Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Context, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Friendship, Fulfillment, Happiness, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Otis, Parents, Paul, Relationships, Rosie
When I was growing up, our back garden was a disaster.
Overgrown.
Tall grass.
Brambles.
Bushes.
Beautiful mayhem.
As a kid, I thought it was amazing.
Me and Paul would run in there and it felt like we were in the jungle.
From playing hide and seek to pretending we were soldiers, it could all happen there.
Then around the age of 5, Mum and Dad had an extension put onto the house and because the loan they took out for it was a bit more than they needed to have it built, they spent the rest on the garden.
Oh how they loved it.
They spent hours there.
Creating it. Cultivating it. Nurturing it. Admiring it.
My god, the way my dad treated his ‘sweet peas’ was enough to make me think he loved them more than me sometimes.
And while I still could play softball tennis with Mum on the patio, I always felt I had had something robbed from me – despite the fact there was a massive park down the road and huge fields of nothingness around the house.
So from there on in, while I could appreciate a nice garden, I always saw them as something that pushed me away rather than welcomed me in.
Until now.
I readily admit I had nothing to do with the garden we have in the home we have just bought.
I readily admit part of its appeal is that it’s mature, so feels natural rather than contrived.
And I readily admit I am still as shit and unenthusiastic about gardening as I ever was.
But my god, I am shocked at how much I love it.
I can stare at it for hours.
Sit in it for days.
Doing nothing but looking at it’s beautiful vibrancy and shades.
Seeing Rosie the cat stretch out on the deck like she has just hit ‘peak cat life’.
Watching Otis play on the swing hanging from the tree then looking at Jill picking up all the apples that have fallen from Otis’ adventure. Turning them into pies that we scoff or give to the neighbours in an blatant attempt to mitigate the mayhem we’ve caused in the first few months of living here with huge moving trucks blocking the road and electrical blackouts that we absolutely, definitely did not cause.
The idea of all this is about as foreign to me as you could get.
I’m a city person.
I like noise and bustle not nature and quiet.
Yet … yet … this is something very special.
Something I feel a real privilege to experience, which I acknowledge is only possible because of the privileged position I am in.
And while all these feelings could all be because of my age or because this house is our family home – regardless of the incoming NZ adventure – the impact of a simple garden has been far more than I ever imagined.
Which makes me think it could also have something to do with making me feel closer to Mum and Dad.
You see while our little garden at home was nothing like this, it was incredibly special to them.
Sure it was beautiful. Sure it was the fruits of their hard work and care. But it seemed to be a place that let them feel everything was going to be OK, regardless of the challenges.
And over the years, our wonderful little family faced many – but that garden always gave them comfort and joy.
A little piece of heaven.
Blossoming into radiant beauty and colour even after the harshest of winters.
Reminding them that the darkest times will always welcome a new spring.
And while as a kid I didn’t really like how that garden had robbed me of my jungle, I grew to appreciate it.
I saw what it did for my parents.
I still remember how my Dad stared in wonder at it after his stroke.
He’d been in hospital for months and was finally allowed home.
And while he needed a lot of care from Mum, that garden was like medicine for him. Helping him forget the pain he was in. Helping him forget the turmoil he was going through.
No longer able to talk.
No longer able to walk properly.
But here, facing the fruits of his love and labour, all was forgotten.
He was safe.
He felt nourished.
He was connected to something his body was not able to let him enjoy anymore.
He and Mum could transport themselves to a time and place where everything was OK.
And while I hope I never face the tragedy my Father suffered – and acknowledge this garden is from the toil of others hands – I feel I get what nature was able to do for Mum and Dad.
Because it isn’t just what grows in the garden, but what it helps blossom within yourself.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Agency Culture, Apathy, Apple, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Brand, Brand Suicide, Comment, Communication Strategy, Craft, Creativity, Culture, Egovertising, Fake Attitude, Honesty, Innovation, Insight, Loyalty, Management, Marketing, Marketing Fail, Presenting, Professionalism, Relevance, Resonance, Standards
One of the things I’ve found fascinating over the years is how many companies think all they need to do to keep employees happy is cash and perks.
Don’t get me wrong, cash and perks are very nice – and for some people, that’s all they need – however for a certain type of employee, there is another attribute that has equal, if not even greater, appeal.
Pride.
Pride in what they do.
Pride in how they do it.
Pride in who they do it for.
Pride in who they work with.
Pride in the actions of the past.
Pride in the ambitions for the future.
Pride in the standards the company lives by.
Pride in the companies standing in their field.
Now I get the C-Suite may like to think their employees are proud working for them – probably reinforced by countless questionable ‘monkey surveys’ sent by HR – however more often than not, they are confusing ‘having a job’ with ‘being proud of the job they have’.
Nothing highlights this more than when a company feels morale is down, because that’s the moment the spot-bonuses and/or impromptu office parties begin.
Does it work?
Sure. For a period of time.
However employees are no fools, they know the real reason for these ‘additional benefits’ is to keep them quiet rather than force the C-Suite to open up a set of issues they absolutely don’t want to have to deal with.
Why?
Because in the main, the issues are about them.
Specially the work they aspire for the company to make.
Look I get it … no one likes to face their potential failings, so if they can avoid it with spending a bit of cash, why wouldn’t they?
Well I’ll tell you why, because money can’t buy pride.
I say this because I recently saw a video of Steve Jobs talking about standards.
He’s made similar speeches over the years – with his ‘paint behind the fence’ being one of my favourites.
However I love this one because there’s a bit of bite in it.
A clear perspective on what standards he holds Apple too, rather than what the competition hold themselves too.
