writers

‘Exploring Finland with our baby was a delight’

Finland has been named the world’s happiest country for nine years running, but arriving in Helsinki, dishevelled from one of my first flights with my nine-month-old baby, I was less interested in national rankings and more in having a nice nap. My husband, Jake, and I had emerged from the fog of newborn life and the idea of a holiday felt possible again. My ambitions were small: a sunset beer, a walk in the woods, reading a few pages of my book uninterrupted.

But Finland, with its famously family-friendly culture, made exploring with my tiny new travel companion a delight. Finnish parents are supported with generous, gender-equal parental leave, affordable childcare, and free healthcare and education. No one bats an eyelid at a pram parked beside a restaurant table or a baby snoozing outdoors in the cool air, and the terrifyingly efficient public transport system is a dream with children.

In Helsinki, we found ourselves in the cool neighbourhood of Kallio, where locals spilled out on to terraces in the late evening sunshine. We stayed at Hobo Hotel, which, despite attracting a hip crowd, was kitted out with travel cots and highchairs. At a bar aptly named Holiday, my daughter, Sylvie, sat happily chewing a spoon while we drank paloma cocktails in the long golden evening light of July, when the sun barely seems to set at all.

Part of Finland’s appeal for me lies in jokaisenoikeudet, or “Everyman’s Right” – the law that gives everyone freedom to roam the country’s forests and lakes. On the southern coast, we hiked through pine forest and over moss-clad rocks towards Lake Kukuljärvi, with Sylvie snoozing, strapped to my front. At a traditional laavu – a simple wooden shelter with a communal fire pit – Jake and I cooked sausages and boiled coffee over open flames. Sylvie eventually deigned to wake from her nap and gnawed on flakes of pink salmon like a tiny woodland creature. Then I handed her to Jake and jumped from the rickety jetty into the lake for a swim.

In summer, Finns are all about escaping to remote cabins. At Santalahti in Kotka, simple self-catering wooden cottages were just steps from the sea, but my favourite tiny houses were Majamaja, four minute off-grid cabins perched on rocks on the Baltic Sea. A stay here felt truly wild, yet we were a 10-minute drive from Helsinki if we ran out of nappies.

On our last day, we boarded a little ferry which chugged the 15 minutes from Helsinki to Lonna island, a tiny military outpost turned summer escape. Now uninhabited and carpeted in wildflowers, it has a wood-fired sauna overlooking the sea. Inside, women of all ages sat side by side as steam curled from the stove. Finnish children grow up going to saunas from infancy, and two locals showed me how to plonk Sylvie into a bucket of cool water, where she spent the entire time grinning with her four newly minted teeth at the sauna-goers smiling back at her. “She’s Finnish now!” one woman laughed.
Sian Lewis

‘I struck gold with the Vespa tour’: Naples with my teenage son

On a wing and a prayer, I took my 13-year-old son, Ned, to Naples. Just the two of us. He was old enough to carry his bags, young enough to bunk in the same bed and keep the cost down. I’d booked a small apartment in the centro storico with decent wifi in case single parenting got the better of me and we simply needed to play Fifa.

My worry didn’t last long. I struck gold by booking a Vespa tour with Michele and Luigi at NeaTour, who took our brief – “Show us where you wouldn’t normally go” – as a personal challenge. We wove through the city under balconies dripping with washing, past giant graffiti and smelly fish stalls, and shared fruit with elderly women sitting outside on old chairs. We stopped at Bar Nilo to pay homage to Maradona and check out a lock of his hair, then scootered on to a towering mural of the icon himself.

Michele handed Ned a cornicello, a small red charm to ward off bad luck. Legend has it they only work when given as gifts, and we bought into it immediately, wandering off into the Quartieri Spagnoli (Spanish quarter) despite all the warnings of theft and danger. Doors were open everywhere. It was tempting to peep in. One family were inside finishing lunch. Without ceremony, they invited us in. Wine appeared. A Pepsi for Ned. Three generations shifting to make space for strangers who weren’t strangers any more.

