Those of you who have been following my intermittent little blogging tales over the years will know that my white whale has always been to get a book published.

It fills my head and my heart with absolute joy to announce that I have today signed a publishing deal for my novel, The Counterfeiter of Auschwitz.

I would like to thank my agent, James, and everyone at Watson Little who has been so kind and patient. Emily, for being the first person to have a physical book in her hands and for holding me close through everything that this book has come to mean to me. My family, for asking when I was going to move them into the west wing of my fabulous castle. My friends, who have listened to me, supported me, laughed with me and propped up the bar until closing. Freya Berry and Katie Khan for talking me through processes that I didn’t full understand at the time. Jordan Gray for our various conversations on writing and being creative in general.

This book is the result of a fucking graft. I’ve always told people that everyone has a book in them and I stand by that. If you have something that you want to do then don’t let anything get in your way. People are capable of incredible things.

I’m off to drink an inordinate amount of cheap wine and to eat lasagne with the people who have been by my side through a tough year.

Mazel tov.

Well, I am back on this bullshit.
My twelfth year of taking part in National Novel Writing Month – the best opportunity to break someone down, build them back up and then break them down all over again just to show that you can.

For those of you who don’t know, NaNoWriMo (as it is commonly known) is a worldwide conspiracy to break the backs, eyes and minds of writers across the globe. We all agree to try and write 1,667 words a day for the 30 days of November, bringing a total of 50,000 words at the end of the month.

It’s something that I have done since 2012 and comes with a health warning, not for myself, but for anyone who may have to deal with me for the next three weeks.

This time around, I’m writing the third book of a seven book fantasy series about a flat earth where the elements have divided up into separate factions and are both at peace and at war with each other. It’s a passion project that I am unsure of in any real sense but it’s a nice escape from the work I do during the day and the very serious historic fiction (with a tinge of silliness) I seem to be writing with the rest of my time.

I’m at 20,000 words as of today. It’s ahead of the curve (you can do the maths) but I know that there was a year when I managed 50,000 words in just ten days. I must have truly broken myself that year. This time around, it’s just a stumble and the promise of more chocolate, booze and cuddles than usual to make it through.

God bless NaNoWriMo and all those who sail upon her.

For a long time, people thought I was being sarcastic when I told them I loved Taylor Swift. When everything you say seems to be barbed or drip a tone so wry, it’s hard to be taken seriously. I love Taylor though. I think she’s an incredible talent and deserving of every success she deserved.

I was so desperate for Eras Tour tickets that I applied for the shows not just in London, but also in Paris, using my DuoLingo-level of French to steer me through the French TicketMaster site with the assistance of a VPN. I didn’t get tickets for shows, either at home or away, so the alternative, a £20 ticket to the front row of my local multiplex, seemed like a good deal.
As much as I consider myself to be a fan, it’s nothing on the level that E operates at. There’s a level of fandom I can only aspire to.

I booked front row tickets because social media was already awash with people dancing at the Stop Making Sense screenings and I figured my fellow Swifties were not to be outdone when it came to concert films. The film has a running time of close to 3 hours. E and I will happily knock back three cans on a train journey home from London so quick maths told us we would need eighteen cans of a combination of White Claw, margarita and mojito to make it through the show. That’s not a small amount of weight to secrete into a backpack and take into a cinema without detection. I know there’s nothing that says you can’t take your own food and drink in, but I am pretty sure Odeon draw the line at binge drinking amongst tweens.

I’m not the first or last person to tell you that the film is a triumph. It is perfectly shot, capturing the LA gig, has incredible set pieces, choreography and a vocal range that you can soar aboard. Taylor Swift is an absolute star and the Eras shows serve as an example of her prowess. I was genuinely slack-jawed at points. The hits keep coming, as do the costume changes, microphone changes (one per Era I think) and dramatic pauses for Swift to be adored.

As for our experience, there were rows of kids behind us, who were happily videoing the show as if the piracy ads of my formative years had never caught them (they hadn’t because they’re actual children). Some officious usher had to shut it down and I notice that several cinema chains in the UK have since offered up lists of acceptable behaviours at these shows. I can’t help but be reminded of the Gentleminions craze.

