Filed under: Augustine, Bassot, Birthday, Bonnie, Cannes, Jill, Love, Nottingham, Paul, Paula, Relationships, Tattoo
So today is the last post for about 3 weeks.
No, it’s not because I am still upset about the loss of my ring – I am, but I’ve found a way to move past it which I’ll write about when I’m back – it’s because I’m about to go on a mass of travel, including talking at Cannes with Paula.
But in addition to all that, I feel I’ve reached a point where I have nothing to write about.
If I think about it, that’s stupid … because I NEVER run out of things and right now – with things like Dream Bigger – I’ve got more good things to write about than I have in years.
Which means I really need a bit of a break … and while the next 3 weeks will be the opposite of that, a change is as good as a rest so expect me to come back fizzing with stuff to shout about.
Of which 86.32% will be my usual pants.
The rest may be pretty good.
Talking of pretty good, I should highlight all that’s going to happen while I’m away.
First – of course – is my birthday. My 55th fucking birthday, which is nothing to celebrate whatsoever, hence it’s pretty convenient that’s the day I fly out of NZ.
Secondly, it’s Jill’s birthday on the 15th … which, yet again, I am missing. I could say that is my gift to her, but I’m gutted to be missing her special day. She is a truly special human … and the longer we are together, the more I appreciate all she is and all she does. She deserves so much more, but I hope she knows I love her with all my heart, even if I somehow seem to always be away on her most special of days. And then – as the final birthday fuck-up – I get to miss my mate Paul’s birthday.
What is even more ridiculous is I’ll be in Nottingham 2 days before his big day and yet – in another demonstration of my terrible planning skills – I’ve managed to make sure I’ll be gone just as he celebrates his double 5 day.
Bloody hell, I’m missing so many important dates, I just hope I make it in time to be on stage with Paula.
[Not just because we have a speech to do, but because I’ve not seen her in the flesh since we spoke at Cannes way back in 2023!]
Given the last few weeks have seen people leaving [Martin, Augustine and Lizzie]. lost wedding rings [me], broken toes [Otis], COVID [also Otis] … I’m quite nervous about getting on the plane, so to ensure you don’t miss me too much – you can listen to me blather-on the OnStrategy podcast when Fergus came to New Zealand.
At the very least, it will help you sleep … and maybe, just maybe, you’ll wake up in time to see a brand, spanking new, exciting blog post from me.
But I wouldn’t bet on it.
And if you don’t like that, you can marvel at the latest ridiculous tattoo I’ve had done.
I say ‘ridiculous’, but every one of them is personal to me.
This one is for Bonnie, our pooch.
You see, when I was growing up, my favourite biscuit in the whole-wide-world was the Bourbon biscuit.
It was nothing fancy. In fact, it was probably a bit pauper – I think you could get a pack from Asda or Glens for 10 pence, albeit that 10 pence back then was probably like 10 quid now or something. Anyway, the Bourbon was 2 chocolate rectangular biscuits sandwiching a chocolate creme filling.
And it was fucking yum.
Or so I thought …
You see I had one recently and I have to admit, it tasted more cardboard than chocolate.
But regardless, when we learned our dog was chocolate brown in colour, I rallied the family around the idea of choosing a name inspire by my fave Bourbon biccie … which is my long way of explaining this.
I know. I know.
So with that, I’m off to offend the stylish South of France residents with my speech and tattoo. So until I see you in a few weeks, have fun with the peace and quiet.
Given it’s my birthday a week today, you’d think I’d be in a good mood – but I’m not.
Not because of the age I turn, but because of the part of me I’ve lost.
You see a few weeks ago, I was at work when I realized I had lost my wedding ring.
Obviously, this would be devastating to anyone, but to make matters worse, my ring also incorporated my Dad’s wedding ring – which was the only thing of his that I still had.
I have no idea how this happened or where this happened.
I checked everywhere, spoke to everyone and revisited everything.
I went through office bins.
I went through every inch of my car.
I walked the streets, talked to passers-by and visited every place I’d been to that day.