Naples worked like that. You needed to give in quickly. We took the smallest alleyways, watched football with the locals, stayed out until the early hours. Not because of the place itself, but because of the interruptions: conversations, offers, eye contact that turned into something wonderful.

Of course, it wasn’t all a success story, despite the cornicello. It was a terrible idea to climb Vesuvius in the midday heat. Blisters, lack of water, wishing we wore hats. Then, on the same day, Pompeii. Crowds, dust, exhaustion and the surreal shock of carved penises everywhere.

Capri proved the antithesis. Beautiful and polished. Botox clashing with bougainvillea. We neither wanted nor could afford the restaurants or designer shops, but lovely assistants indulged us as we tried on sunglasses and handbags costing more than my monthly salary.

Sixteen years earlier, I’d photographed boats arranged like petals outside the Blue Grotto, and wanted to see if we could make it happen again. What I never expected was the same boatmen agreeing to recreate it, carefully positioning themselves into a floating flower.

Trusting local knowledge, we left everything on the old iron stairs leading into the water and swam through the tiny cave entrance. The azure blue was so dense, like liquid moonlight lit from within. After diving and GoPro posing, we swam to the back and sat watching the regulars in their cave cathedral.

As we climbed back up the cliff, salt-dried and tired, Ned turned to me and said, “That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Me too,” I replied.
Jill Mead

‘One for the family album’: glamping with granny in Norfolk

Sitting on the veranda with a glass of rosé, my mum and I watched rabbits hop through ferns while birds of prey soared overhead. We decided the view from our “safari” tent was pleasingly wholesome – the only howls were coming from the teenagers inside …

Last summer, I took my twin daughters, my mum and my dog, Miss Babs, on holiday to north Norfolk. Aged 19, the girls are fully embroiled in their own lives – Lola has the travelling bug, Nancy’s away at university – so it was a rare opportunity for us all to get together.

We stayed on the edge of the Sandringham estate, the royal family’s Norfolk retreat, where Experience Freedom, the glamping arm of the Caravan and Motorhome Club, has smart safari tents for us commoners to enjoy (from £69 a night).

While a week in Norfolk is not quite “Ibiza with the girls”, the twins adore their granny and jumped at the chance to come along. A child of the 70s, I grew up holidaying with multiple generations. Every year, my very extended family would head en masse for a week at St Margaret’s Bay holiday camp near Dover. We went the full hokey cokey, joining glamorous granny contests, donkey derbies and a highly competitive fancy dress competition. I adored those holidays with my beloved grandparents, aunts, uncles and numerous cousins, plus aunty Joan and uncle Dick, my nana’s neighbours, who always came, too.

This trip didn’t involve such a large crew, but we had a lovely time in Norfolk. I enjoyed early morning dog walks through the Sandringham estate while the twins slept in. My mum cooked us a full English breakfast every morning, drawing the girls out of their beds with the smell of sizzling bacon. Afternoons were spent on the beach at Old Hunstanton or bobbing around the twee villages that dot the north Norfolk coast. We’d head back to camp in the late afternoon for a glass of rosé on the veranda, when the girls would entertain their grandmother with some inappropriate TikTok reels. One night after dinner, Nancy and Lola challenged us to a game of Cards Against Humanity, only to be utterly horrified when their grandmother won.

Sating the different wants and needs of teenagers and a septuagenarian was not always easy. Tensions did rise, particularly when the sisters snipped at each other or bickered over doing the washing up. More than once, I had to throw the girls a stern look when they dropped the F-bomb in front of their grandmother. And as the unelected leader of the pack, by day three I had decision-making fatigue over what to do, where to go and what to eat.

