Up at 4am for a 6am train out of Euston. Spent the night between the peeling walls of the cheapest hotel I could find within walking distance of the station. We both admitted to having stayed in worse, which should be a damning enough note on any accommodation.

Getting up that early is a holiday must and the buzz takes away any of the fatigue felt if the commute is one of necessity. It also meant being in Paris before 10am, shouldering our way through the building work and domino shelves of Shakespeare & Company. At one point, E said that she could imagine us back there when my book comes out. That’s the kind of positivity I live for and, as I looked at the posters stuck to the glass front and the queues of people waiting outside to be allowed in, I could really see it. Only part of that vision was blurred by Ethan Hawke’s Jesse doing something similar in Before Sunset.

We walked for miles along The Seine, wondering if we looked like tourists while searching out a point along the river where we could get the shot in front of the Eiffel Tower. We stopped in a tabac for the required packet of Lucky Strikes. Knowing that food anywhere else in the area would be double the price, we settled in for a meal. I ordered steak hache, pretending I knew what I was doing and then being surprised when an unseasoned and unbunned burger made an appearance. E had a steak with peppercorn sauce. My DuoLingo levels of French only got us so far before the kind waitress either spoke in English or showed us pictures to get a point across. We smoked some more before climbing up to the 2nd etage, which was clearly a bad way round to do such things. There is a certain pride in overtaking other intrepid explorers who see the lift as a cheat.

There, we were offered a couples photoshoot, which we took, but then couldn’t stop laughing. The idea of doing anything so serious and cheesy sending us both into fits of giggles. When the photographer went to show us the photos, the file was corrupted and I was pleased I wouldn’t get to see all of my gangly six foot frame, with arms crossed, stood back to back with five foot three her. It would have looked like a Disney Channel original movie poster. The story is better when something goes wrong.

Following Montparnasse Tower like it was Mount Doom, we had a beer at La Rotonde, one of Hemingway’s favourite bars, and then took the lift and stairs up 59 floors to the viewing deck to watch the sunset. I hadn’t been to Paris since 2019, before the pandemic. It felt like a lot longer in a lot of ways. So much has changed and to be there with someone, to experience that together instead of staring around at the strangers and wondering if I was aloof enough for them was a nice change.

After checking in to our hotel, we went to Le Dome, completely unprepared and underdressed for the opulent traditional French restaurant, which again, was a place Hemingway frequented often enough that they have a set menu named after him as well as his black and white photo on the wall. It only took half a dozen oysters and a bottle of wine for us to get into a deep and meaningful conversation that continued until the other tables cleared out and we moved on, now in search of cocktails.

At Chez Papa, we continued to set the world to rights until the lack of sleep caught up with us and we called it, ready for day two.

It has been a week. The problem is that I have nothing to complain about in this space. On top of having a job that I enjoy, I’m also grafting at my novel, trying to get it into the right place for it to go out to publishers. It’s a very exciting time but my daily routine of getting up at 5am, hitting the gym, showering and then working on my manuscript until I have to start my actual job at 9am is a lot. On top of that, I’m then trying to be present in all other aspects of my life. This all means that by Friday, I am absolutely done. That’s how I feel today. It’s the sense that if I don’t stop soon and take care of myself then I’m going to be a danger to myself.

More than anything, this is a reminder to everyone to look after yourselves, slow down and lean into a relaxed pace. I haven’t sat and read a book or had a bath in the longest time. Those are the kind of things I’m talking about. If I had time, I’d eat a whole pyramid of Ferrero Rocher while a Lush bath bomb did wonderful things between my thighs. That may well be my treat on Sunday night as a reward for getting through the week.

Exciting things are coming. I’m really proud of myself. I’m working hard to look after myself and set a future up that I can thrive in. For now though, just take care.

I’m very much aware of how obtuse my last couple of posts have been. There are a number of recent changes in my circumstances that I don’t think are appropriate to share outside of those that it directly impacts. As ever, that hasn’t stopped people from sharing their thoughts on my life outside of those it directly impacts.

In the last week, there has been an identified change in the way things have been discussed and I am very grateful to have that back. It goes a long way to talk directly to people about what you need and your expectations. Still, the rumour mill continues to churn. Those who preach being kind are often those who are most likely to throw dispersions in. Anyone who messages me out of the blue asking how I am is to be carefully considered before I let them in. And that’s not like me. I’m generally an open book. It’s just a shame that we have to be a little defensive for a while but it’s brought everything into sharp focus and will ensure that we get what we want ultimately.

I’m doing really well. I’m looking after myself and I can feel that happiness permeating the things I’m doing and the people I choose to surround myself with. What more could I ask for right now?

When I was young, and cool, I was in a band. The main reason we were in the band was to tell girls that we were in a band. Some of the time it worked. One of the songs that we wrote, and I think specifically Mike come up with the title of, was The Sun Will Come Out Soon. I don’t know if it had the intention of hitting me square between the eyes with a revelation over a decade later but here we are.

This week, I was walking through Shoreditch and the sun cut through the clouds and the buildings and hit the side of my face. I had this profound feeling that I hadn’t noticed the sun in a long time.
Now this could mean any number of things. Chiefly, it could be a coincidence. Better than that though, it was a metaphor. I hadn’t noticed the sun in a long time.

The sun is always there. It might be behind clouds. It might be over the horizon but it’s always there. I have been so deeply stuck in my own head that I didn’t notice much of anything. I agreed to things that I don’t actually want because it seemed easier than giving it any focus or fight.