But nothing.
To say I am still devastated is a massive understatement … because I am also angry and upset at myself.
I feel I was irresponsible in some way, even though I don’t know how.
But what I do know is that it was not only one of the only pieces of jewelry I have – not to mention the most important piece of jewelry I own – it was one of the only tangible connections to who I am and where I’m from.
Part of the metal had been wrapped around my Dad’s fingers … which always let me feel he was with me, even though he obviously was not. And my wife’s heart had chosen the other part of the metal that was wrapped around my finger … which helped me feel she was with me, even when we were apart.
Losing it – for me – feels like an act of disrespect and disregard to some of the people who matter most to me and I feel a real pain deep in my chest when I think about it.
I have tried to relive the day a thousand times.
Where I was.
What I did.
Who I was with.
And what makes it worse is that I feel the memory I need is there, but just out of reach …
So I push myself as hard as I can in an attempt to bridge the final gap and finally get the information I need.
Except I can’t … so I punish myself again and more.
I feel so sad and so sorry.
Sad for the situation but even more … sorry to my wife and sorry to my dad.
Sorry that they gave me something that symbolized how important I was to them only for me to go and lose it.
Worse, lose it but not realise it immediately.
It feels like I have just taken them – and all I am to them, and them to me – for granted.
It’s a painful feeling.
It’s one that I don’t know I will ever get over.
Because it wasn’t made of precious metal, it was made from precious people.
Filed under: 2025, Birthday, Childhood, Dad, Death, Immaturity, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Old, Parents
So it’s June.
That means we’re 6 months into the year already – WHATTHEACTUAL?!
It’s going to be a big month for me …
I’ve got a bunch of big meetings, a bunch of big travel, the small matter of giving a talk – with Paula – at Cannes and turning FIFTYFUCKINGFIVE.
Jesus Christ … I am now, proper old.
I appreciate the difference between 54 and 55 doesn’t seem massive, but let me tell you it is.
You see over the past few weeks, I’ve been receiving letters from the UK about my pension.
I’d never really received these before so it seemed a bit strange … strange enough for me to call them to find out what the hell was going on. And that’s where 2 things happened that shook me to my core.
The first was that they were letting me know that I was approaching a time where I could either ‘cash them in’ or move them into a different scheme. Given I’ve not lived in the UK for most of my adult life, there’s not much in there so I’ve never really paid attention to it.
It was at this point I asked how could I cash it in if I chose to … to which the very kind woman on the end of the line said:
“You just contact us 6 weeks before you turn 55 and we make it happen for you”.
I paused for a moment before replying,
“We are 6 weeks before I turn 55”.
And let me tell you, she was as shocked as me with that news – albeit her shock was because she hadn’t checked my date-of-birth whereas my shock was I could cash in – should I choose – my fucking pension.
How was this possible?
Pensions are for when people are ancient.
A 1000 years into the future. How the hell am I eligible for mine now?
But I guess I am … because I am ancient.
So ancient, I’m only 5 years off when my Dad died – which is terrifying for a whole host of obvious and less obvious reasons.
Except I don’t feel 55.
In fact, I feel younger than I have in decades. I am healthier too.
But despite that – and the fact my maturity level still resides around 14 years of age – you can’t stop getting older however hard you may try, so no doubt I am on the path to playing bowls each afternoon, complaining about the kids in the neighborhood ‘for making too much noise’ and smelling of wee. Or something.
And just remember before you all take the piss out of me.
You’ve got all this coming … so don’t be too cocky, because the one good thing about getting old, is you don’t give a fuck about keeping your mouth shut.
Not that I’ve ever had a problem with that – which I’ve literally just realized why Rupert Howell used to say I was the youngest old person he had ever met.
Oh God, as Monday’s go, this one sucks balls.
Happy fucking June.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Comment, Love, My Childhood, Nottingham
This week has been a week of – of me – serious posts.
