Our Man in Antwerp

Patrick. That’s the name of Antwerp’s mayor. I’m on a first-name basis with him, you know. Well, actually so is everyone else. I’ll explain.

Two Saturdays ago, he threw a party for the people of Antwerp – a free ‘open-air ball’. We all got invitations in the post designed by this cool illustrator Jan Van der Veken. And I tell you, it was such a good night. A couple of thousand people crammed into one of the Hangars dancing to all the cheap and cheesy tunes of the 80s and 90s, played by some top DJs. Fantastic! And such a lovely spirit about – young, old, merry.

And I heard that this is the 3rd year Patrick has thrown the party. As far as I can tell, there’s no particular reason for it. It’s just a party for the people.

In fact, speaking of parties, I’m not even sure which political party – if any – he belongs to. In his campaign around the city, you don’t see the usual party political posters that make you want to reach for the black marker pen. No, Patrick’s posters feature Antwerpians. Beautifully-shot photographs of the people of Antwerp. And just with Patrick’s name scrawled across the top.

Do you think he a political marketing mastermind or… just a good, honest, natural charismatic, likeable leader? I believe in the latter… even if it’s not true. You just have to like Patrick.

Anyhow. Lots to do and see in Antwerp these past few weekends. The tallest tower – the Boeretoren - is celebrating it’s 75th Anniversary. So to mark it, they threw another party, projecting art and lights up the building – it was cool. And get this – they had the City’s poet, Bart Moeyaert, write a poem about it. What’s cooler – the fact that Antwerp has an official poet or the fact that now they commissioned a poem for one of Antwerp’s most recognisable landmarks? Antwerp – city of poets, artists (and baby motorcyclists) – I love it.

Last Saturday also saw the penultimate event in the International Fireworks Competition up in Deurne. Two thousand people looking into the sky – it was amazing. See:

Oh yeah. I’m trying to grow a beard. Why? Momentary lapse of sense. And my friends called me Robinson Crusoe this morning. Some people get all the best lines.

Anyhow, talking about poetry – I found this one that touched me. Here it is. You don’t have to guess too hard who wrote it. It may a bit heavy, but it kind of touched a nerve over here. See what you think…

We grow up and we are learning all the time.




Here is where you sleep. Where is where we’re driving today.




This is the news. There are lies and these are half-truths and you have to work the rest out for yourself.




This is want and this is need. The two are different.




These are the words to the songs you know you know.




These are the words to the songs you didn’t know you knew.




These are songs with no words, but they are screaming.




This is what blood looks like, and this is also how blood can sometimes look, and this is the taste of blood and this, this is how it feels to bleed.




We get older fast. It was quick and relentless and there was nothing to stop it.




This is you when you were small, in a photograph. This is you on your first day of school,, and this is that time we went out. These are just bits of you when you were 21 or 22 or 23.




This is you as a statistic on a graph, and this is you as a number, and this is a graph that shows the lights will soon go out and we will have no more power and the world will change and all along we could have maybe stopped it.




Never look me in the eye unless you mean it. Keep your secrets safe, they are your secrets. This is concentration and this is focus. This is how we bend for what we love.




Here is nostalgia. Here is sentimentality. Kill them before they get you.




This is what dance music sounds like. This is a beat, this is a band. Here are idiots dying for their art in your stereo. Here is a record shop, here is were dreams are kept after they are broken. This is how it feels to be one of the ten people shaking their heads to a band in an empty club. This is how it feels to be one of a hundred.




This is how it is to be one of thousands.




There are no more millions anymore, we are all split. The millions of the world are hungry and they are far from and because of this rich land.




We’re responsible.




This is how a guitar feels through your t-shirt. This is what drumsticks does to the hands.




These are the lessons we learnt, and they were hard lessons, some of them, but we kept trying.




This is the sum whole of another year, and this is how it feels when the drum kicks in.




This is my debt, this is what I owe and were I stand and what I have, and this is my penance. It isn’t much and it isn’t someone else’s fault. Its how blame is dealt out. These are jus the cards you get.




This is our history and this is our origin, and this is how we got here.




This carries on.