On our last afternoon, we popped to the main house to see our royal neighbours. Sandringham House is not dog-friendly (unless you’re a corgi or an assistance dog), so Lola stayed back with Miss Babs. Wandering through the hallways of the royal family home, I watched Nancy and her nana, arm in arm and nattering happily, and thought: “This holiday is definitely one for the family album.”
Tracey Davies

‘We would have happily carried on going to who knows where’: Interrailing to Turkey with our boys

I was due a sabbatical, my wife, Vicky, is a teacher and so gets long school holidays, and our boys Tom and Jack were nine and 11, which created an opportunity for an adventure beyond the usual Cornwall. So, in the summer of 2023, we took the train – to Asia.

I never did the Interrail thing in my youth, so why not in middle age? And kids up to 11 go free. (You still have to pay for reservations, and sleepers; it’s really not a cheap holiday). We got passes that give you 10 days travel within two months, and on an August morning we set off with backpacks to the tube, the boys mortified at the prospect of being spotted by their school friends.

Our route in brief: Eurostar from St Pancras; a couple of nights in Paris; Stuttgart; the first sleeper to Budapest (paprika chicken and a thermal bath); another overnight to Brasov, where we got off the train and spent a week travelling round Romania (Carpathian hiking, Ceaușescu opulence-ogling, birding in the Danube delta). Then on through Bulgaria to Istanbul, Ankara, İzmir, Selçuk. Ancient ruins (boo!), waterparks (yay!), the best breakfasts and bazaars, then cooling off in the Aegean. Back via Vienna and Amsterdam.

The trains were more than just a way of getting from A(ustria) to B(ulgaria), they were a big part of the whole thing. They started off lightning-quick, smooth, pointed at the front, with western Europe flashing past on fast-forward out of the window. As we got farther east, they got older, slower and clankier, but more romantic. We liked the ones with steps up to the carriages, and a window at the back to watch the track disappearing behind, literally a window to the past.

And we liked the overnighters – apart from a rude and rather retro awakening on the border between Romania and Turkey. There was a sharp knock on the door, then uniformed men were shining torches in our blinking eyes. “Your papers, please!” Is this a summer holiday, or a thwarted escape from cold war repression? Still, holidays are about memories, right? And now it’s one of them, and a story to tell.

That aside, there is something special about boarding a train at dusk, finding the right compartment, unpacking dinner – simit bread perhaps, interesting stringy cheese, tomatoes, a glass (plastic cup) or two of rough red, with the sun going down outside the window. Then a game of cards before pulling down our bunks and drifting off to the clickety-clack of steel wheels passing over the joints in the rails. That was the heartbeat soundtrack of our month away – that, and Kraftwerk’s Trans-Europe Express, which I definitely overplayed.

Yes, of course there were strops and disagreements, times we longed for a washing machine, a pool, wifi. But had there not been tedious things like jobs and school to get back for, we would have happily carried on – clickety-clack, clickety clack – to who knows where. And, possibly because we were often literally on top of each other, I don’t think we’ve ever felt closer as a family.
Sam Wollaston

‘Reclaiming the spirit of adventure for all of us’: a healing family trip to Norway

“Miss Butler says there’s a real live Viking ship in Norway and you can go and see it!” Challenge accepted. I’d been looking for inspiration and found it in my eight-year-old, buzzing with enthusiasm at the school gate. There was more to it: I’d been widowed three months previously and felt as though I had something to prove. When someone you love is ill, your world gets very small: it was our flat, the hospital, and then the hospice. My husband, Jay, and I loved to travel, living in China when our two boys were toddlers; they were now six and eight. I wanted to reclaim that adventurous spirit for all of us.

Walking across Oslo in the early hours of the morning, I wondered what on earth I was doing. Bus tickets could only be bought in convenience stores, which were all closed, so we walked for miles over dark bridges between islands of white light. Our Airbnb host left directions to find a key, hidden behind a rock in a park near his flat: funny looking back, but stressful that night in the dark after too many Scandi noir dramas.

