Adam Stoner

I turn 28 today. I always get really weird around my birthday. I think it’s because I am acutely aware of time passing in a very personal way. Like, New Years and Christmas and all of that, they’re all shared holidays – a birthday is quite isolating, isn’t it? I’ve been going for morning walks every day. They’re about 5k. They start just around the corner from where I live, in a little forest and when I exit that forest, I end up in a clearing, on the side of a hill… The very first day I did this walk, there were two little deer on the side of the hill. I wandered out the next day and there they were again! I started calling them my ‘deer friends’ – I don’t know if that’s weird or not – but on day three, they didn’t show up. I turn 28 today. Every year I do one of these little introspective calling cards; this is my third. The first was at 26 – I basically retreated back into myself. The second, at 27, was all about getting out there and experiencing this wonderful world we live in – I feel like I’ve certainly made good strides in that direction; every day I’m filled with awe. Now, at 28; it’s to stop looking. The second I stopped looking for the deer and stopped expecting them to be there was the same second they showed up again. It’s not just my deer friends. There are so many things in life like this. We embark on journeys and traverse paths and delve into the realms of possibility, all in search of that which we seek but – like deer darting through the forest the second they hear me – our aspirations can elude us the more we chase them. When we settle down, when we cease the hunt, in a weird way the world around us takes notice – I guess it’s a kind of surrender – and with a gentle gesture, it unveils its hidden treasures. Opportunities that once evaded our grasp now find their way to us. Every year I think about what I’ve learned the last and what I yearn for the next… I want serendipity. I want to feel like the universe conspires in my favour. It sounds so woo-woo – and I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I am not a religious or spiritual person. But I do love when the daunting labyrinth reveals a path illuminated by surprise. I turn 28 today.

A story that I have been working on for years has finally come to an end. In 2021, I came up with the idea of sending a radio programme to space. In 2022, we did it. It was called Mission Transmission. Two nights ago, in 2023, at what is known as the ‘Oscars of the radio industry’ – the ARIAS awards – I picked up not just one but two awards for it... One was Silver for ‘Moment of The Year’ making Mission Transmission the second best radio moment last year –– and the other was Gold for ‘Creative Innovation’. And with that, this beautiful project I spent months developing and years talking about is complete. The story is over. There are more people to say thank you to – KIDZ BOP and the team at Universal Music, DevaWeb – specifically Chris Stevens, the team at Carver PR, astronaut Tim Peake, Jon Lomberg, Peter Beery, everyone at the Royal Observatory Greenwich in London but specifically Victoria, the very talented people at Create Productions, the tens and tens of people that came onto the radio and podcasts to talk about the project, the lovely people at The Week Junior and Science and Nature magazine for talking about it so much, and obviously my close personal circle of partners and family and friends too. You and I will never know the destiny of that radio programme – we’ll never know whether it manages to reach alien life or whether it’s defined forever to float between the stars – but I think it says a huge amount about humankind that we dared to send it in the first place. And you – whether you were here from the start or are only just finding out about it – thank you for being a part of it too.

A story that I have been working on for years has finally come to an end. In 2021, I came up with the idea of sending a radio programme to space. In 2022, we did it. It was called Mission Transmission. Two nights ago, in 2023, at what is known as the ‘Oscars of the radio industry’ – the ARIAS awards – I picked up not just one but two awards for it… One was Silver for ‘Moment of The Year’ making Mission Transmission the second best radio moment last year –– and the other was Gold for ‘Creative Innovation’. And with that, this beautiful project I spent months developing and years talking about is complete. The story is over. There are more people to say thank you to – KIDZ BOP and the team at Universal Music, DevaWeb – specifically Chris Stevens, the team at Carver PR, astronaut Tim Peake, Jon Lomberg, Peter Beery, everyone at the Royal Observatory Greenwich in London but specifically Victoria, the very talented people at Create Productions, the tens and tens of people that came onto the radio and podcasts to talk about the project, the lovely people at The Week Junior and Science and Nature magazine for talking about it so much, and obviously my close personal circle of partners and family and friends too. You and I will never know the destiny of that radio programme – we’ll never know whether it manages to reach alien life or whether it’s defined forever to float between the stars – but I think it says a huge amount about humankind that we dared to send it in the first place. And you – whether you were here from the start or are only just finding out about it – thank you for being a part of it too.