Sure, to some it could come across as arrogant, but I imagine to the people at Apple at that time, it induced the same feelings I have when I work for a company whose standards and ambitions were at least the same as mine or – hopefully – even higher.
Pride.
Confident.
Togetherness.
A sense of ‘us against them’.
That feeling you’re part of a place playing a totally different game to the competition. A special place. A place that does things right, even if people don’t quite get it yet. A place that attracts the best to do their best … but not in a way where you then feel ‘you’ve made it’ for being there. Instead, it’s a feeling of responsibility to keep the standards of name moving forwards. An intoxicating mix of expectation, judgement and encouragement all at the same time.
You can’t fake that.
You can’t buy it either.
So when the C-suite hand out promotions, payrises and parties in a bid to boost morale because the claims of doing great work are not convincing anyone … my advice is to save their cash.
Not just because the employees know exactly what they’re doing.
Nor because whatever they end up receiving, it still won’t buy their pride.
But because they could save a ton of cash by simply committing to doing things to the highest standards rather than the lowest … because at the end of the day, these people don’t need certainty, they just want possible and if they have that, morale will fix itself all by itself.
Filed under: Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Audio Visual, Brand, Brand Suicide, Chocolate, Comment, Crap Campaigns In History, Creative Brief, Creative Development, Creativity, Differentiation, Honesty, Luxury, Marketing, Marketing Fail, Premium
We have had some amazing ads for confectionary over the years.
Rolo.
Then, of course, the pinnacle … Cadbury Gorilla.
However one of the things I still haven’t quite understood is how we have also had some of the absolute worst.
I mean, for years, it was Ferrero Roche’s Ambassadors Table that was top of the shitness charts. An ad so bad, that it became great for its utter kitschiness.
And while no one ever really believed they were the chocolate favoured by diplomats, royalty and Ambassadors … it was a strategy that worked for many – from After Eights to Viennetta.
However there’s another ad that I’ve just seen that puts Ferrero firmly in second place.
They’re not saying they’re sophisticated.
They’re not claiming to be for special occasions.
They’re saying they are ‘so much fun’.
SO. MUCH. FUN.
Now don’t get me wrong, they’re a nice tasting bite, but fun?
They’ve never played video games with me.
They’ve never watched movies with me.
They’ve never even suggested you can use them as chess pieces.
What the hell is fun about it?
To answer this, let’s have a look at the ad they’re running shall we.
Did you watch it?
Did you survive watching it?
If it’s any consolation, that is still better than the one they ran last Christmas.
So, based on that monstrosity, they think they’re ‘so much fun’ because when you open up a pack, everyone comes out because they want to shove one of the caramel, chocolatey-hazelnut, nougat things right down their throat.
Which highlights 4 issues I have with this premise.
1. The client and the agency have no idea what fun actually is.
2. Even if it was ‘so much fun’, wouldn’t all confectionary be able to say that?
3. Where I come from, sharing something you like is cause for a fight, not fun.
So to dear old Toffifee … may I humbly suggest you sort yourself out.
Your ads are pants.
Your ingredients aren’t that unique.
The spelling of your name is absolutely horrific.
And most of all, your product is fair, but not fun.
Sort that out, and you can make Ferrero ads the most stupid again.
You’re welcome.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Audio Visual, Brand, Cars, Communication Strategy, Content, Embarrassing Moments, Entertainment, Marketing, Marketing Fail, Mischief, Porn
Years ago, I was asked the title of this post by an industry journalist.
I replied with, “it would say I was a prick”.
Given a bunch of people in the industry – not to mention my mates – have personalised number plates, it didn’t go down very well, however compared to this, they’re all saints.
Yep, that’s a real number plate.
Better yet, it’s not even a personalised one. [Someone checked]
That is the number plate the DVLC gave the car.
Now I appreciate that maybe you wouldn’t immediately see the perv potential of PU51BAD … but when it’s written out as PU51 BAD, you’d have to be Stevie Wonder to not see it.
And yet the owner of this Volvo – not sure if it’s a male, but a male was driving it – is happily driving around the UK with it.
Why? Surely they know what they’re doing?
Hell, it seems they even made sure the number plate clearly conveys its questionable words.
Surely they realise the only people who wouldn’t find this cringe worthy are 16 year old boys.
Or maybe I’ve got it wrong.
Given the image of the typical Volvo driver – especially the old Volvo driver – maybe this has given them the bit of an edge they’ve been craving for years.
No longer are they the responsible, safe, family man/woman driver … now they’re sexpests of the most public order.
And to think, Volvo spent untold billions to shed their ‘safe and boring’ persona when all they needed to do was get a perv numberplate.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Daddyhood, Family, Happiness, Home, Jill, Jillyism, Love, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
Yep that’s Jill playing Otis’ Ben 10 game.
Yes, that’s a Macca’s breakfast on the table.
And yes, that’s Rosie and our rocking-horse sheep watching on.
In fact, the only person not in this photo is Otis … who is a bit miffed his Mum has taken over his game.
Of course, Jill claims she’s just wanting to help him past a difficult bit.
But I know that face of concentration.
She’s in deep competition mode … determined to win at all costs … resistant to surrender regardless what she faces.
And right here, is a moment of my family I love.
Doing something [kinda] together and enjoying the ridiculousness of it all.
I love this.
I love that COVID has enabled me to have more of this with my family.
Which is why while I acknowledge the devastating impact it has had – and continues to have – on so many, what it has given to me is an opportunity to embrace and celebrate how precious my family are and how much I love being with them.
Even if Otis feels he’s being ‘game denied’ by his Mum.