Norway is expensive, so I packed plenty of snacks and tried to keep costs as low as I could. In Oslo, a 24-hour travel pass could last two days: an afternoon hopping on boats and buses, then ensuring we were within walking distance of the flat when it ran out the following morning. We explored brilliant galleries and played games on the roof of the opera house. We took a ferry to Hovedøya island and found 12th-century ruins in the woods, before sprinting to catch the last boat back. We walked round Sognsvann lake picking wild blueberries. The Viking Ship Museum did not disappoint, the dark carved wood so beautifully intricate, gleaming in the pale light (the museum is now being refurbished, due to reopen in 2027). With time left on our bus tickets, we visited Huk on a whim, which, it turns out, is one of Oslo’s nudist beaches. All part of a European education.

From Oslo, we took a train to Myrdal, then the steep Flåmsbana line to Flåm for a night in the youth hostel, before continuing by boat along the Nærøyfjord, then two trains to Bergen. It was thrilling. The boat trip was our favourite, passing remote villages and watching thundering waterfalls tumble down the sides of the fjord.

In Bergen, the cheapest place to stay was a berthed yacht in the harbour. When our host had to change mooring, we went along for the ride. A planned quick transfer became a longer trip when he saw how excited the boys were to be out on the water. He produced fishing rods and gave them their first fishing lesson.

The kindness of this young man felt like a gentle squeeze of encouragement from the universe. It was a trip that reminded me of my capabilities as a parent, my boys’ resilience, the inherent goodness of people, and the power of big skies and new horizons to help start to heal a broken heart.
Ailsa Sheldon

The union representing workers employed by the Writers Guild of America have reached an agreement on their first contract, ending a strike that lasted nearly three months.

The pending contract includes seniority and layoff protections, higher wages and outlines provisions for progressive discipline and a stepped grievance process, the Writers Guild Staff Union said in a statement Friday.

The union represents 116 members, who work in areas including legal, communications and residuals. They will vote on proposed contract in the coming days.

“Once ratified, the WGSU strike will end and Writers Guild staff will return to doing what we do best: defending the writers’ hard-fought gains and helping them build collective power,” the WGSU Bargaining Committee said in a statement.

WGA also said in a statement that they “are pleased to have reached a tentative agreement” with the union for its first collective bargaining agreement.

If ratified, members would see a minimum of 12% increases in pay for all Writers Guild staff over the course of the three year term. The salary floor would rise from $43,000 to $57,000. The staff would also see better protections against AI.

The strike began in February, weeks before the WGA was set to enter negotiations with the major studios, with the workers accusing their employer of bargaining in bad faith.

Over the last several months, tensions have been high between the two unions. In March, WGA had to cancel its Los Angeles-based award show, as it could “not ask our members or guests to cross a picket line.” The staffers also lost access to their healthcare in April, as they were no longer eligible.

Last month, Hollywood writers officially ratified their newest contract with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, with more than 90% voting in favor of the deal. The union represents 11,000 members.

There is no doubt Manchester United have given Bruno Fernandes a push to get this award.

United have been playing up Fernandes’ claims and also ensured the Portugal playmaker was promoted through some recent media engagements.

However, this would have been pointless had Fernandes not delivered at a time in the season when United needed him to deliver.

In October, when Fernandes spoke about qualification for the Champions League, few thought it was likely.

In January, when technical director Jason Wilcox told the United squad that was the aim despite Ruben Amorim’s dismissal, it seemed a tall order.

That they have achieved it with three matches to spare and could yet end the campaign nearer in points terms to the eventual champions than in any other season since Sir Alex Ferguson’s retirement 13 years ago, owes a huge amount to Fernandes.

Since returning from a rare injury against Burnley, Sunday’s victory over Liverpool was only the third match out of 16 in all competitions when Fernandes has not either scored a goal or created one.

His performances across the season have been consistently high and worthy of wider recognition.

