I love chancing upon music I like late at night, when the day’s errands are over and my mind has settled into either quiet or disquiet…When I’m so tired that all I hear is the humming of the aircond, all I see are these words I’m typing, all I’m thinking is what I’m reading, and my eyeballs are hurting deep at the back of their sockets.

Today’s discovery is Nick Drake. He was mentioned in the annotations to a Youtube clip of Stewart Lee’s show on pear ciders made from 100% pear (sorry about the irony – the routine touches quite a bit on piracy…) and when I heard his name I imagined a cigarette-wielding leather duster-clad shaggy-haired rockstar, or a rapper, because – Nick Cave and Drake (yeah I’m not very subtle).

I stand (or rather, sit cross-legged) corrected because he is in fact a heartfelt acoustic singer-songwriter (what is the actual name of the genre anyway?), Cambridge student and reluctant performer, who took his own life at 26. He was depressed.

He was 26. I am 27. It’s strange reflecting on that…especially because I occasionally imagine myself to be in a bout of depression. But it’s probably all a product of some sort of narcissistic self-victimising logic because here I am today, on the brink of some great adventure, euphoric and restless and privileged, and I forget how happy I am on the days I am happy.

Anyway, these are the lyrics I am momentarily in love with:

Northern Sky
I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons knew the meaning of the sea
I never held emotion in the palm of my hand
Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree
But now you’re here
Brighten my northern sky.

They remind me of Nick Cave…

There She Goes, My Beautiful World
The wintergreen, the juniper
The cornflower and the chicory
All the words you said to me
Still vibrating in the air
The elm, the ash and the linden tree
The dark and deep, enchanted sea
The trembling moon and the stars unfurled
There she goes, my beautiful world

…And my own About Me section (narcissism alert!).

Beautiful like things we can never hold in our hands; like clouds on a sunny day, like a sky dotted with a million twinkling stars that spell a million words, like the quiver of leaves and blades of grass as gentle winds swoop in and carry with them things we cannot see, like the smell and sound of rain and an unrelenting thunderstorm.

Oh life.

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