Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Birthday, Death, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
Today would be Mum’s 94th birthday.
And even though she died in 2015 – aged 83 – there is a part of me that still thinks she could have lived to this age if her heart operation hadn’t gone the way it did.
Not that the surgery was bad … the problem was that Mum’s heart condition was caused because of an illness she had as a small child and no one had realised its impact until things started to go a different way in the operation than anyone expected or had planned for.
But if that hadn’t happened … I fully expect Mum would be alive.
Actually, not just alive, but living.
Slower – for sure – but still curious, interested and engaged in life because as I’ve said many times, she always told me to be interested in what others are interested in, which was a belief she didn’t just follow, but lived every day.
In a perfect world, she’d now be living with us in NZ … and despite her being fiercely independent, I think she would have done it.
I even think she would have loved it.
Being nearer only son.
Seeing her only grandson.
Chatting to her daughter in law.
Patting the lovely – but slightly stupid – Bonnie.
God I would have loved to have witnessed this. To have witnessed her living in the peace and tranquility of our house in the trees. And while I am sure she would have occasions where she felt far from home – be that Italy or England – I really believe that would be countered by the safety, comfort and warmth she’d experienced being close to people who love her and that she loved.
I always remember how much she loved me coming home to visit her.
How she loved how the house because a cauldron of noise as I – and my friends – filled it with laughter and chatter.
And while we would have ensured she had her own space for her own life, I suspect that she would have spent more time with us than alone. Or she would once we told her we loved her hanging out with us – as I also suspect she’d be so worried she was crowding us out, she would stay out of her way.
Because Mum always was doing more for others than herself.
Looking out for them.
Wanting to do the best for them.
And while that is kind and generous and loving – I wanted her to feel cared for.
I wanted her to feel loved, protected and put first.
And while we had our moments of niggles as I tried to do this for her – while she did all she could to resist it – towards the end we had found a place of harmony and understanding which meant the world to me, because that is how we were for most of our life together and how I would have loved to have seen our life together if we had ever been able to bring her to NZ.
But alas that didn’t happen.
In fact, when Mum died a lot that I am quoting in this fantasy extention of my family life, hadn’t happened either.
We hadn’t left China and moving to NZ wasn’t even on the radar.
Hell, we had to move to America and England before that was to happen – and even then that was motivated as much by COVID as it was by Colenso.
Then there’s the fact we had only just had Otis … and don’t even get me started on Bonnie.
And yet, that image of Mum with us resides in my heart. I’d truly have loved it and so today – in her honour – I’ll be cooking a dinner that I know she would have wanted to cook for us.
Nothing fancy, but a true Italian pasta sauce – simple and yet delicious as hell.
Because the one thing Mum taught me was that love isn’t complicated, it’s just showing you care.
Happy Birthday Mum, I love you so much.
I wish I had more photos of you that I could use in these posts.
The fact I don’t just reinforces how you have gone and how much I miss you.
So a big kiss to you and to Dad.
You’re forever with me.
Rx
Filed under: 2026, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis
I’m not back, but today would have been my Dad’s 88th birthday so I had to mark the occasion.
Eighty Eight!!
That means he’s been gone 28 years. Or said another way, literally half my life.
HALF! That is both wild and seemingly impossible.
And yet it’s true, which is why I’m extra happy he’s been in my thoughts a lot recently. Not that he was ever out-my-mind, but his presence has been more – errrrm – present and I like it.
I loved being an only child.
I was spoilt with love, support, care and attention.
I never wanted for brothers or sisters and always adored the company of Mum and Dad.
Even during my angst-ridden teenage years.
I feel extremely grateful for that … though it was only when I saw the relationship some of my friends had with their parents, that I truly sppreciated how lucky I was.
Which is why when my parents died, the loss was overwhelming.
In some ways, it felt like I experienced their death twice.
Because while Dad was first and Mum followed 16 years later – there was a moment immediately after Mum was gone that I truly realized – and felt – that I was truly alone.
It felt weird and sad and scary …
A strange mix of abandonment and feeling like an orphan.
It was a very challenging time, even though I was an adult with my own family.
In fact, if it wasn’t for them, I genuinely wonder how long it would have taken for me to feel I had got back on an even keel, because even with them, it took years.
The thing with death – as I’ve written many times before – is that while people are very supportive towards you at the moment of loss, within 24 hours they have generally all moved on with their lives. That’s not meant as a diss … they have their own issues and challenges to deal with … but the impact of that is you feel even more alone.
But if I think I had it bad when Dad died, my poor Mum had it worse.
Not only had she lost her husband of 35 years – a man she had been taking care of 24/7 for over 3 years after he suffered multiple debilitating strokes – she also saw her only son leave her to go back to Australia where he lived.
When I try to put into words the sense of isolation and loss I felt when I realized I no longer had any ‘real world’ parental support, I think of how Mum must have felt those first few days after losing Dad and feel so sad that maybe I didn’t really understand it until too late.
Didn’t really understand it till I wrote this post.
But as I said, my Dad – and Mum – have been on my mind a lot recently.
Or should I say, part of my energy.
It’s given me a real sense of comfort and warmth rather than just a feeling of loss.
They come up in conversation.
Everyday moments trigger good, funny and special memories with them.
When I talk about them, it in a weird blend of past and present tense.
Put simply, it’s lovely.
A feeling I’m closer to them than I’ve been in years.
Of course, I would do anything to still have them around … have them be part of my life and my families … share, experience and build more moments and memories … but as dead parents go, this is quite a wonderful period I am having with them.