Twelve months ago, when the debate over Fernandes’ United future raged, the question being asked was simply this: where would they be without him? The suspicion was they would have been much closer to relegation than they actually were.

The same could be asked now. The answer? They surely would not be looking forward to a Champions League return.

Members of the Writers Guild of America have officially ratified their newest contract with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers.

More than 90% of the 11,000 voting members in both WGA East and West registered their support of the new agreement. The voting period closed Friday at noon, after the union first struck a tentative deal earlier this month.

The new contract includes a robust healthcare plan in which studios pay over $320 million to sustain the health fund, higher residual rates — including a provision for a “success bonus” for the most popular streaming shows from 50% of the base residual to 75% — and language on the licensing of work for AI training.

“The first reaction [from members] was relief that we were not going to be going into a period of labor strife or strike authorization vote, in the midst of this contraction,” said John August, the co-chair of WGA’s negotiating committee, referring to the ongoing challenges in the industry. “Members want to work, and they want to get back to doing their job.”

Negotiations between the union and film and TV studios began in March, as the union’s current contract expires May 1. August said that, at the beginning of the negotiations, expanding the healthcare plan was a top priority. The union was able to secure increases that would raise the cap that companies pay to as high as $400,000 by 2028.

Union officials say the current cap has remained unchanged for two decades as healthcare contributions have steadily declined because there are fewer working writers.

But under the new contract, members would, for the first time, have to start contributing to their healthcare costs to the tune of $75 per month. The earnings threshold to get coverage would increase by about $7,000 to $53,773, leaving many members concerned about the higher cost.

“This is all difficult. Healthcare in America is not a good situation. But we were really mindful, as we always are, of trying to make sure the career of writing is sustainable,” negotiating committee co-chair Danielle Sanchez-Witzel said.

Additionally, the contract terms have been extended from the WGA’s usual three years to four — though it is not the first time the guild has added more time to its deal with the studios. Sanchez-Witzel clarified that the four-year period for the new contract ”is, by no means, a standard. This is just what we needed this year and what we agreed to for this cycle.”

“We were here in 2026 trying to get some things that we didn’t get earlier [in previous negotiation cycles] and happy for the progress we made,” she said.

The WGA is the first of the Hollywood unions to strike a deal with the studios. AMPTP congratulated the WGA on the ratification in a statement released shortly after the vote totals were announced.

“This deal reflects a collaborative approach that supports both writers and the industry’s long-term stability,” AMPTP said.

SAG-AFTRA and the Directors Guild of America still need to negotiate new contracts.

The actors’ union began its negotiations in February and extended those talks in March, but paused to allow AMPTP to finish its deal with the writers’ union. SAG-AFTRA’s and the DGA’s contracts expire June 30.

AFTER the whirlwind success of No1 hit Stick Season, Noah Kahan didn’t rush back into the studio.

In fact, he stopped completely. Facing writer’s block and still processing everything that had happened, he stepped away for six months, forced to rethink not just the music, but what success meant.

His 2022 album Stick Season — rooted in Vermont and exploring mental health, identity and small-town life — transformed the singer from a cult folk artist into a global name.

Topping the charts in the UK, the record was also certified multi-platinum in the US, where it sold over four million copies and had billions of global streams.

Kahan was nominated for a Grammy for Best New Artist and the emotionally raw, nostalgic and deeply personal record was widely seen as one of the defining albums of the decade.

“I just couldn’t write for a while,” he confesses. “When I first got off the road, I didn’t make any music in a long time.

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“I spent months not doing anything and it was painful because I like to be busy.

“It took so much strength for me to push that feeling away.

“I’m aware of how rare the moment was, how big the moment was and how lucky and fortunate I was, but my whole life I was trying to prove to people that I had a place here. So when the huge moment was happening, instead of being like, ‘Yeah, I made it’, I was like, ‘Oh my god, how am I going to stay here?’.”