I have a coin on my desk... It's a Roman denarius, about the size of a five pence piece (or about a dime in the US) and it's 1,800 years old. Holding this coin leaves me filled with a sense of awe. It's a feeling I've been searching for for as long as I can remember and only so often do I get to glimpse it. I guess I can only really describe it as a feeling of historical connectedness. I keep the Roman denarius on my desk and whenever I feel a bit bummed out about the state of the world I pick it up and I think about the person on it – stoic Emperor Marcus Aurelius – and I think about the stories this coin has and the other people, just like me, that have held it these past 1800 or so years... I feel like it's a bit of a faux pas to tell people on the internet where you live but you and I are friends and so – Graven Hill is this amazing self-development community. You can basically buy a plot of land and then build your own home on it. It's also the site of Alchester. "Alchester, which is now completely abandoned, was the largest town in Roman Oxford here. But what's perhaps even more exciting is that it started off as a fairly major military base" I live in modern-day Alchester. On my desk is that Roman coin. In all likelihood not, but perhaps the very same Roman coin that someone that once lived here once held. It's possible – there were people making their homes right here at the same time that these coins were in circulation. "Yes there certainly would have been coins of Marcus Aurelius in circulation in the later town. We do have coins right to the late 4th century. Marcus Aurelius obviously was emperor from 161 to 180. And silver denarii tend to have a fairly long circulation. So in Alchester we have silver denarii going back to roughly 150 BC, which was around 200 years before the Romans arrived at Alchester. They circulate for much longer than the base metal coins." What we do in life echoes through eternity... Okay, that's a quote from Gladiator – but I do feel the ripples of time echoes from the past reverberating into the present. Everyone I show this coin to is kind of amazed by it. Most people have never touched anything this old about 1,800 years as I say and it seems an almost impossibly large amount of time, doesn't it? I still don't know what that feeling is. That feeling of historical oneness, of connectedness, of feeling somehow personally addressed by the coincidences of history. This coin was a gift. Somehow, potentially, back where it belongs. I suppose it's a sense of sublimity. I'm still searching for the right word. But I do know that this tiny coin, a passive witness to almost two millennia of history, suddenly feels a whole lot heavier.

I have a coin on my desk… It’s a Roman denarius, about the size of a five pence piece (or about a dime in the US) and it’s 1,800 years old. Holding this coin leaves me filled with a sense of awe. It’s a feeling I’ve been searching for for as long as I can remember and only so often do I get to glimpse it. I guess I can only really describe it as a feeling of historical connectedness. I keep the Roman denarius on my desk and whenever I feel a bit bummed out about the state of the world I pick it up and I think about the person on it – stoic Emperor Marcus Aurelius – and I think about the stories this coin has and the other people, just like me, that have held it these past 1800 or so years… I feel like it’s a bit of a faux pas to tell people on the internet where you live but you and I are friends and so – Graven Hill is this amazing self-development community. You can basically buy a plot of land and then build your own home on it. It’s also the site of Alchester. Alchester, which is now completely abandoned, was the largest town in Roman Oxford here. But what’s perhaps even more exciting is that it started off as a fairly major military base… I live in modern-day Alchester. On my desk is that Roman coin. In all likelihood not, but perhaps the very same Roman coin that someone that once lived here once held. It’s possible – there were people making their homes right here at the same time that these coins were in circulation. Yes there certainly would have been coins of Marcus Aurelius in circulation in the later town. We do have coins right to the late 4th century. Marcus Aurelius obviously was emperor from 161 to 180. And silver denarii tend to have a fairly long circulation. So in Alchester we have silver denarii going back to roughly 150 BC, which was around 200 years before the Romans arrived at Alchester. They circulate for much longer than the base metal coins. What we do in life echoes through eternity… Okay, that’s a quote from Gladiator – but I do feel the ripples of time echoes from the past reverberating into the present. Everyone I show this coin to is kind of amazed by it. Most people have never touched anything this old about 1,800 years as I say and it seems an almost impossibly large amount of time, doesn’t it? I still don’t know what that feeling is. That feeling of historical oneness, of connectedness, of feeling somehow personally addressed by the coincidences of history. This coin was a gift. Somehow, potentially, back where it belongs. I suppose it’s a sense of sublimity. I’m still searching for the right word. But I do know that this tiny coin, a passive witness to almost two millennia of history, suddenly feels a whole lot heavier.

Vote: https://www.radiotimes.com/audio/radio/arias-vote-2023/ I have a favour to ask of you. Of all the days and weeks and months of radio broadcasting last year, a very small piece I made has been shortlisted as one of the best. As you probably know – because I’ve spoken about it quite a lot, last year – I sent the first ever radio programme into deep space. It was called Fun Kids Mission Transmission and it has been shortlisted as a Radio Times Moment of The Year. Now, you might think the Guinness World Record for ‘first radio programme beamed into deep space’ would be enough – and it is – but the Moment of The Year trophy does look beautiful and so… would you vote for me? Voting’s super simple, it’s literally one click – there’s no need to fill in a load of personal data. You just need to head to the Radio Times website and tap ‘Fun Kids Mission Transmission’ to vote. That’s it! Not only would you make my day but you’d also make the day of thousands of children around the world who trusted us to send their precious cargo – their hopes, dreams, and stories – to space. Voting’s open until April 18th, so don’t delay – go ahead and do it right now. Thank you.