So maybe it’s because I can’t keep that up for 5 days straight …
Or because Colenso won ‘Agency Of The Year’ last night in NZ …
Or that today would have been my Mum and Dad’s 61st wedding anniversary …
Or – also today – it is my friend, Heleen’s, birthday …
… but I thought I’d end the post on something else entirely.
When I was growing up in Nottingham, there was a busker affectionately known as ‘Xylophone Man’.
Part of the reason for this name was because he actually played a xylophone. The other part was he played it absolutely terribly. But with unbelievable enthusiasm.
If truth be known, all he did was run his mallet the entire length of the notes and then – at the end – he would flamboyantly raise his hand in the air as if he had just performed a concerto to a stadium of adoring fans. He’d do this over and over again … sometimes up the xylophone, sometimes down … but always with his big, toothless smile on his face.
I’d see him every Saturday in town [AKA, Nottingham City Centre], outside C&A … always playing, always happy, rain or shine.
But what is amazing is he was adored by all.
Rich, humble, famous, infamous, families, teens, drunks …
No one gave him any trouble because everyone was captivated by the enthusiasm and happiness he had for what he did and the sound he made.
His name was Frank, and when he died in 2004, the city got together to honor him … not just paying for his funeral, but also contributing to a plaque to commemorate who he was, what he did and where he did it.
Because what he gave us was far more than some xylophone ‘tunes’.
He gave the people of the city a common connection …
A way for us to step out of our lives and into our community …
A moment to bond, to smile, to laugh, to clap, to cheer. Both at the beauty of life and the absurdity of it.
And I think that’s what Frank liked the most. Being seen for who he was rather than being ignored because of who he wasn’t.
There’s a million different sort of Frank’s in this world.
Some may be in your office.
Some may even be part of your family.
But basically, they’re individuals who are happy with who they are and don’t aspire to be anything more than that.
And the funny thing is, while a lot of society often regard these people as lacking drive, value or ambition, I am increasingly of the opinion they’re the one’s who have got life worked out the best.
Because they appreciate what they have.
They enjoy and value what they do.
And they never waste their time, energy or emotions chasing things that only matter to those who spend too most of their life hiding who they are.
Writing this post, I found an old interview with Frank – and I have to say, he sounds exactly the same way as he played.
Eccentric.
Endearing.
Amusing.
The Frank’s of this world matter.
They remind us of what’s important.
They connect us to where we’re from.
The help define who we are.
At a time where we are surrounded – and as a byproduct, encouraged – to engage in ‘professional bravado’, the Frank’s of this World have, arguably, never been so important.
To remind us experience, trumps popularity.
That fulfillment, beats job titles.
And substance, smokes speed.
And while many may discount or ignore them the Frank’s of this world, it’s worth remembering he got a city commemorating him, whereas most of us are lucky if an ex-collegaue occasionally emails us.
Filed under: Birthday, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, Otis
Following the sadness of yesterday, today is pure joy.
I think Lisa would have absolutely loved that.
You see today, my brilliant boy – Otis – reaches a milestone …
He turns 10.
TEN!!!
Even though it seems only a few years ago he came into our life, he’s packed a hell-of-a-lot into his first decade.
Born in China.
Moved to LA.
Touched down in London.
And – it’s safe to say – thrived/thriving in Auckland, New Zealand.
But on top of all that change, he’s also dealt with a whole lot of challenges along the way.
Saying goodbye to his buddies …
Watching his Dad fall apart at the loss of his Mum …
Watching his beloved Rosie leave us …
Watching his Mum have a pretty big operation …
Go through his own operations.
Deal with a global pandemic and all the impact that had in terms of education, isolation and trepidation.
Then there’s been the new schools, new friends and – let’s not forget – the daily challenge of dealing with dysgraphia.
And while there’s definitely been some hard days, he approaches life with a level of kindness, compassion, curiousity, cheekiness and love that takes my breath away.
It’s all his Mum’s work and influence, but still … it’s incredible.
That doesn’t mean he’s naïve to the impact all these challenges have had – and continue to have – on him.
In fact, one of the things I’m proudest of is his emotional intelligence.