Halfway through(? (maybe, I was drunk), they got up and started dancing in the aisles. Soon, E and I got up and danced too. If it wasn’t dark, if I was in any danger of being spotted by anyone I knew, and if I wasn’t six seltzers to the wind, I don’t know if I would have been quite so into it, but that’s the charm. The Eras Shows are a spectacle, and if you’re not making one of yourself, then what are you doing?

I’ve spent the last week in Croatia with E. We had the most incredible time, wandering around the Old Town, swimming in the sea every day and eating some incredible local food.

It feels like the longest time since I went on a trip like this. The fact that we were able to comes from a position of privilege that I’m acknowledging here so nobody can give me shit for it later down the line. That being said, these are the best things I found about Hvar.

Fortica
The imposing fortress at the top of the hills overlooking the harbour is well worth a visit. Wandering up through the stacked streets, we came by struggling tourists as well as a number of young parents with pushchairs and toddlers, staring at the upward trend ahead of them and wondering if it was worth it.
It is.
Entry was about €10 each but the views across the mountains and to the port were worth it alone. On top of that, there’s a prison to view, quaint little craft shops and a small cafe. In the right weather, it’s really something. Just don’t get caught by Hvar’s flash floods while that exposed.

The Harbour
While the nouveau rich may have done what they can to bring cocktail prices up north of €15 with their super-yachts and hideous tailoring, the marina itself looks like something out of Game of Thrones. While there’s good reason for that to be the case in other parts of Croatia, the old town of Hvar didn’t see any blood spilt in George R R Martin’s name.
The area also serves as a gateway across to some of the best restaurants we found.

Food
Dalmation cuisine is a combination of Mediterranean, Italian, Eastern European and something else entirely. We had some incredible boar, octopus, gnocchi, shrimp and beef dishes along with a lot of local wine. Croatia seems to be a country very proud of its food and there’s a good reason for it.
We were dipping bread in oil like Micky Flanagan.
I would absolutely recommend Giaxa, Konoba Menego and Lungo Mare – “where restaurant chef cooks for you”. The last of those recommendations came as the real experience to us. The waiting staff brought us free appetisers and drank shots with us, the chef showed off his medals(?) and a litre of wine was only €16.

Snorkelling/swimming
The coast around Hvar is beautiful and is best viewed when truly out of your depth. We took snorkels with us but there were a number of market stalls around town where you could buy them. The water was full of fish, sea urchins, and a little further out, delicious, intelligent octopi.

Aquapark
I believe it was the Jackass boys who said “if you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough” – I know it was actually Roger Alan Wade, but stick with me on this. This is the kind of thing that I would have absolutely loved when I was ten, so why would it be any different when I’m 36. We spent half an hour here for €10 each, which was enough time for me to yank my shoulder out of my socket and to feel every prat fall the following day.
It’s a great way to feel like a kid again or to ask your girlfriend to film you as you race around the course several times in the hopes of attaining a personal best.

Overall though, what truly made the trip was the company I kept.
E is a great travel buddy and we were on the same page about enjoying the same level of activities while recognising that there’s also a good time to sit on a sunbed (€10-€30 for a day in some places) and read a book or two with a Karlovacho beer.

On Saturday, I was lucky enough to be one of sixteen stags taking part in the Wolf Run for Joel’s stag party. I’ve worked with Joel for four years and think he’s one of the kindest and most handsome men I’ve ever met. I was delighted to be included and am very much looking forward to his wedding in a couple of weeks.

I haven’t done something like this in a long time. I’ve just checked and the last was a Commando Run in 2014. I was much younger then (obviously) but I don’t know if I was any fitter. I definitely wasn’t as strong. That was a similar thing – 10km run with a barrage of obstacles put in that were apparently used to train Marine Commandos.
Video link below.

The Wolf Run was different. It seemed intent on ascertaining how much mud the entrants could carry about their person. We threw ourselves over hay bails, ducked beneath runs of netting, and waded through swamps that were fit for an ogre. Over 10km, we worked together as a team, grabbing one another around the wrists to hoist out of a perilous pit or, quite frankly, using each other as glove puppets to try and push a new front up enough for them to get some leverage.

