“So that’s Nottingham castle.” Up on the hill, through our window, just as the train was slowing down. This was the first interesting sight while crossing the English countryside but we weren’t going to visit it and quench our Robin Hood fantasies. No, we had other plans for this Friday. We were heading to our own indiepop Disneyworld, to Indietracks.
We’ve parted three hours ago from St. Pancras, around 11 am, with no breakfast and tired faces due to a late night at HDIF in Brixton. In charge of our delegation was Jennifer, of course, as she had already been at Indietracks, while this was my first time. Joining us was Martin, capo di tutti capi of train platform locations and timetables; Emelie, future senator of Sweden and now a popular blogger; Luise, our own German partisan who would soon desert our brigade to join enemy forces; and Christin, the angelic voiced singer of The Garlands, my partner in crime. But we weren’t prepared to what the train had in store for us: no space for our rally. We did know that coach train had reserved seats and that all of our seats were all over the place. And even though the carriages seemed half full, all the facing seats with table in the middle seemed to be taken. So we scattered. Christin and me sat together and we lost touch for three hours with the rest. One headphone for her, one headphone for me, and we shared some of the music I had just uploaded to the iphone. The fast slides, the visions, of the green fields, were flashing through us while we listened to Fantastic Something’s “The Angels Took Over the Train”. Then The Orchids came on. The train kept galloping on it’s northbound way.
After a short break in Nottingham station, some Diet Coke breakfast, and the proper visit to the loo, we were en route to small tiny Alfreton. The commute was quite short, but at last we could conduct our small rally as the seats weren’t reserved and the wagon was quite empty. We traced on paper the plans for the rest of the day. To begin with, we hastily left the station and took a couple of taxis to our new home, the Alfreton Travelodge. A decadent little hostel that boasts having a Little Chef restaurant in it’s grounds. And just outside the hostel doors, as we were arriving, we could see some familiar faces were smoking cigarettes. I believe they were waiting there to greet us. They weren’t Little John and the rest of the Merry Men, but little Eric and the merry kids. Quite close.
By now Luise had already defected as she was going to stay were the wild indians were, at the tent encampment on the outskirts of Indietracks. Meanwhile, in our room, we were choosing and claiming our towels, stocking cups, and reckoning the surroundings through the window. We pinpointed some curious white rabbits outside, prying to be our lunch. Suddenly a huge spider calmly, sewing it’s web, came sliding through the wall behind the bed. This was the moment I knew I was alone in the fight, the girls panicked and ran into the bathroom. With precision, and a big sized shoe, I sent the spider to a better life. Emelie and Christin came out and started jumping on the bed, non stop.
There was a big Tescos store not so far away, on King’s Road, maybe 20 minutes walk. Now Jennifer and Martin had joined us, or better, we’ve joined them. Avoiding bumblebees, and smelling flowers, blowing dandelions and taking cheesy pictures, the walk was quite amusing. But more amusing and more surprising, was meeting Nana and Andreas in the middle of one of the aisles at Tescos. It was so natural at the moment though, as if these Germans have always lived in my neighborhood. I believe they were looking for a picnic mat. Nana, as a good big sister, recommended me to buy an umbrella. Me, as a good little brother, didn’t listen. My purchasing history in Tescos only included a 2 liter Diet Coke. Emelie bought water and bananas, Christin got some cookies and a Corona, “la cerveza más fina”, six-pack. Little Eric and his crew also popped up at Tescos. With the speed of a shoplifter, but the naiveté of a Swedish provincial boy, they swept all the San Miguel cans Tescos had. Them, bad boys, with a big proud smile and their white plastic bags, walking out the door. Timeless.
On our way back our starving souls found an oasis at the Swan & Salmon pub. It was almost 5pm and it was empty. They had a very good deal where you could order two meals for the price of one. As we were five, Jennifer was left out, but she was happy because she only eats salads, no meals. Martin and me ordered fish and chips, Emelie and Christin some pasta primavera. Beer for the boys, and juices and soft drinks for the ladies. The conversation revolved over the bright red napkins of the pub. First I taught everyone how to make paper boats. And after, we found a better use, making masks out of them, impersonating Raphael the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.
If by now we thought we’d had no energy, we were really wrong. The excitement was too big to even think of anything else than Indietracks. A quick walk back to Travelodge, thanks to a shortcut among the bushes Martin found, leaving some stuff and taking some other stuff from our rooms, and calling the cabs to come pick us and take us to Butterley station, home of the steam train that will transport us to the magic kingdom of indiepop, everything happened fast, one thing after the other. Now we were in separate cabs riding to the station. I happen to be without the rest of my team, but with Markie from the Parallelograms, and Colm and Ben from Help Stamp Out of Loneliness. Really great company! And by no means wild indians from the camp site, just proper popkids that sleep in real beds.
How did we end mixed up in the cabs? I don’t remember, I guess we all just wanted to be at the Indietracks as soon as possible. What I do remember is making a big noise, us little indiepop devils taking over that steam train, and landing at last at the promised land!!
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
