I want to live inside this song…
I want to live inside this song…
and you do it ’cause you know me well.
Domingo 17 julio,
Smooth arrival, cordial taxi drive, an unfortunate rip in Flora’s trousers but nothing was bringing us down.
Sun strong, arena filling up, pricey drinks tokens in hand, anticipation at an all-time high.
Time for Mac Demarco. It was not the intimate setting I had imagined first seeing him perform in, but right at the front, the big stage would do.
Barley through his first verse, someone heckles for the removal of ‘THE SHOE’. Slightly confused, still happy enough.
Spanish teen with Mr. Demarco on his iPhone lock-screen next to me lights up a crumpled Marlborough Gold that he had probably been saving for this very moment. He’s ready to vibe. Less enthused but fair, feel it.
Spanish teen decides he’s going to start pushing and use me as a head rest for his smoking-self. Someone is still shouting for the shoe.
Out of nowhere, shoe-guys girls appear and, like the snotty child I seem to have been charged with, proceed to light-up God-knows-what. The situation could not be less ideal and enthusiasm has hit rock-bottom.
Okay Mac, when are ya gonna play Chamber of Reflection because I don’t know how much more of this I can ta-Hey chica, Shannon is not your climbing frame and Ingrid is definitely not your ashtray. For the love of good music and live performance, STOP TRYING TO MAKE SHOE HAPPEN. IT IS NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN.
My lover (one of many imagined lovers) is not done yet but we are out of there. Good riddance Felicia.
So begins the decline…it’s not even midnight. Shave as we try, there are still at least seven lonnng hours stretching out in front of us, surrounded by jesters and drunks in the dominion of a devil having a field day with their idle hands. A cup of beer or a plate of rice thrown across a sweaty crowd never gets old. Hilarious.
2AM, chill is setting in, rants are drying up. I’ve just about recovered from my most jarring and disappointing public experience to date. The sounds of Massive Attack make their way over to our safe-haven on the grass.
4.30AM, delirium is upon us. Snakehips plays whilst I savour my second Navidul Jamon sandwich of the trip, I feel better. We’re playing ‘I spy’, I’m sharing my prospective baby-names between rounds. Friends come and go, the minutes slope on by.
Shivering on a bench, unanimously, we agree that the FIB experience was, well, an experience. Glad for it but honestly, not one to be repeated. I mean, I was pretty sure we were in Spain but-if not for the ride from the station-had someone let slip that the train, unbeknownst to party-goers travelling from Valencia had been re-routed to Weston-super-Mare, I’d have believed them. Not really what I had envisaged in the end.
Pictures ceased as the hoards maddened so here are some memories of 8pm’s sweeter times.
I can’t wait to welcome Pickle John Lopez and Sanitiser into the world when my time comes to be a mumma.
.By Chris <3.
I was gonna fix a bag but I fixed this instead, I’m back!
I know for sure I’m a little rusty so bear with me. I promise to stick around longer without pulling a Houdini.
This year has been hectic, things (and feelings) kept getting in the way.
I’m inclined to use having a real job as a defence for my absence.
It’s not really an acceptable excuse.
A loving parent doesn’t neglect their child for a job. They just don’t.
I should multi-task.
I should balance.
I know.I KNOW.
Soooo, the major driving force behind my decision to return is being back in sunshiny heaven with this little Book of YOU:
It was gifted to me by my mother who in my time has gifted me many gifts. Cats, education, life, charm bracelets. Thank you mum!
.Back to the book.
It’s pretty straightforward- pick a micro-action, make it happen, feel phenomenal.
I am NOT just saying this.
Two weeks before I moved to Spain again, I was feeling horrific. I had stopped my anti-depressants cold-turkey and had never felt more anxious, nauseous or disagreeable in my life.
Everything, seriously everything was pissing me off.
It all pissed me off even more when I woke up late and had to rush for the airport, when I got to JD Sports and the conversion rate was a joke, when I wanted but didn’t want avo baby rolls from Itsu, when it came time to board my #fav mode of transport evaaaa, when I found out I was at the front in an emergency exit seat, when the hombre next to me promptly fell asleep and the new madre on my other side whipped out a bottle of
really not very nice smelling human milk, when I left a bag full of overpriced tea and shortbread under my seat, when I had to wait 2 HOURS to get it back, when I emptied my hefty suitcases only to find I had packed about three and a half suitable items of clothing… what was all that weight?! When, I opened the window and the neighbours rat-dog sneezed at me.
I was so wound up, the many good things that had also happened that day were hardly registering. I sat on my new couch, by myself, desperate to but not going to cry. Not on the first day.
Instead, like in some tragic start to a film about a lonely woman starting a life on her own in a foreign country, I made a dramatic reach for the book which had caught my eye. It was calling to me ya kno? All bright and exciting. A portal to re-learning to appreciate ‘all things worth appreciating’
I’m not saying this is the miracle cure but three days in to my stay and The Book of YOU, the physical upset from stopping my meds had settled but the low feeling setting in again. For 24 hours I was hyper aware of this. On day 4, a day I almost skipped, I felt so much happiness. I realised that the prescribed pills which I swallowed every day to maintain a numbed emotional balance are being replaced by a little tick in a little circle on a little page because it is quantifiable proof that I have engaged with the world and accomplished something positive even if the rest of the day goes to miercoles.*
The buzz I get at prospect of crossing off another challenge and working towards cultivating a ‘healthier, happier’ me in the long-run helps me to get up and fight everyday. I’m still in clay at the moment but it’s like I’m finally wading my way out of what I have been stuck in for years.
Click through the bubbles below to see how I’ve been living with the book so far. I hope you’ll continue to follow my progress on Instagram and will maybe be inspired to get you a copy!
*’miercoles’- Landlady Nerea’s nice way of saying ‘mierda’ or ‘shit’
P.S. Do keep checking back in for fun new things here ❤
This memory came up today…
We wouldn’t even all be here as friends or people if it wasn’t for immigration and EU mobility…Britain has given up the latter for fear over the effects of the first which has constantly been cited as a good reason to leave the EU.
Fine, go solo Britain. I know that the EU has other imperfections that need to be dealt with and in some ways, maybe in an ideal world, it would be better out. Only don’t look to anyone else like they owe you something or have done you a disservice if it all goes wrong. Especially not immigrants.
It was on the backs of immigrants and colonies that this place even became ‘Great’. It was immigrants who came after ‘Great’ wars to rebuild a ‘Great’ capital and trade. Now, immigrants who are filling the gaps in public services which the ‘Great’ natives will not and often cannot handle, are just about keeping you afloat, let alone ‘Great’.
I’m not one for political rants but I’d like to know the backgrounds of everyone who voted and their reasons (on both sides). Some of the views which have come out over this referendum process have been so disappointing. On top of the fact that Britons seem to have forgotten all the times they have been bailed out by foreigners, many amongst us who are descended from those same saviours appear to have forgotten themselves and are ready to dismiss new arrivals.
It’s so easy for people to turn a blind-eye on the past when they feel secure. Your passport might say British and you might even feel it but what about your blood-line? Do you have any idea how todays anti-immigration sentiment would have affected your ancestors and still could affect you as we concede to xenophobia disguised as sovereignty? How would you want you and yours to be treated if you had to flee or just wanted a better life for yourselves?
Yes, there needs to be a plan to manage the flow of people coming into the country. I just hope that the measures are compassionate and that the people who get involved in making it all official are historically-informed.
Complacency is a dangerous thing.