There's a lot of AI stuff out there at the moment – a lot of gushing about whether AI is a good or a bad thing – a lot of amazement, and a lot of fear too. In amongst all of that noise, there's a whole world of quirky, fun uses for artificial intelligence – ones that perhaps leave us feeling slightly less threatened than ChatGPT. And so, since everyone's talking about AI, meet Endel. Endel is a company that creates an app and a technology that allows for people to experience functional, scientifically proven soundscapes. They're working on generative music; on music for functional means – music for relaxation, music for sleep, music for focus – but also using the power of sound as a medium. I've been using Endel for a few months and I love it. Endel is a good example of the ways in which artificial intelligence can help flesh something out. It's not entirely powered by AI, but AI fills in the gaps. "It's a very interesting topic because we use kind of a hybrid approach and we're not afraid of saying that. I know it's a buzzword to say that 'everything is powered by AI', but both the tech and the sound, we found that the best results come from being a bit more mindful about what tools we are using. We implement AI in crucial places. For example, we cannot create enough melodies, so we use AI in creation of some layers, for example melodies, for example chords, and some harmonic parts which are always evolving, which are always unpredictable, but still they are placed in a set of rules." Artificial intelligence feels relatively new. I understand the hype. It's fun, it's mysterious, and I think that's also what makes it somewhat frightening; it feels uncanny. AI is a black box that most of us don't understand and that's scary. It is scary when your intelligence is threatened by something you can't quite comprehend. AI's unknown is the moral panic of the moment. Are the robots coming for my job? "It's too radical to say big words about AI will replace everything. All those talks about singularity... let's put them aside." Humankind has been here before. People have always feared new developments in technology. Last century, technophobia somewhat weirdly manifested as a fear of free time. We're perpetually obsessed with our own obsolescence. Maybe it's a survival instinct – I don't know – but the prediction that the robots are coming is at least 60 years in the making. We keep making the same prediction – and sure, we're closer to that than ever before, but also pretty far away. "The more you work with AI, the more you understand that it's very stupid in a sense. It doesn't really understand what you're saying. And those linguistic models, which are a booming thing right now, it doesn't understand what you're saying to it, what you're typing to it. It understands a succession of symbols and it works according to those succession of symbols. We are very, very far away from actually replacing us human beings and the future of AI music is still further away because music is much much more than visual data." In all of this excitement and panic, we all seem to have forgotten that AI stands for artificial intelligence: artificially intelligent. A lot of the exports of AI that you and I are seeing today are kind of like magic tricks. They're a sleight of hand, an amusement ride, an oddity, and a brand new digital commodity.

There’s a lot of AI stuff out there at the moment – a lot of gushing about whether AI is a good or a bad thing – a lot of amazement, and a lot of fear too. In amongst all of that noise, there’s a whole world of quirky, fun uses for artificial intelligence – ones that perhaps leave us feeling slightly less threatened than ChatGPT. And so, since everyone’s talking about AI, meet Endel… Endel is a company that creates an app and a technology that allows for people to experience functional, scientifically proven soundscapes. They’re working on generative music; on music for functional means – music for relaxation, music for sleep, music for focus – but also using the power of sound as a medium. I’ve been using Endel for a few months and I love it. Endel is a good example of the ways in which artificial intelligence can help flesh something out. It’s not entirely powered by AI, but AI fills in the gaps. “It’s a very interesting topic because we use kind of a hybrid approach and we’re not afraid of saying that. I know it’s a buzzword to say that ‘everything is powered by AI’, but both the tech and the sound, we found that the best results come from being a bit more mindful about what tools we are using. We implement AI in crucial places. For example, we cannot create enough melodies, so we use AI in creation of some layers, for example melodies, for example chords, and some harmonic parts which are always evolving, which are always unpredictable, but still they are placed in a set of rules.” Artificial intelligence feels relatively new. I understand the hype. It’s fun, it’s mysterious, and I think that’s also what makes it somewhat frightening; it feels uncanny. AI is a black box that most of us don’t understand and that’s scary. It is scary when your intelligence is threatened by something you can’t quite comprehend. AI’s unknown is the moral panic of the moment. Are the robots coming for my job? It’s too radical to say big words about AI will replace everything,” says Dmitry from Endel. “All those talks about singularity… let’s put them aside.” Humankind has been here before. People have always feared new developments in technology. Last century, technophobia somewhat weirdly manifested as a fear of free time. We’re perpetually obsessed with our own obsolescence. Maybe it’s a survival instinct – I don’t know – but the prediction that the robots are coming is at least 60 years in the making. We keep making the same prediction – and sure, we’re closer to that than ever before, but also pretty far away. “The more you work with AI, the more you understand that it’s very stupid in a sense. It doesn’t really understand what you’re saying. And those linguistic models, which are a booming thing right now, it doesn’t understand what you’re saying to it, what you’re typing to it. It understands a succession of symbols and it works according to those succession of symbols. We are very, very far away from actually replacing us human beings and the future of AI music is still further away because music is much much more than visual data.” In all of this excitement and panic, we all seem to have forgotten that AI stands for artificial intelligence: artificially intelligent. A lot of the exports of AI that you and I are seeing today are kind of like magic tricks. They’re a sleight of hand, an amusement ride, an oddity, and a brand new digital commodity.

