Last night I attended my first ever book launch, and what a launch. I’ve waxed lyrical about Joe Gardner’s writing enough times for you all to understand that I’m a fan. His first novel, The Life & Loves Of Jet Tea hit a chord with me, and I’m currently rereading my now signed copy. The reason it resonated is Joe and I have similar goals. We want to get to the top. We are both aching to get out of the menial things we have to do to get by and be recognised as writers. We both take what we see around us and turn it in, making something of it. Having now met the man I am pleased this kinship seems to have held fast.

Jet Tea is a coming of age comedy about three friends struggling with the world they see around them, a world of pubs in West London, of officious security guards and wizards. Even on my second reading I am laughing at visions of Jet Tea dancing ‘seductively’ (I’m not sure that’s the right word) alone on bar dancefloors, and am sure use of the term ‘he’s a bit of a Craig’ is on the cusp of going viral.

Last night Joe invited friends to join him in celebrating the success of his first book with a Q&A followed by music by a number of his close friends, including Glen (and his band Jeeps) who was the inspiration for the character Maurice.

It was a pleasure to be a part of, and surreal to meet people I only knew as fictional characters. The real life Jet Tea was in attendance. He hasn’t yet read the book. This astounded me, but then again, as Joe said, would you want to read your own biography?
What’s cool about Joe and his world is that he is surrounded by creative people, much in the same way I am fortunate to be. I think there is nothing better than having people around who you can bounce ideas off of, and watching the sound checks and back and forths between everyone reminded me of the dynamic amongst my friends. There is a respect for what each of them is able to do, and they have time for that. It was cool to be included in that.
Before I knew it, I had to make a dash for the exit to catch the train home and I didn’t get to say goodbye to the awesome people I had been introduced to, or even thank the host. If you haven’t read Jet Tea then get on it, it comes highly recommended.

For those of you who have somehow escaped the endless updates and pleas for your hard-earned (for most of you) cash, I am walking 100km of the Sahara desert in aid of The Prince’s Trust – you can still donate here. As you can imagine this involves a fair amount of training.
While I’m not necessarily unfit (I walk four miles a day and go running three times a week) there are always improvements to be made and the thought of walking up to 18k in a day, in the desert is somewhat daunting.
A couple of years ago I couldn’t have imagined heading off on an adventure like this, and I’m so pleased the stars aligned or whatever else occurred that is now making it happen. It’s an incredible feat and a story I know I will cherish.
I’m not the only one heading out on this adventure though, there are around ninety others, who are hopefully breaking in their walking boots and running up the stairs in the office instead of taking the lift as I write this. The only one of my fellow trekkers I know, aside from email contact and jealousy of fundraising abilities is Terri. As she lives on the cusp of Epping Forest (very much like a troll) she invited me for a day of wandering about in the woods while she cheerfully called ‘I think it’s this way’ over her shoulder.

I turned up on her doorstep just before eleven o’clock with spots in front of my eyes and a stinking hangover. After rehydrating my brain and checking our provisions we took off for an epic walk.
The joy of wandering around the E4 woodlands with Terri is that she is an excellent storyteller and traveller. She told me about petting tigers in Thailand, about her bucket list and about the ring of grime that collects around one’s ankles after walking distance.

After four miles we made it to a pub. After five miles we had somehow looped back round to be at the pub again. We stopped to have an awesome picnic, comprised of goodies I had bought before the sleep was even out of my eyes. After seven miles we were at Waltham Abbey. While the names of towns weren’t completely alien to me, I didn’t realise the distance it meant we had covered until we came across a map at the start of a woodland trail. It felt like we had just been ambling but the map proved different. There was a mighty area of trees on the map between the two points Terri was highlighting. We had actually accomplished something.
After 9.9 miles Terri decided to make an Instagram video (because she’s such a hipster) and the iPhone app we had been using to calculate our distance stopped as the phone shorted out like we had crossed the streams. She quickly started it up again to reach our grand total of 12.64 miles by the time we made it back to her humble abode for Rekorderlig and a sit down. We burnt over 800 calories and felt like we had made something of our Sunday.