Recognising the sun and feeling that glow was life affirming. We aren’t through the full harshness of winter but I’m coming out of my own period of hibernation and I’m hungry.

If anyone reads my blog with any regularity, you will have noticed that the last year was completely dedicated to the Music Jar project. I didn’t write about anything else on here during that time although I was eagerly beavering away on THE NOVEL in the background.

With a new year comes the opportunity to change it up and that feels like an understatement given what the last couple of months has thrown my way. My intention is to blog each week, with some kind of insight into a considered conversation, a fun aside or a development that is of worth for me to document. I’ve always felt that there was no point in sharing anything unless it created some kind of impact. I like conversation that makes me think, challenges me or makes me laugh. Why should what I write be any different? So that’s what I’m aiming for. To write something once a week that touches on one of those.

For now, it’s all the cliches you can possibly think of as I attempt to recover my position. I’ve quit drinking and social media. I’m in therapy, looking after my mental health and unpacking the deep abandonment issues I’ve always struggled with. This is a time to strip everything back and stare hard at myself in the mirror.

Here we are, mostly safe at the end of 2022. For the last of my Music Jar project artists, I’ve had the incredible pleasure of listening to Self Esteem.
Now, there has been little option but to have had some skin in the Self Esteem game this year (both mine and theirs). As a rising star, appearing on Scroobius Pip’s podcast as well as Friday Night Live – there was no way I wouldn’t have caught up with some of their antics.

Now, Rebecca Lucy Taylor is Self Esteem but they are also described online as being the band. I’ll likely refer to both in this blog.

I’m really into the spoken word elements, and the positivity on display across both Self Esteem’s albums – Compliments Please and Prioritise Pleasure – is contagious. I think there’s a lot to be said for Taylor’s background, working as part of Slow Club, and identifying the development of her own self esteem through her twenties enough to name her project after it. What’s even more incredible is that these extensive verses on love, loss, acceptance, sex are wrapped up in some of the catchiest choruses I’ve heard in a long time. The production on her work is amazing and as I drove down the A Roads of Essex, there was a fat smile on my face, recognising that I am enough. That’s a strong capacity for music to have. Yes, it can make us connect. Sure, you can relate to it. It’s the sense of companionship you get from Self Esteem that makes me glad she/they were the artist I wrapped this year and this project on.

This year has been incredibly transformative for me. I’ve been grateful for anything to ground me. Having something to listen to, somewhere to turn my attention to, may well have been a life saver.

For each artist I’ve listened to as part of this project in 2022, I’ve added a song to a Spotify playlist. You can listen to those here.

This week I have been listening to Jehnny Beth – thanks to Steph for the recommendation.

I didn’t know of Jehnny Beth before and I’m not sure I do now. I expected a twee singer songwriter and instead was delivered these beautiful ethereal landscapes of music that felt like they belonged in the HyperNormalisation.

While waiting for the lyrics kick in, I was getting on with some writing and then realised the scope of the song had stretched beyond an intro.

Here’s the thing. I’ve listened to Savages – maybe even seen them at some festival or other, but this is very different. It’s very French. Very cool. I should never have expected anything else from one of Steph’s recommendations to be fair.

It might not have grabbed me in the way others have but it’s great for getting into another zone and for focus.

This week, it is the turn of an out and out legend. A woman with so much clout that I daren’t do anything but adore everything that she is about. Maybe the true People’s Princess. An icon of Liverpool and a Saturday night television staple, she ate it up whatever she turned her hand to. It’s only blood Cilla Black.

I know Cilla. We all know Cilla. My introduction to this icon would have been as part of the Triple Threat of Saturday night TV in the nineties – The Real Adventures of Superman, Gladiators and Blind Date. For a long time, I don’t think I knew she was a singer. I just knew I liked her hair (or hurrrr), her teeth and her accent. She always sparkled. Cilla must be a gay icon, right?

As I learnt more about music, I discovered that Cilla was fucking cool. She was there, man! She’s got stories for days and was all over the backbeat, northern soul, rock n roll establishment of Liverpool. If you want a pretty good insight, you can’t go far wrong with the ITV drama series, Cilla, starring Sheridan Smith. I apologise to true Cilla fans and scousers if this isn’t an appropriate recommendation. Or has been shunned by the true believers.

What really struck me about this week, is that Jadeth was right all along. My mate Jade loves Cilla, holds her up as a Titan of industry, the guiding light through any storm. The truth of the matter is that you can’t go wrong with that voice. There’s so much passion and soul in Anyone Who Had A Heart, Something Tells Me and You’re My World that there’s no escaping the sprig of tension in your vertebrae as you recognise you are being aurally treated by a god.

I do find myself discovering artists through this little project and wondering how I got through 35 years without recognising their power. Cilla is up there now. Gawd bless her, and those moves.

This week I have been listening to the nu jazz musician Emma-Jean Thackray and her wonderful album, Yellow.

The fun thing about Thackray is that I didn’t know of her before this came up (thanks Jamie) and I don’t know much more now. I know she’s a multi-instrumentalist with her own record label and that I really liked listening to her music but that’s about it. There’s a lot to be said for any musician who can maintain any air of mystery in 2022.

Yellow is a very experimental album with elements of house, jazz, pop, funk and spoken word thrown together to create a real work of art. I don’t know what more I can say about it but I liked it.