This is a story about how one of the US’s most iconic writers created a recipe for one of the most iconic US meals. My quest for this recipe has all the hallmarks of a Hemingway novel packed full of mystery and is set against the backdrop of war. And it all began with a single question. What’s the best burger ever? I’d found this burger recipe online, supposedly one from Ernest Hemingway and with the help of Hemingway Home and the JFK Presidential Library, got to the bottom of it. Hemingway spent a lot of his life divided between different homes. He lived in Cuba at this home, La Finca Vigia, from about 1939 to 1960. Hemingway shot himself in 1961. Relations between the US and Cuba weren’t too great at that time and his wife, Mary, needed help getting back into Cuba to reclaim some documents, some papers, some memorabilia. The Kennedy administration helped Mary get a special visa to get into Cuba and strike a deal where she would take as much as she could from the Finca in exchange for donating the house and what was left in it to the Cuban people. This recipe was among the documents left behind. She typed this recipe out for the Women’s Day encyclopaedia of cookery whilst Hemingway was still alive. You can find it at adamstoner.com/burgers. It’s a long and complex process, as you might imagine, featuring red wine and piccalilli, capers, and a bit of chemistry to mix up some discontinued ingredients. But it’s not hard to imagine, tucked away in his Cuban home and sheltered from the harsh sun, Hemingway and his wife and his young staff, all of whom called him Papa – that’s where the name of the recipe comes from – tucking into these burgers. These are the best thing I’ve ever eaten. And I am not kidding. This recipe, this burger, captures his journeys around the world, his ritzy personality, and the context in which it came to be, abandoned in the middle of a war-torn country, is incredibly Hemingway. Whilst these burgers humanise a man who’s become a legend, even the most mundane aspects of his life, like what he ate for dinner, have helped turn Hemingway into an icon. He was a master storyteller. And this unassuming sheet of yellowing paper is, in some weird way, yet another of his stories…

This is a story about how one of the US’s most iconic writers created a recipe for one of the most iconic US meals. My quest for this recipe has all the hallmarks of a Hemingway novel packed full of mystery and is set against the backdrop of war. And it all began with a single question. What’s the best burger ever? I emailed Hemingway Home and Alexa got in touch with me… So as we know, Ernest Hemingway is a well-known American author. But beyond that, he was an adventure seeker. He was a war correspondent. He tried every type of sport, fishing, boxing, checked out bullfighting, traveled all over. He really lived life to the fullest. I’d found this burger recipe online, supposedly one from Ernest Hemingway. Atlantic Constitution. 12th February 2014. Boston. Associated Press: Materials from the Nobel Prize winning author Ernest Hemingway’s Cuban home were available to researchers for the first time at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum. The collection includes car insurance for a 1941 Plymouth station wagon, a license to carry arms in Cuba, bullfighting tickets, and even a recipe from his fourth wife, Mary Hemingway, for Papa’s favourite hamburger. The recipe is in the archive of the JFK Presidential Library and one of the archivists, Stacey, was kind enough to answer my questions: You know, Hemingway spent a lot of his life divided between different homes. He lived in Cuba at this home, La Finca Vigia, from about 1939 to 1960. Hemingway shot himself in 1961. Relations between the US and Cuba weren’t too great at that time and his wife, Mary, needed help getting back into Cuba to reclaim some documents, some papers, some memorabilia. - (Alexa) Yeah, so like the story I’ve also heard to piggyback on that was she had to make a deal with the Cuban government, like give me the contents of our safe and I will give you the house. (Stacey) Hemingway’s widow, Mary Hemingway, needed to get back to Cuba to get all of Hemingway’s stuff out. He’d left his manuscripts, his correspondence, his book collection, a lot of his material was there. And the Kennedy administration actually helped her get a special visa to get into Cuba. She was able to kind of strike a deal where she would take as much as she could from the Finca, their home there, in exchange for donating the house and what was left in it to the Cuban people. This recipe was among the documents left behind. I was searching for something in their voice, in the voice of Ernest or Mary Hemingway, something that told me that this was their recipe rather than just something that they owned and used. And then I found it. Mary, his wife, wrote that they ate the hamburgers to fortify them for tramping through the sage-bush after pheasant, partridge or ducks in Idaho or Wyoming which they visited every autumn. She typed this recipe out for the Women’s Day encyclopaedia of cookery whilst Hemingway was still alive. It’s a long and complex process, as you might imagine, featuring red wine and piccalilli, capers, and a bit of chemistry to mix up some discontinued ingredients. But it’s not hard to imagine, tucked away in his Cuban home and sheltered from the harsh sun, Hemingway and his wife and his young staff, all of whom called him Papa – that’s where the name of the recipe comes from – tucking into these burgers. (Stacey) It’s kind of a unique recipe, but also it’s just such a way to humanise this person who can seem really sort of untouchable and how much the legend and myth has sort of overshadowed the man. And like, here’s, you know, he ate hamburgers like everybody else. So I think people find that really interesting and the recipe itself kind of makes you want to try it. These are the best thing I’ve ever eaten. And I am not kidding. This recipe, this burger, captures his journeys around the world, his ritzy personality, and the context in which it came to be, abandoned in the middle of a war-torn country, is incredibly Hemingway. So whilst Stacey is...