His ability to not just identify when he’s having a tough time, but to express it to others.
Of course it’s not easy hearing your kid tell you he’s feeling down, but I don’t take it for granted how fortunate I am that he does and that he feels he can.
It’s why I’m in awe of how his crew of mates are so supportive to each other and any challenge they’re facing or dealing with. That certainly wouldn’t have been the case back in my day – where it would have been used to taunt and tease mercilessly, even if not meant maliciousously – which is another reason why I hold more faith in Otis’ generation to make a positive difference to how we all live, than mine.
As you can probably tell by now, I could not be more proud of being Otis’ Dad.
Not just because he’s a great kid … not just because he’s my kid … but because he has made me a better person than I’d otherwise be.
They’re not empty words, I mean it.
OK, I wasn’t a total nightmare prior to him [I think], but he has definitely inspired me to be a better person.
More calm. More understanding. More compassionate. More open.
I appreciate some of my colleagues may raise their eyebrows in surprise reading this – or they would, if they read my rubbish – but as much as I may be a short-fused, temperamental, call-a-spade-a-fucking-shovel, challenging, confronting, emotional prick … I was a whole lot worse before, haha. That’s why I know if Mum and Dad had got to meet him, they wouldn’t just adore him from tip to toe for being their first grandchild, but because they’d see how he has been able to inspire me to be better in ways they never quite pulled off. [Sorry Mum and Dad]
Now kids ‘growing up so fast’ is nothing new.
But as I’ve written before, the reason parents can handle it is because at every stage of their kids ‘accelerated development’ they get introduced to a new trait they fall in love with … a trait so adorable that it helps them let go of the last trait they thought they could never live without.
Now some of these traits are ‘stereotypically cute’.
A smile.
A sound.
A reaction.
An evolutionary development. Or sometimes, something they just love to do … which in Otis’ case, was sweeping – be it the floors of home, cafes or even Shanghai streets. Which he has DEFINITELY grown out of. Unfortunately, ha.
But as they get older, these traits evolve in more ‘unique’ ways – and yet are still utterly adorable.
For example, right now Otis is in the ‘moments of cringe’ phase of his development. Or should I say, I am igniting that in him.
It could be because of a song I’m listening to … a program I’ve watched … a phrase I’ve said … but the result is him laughing his infectious, cheeky laugh and telling me how cringe that is.
And you know what? I love it and I think he loves it too because in a weird kinda way, it’s a bonding moment between us.
Something that’s ours and no one else.
But I also love it because it reveals his growing independence, evolution and frame of reference and surely, if there is any ‘marker’ for a parent to check if they’re doing their part OK, it’s that?
So to my wonderful, delightful, brilliant son, I say this.
Dear Otis.
Congratulations on hitting double digits – it’s a big moment in anyone’s life.
And while you may feel it’s taken you an age to get here, don’t wish things away too quick.
You’re a brilliant kid.
Not just in who you are, but how you are …
Stubborn on the right things, effervescent in everything else.
That’s about as perfect a combination as anyone could hope for …
It means you don’t spend so much of your time looking forwards you fail to see all you can squeeze out of the present.
The weird, the silly, the wonderful and the ridiculous.
That stuff matters.
Not just for enjoying now, but for getting the most out of the long life of double figures ahead.
So keep doing all you’re doing, because you’re playing it great.
The good, the bad, the happy and the hard.
Dealing with life with honesty and grace.
No arrogance or distain, just consideration and deliberation that belies your years.
A desire to do the right thing, even when you occasionally find yourself having done the wrong.
It’s an honourable way to live and we’re lucky to be witnesses to it.
So keep playing your own rhythm.
Don’t let others try and drown you out with their melodies and noise.
We’re so very proud of who you are and excited to see who you will become.
So enjoy those double digits, but don’t start acting quite like them yet.
There’s a lot for you to leave your mark on today, as well as tomorrow.
Happy birthday, dear Otis.
We love the hell out of you.
Mum and Dad
xxx