That pressure quickly took its toll. Kahan said: “Writer’s block is such a lonely feeling — it makes you feel like your value’s been taken away. I felt completely unable to open up about it, but I ended up reaching out to friends.

“Marcus Mumford really helped. He understood what it’s like to be under a lot of pressure and afraid of failing and gave me great advice.”

Kahan also had to redefine success. It was not chasing numbers — just being able to make music was enough.

He says: “I learned the hard way about burnout. Success is a double-edged sword. I’ve always said if I had any, or if my tour sells out, I’d be happy. But the second it sells out, you’re looking at the next thing to achieve.

“Starting off this new album was really scary. I had to realise I didn’t need to be the biggest artist in the world or where Stick Season took me. I didn’t need to be successful to be loved.”

Kahan is in London for a few days to promote The Great Divide, his fourth studio album, which is out next Friday.

Taking time off to reset both mentally and emotionally was essential to writing again.

“I’ve struggled with my mental health,” he says candidly.

“But I was struggling more than anybody knew. I’ve struggled with anxiety, depression and body dysmorphia, but it was the OCD that I hadn’t figured out.

“I was diagnosed with OCD last year. It’s not about washing my hands a thousand times — it’s obsessive thinking. I was struggling with a lot of self-esteem and confidence issues, but I’d never dealt with anything so acutely like OCD. I’m supposed to be the singer who’s open about his mental health, but I felt so much shame.

“I needed medical intervention and therapy, and I didn’t want to be open about that because I was afraid. It was frightening as I’d been stripped of

this thing I loved.

“I couldn’t express myself through music any more, and so I didn’t tell anybody and it came to a breaking point.”
Through help and time, Kahan started to recognise his disorder in ways he hadn’t before.

“Now I wake up knowing my day is not going to be decided by what I see on my phone,” he says when discussing how therapy has helped him.

“Before, I’d have 700 brilliant words of praise, but it would be the one negative word that would shatter me. For a long time, I thought I was crazy.”

In August 2025, Kahan married his longtime partner Brenna Nolan, bringing a new sense of stability to his life.

The singer has also made a Netflix documentary — Noah Kahan: Out Of Body. It captures this difficult period, which he sees as part of his healing.

He says: “Making the film was a strange but amazing process. Having people follow you around took time to get used to, but they captured a really honest moment for me. Watching it back with my family was emotional. It showed how we really are.

“It was hard seeing how unhappy I was then, but in the end, it told a beautiful story.”

He adds: “My family are on the new record. I love the song American Cars. It’s about my sister.

“Whenever things were tough at home, she’d drive up from New York in a rental car, sunglasses on, just a total badass.

“She’s a surgeon, she just gets things done. She’d come back and help us through it, and the song came from that. Like, you need to come home and help fix this.”

The Great Divide is an album about friendship, miscommunication, regret and personal growth, and the title track became the guiding, emotional “north star” of the record.

He says: “Yeah, The Great Divide is really about a friendship that didn’t work out — one where I wasn’t able to express myself.

“And then there’s a song, Dan, which is about the opposite — being open, telling each other how much you care, facing hard truths. It ends in a way that really encapsulates the whole record. It’s probably my favourite song we made.

“There are a lot of stories,” he adds.

“It’s very emblematic of my childhood and a lot of people’s, young men in particular. Talking about feelings or asking difficult questions can feel like more discomfort than it’s worth, but the consequence is you don’t really know someone as well as you think you do.”

It’s an expansive album with 17 tracks, including the gorgeous We Go Way Back, Willing And Able, Haircut and Porch Light.

He adds: “I can’t wait to see crowds singing back Willing And Able, and Haircut started from that idea of someone coming back to town changed — like they’ve outgrown it. I felt like I’d become that person, only going home for inspiration instead of really being there.

“The song is almost someone singing to me, saying, I’m glad you’ve figured things out, but at least I’m still here and still real. You’ll leave again, and we’ll still be here. That’s what it’s about.

