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.

I couldn’t let the end of the month pass without a little update.
I’ve been hard at work on my new novel, which I finished a first draft of last week. It’s in the same universe as The Counterfeiter but has a mad energy to it that I have really enjoyed. I needed the time to think about it but once I got in the right headspace, it came pouring out of me. First draft is 100k words and I’ll now let it sit for a while before I jump back in.
Because this is me, I’ve launched into a different project to occupy my mind and time.

This month I was able to spend more time with family. It’s all of their birthdays at once so I saw my brothers, took my dad out for dinner and generally had a fun time with my mad nieces and nephews. It makes me thankful to have them there for me and to be able to support them in the things they need.

Therapy has been going well and we’ve taken the decision to pause for now and see how that sits, if I can self-serve in a way I couldn’t have done before all of this started. It’s been an absolute necessity to help me through and I recommend it to everyone.

I’m still very much in love and continuing to find out more about this person who makes me feel better, freer and cared for in ways I couldn’t have allowed before. What a gift.

I’m in a good place, mentally and physically. The changes of recent months have given way to something a little more real, more wholesome and with a sense of a safety net that I needed. I’m thankful and grateful. What more could I need?

Last week I was fortunate enough to visit the Tate Modern again for Yayoi Kusama’s extended exhibition – Infinity Mirror Rooms. Say what you want about modern art, when it hits, it really hits. While I could wax lyrical about some of the other exhibits in the museum, which may or may not be to my taste, this is my blog and therefore just my stupid and humble opinion on the experience.

I made the devilish effort of becoming a Tate Member. This entitles me not just to free entry to paid exhibits but also means I can pomp and swan about in the Members Bar, where Crispin and Coriander chase around after little Tarquin and Verity, desperately trying to get them to sit and enjoy their lapsang souchong without making quite such a scene. It’s the opposite of the Mos Eisley cantina essentially – a wretched hive of patterned scarves and plum voices where I feel like Bert from Mary Poppins.

Yayoi Kusama is an incredible artist who works vibrant colours and shapes into sculptures and installations. It’s hard to imagine what that journey would have been like – moving to New York as a young woman to follow her passion in a time when such a thing was considered uncouth. She’s still rocking by the way – at 94 years of age.
The Infinity Mirror Rooms are an influencer’s wet dream – although imagining this was ever the intention is so far away from the titles for both rooms. Visitors queue for their two and a half minutes of Insta fame before being allowed in grouped in sixes to attempt a single shot where it looks as if they are the centre of the universe and there isn’t a pram in the space with them. Yes, I realise the irony of this entry and my own accompanying social media posts about it. Maybe I’m doing it with a cheeky sense of irony which is why I only got twenty likes.

To stand and stare at the blinking lights, to see your own suitcase-eyed reflection staring back at you in the centre of the artist’s work is to understand the impact that it can make. Imagine floating along in the cosmos, like Gravity (2013), but never mind the Bullock. Being inside those spaces slows the heart while it triples in size. It’s a maddening experience yet a serene one. A moment of collection and an opportunity to reflect. No two experiences will ever be the same but if you can grip the hand of someone you love then it will emanate through your entire being.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about food. Specifically daydreaming about the eventual conversation I’ll have with Ed Gamble and James Acaster when I find my way onto their podcast, Off Menu.
For those who are unfamiliar, Ed and James sit down with actors, comedians and the occasional national treasure to run through their dream starter, main course, side, dessert and drink (not necessarily in that order). When E and I first started dating, this was not only an interesting way of learning about each other’s tastes but also an opportunity to both stretch our previous misadventures with food.

Still or sparkling
I’m going to have to go with still. I’m not even fussy so it could be direct from the tap. I bloody love water. A lot of the time, if I don’t feel right, it’s something that necking a pint of water will fix. As we are in the Dream Restaurant, it’s also important that I have a bladder that doesn’t reach capacity because I am ready to imbibe!

Poppadoms or bread, Paul Schiernecker! Poppadoms or bread!
Bread. It has to be. As much as I would like to be mother (see Tim Key’s episode for this reference), bread is the life force. My life is bread and circuses, to paraphrase the Roman poet Juvenal. I’d like fresh, warm rolls which take a bit of work to rip apart, served from a bread basket, possibly with the Genie Waiter present. Alongside it, I’d like several of those little circles of butter, covered in Maldon sea salt (the greatest of all the salts) and warm enough that it’s not going to tear my bread apart when I try to spread it. The basket can stay for the duration.

Starter
Just to put James’ mind at ease, I am very much a Dessert Boy. I have to say though, starters feel like a treat and I do tend to get involved. E has taught me the wonder of ordering multiple dishes and having the option to share. We usually split things (in my favour if there’s an odd number) so the starter course becomes more of a small plates affair. Given this, I’m going to bend the rules and order multiple starters under the guise of it being the way we would do things. First things first, a very seventies prawn cocktail. I’m talking lots of fat prawns, in Marie Rose sauce, served in half an avocado and with some shredded gem lettuce in there. A sprinkle of cayenne pepper over the whole affair and some slices of lemon on the side. This dish doesn’t have to be from anywhere in particular but my mum does make a pretty good one, which reminds me of the starter we would have on Christmas morning. We even had specific plates for it. These kind of kidney dish-looking things from a set that my parents were bought at their wedding. We used to call them the scratchy plates because they were made of this unfinished heavy clay(?) and any interaction with cutlery made a horrible scratching noise like nails on a chalkboard. I want that.