I have Andy Warhol: Polaroids on my shelf. Andy was obsessed with celebrity, he used to take photos of people all the time. As I was flicking through this the other day, I stumbled across a photo of Pelé, the footballer, who died at the end of last year. I don’t really know why but I thought that they lived in entirely different time periods. Maybe it was because Andy died younger than most or that Pelé simply lived into my own time period – or that I wasn’t expecting the world of an American artist and Brazilian footballer to collide on the pages in front of me. Warhol would take these pictures and later turn them into portraits. He said of Pelé that instead of having 15 minutes of fame, he’d “have 15 centuries” of it. When he was 7, Pelé purchased a radio and it was on that radio in 1950 that he heard the World Cup final. Brazil lost to Uruguay. Pelé’s father cried and Pelé promised him that he would win a World Cup. Eight years later, Pelé scores in the ninetieth minute. Brazil win the World Cup. Pelé’s love for the beautiful game inspired his legacy which lives on in the form of statues, documentaries, and in museums. You can see that radio set – perhaps the very thing that set him on his journey to becoming ‘The King’ – in Museu Pelé in Santos, São Paulo. ‘Polaroids’ is a time capsule, these photographs half of an incredible diary that Andy Warhol kept. The other, phoned in to his assistant every day for just over a decade. For over a decade, I’ve kept an audio diary – a journal – in the Voice Memos app on my iPhone. I’ve captured the voices of friends and family, of relationships past and present, of people no longer alive, of places that no longer exist, moments of frustration and genuine joy too. Keeping a journal is an amazing form of delayed gratification. You get very little from the process as you actually create entires – in fact, I probably look like an absolute nutcase, blabbing some thought into the record as I stroll down the street or waving my phone in front of people’s faces – but the magic comes from the legacy you leave yourself. This past month, I’ve been moving all of my journal entries from Voice Memos into Day One. They now carry the weather and their location, paired with photos and videos too. Now I’ve got a multimedia diary – audio at its core – spanning the past ten years; a map of my life over the last decade. As much of an achievement as diarising a decade is, I know the contents of those entries are probably of very little relevance to you. Pelé’s got a museum to commemorate him, Warhol’s got the same. This is a museum of the self – a personal time capsule – and listening back to these entries, there’s a theme. Diversity. Action. Adventure. Growth. Perhaps the most important theme is love. I can hear where I was years ago and experience again pure, innocent love for the life I lead and the incredible things I get to do… Like this month, I’ve been on private tours of the Musical Museum in London, the Oxford Castle and Prison, and the Story Museum too. I’ve been to a football game, I saw the latest Avatar film, and gone climbing in Bicester as well. On October 1st 1977, Pelé retired from football. Andy Warhol was at that game. Towards the end of that diary entry, he says this: Pelé played on one side, then on the other. When it started to rain, they passed out raincoats to the VIPs. And it was nice in the rain, it made it more exciting. 75,000 people there. Minutes after the final whistle, Pelé stood up in the Giants Stadium in New Jersey and gave his farewell speech: Ladies and gentlemen, I am very happy to be here with you in this greatest moment of my life. I want to thank you all, every single one of you. Love is more important than what we can take in life. Everything pass. Please say with me, three times — Love! Love! Love!

I have Andy Warhol: Polaroids on my shelf. Andy was obsessed with celebrity, he used to take photos of people all the time. As I was flicking through this the other day, I stumbled across a photo of Pelé, the footballer, who died at the end of last year. I don’t really know why but I thought that they lived in entirely different time periods. Maybe it was because Andy died younger than most or that Pelé simply lived into my own time period – or that I wasn’t expecting the world of an American artist and Brazilian footballer to collide on the pages in front of me. Warhol would take these pictures and later turn them into portraits. He said of Pelé that instead of having 15 minutes of fame, he’d ‘have 15 centuries’ of it. When he was 7, Pelé purchased a radio and it was on that radio in 1950 that he heard the World Cup final. Brazil lost to Uruguay. Pelé’s father cried and Pelé promised him that he would win a World Cup. Eight years later, Pelé scores in the ninetieth minute. Brazil win the World Cup. Pelé’s love for the beautiful game inspired his legacy which lives on in the form of statues, documentaries, and in museums. You can see that radio set – perhaps the very thing that set him on his journey to becoming ‘The King’ – in Museu Pelé in Santos, São Paulo. ‘Polaroids’ is a time capsule, these photographs half of an incredible diary that Andy Warhol kept. The other, phoned in to his assistant every day for just over a decade. For over a decade, I’ve kept an audio diary – a journal – in the Voice Memos app on my iPhone. I’ve captured the voices of friends and family, of relationships past and present, of people no longer alive, of places that no longer exist, moments of frustration and genuine joy too. Keeping a journal is an amazing form of delayed gratification. You get very little from the process as you actually create entires – in fact, I probably look like an absolute nutcase, blabbing some thought into the record as I stroll down the street or waving my phone in front of people’s faces – but the magic comes from the legacy you leave yourself. This past month, I’ve been moving all of my journal entries from Voice Memos into Day One. They now carry the weather and their location, paired with photos and videos too. Now I’ve got a multimedia diary – audio at its core – spanning the past ten years; a map of my life over the last decade. As much of an achievement as diarising a decade is, I know the contents of those entries are probably of very little relevance to you. Pelé’s got a museum to commemorate him, Warhol’s got the same. This is a museum of the self – a personal time capsule – and listening back to these entries, there’s a theme. Diversity. Action. Adventure. Growth. Perhaps the most important theme is love. I can hear where I was years ago and experience again pure, innocent love for the life I lead and the incredible things I get to do… Like this month, I’ve been on private tours of the Musical Museum in London, the Oxford Castle and Prison, and the Story Museum too. I’ve been to a football game, I saw the latest Avatar film, and gone climbing in Bicester as well. On October 1st 1977, Pelé retired from football. Andy Warhol was at that game. Towards the end of that diary entry, he says this: Pelé played on one side, then on the other. When it started to rain, they passed out raincoats to the VIPs. And it was nice in the rain, it made it more exciting. 75,000 people there. Minutes after the final whistle, Pelé stood up in the Giants Stadium in New Jersey and gave his farewell speech: Ladies and gentlemen, I am very happy to be here with you in this greatest moment of my life. I want to thank you all, every single one of you. Love is more important than what we can take in life. Everything pass. Please say with me, three times — Love! Love! Love!