“Then, Porch Light is really about my biggest fear — how I’ve changed.

“I worry about going home and feeling like people see me differently, like I’ve become this ‘Hollywood’ version of myself, too big for where I’m from. That my relationship with Vermont has been changed by success and leaving Vermont for Nashville.

“But my family has always kept me grounded. They’re so happy for me. I wanted to write about that fear you have in your head before you even pick up the phone.

“You’re always anticipating what people might think. But there’s a silver lining in Porch Light. It’s about people saying, ‘We still care about you, we’ll still be here — but you need to figure things out first’.”

And that sense of place runs throughout the album.

“Yeah, the first and last songs really frame the album — I wanted them to feel like an intro and an outro,” Kahan says.

“The first track, End Of August, is this big, building track about that time of year in Vermont . . . It’s that moment when the tourists leave and the people who live there can finally come out of hibernation — like, ‘They’re gone’.”

He’s been working with Stick Season collaborator Gabe Simon, The National’s Aaron Dessner — best known for his work with Taylor Swift, Bon Iver and, more recently, Gracie Abrams — plus Ed Sheeran and Mumford & Sons.

Kahan says: “Gabe and I are really close — we went through a lot making Stick Season, so on this album we leaned on each other. He’s like a brother and the perfect person to go through this with.”

Aaron Dessner brought calm, structure and creative balance to the process.

“Aaron came in early on, but I was intimidated at first,” admits Kahan. “I looked him up on Wikipedia and was terrified of his success. This guy’s a legend.

“This was where Taylor Swift writes and Justin Vernon (Bon Iver), who works with Aaron, is my hero. Aaron has a magic to his music — a real understanding of what an artist is trying to say. But he’s a sweet, calm man who lives a very humble life in upstate New York on a farm.

“I needed him to stabilise me creatively. He is regimented in how he makes music and I need a routine. He is an amazing producer and this album sounds so f*****g cool because of what Aaron did.”

The sound on the new album is more expansive than Kahan’s earlier music and includes horns, guitar and richer production.

He says: “Honing on a sound and a theme started the process. Aaron’s place had dirt bikes, fishing rods and skeet shooting — all the things that I grew up doing.

“We couldn’t make the music in Vermont this time and the setting was really important, feeling connected to nature and beauty.

“It’s hard for me to make music in a city. Whenever I’m in a city, all I write is, ‘Get me out of the city’ songs.”

He adds: “We were also still in the middle of touring and I was over the Stick Season songs.

“There’s a lot of electric guitar on the new record, and bouzouki and mandocello, instruments we haven’t really used before. It’s a new confidence, but having spent three years on the road, I just want to make music that’s exciting to play live.”

It’s the connection with his audience that remains key.

He says: “I love it when I see fans singing back my songs as it means they’re feeling it.

“I’m always honoured when someone says my music has helped them to reach out for help. Though it can be overwhelming when people tell me they’re struggling with difficult thoughts.

“I don’t always feel equipped to handle that and I worry I’m not helping in the way they need. It’s hard when you feel you’re letting someone down.”

Now, his attention is focused on bringing the album to the stage.

He says: “I’m looking forward to playing these new songs. This record tells a story, so we’re working on the stage design, setlist and lighting to tell that story. We’re playing stadiums now, but I want fans to still have an intimate experience.”

Kahan returns to historic Boston baseball stadium Fenway Park, the home of the Boston Red Sox, for four nights this July.

He will also be back in the UK, including three nights at London’s O2 in November.

He says: “I’m excited about those dates, but my dream is to play Stamford Bridge.

“It’s my favourite sport and I love Chelsea FC. But I was told you can’t play there. I’ve achieved so much already, but that is my ultimate dream.”

• The Great Divide album is out next Friday, April 24.

NOAH KAHAN – The Great Divide

★★★★★