It was the most exhausting kind of fun, and I surprised myself with how capable I felt for most of it. There’s no secret to the fact that I’m a fervent gym boi. This was the first practical application of any strength training that I’ve done. There was only one muddy bank that I failed to climb up, and I’m putting that down to fatigue. I was over 8km (and two hours in) by then so it makes sense that I would start to fail.

There was an amazing sense of camaraderie to it all and I’m so glad I got to be a part of it.

Been there. Done that. Got the hideous t-shirt.

I was fortunate enough to be invited to 180 Studios, which currently has an exhibition of props and costumes from Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City. It’s been difficult to avoid the excitement around this film, which features a lot of Anderson regulars as well as the introduction of new young actors and the nicest man on the planet(?), Tom Hanks. It’s a film about quarantine, about loss and about recognising your place in the world. Of course I was going to love it.

After descending the stairs to the caves beneath the studios, we found the phone booth, backdrops and vending machines from the film as well as a row of mailboxes. Everything is designed with such intricate detail and is so beautifully presented. It’s worth a visit just to understand the work done by the prop and costume teams behind the project.

Further through the basement levels, prop cabins and tents are surrounded by props that we quickly discovered you are very much not allowed to touch. There’s so much branding and detail to letters written between characters and the items that they use. I could have sat and read everything through if it wasn’t for the attention deficit that dragged me onto the next thing.

At the top of the slope were two models of The Alien (who art in heaven), played by Jeff Goldblum. There’s a short model, which I imagine was used for stop-motion, and the full suit worn by the actor in the backstage scenes in the latter half of the film. There’s something adorable about those long legs and terrified eyes that made this a favourite moment. Around the corner is a model of the spacecraft which silently signals the alien’s arrival.

Back in the studios are costumes from the Stargazers event as well as the cowboys and school group before the full-length of the train used in the opening shot. Because of my limited knowledge of the magic of film-making, I had assumed this was an actual train so to see the three-foot high model, complete with compartments loaded up with produce was really something.

One of the last displays is a collection of Augie Steenbeck’s photography, as seen in the film. I wanted the full collection as well as a tote and tee from the shop.

Back at surface level, there’s a working diner, designed like that shown in the film, complete with blackboard menu, screen door and views of the desert. We had a beer and contemplated the wonder of Wes.

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to see Blur play live at Wembley. This was a gig I have wanted to go to since before I really understood what Britpop was. All I knew in the mid 90s is that we were a Blur household and that The Great Escape was one of the best albums I’d ever heard (honourable mentions to Monster – REM and the cast recording of Jason and the Technicolour Dreamcoat).

With support from Jockstrap, Sleaford Mods and the incredible Self Esteem, it was clear that the event was going to be one to remember but as Damon, Graham, Alex and Dave took to the stage, the 90,000 people around me made sure it was known that they were very welcome on that stage.

From the opening of There’s No Other Way, I don’t think my feet touched the ground. It was a set by a band that categorically knew what the audience was there for. At times, the emotion of the moment seemed to get to Damon but that made it all the more special. A 25 strong set and we were left in the blinding lights of Wembley stadium and the satisfaction that even after all this time, Blur can still absolutely smash a place apart.

What a gig.

Setlist:

1. ‘St. Charles Square’
2. ‘There’s No Other Way’
3. ‘Popscene’
4. ‘Tracy Jacks’
5. ‘Beetlebum’
6. ‘Trimm Tabb’
7. ‘Villa Rosie’
8. ‘Stereotypes’
9. ‘Out Of Time’
10. ‘Coffee & TV’
11. ‘Under The Westway’ (first time since 2014)
12. ‘End of a Century’
13. ‘Country House’
14. ‘Parklife’ (with Phil Daniels)
15. ‘To The End’
16. ‘Oily Water’
17. ‘Advert’
18. ‘Song 2’
19. ‘This Is A Low’
20. ‘Lot 105’ (first time since 1994)
21. ‘Girls & Boys’
22. ‘For Tomorrow’
23. ‘Tender’ (with London Community Gospel Choir)
24. ‘The Narcissist’
25. ‘The Universal’

One of my favourite metrics to use is a previous version of myself, and how amazed he would be at any number of things I have been fortunate enough to do.