January: I launch Mission Transmission – a project to send a radio programme to space. The UK KIDZ BOP Kids cover Coldplay’s My Universe – which has since been streamed 1.2 million times. Tim Peake lends his support to the project. I’m interviewed by countless journalists across the nation as they cover it and thousands of children head to the Fun Kids website to send us their hopes, dreams, and aspirations for the future. The 1975 and Greta Thunberg give us permission to use their song in the project which we intertwine with children’s voices… February: I write a piece for The Week Junior’s Science+Nature magazine all about multiverses and whether this universe might be one of many. In an event at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, six kids, KIDZ BOP, a host of Fun Kids presenters and astronaut Tim Peake slams a big red button and we send that radio programme to space. That same night, Russia goes to war in Ukraine. March: The US and UK announce a ban on Russian oil, while the EU announces a two-thirds reduction in its demand for Russian gas. April: Podcast Mysteries of Science wins Best Science & Medical Podcast and Best Launch at the Publisher Podcast Awards. May: I head to Copenhagen with Paul and Meg and spend three days in Malmo in Sweden for Radiodays Europe – my favourite talk from Jonas, the presenter of Songwriter. June: I move. The Queen’s Platinum Jubilee takes place. I watch a Whitney Houston tribute concert. July: The British Podcast Awards swing into town and Activity Quest picks up bronze in the very grown-up sounding Arts and Culture category. The first operational image from the James Webb Space Telescope, the highest-resolution image of the early universe ever taken, was revealed to the public. It shows thousands of galaxies in a tiny sliver of the universe – an area of sky with an angular size approximately equal to a grain of sand held at arm’s length. Looking at that image, we look back in time. A wave from the universe – light only just reaching Earth – from four billion years ago. August: I went to see Coldplay. I discover the work of Ryan Holiday and become engrossed in philosophy and stoicism. September: Queen Elizabeth II dies. We launch Mysteries of Science season four and kick off by chatting to an old pal, Tim Peake, and illusionist Derren Brown. Liz Truss is appointed Prime Minister of the UK. October: Rishi Sunak is appointed Prime Minister of the UK and inherits a burgeoning cost of living crisis. I got to feed giraffes. November: I got to pet a rhino! The world population reached an estimated 8 billion people. NASA launches Artemis, the most powerful rocket ever into orbit. The Orion capsule makes a close pass at the Moon, venturing further into space than any previous habitable spacecraft. James Webb looked outwards but Orion pointed home, capturing stunning photos of Earth from afar, our tiny blue planet suspended in the immensity of space. Like a grain of sand at arm’s length. Nothing but us. You and me. And the largest family portrait ever taken. The World Cup kicks off… December: I go to so many Christmas lights trails that I’ve entirely lost count… I take the technology we used to launch our radio programme into space in February and turn it into a business: sendamessagetospace.com I write a piece on the abominable snowman and end up on the cover of The Week Junior’s Science+Nature magazine. And I finish the year, right here, where I started it – home, with my parents, my family, full of gratitude (and food) and ready to go again...