Which is why today – on what would be Dad’s 88th birthday – I won’t just be thinking of him and feeling the loss of him not being around any longer, I’ll be talking to him and letting him know that despite being gone half my life, the love and impact he had on me for those first 26 years of my life still have a grip of comfort, adoration and respect.
Which as proof of doing a good job as a parent goes, is pretty much the pinnacle.
So happy birthday Dad. I still feel very lucky I get to call you that.
Rx
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Birthday, Emotion, Love, Mum & Dad, Nottingham
As people who know me will know, I can be a sentimental old fart.
And nothing sums it up more than this …
That shop you are looking at is in Nottingham.
A few weeks ago, I was there and had some time to just walk around the streets.
It’s weird being in a place you identify so strongly with, but feel such a stranger.
Given how many countries I’ve lived in, there’s a bunch of places around the World that ignites this feeling in me, but Nottingham takes it to another level.
This is where I was born. Where I was raised. Where so much of my identity was forged.
So where many people may walk past that bubble tea shop and not give it a second thought, I remember it as the jewelers where my parents bought me my first ‘good’ watch.
A watch that cost over 100 pounds … which was beyond anything I could ever imagine, both in terms of how much a watch could cost or that my parents would – or could – spend that much on me.
I remember it very clearly.
I was about to turn 18 and – after the watch I wanted turned out to be ‘shite’ – my parents decided that as this was going to be their present to me, we should go to a place where the people knew what they were doing and could ensure I got what I wanted.
So we went there …
And while I can’t remember the name of the shop, I remember the experience of being in it.
They were so helpful and kind. But more than that, they were excited for me.
They were seeing a boy with his Mum and Dad getting a watch for what was a very significant moment in his life
Significant because it meant I was officially an ‘adult’.
Significant because this was my first ‘proper’ watch.
Significant because my parents were acknowledging their only son enter the next stage of life.
Significant because this shop was the one we chose to help be a part of all of this.
It’s why – despite the fact he subjected me to one of the weirdest, wildest and most amazing professional experiences of my life – I have a deep respect for Clotaire Rapaille … the French [if you hadn’t worked it out already by his name, haha] consultant.
Part of his approach is to identify the first memory or exposure people have towards a brand or product – believing it plays such a pivotal role in how they will see that for the rest of their life – it provides the most powerful and meaningful foundation for how to engage them.
For example …
He was the guy who got Jeep to make their headlights round, reflecting horses eyes.
He was also the guy who helped Nestle turn Japan – a traditional tea drinking nation – into one of the biggest coffee drinking places on the planet, by getting them to spend 20+ years introducing ‘coffee flavours’ into all manner of their food products.
He was also the guy who – having been paid an OUTRAGEOUS amount of money – presented me, on behalf of the client we were both working for at the time, a single piece of A4 with half a page of writing on it.
To this day, I’m still not sure if it was the work of a genius or the greatest rug pull ever … but we adopted a lot of his viewpoint and, I have to admit it worked. In fact, it had such a profound effect on me, I adopted his approach as part of mine from there on in … and still do it to this day.
Which may all help explain why people in Nottingham might walk past that shop and see a place selling Bubble Tea – and may think it has only ever sold Bubble Tea – I, on the other hand, see a place that represents coming of age.
A place that provides me with warmth, love and family … and if that doesn’t explain why I’m a sentimental old fart, nothing will.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Birthday, Jill, Nottingham, Paul
After my birthday and Jill’s birthday – today is the last birthday of those closest to me.
Paul.
I have to say I love how close they all are to each other, it makes them – and us – all feel extra special and close.
At least to me.
And while I am on the other side of the planet from him these days, I will see him soon when I pop in on my latest multi-country stupid trip in a few weeks.
I can’t wait.
Not just because it’s been a year since I last saw him, but because we have – as I wrote here – gone through a pretty tough time for the first time in our friendship.
But while that has been challenging, it never challenged what he means to me.
As I have said many times, now my parents have died – he is the person that has been longest in my life.
And shit like that matters. Especially when you don’t have many people you call ‘a friend’.
Which is why I am extra happy to celebrate his birthday today and very excited to share some time with him soon.
Because if life is a game of luck, where he is concerned, I won.
So happy birthday my dear Paul …
Because while every bit of trouble I’ve ever got into my life can be traced back to you … so can all my greatest childhood memories.
And I look forward to making more with you for years to come.
Love ya Hilly.
Today is Jill’s birthday.
You may be wondering why I’ve used a photo of Elvis, but keep reading and all will be revealed.
Anyway, because I know she never reads this blog, I can tell you it’s a big birthday for her.
Not that she looks it …
I still remember when we first started going out and I was rushed to hospital for an emergency operation.
She came into the hospital to see me and asked where I was, to which the nurse said, “Are you here to see your Dad?”
I mean, I knew my illness had made me look rough … but I didn’t know I looked that rough, haha!
Anyway, she is someone who never asks for anything …
Or wants to be made a fuss of.
For her, happiness is being surrounded by the family who love her and not being mentioned on this blog, haha.
And while I can definitely promise her the former, I am sorry to say I can’t do the latter … because this is a significant birthday and it needs to be celebrated and referenced.
And while our gift to signify the day doesn’t involve Elvis – as it did for her 30th and 40th – it does involve something that hopefully lets her feel just how special she is to me and to us, because if there’s anyone we want to know that – it’s her.
So Happy birthday my dear Jill, we hope you have an amazing day and we’re so lucky to have you in our lives.
Rx