In addition, I’d like a portion of nachos, maybe from Miller & Carter, the vegetable tempura starter from Ozen in Westcliff and a dozen oysters from Le Dome. Given the amount of seafood in there, I’ll have a bottle of Gavi to go with it. Heads up – this is going to be quite a boozy meal because there’s nothing better than eating and drinking to excess with the people you love.

It might seem like an odd choice to specifically go for nachos from M&C but there is a reason for it. They fry their own tortillas up and it means you get these fat chips that have a lot more structural integrity than a brittle shop-bought nacho. They also pile on the toppings as well.

Ozen is one of my favourite local places and I love taking people there. Honourable munchion to their sushi platter which they serve up in a wooden boat as well. Their tempura is so light and crispy and every time I eat there, I marvel at what they are able to do.

And the oysters. Well, that’s pure indulgence. I’ve really got into oysters recently and loved Rob Brydon’s story about the way Tom Jones took the lead when they went out for oysters. What a man!

Main
This might seem a bit basic, and it’s worth remembering that I’m a lapsed vegetarian/vegan in the mix of this. I’m going for a steak. I think the best I’ve had was at Goodman in Mayfair. Seeing how I’m not paying, I’m going big and I’m going fillet steak – medium rare and with plenty of peppercorn sauce on the side. With it, I’d like some triple cooked chips with truffles, a big flat mushroom, grilled tomatoes and peas.
I was never into red meat when I was a kid but I went through this weird phase where I was severely anaemic and doctors recommended I get into stout and steak. It’s safe to say I’ve never looked back. It therefore makes sense for me to have not just a bottle of red wine but also a pint of Guinness for this to go down with. I’m not too fussy about the red wine but I’d like the Guinness to be poured in Dublin and carried across. I had a pint at the Storehouse that changed my life.

Side
There was so much room for honourable munchions in this space. There’s a Jalapeno cornbread that Caravan do that is ungodly. I’ve tried to replicate it at home, with varying degrees of success but you cannot beat theirs. I could also get on board with some escargot from La Coupole. It’s not necessarily a side but the rules are made to be broken. The amount of garlic and butter they load into theirs makes it, and I’ve still got my bread basket on the table to mop that up with.

My actual choice though is a macaroni cheese I had at Glastonbury, maybe a decade ago. I was absolutely hammered and we had stumbled away from the headline slot to get some food. I found this mac n cheese stall where they had this huge skillet and were batch-cooking in a way that I had never seen it made before. They cooked off the macaroni in the one giant pan and then as the water evaporated, they added in milk, stirring it the whole time. Then in with the cheese. I now make it in the same way but I watched it for about ten minutes. There may have been external factors impacting my judgement but it was enthralling to stare at. They then offered up different toppings and served in in those little cups you’d get ice cream in. I had chilli peppers and cayenne on mine and it just caught me in that moment as the best thing ever.

Drink
Alongside the bottle of red, the bottle of white, the water and the Guinness, my drink of choice is an Old Fashioned. Again, an indicator that I am a Dessert Boy. The silver medal goes to a charcoal Old Fashioned I had at Bull in a China Shop in Shoreditch. You think of an Old Fashioned as being a particularly smokey cocktail but this just elevated it, and it felt like I was drinking someone else’s dark thoughts. Would recommend.

The winner, and this is quite a recent one, is the Brown Sugar Old Fashioned I had on Bourbon Street when I was in New Orleans. We had got into the city late and I went wandering all down the neon-lit streets in search of just the right place. At the end of this run of depravity, I found Bourbon “O” Bar where there was a band playing old jazz songs. I sat at the bar and didn’t know what I was going to order until the guy next to me asked for an Brown Sugar Old Fashioned from the Specials menu. Absolutely that. I think it was the moment. The music. The space. I was also thrown because we had just travelled from New York by train and I was slightly out of sorts. They drop a giant circular ice cube in, add this sugar syrup and whiskey and it’s just incredible. I should go back.

Dessert
I have a real sweet tooth. My friend Benjy once taught me about his theory about the additional stomach that we have for desserts. He called it “the chockle pockle”, and I use that quite a lot as a reference. I can always smash a dessert. I love a tiramisu, profiteroles, a jam roly poly, just a bar of Wholenut even but there’s one dessert that has the top spot in my chockle pockle.

That’s cheesecake. There are so many variations to it so I’m always a little wary when ordering but obviously the best is a New York style or Jewish cheesecake. I’ve had to learn to make it because I can’t get my fix often enough and I rate the version I make. It’s mad how long it takes to make. It’s nearly a kilo of cream cheese in there alongside everything else and then a slow bake followed by eight hours in the fridge with a sour cream topping. The best cheesecake I’ve ever had though was at Junior’s in New York. I discovered it a few years ago and now wouldn’t go to NYC without a visit. It’s so thick and rich. Just the best. I am going to go with the strawberry because I can at least then trick myself into thinking that there’s some fruit involved.

I’ll finish that off with a double espresso or maybe an Irish coffee, depending on how pissed I feel. And that’s it. Unbeatable. Dream menu.