"Getting home from long trips always reminds you that you are an adult and you have responsibilities."Stuart Murdoch, writing on his blog

So, the CLONES animated video is done and looks incredible. Look out for trailers and suchlike over the coming days. Zef is making a nice pre-loading screen right now, and we're making a blob-themed Pong game. Bop! Bop!

I filmed some stuff underwater earlier, and got loads of dwr (which is Welsh for water) up my nose, and got a cold. Isn't that odd? I sound like Mariella Frostrup now. Which is pretty hot, I suppose.

I spoke to Patrick earlier - he of the song - for the first time in seven years. Which is a long time. He is making music and not drinking booze and getting married, which is excellent news. And has purple hair. They played that song on BRMB and he rang up righteously threatening to sue, thinking it the work of some freak snooper who's stolen his life, as opposed to the meanderings of an old pal. He's messing with Cubase now, and sending me some MP3s, so I look forward to that.

It is a pleasant side effect of all this musicing, that I am back in touch with lots of my old pals, who I assumed I might never see again. Gwyl and Non and Ginge and Ben and Jen and Tristan and many more from all over this funny grey isle, people who were so integral at certain points, and I then lost, when I moved on, as I can never hang on to phones and was always bad at writing letters. Praise your Skygod for email and websearches. As Madison so stirringly sings, I am no one, I am nothing, without everybody else.

Well, it's something like that. You get the point.

I was researching weblogs today, for my press officing lady, who wishes to pitch something about artists wot blog, and make an issue of me and all this nonsense, and lord on a pogostick if everybody and their mother aren't doing it. There's a pretty big list here, and from that I was glad to become acquainted with the online scribblings of Pete Thownshend, Radiohead, Trent Reznor, the above mentioned Belle And Sebastian, and dear Kimya Dwason, who wrote the following bless mesh of words:

remember that second swim i was going to take?

i got to the beach and put my hoodie and shoes in a pile and stood to my knees in the water for awhile. then, suddenly, there were thousands of small silver fish were swimming right in front of me. it was a dark cloud of fish. then they came right at me and the swam right onto the beach. the entire beach was covered with little silver fish flopping around. me and rosie tried to throw them back in but they just kept dying. i found out later they do that when they are being chased by mackerel. so the beach was covered with these little guys and then all the dogs started eating them. rosie and i were talking about how it was sad but kind of an amazing surprising act of nature at the same time when a dog ran over and peed on my hoodie. then the sky filled with clouds and it got cold and we walked back. i washed my hoodie in the sink and now it is hanging up in the bathroom.

maybe i will wake up early tomorrow and try to get a swim in before we head to dublin.

the guys whose dog it was was at the show. he bought one of everything.

i love this place.

I will miss all this when its gone. I really will. Even the spam. Check the following, random generated text from a message trying to sell me lubricants of some sort:

nazi weaken stein deserve antipodean procter

wing chart rhinocerosconscious sarcoma circulatory

nazi ayers proctercord phosphine tetrachloride

antipodean julia antennaetypewritten stumpy typewritten

postprocess decorous dlennox concave maladapt

phosphine lucerne lennoxconsultation via shrill

body fat loss spam.

Awesome or what? It reads like Mark E Smith lyrics, or Jimmy Pop lyrics. I might make it into a song myself. It would be less rude than detailing the lives of old friends, I imagine.