It provides such a broad scope that it allows a level of success that I don’t get through anything else. Nothing can touch it. 

I can tell you want an example.

A version of me from a decade ago would be amazed that I am working with an agent on my debut novel. 

The child version of me would be amazed that I am able to hold down a job, that I have so many friends who truly care for me and that I still try to look after my brothers in the way he would have done. He would also love being able to walk into a corner shop and buy whatever we want, even booze.

This week, it was a sixteen year old Paul Schiernecker who would have been impressed as I headed to Chinnerys to see Electric Six. When their debut album dropped, my brothers and I thought they were absolutely crazy and we couldn’t get enough. Everyone tried to learn the riff to Gay Bar and we argued over whether the old lady in the video for High Voltage was actually Jack White singing (it is, it really is!)

It gave me so much joy to revel in that music in a venue that has come to mean so much to me. It’s the first place that my friends and I got into underage and a place we were regularly denied service. A lot of my friends played gigs there and eventually I had the opportunity to do so as well. It was the best gig that Negative Panda Society ever played and it meant a lot to have shared the stage with the greats – Arctic Monkeys, Nothing But Thieves and Toploader are still on the posters outside advertising shows for local bands. 

On this hideous June night, the place had an average punter age of twenty years over what I imagine it normally would. Dripping with sweat, we danced along to songs from their mammoth twenty studio album discography, everyone knew what they were waiting for. When those songs came, the room was alive, screaming, feral and joyous. Cresting the wave, screaming to the painted black ceiling. It was the truest  show I have been to since the much discussed VID ruined the arts for a while. 

To dance, to drink, to sweat and to hold hands with someone in the bouncing darkness of a club, that is what it means to have perspective. 

This weekend, frustration got the better of me and we booked a couple of weeks away. I couldn’t help noticing that the weather had improved and everyone seemed to be having a jolly good time of it so we found a converted silo on some farmland and booked for two nights.

I mentioned in a previous blog post that I was getting itchy feet, and needed to do something about it. It might be a temporary scratching of that itch but it was enough to satisfy and with E at my side, there was no way I wasn’t going to enjoy it.

We drove up on Thursday evening meaning we were able to set up outside in time for sunset with a cheeseboard and a few tinnies. Once there, we set the world to rights and sunk as much booze as we could before retreating to our mezzanine bedroom. Is there anything more dangerous than an open staircase when you’re a bit pissed?

The following day, we had a lazy morning and then went on an adventure, heading across fields in search of the village that everyone kept telling us existed somewhere out there. Along the way, we ventured across a microbrewery (Courtyard Brewery) where we were given a tour and bought some beers. Then we killed some time at the Sandpits before the pub opened.
Is there anything better during a staycation (god, I hate that word and wish I hadn’t used it) than finding a good, local pub. We got sandwiches and a pint in the beer garden. All of those words are just ticking boxes for me. What a great existence. I hope one day to spend a lot more of my time having boozy lunches and less time between working.

When we got back, we got the fire going for our hot tub. When we were told we had a wood burning hot tub, I imagined a cauldron with a fire under it… because I’m an idiot.
Instead, it was a hot tub with a heating element fed in by a wood fire, obviously. Despite the clear instructions, we took two bottles of Prosecco in with us and when I emerged three hours later, everything was a bit wobbly. What a way to spend an afternoon.

We got the BBQ going and cooked up some steaks, covered in garlic butter, along with all the best vegetables. Then, we watched the sun go down on another day. Again, this is what life should be about.

I can’t wait for my next adventure with E but it’s going to have to wait until we’ve both got the money to do it properly, or the BBC see sense and get us onto a travel show.

Each passing week feels like a reminder that the year is tripping away and I’ve not got anything booked in. As many of you will know, I love a big trip. It doesn’t matter if it is the treks I’ve taken part in or a holiday organised through a meticulous spreadsheet.

Because of the news I’m waiting on for this year, those kind of plans have taken a backseat but it feels like there are very few solid markers in place for the rest of this year to hang my hat on. This might come across as being from a position of privilege and I’m aware of that. I just need a break. This year has been a lot of learning, a lot of self reflection, a lot of fun and a lot of growth but I am keen for a little escape.