I know the Sahara is going to be a different beast altogether but with just over eight weeks to go, I think we can tame it.

So I’ve run this blog for a year and a half now and I realised last night I was about to hit the big 4-0-0. If I hadn’t twigged, it may well have gone unnoticed, as I’m sure it will for most people but 400 is a big deal for me. I like a good milestone. It just makes me think of the achievements I’ve made along the way; recorded two EPs, written two books, published one, been to Amsterdam, Paris and Devon. There are achievements made by everyone, every day and it’s easy for them to pass us by, so I am taking a moment to congratulate myself.
Job well done Paul.

I just dropped submission packs of my novel Visions Of Violet at the Blackfriars Post Office. I’m hoping this becomes the thing I do that sets everything else in motion, that spells the end of my worries about my writing, and sets me off to do what I have dreamt of since I could first hold a pen.
All I have ever known is to write, and I want this so badly I have to try and suspend myself before the fall if it goes wrong. I believe in this story. I love the characters and it was just the kind of feverish writing experience every young writer wants.
I wrote the first draft in just three weeks, whilst commuting between Rayleigh and London and finding corners in fast food outlets, public houses and even a radio station to put fingers to keys. It was a pleasure but now I want to reap from a story I sat on for over a year without writing a word.

I’m excited about getting this done because I have similar ideas I have been sat on for too long. I told myself I couldn’t start anything new until Visions was in the post. Now it can start all over again. I’m ready for new characters and new adventures, to sit chewing pen lids and wonder how long it has been since I ate and what the rest of the known world is doing as I get lost in my own. I’m ready to re-immerse myself in the one man culture of writing.

Also, thanks to Simon for fronting the money for envelopes. I’m impoverished you see.

I’m on a train. Nothing new there. The key difference is I’m going in the opposite direction. My body is dealing with it in strange ways. Each day I pull it out of sleep just after six, ram it into gear with exercise, breakfast and coffee and then squeeze it onto a train to commute to London.
This morning I am returning home. I was out last night and didn’t make or couldn’t face the return journey. I forget which. I’m still in the clothes I set out for work in yesterday morning, but I don’t feel horrible, and I don’t feel like I’m performing the walk of shame.
It feels as though enough intoxicating liquor was passed into me last night to just hush the parts of my brain that usually run at a million miles an hour. Instead I’m left with this empty vessel and it feels quite beautiful and zen.
I wonder if this is how most people feel, those who can switch off, and drift. Is this normal?

I spent nearly an hour travelling across one of my favourite cities in the world and I am in love with the world. At six am there is no buzz, there are no suits, there are barely any people in fact. Due to the work on Bank junction this morning there was a serene and unusual peace in the air, the likes of which London rarely sees.

I just wanted to take the time to address this sensation, and tell you to stop and take a while to appreciate wherever you are and whoever you’re with because it could be dragged out from underneath at any point.

I went to check on the statistics for my blog this morning, only to find I have hit the 100 sales mark. That’s one hundred physical copies of my book in existence. One hundred people who know I accidentally, a little bit and through no fault of my own _______ in my own _____.
(No spoilers here)
Oh the shame, the shame of it all. Plus the joy, the joy of it all. Oh the shame and the joy of it all.

I’m honestly overwhelmed and humbled at the response from people. Everyone has been very kind or else kept their mouths shut. I would like to once again thank anyone who made those stories happen, anyone I pissed off whilst being a reclusive genius, and everyone who has a copy. You’re all golden.

What now? I’m redrafting at the moment. It’s not the next book but it may well become the one after, although according to reliable sources (Stacy), this is going to be ‘the one that breaks through’. I have faith in everything I write but WDATMG is a bit of a vanity project. I can write outside of the autobiographical lad tales, I have and I will continue to, just grant me a bit of time.

Below are a selection of the photos I have been sent by people in the last two months.