January I launch Mission Transmission – a project to send a radio programme to space. The UK KIDZ BOP Kids cover Coldplay’s My Universe – which has since been streamed 1.2 million times. Tim Peake lends his support to the project. I’m interviewed by countless journalists across the nation as they cover it and thousands of children head to the Fun Kids website to send us their hopes, dreams, and aspirations for the future. UK radio station sending our voices into spaceRadio programme beamed into space for first time breaking recordEastbourne pupil helps launch radio show into space – and sets a new Guinness World RecordTim Peake sends radio show to spaceKIDZ BOP’s “My Universe” Is The Official Soundtrack For Fun Kids Radio’s ‘Mission Transmission’ Broadcast Into SpaceWe spoke to @funkids producer Adam Stoner about Mission TransmissionNever mind broadcasting to the nation, Adam Stoner prepares to broadcast to the UniverseAdam Stoner is set to become the first person in the world to send a radio programme into deep spaceAdam Stoner is hoping to make history and inspire the next generation of dreamers The 1975 and Greta Thunberg give us permission to use their song in the project which we intertwine with children’s voices… February I write a piece for The Week Junior’s Science+Nature magazine all about multiverses and whether this universe might be one of many. In an event at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, six kids, KIDZ BOP, a host of Fun Kids presenters and astronaut Tim Peake slams a big red button and we send that radio programme to space. Right now, it’s just shy of six trillion miles from from Earth; a quarter of the way towards Earth’s next star. It’s a programme about hope, about love, and about making a difference together. It’s a programme about being united, about making a change, about taking care of one another. It’s a programme about how amazing it would be if we found life somewhere else in the universe, about human accomplishment, achievement, and triumph against adversity. That same night, Russia goes to war in Ukraine. March The US and UK announce a ban on Russian oil, while the EU announces a two-thirds reduction in its demand for Russian gas. April Podcast Mysteries of Science wins Best Science & Medical Podcast and Best Launch at the Publisher Podcast Awards. May I head to Copenhagen with Paul and Meg and spend three days in Malmo in Sweden for Radiodays Europe – my favourite talk from Jonas, the presenter of Songwriter. I turn 27. June I move. The Queen’s Platinum Jubilee takes place. I watch a Whitney Houston tribute concert. July The British Podcast Awards swing into town and Activity Quest picks up bronze in the very grown-up sounding Arts and Culture category. The first operational image from the James Webb Space Telescope, the highest-resolution image of the early universe ever taken, was revealed to the public. It shows thousands of galaxies in a tiny sliver of the universe – an area of sky with an angular size approximately equal to a grain of sand held at arm’s length. Looking at that image, we look back in time. A wave from the universe – light only just reaching Earth – from four billion years ago. August I went to see Coldplay. I discover the work of Ryan Holiday and become engrossed in philosophy and stoicism. September Queen Elizabeth II dies. We launch Mysteries of Science season four and kick off by chatting to an old pal, Tim Peake, and illusionist Derren Brown. Liz Truss is appointed Prime Minister of the UK. October Rishi Sunak is appointed Prime Minister of the UK and inherits a burgeoning cost of living crisis. I got to feed giraffes. November I got to pet a rhino! The world population reached an estimated 8 billion people. NASA launches Artemis, the most powerful rocket ever into orbit. The Orion capsule makes a close pass at the Moon, venturing further into space than any previous habitable spacecraft. James Webb looked outwards but Orion...

I've been taking it easy in November (and will be doing the same in December) but that doesn't mean I've not been up to a lot. I've mainly been working on Send a Message to Space which uses the same technology we used to send Fun Kids' Mission Transmission programme into space in February. Get 50% off a message into space or a gift pack at sendamessagetospace.com until December 31st by using the code PODACST.

Get 50% off at Send a Message to Space by entering code PODCAST at checkout until December 31st 2022.

I read the opening few words of A Billion Years: My Escape from a Life in the Highest Ranks of Scientology by Mike Rinder. I've been reading it this month. Mike's story is fascinating, charting his devotion to and escape from what has been variously described as a cult, a business, and a religious movement. A Billion Years also highlights the stories we tell ourselves about the way the world works. I could have made this month's recap about all manner of things – Westminster politics in particular. But I've kind of adopted a new modus operandi, if you like – I'm focusing on what I can control. I'm not wasting my time and energy getting angry, outraged, or even amused by what's happening in with political leaders... If it's up to me, it gets 100%; if it's not up to me, it gets 0%. So, with that said, I've been out and about for the Activity Quest podcast, visiting a brand new hieroglyphics exhibition the British Museum, checking out an [adventure playground at Stonor Park, and I even went out on a safari too and got to feed some giraffes... Take a listen: British MuseumStonor ParkWoburn Safari Park On Apple Podcasts, we've just turned on Plus, so you can subscribe for ad-free listening and bonus episodes. That's what I've been busy building out at work. Next month, I'm off to some Christmas lights displays for the show. And that's when you'll next hear from me – November 30th 2022.

