanting to become a teacher, and, in a way, even the putting-up-with-a-lot-of-Martijn-crap. (Trust me; I do; he thinks so too.) So that someone, somewhere (a reader whose day I accidentaly brighten; a stranger who will discover a new favourite song; the children; Martijn) can share that love with other people.

That is probably the single most wonderful reason for loving anyone, anything, ever.

It must be last nights post because now I am missing everything. Chris quoting Lucksmiths song at random moments (he can’t help it); driving home from the club very late at night, Nick explaining at the traffic light that “it’s not that I’ve had too much to drink; it’s that the driver in front hasn’t had any” (it was less dangerous than it sounds, really); Georgie staying over for the night, us listening to Jens sing “we’ll never be as beautiful as the parakeets in Instanbul” and swooning.

Or perhaps I’m not and I should just get a life, eh? That would be nice too. I wish I felt like doing more. There’s so much I would do.

I’ve hardly been missing Athens. No, really: I’m too caught up in day-to-day living to look back. Until tonight, that is.

It could be that I was listening to the new Hit Parade* record earlier on and there was a song that, at first listen at least, sounded like it could be clubnight material, which reminded me of Nick playing “Are you scared to get happy?” at our very first gig — and the wild excitement that came with that moment. Or it could be the email I got from Spiral Scratch, announcing their first gig, which is significantly similar to our first gig.

(That is, my favourite band is playing. And I can’t go. It’s not fair.)

Tonight I realised one thing I’ll miss is DJ-ing. It was one of my favourite toys, even though I don’t think I ever impressed anyone much (not even my best friends) apart from Pipas. I did impress Pipas but then again they’re easily impressed. Which is just another reason to love them.

(Did I say it’s not fair?)

*Do look at this website, by the way. It is a bit of an experience. A minimalistic one.

It is incredibly grey here today. Grey, cold and rainy — much like November. Frankly, it is depressing. I do not like it. Not to mention it makes water leak through the rough and into the attic (which doubles as our room). I woke up this morning to the sound of big, fat drops crashing on the floor. Flip, flop, floup. In three different places at that too.

On other news I am still waiting for the postman, Martijn’s mum got a new computer and I have managed to install Photoshop on it. Why that made me happy is a bit of a mystery, but there you go. Now perhaps I can make a website or something.

Oh and much as I don’t like moaning about not feeling well (in fact, I detest it) but oh, I wish I felt better.

You know, there are nights when I am just in love with the world. Completely, totally and utterly in love. I am wide-eyed, goose-bumped, short of breath before the marvel of it all. I feel I am about to be reduced to tears by the simplest things — a Friday Bridge song; the memory of an afternoon that I spent in love with a Friday Bridge song; a note from my long lost penpal; the idea of the long lost penpal himself; the idea of the Pipas record in the post.

(It is still in the post by the way. Sigh. I am growing obsessed with the postman and his habits while Martijn’s mum keeps wondering what the fuss is about. Every time we hear a sound that could just be the postman, we both rush to the door. Only to see it was a free local newspaper falling through the mailbox, or, worse still, the cat coming through the cat flap.)

So yeah: there are such nights. And then, I am glad to be me.

I hadn’t had one of those in ages –ages and ages– and I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am that they are back. Relieved, even. Phew!I have been sick for a long, long time, and I’m not even sure I can say I am better* but I’m still here. I’m still me.

And I dare say: I think I like me.

*(though I must be, since I seem to have space in my head for songs, goosebumbs, blogs and other such nonsense)

There is a new Pipas record in the post for me.

There is a new PIPAS record in the post for me.

There is a NEW Pipas record in the post for me.

There is a new Pipas RECORD in the post for me.

Things are not good, not really, but well. Did I say?

There is a new Pipas record in the post for ME!

That kind of makes it better.

But where is that postman???

(And yes. I think I am back.)