As I rushed out the front door of […] 37 Fitzroy Street in London and stepped into a beautiful June day in 2007, the only thing I was certain of was that I had to get away before anyone realised what I was doing. I left with only a briefcase containing my passport, a few papers, a thumb drive, and two cell phones. Had I attempted to take more, or had I tried to bring my wife and children with me, I knew it would make my escape impossible. I figured I would get them out once I was in a safe place. I headed toward the nearby Warren Street Tube station, glancing over my shoulder to see if I had been followed. I knew if I ran, it might attract attention, so I resisted the urge until I rounded the first corner and ducked into a doorway to catch my breath. Although I had not physically exerted myself, my heart was racing as if I had just completed a hundred-meter sprint. I waited thirty seconds, saw no one, and stepped back onto the street, now walking faster, still acutely aware of my surroundings. I tried to maintain the appearance of a regular Londoner hurrying to the Tube, rather than a fugitive. I knew all the tricks they employed to track down someone like me—after all, I had done the tracking-down myself. I needed to get out of sight, remove the batteries from my phones, use only cash, and stay on the move. The relief began to flood my body as I descended the long escalator. I stopped at the bottom and surveyed the few people behind me. Still no familiar faces. I stood on the platform, back against the tiled wall, and waited for the train to pull in. When it did, I stayed put until all the other passengers had boarded, jumping on at the last minute while glancing down the platform to see if there were any other last-minute riders. There were none. As I sat down and the train pulled out of the station, I breathed long and hard and tried to calm myself. I had a couple of hundred dollars, but nowhere to stay, no clothes other than what I was wearing, no car or job, and no idea what I was going to do or where I was going to go. I knew only that I had to escape the madness my life had descended into. I hoped I could gather my thoughts and figure out a plan. I had no choice: my only other option was to return to the organisation and lamely turn myself in. That was unthinkable. Those, the opening few words of A Billion Years: My Escape from a Life in the Highest Ranks of Scientology by Mike Rinder. I’ve been reading it this month. Mike’s story is fascinating, charting his devotion to and escape from what has been variously described as a cult, a business, and a religious movement. A Billion Years also highlights the stories we tell ourselves about the way the world works. I could have made this month’s recap about all manner of things – Westminster politics in particular. But I’ve kind of adopted a new modus operandi, if you like – I’m focusing on what I can control. I’m not wasting my time and energy getting angry, outraged, or even amused by what’s happening in with political leaders or foreign wars. If it’s up to me, it gets 100%; if it’s not up to me, it gets 0%. So, with that said, I’ve been out and about for the Activity Quest podcast visiting a brand new hieroglyphics exhibition the British Museum, checking out an adventure playground at Stonor Park, and I even went out on a safari too and got to feed some giraffes… Take a listen: British MuseumStonor ParkWoburn Safari Park On Apple Podcasts, we’ve just turned on Plus, so you can subscribe for ad-free listening and bonus episodes. That’s what I’ve been busy building out at work. Next month, I’m off to some Christmas lights displays for the show. And that’s when you’ll next hear from me – November 30th 2022.

She reigned for over 70 years and earlier this month was reduced to a box on a plinth. How humbling those images were. A figure larger than life and so ingrained into the public psyche, suddenly startlingly small; a Standard covered coffin adorned by her subjects. Adorned by the living. Make no mistake: This is the fate that befalls us all. It doesn't matter whether you're a Queen or a King, a saint or a sinner, a celebrity or a civilian – we all die. To carry a sense of the inevitable with us in the hope that it makes us remember and cherish and encourages us to make the most of every minute bestowed upon us can surely only be healthy. Meditating on mortality is only depressing if you entirely miss the point. You'd be forgiven for thinking – given the way the Queen worked throughout her reign, right until her final day – that death is something that suddenly happens. You're alive one day and gone the next. But that's untrue. You've been dying since birth. You die every day. You're killing time by reading to this right now. In Four Thousand Weeks, Oliver Burkeman writes that our being is totally, utterly bound up with our finite amount of time. To be a human is to exist temporally, in the stretch between birth and death, certain that the end will come but unable to know when. We speak about having (or not having) time but in reality, we _are_ time. You happen to be alive. There's no cosmic law that says you are owed that. You happen to be here and you can happen not to be here at any moment, be it through accident or a betrayal of your own body. Your time is a non-renewable resource but it's our lack of it that is precisely what makes us human. The finite nature of our lives create meaning, purpose, priority, and urgency. I'm not religious or a monarchist but Queen Elizabeth II was, as so many commentators said the night she died, a constant – her role imposed upon her by quirk of ancient constitution – and a reminder that even the mightiest and most God-ordained, die. Elizabeth was born April 21st 1926 and died September 8th 2022. She was 96 years old. She got 35,205 days. Today, September 30th 2022, I am 9,995 days...

She reigned for over 70 years and earlier this month was reduced to a box on a plinth. How humbling those images were. A figure larger than life and so ingrained into the public psyche, suddenly startlingly small; a Standard covered coffin adorned by her subjects. Adorned by the living. Make no mistake: This is the fate that befalls us all. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a Queen or a King, a saint or a sinner, a celebrity or a civilian – we all die. To carry a sense of the inevitable with us in the hope that it makes us remember and cherish and encourages us to make the most of every minute bestowed upon us can surely only be healthy. Meditating on mortality is only depressing if you entirely miss the point. You’d be forgiven for thinking – given the way the Queen worked throughout her reign, right until her final day – that death is something that suddenly happens. You’re alive one day and gone the next. But that’s untrue. You’ve been dying since birth. You die every day. You’re killing time by reading to this right now. In Four Thousand Weeks, Oliver Burkeman writes that our being is totally, utterly bound up with our finite amount of time. To be a human is to exist temporally, in the stretch between birth and death, certain that the end will come but unable to know when. We speak about having (or not having) time but in reality, we are time. You happen to be alive. There’s no cosmic law that says you are owed that. You happen to be here and you can happen not to be here at any moment, be it through accident or a betrayal of your own body. Your time is a non-renewable resource but it’s our lack of it that is precisely what makes us human. The finite nature of our lives create meaning, purpose, priority, and urgency. I’m not religious or a monarchist but Queen Elizabeth II was, as so many commentators said the night she died, a constant – her role imposed upon her by quirk of ancient constitution – and a reminder that even the mightiest and most God-ordained, die. Elizabeth was born April 21st 1926 and died September 8th 2022. She was 96 years old. She got 35,205 days. Today, September 30th 2022, I am 9,995 days… Memento mori.