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, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Family, Home, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Nottingham
I watched something recently that made me happy, jealous and sad all at the same time.
I know … I know … they’re the sort of emotional extremes you’d normally associate with a psychopath – but hang in there.
I’ve written a lot about how much I loved my parents. How much I still do.
So many of the decisions and choices I’ve made in my life have been influenced by me wanting them to feel proud of me – even though they’re no longer here and I know very clearly that they were already.
But despite that, I still do stuff that is driven by a desire to thank them for being brilliant parents … to let them know that despite all the moments of ‘stupidity’ that I have embraced throughout my life, the lessons, encouragement and love they continually showed me, were never taken for granted.
Even more so because they never wanted anything from me.
Nor did they ever ask anything of me.
All they desired was that I choose a life of fulfillment over contentment.
It took me a long time to work out what that meant, but once I had worked it out – it fundamentally changed how I lived my life. Giving me clarity at times of confusion or complexity. Hell, it’s one of the main reasons I didn’t go back to the UK when I faced some truly challenging situations while living overseas … because even though I knew they’d love it if I’d gone back [and I’d have loved it too] – I felt I would be disrespecting the gift they’d given me by encouraging me go and explore the world when they were facing such personal hardship through Dad’s illness.
We talked a lot about this when Dad became ill.
I was due to go to Australia when Dad had his stroke. Suddenly I didn’t want to go … I wanted to stay with them and help, which was my new plan right until the moment I told my parents about it.
“NO!” they said.
This was not something they were willing to allow.
Of course they massively appreciated the consideration, but they wanted me to go and live my life rather than – as they saw it – be held back by their situation. Given how hard their situation was, it is fair to say that no one – least of all me – would have blamed them if they had asked me to stay, but they didn’t and I think part of that is because they knew that had I not gone then, I would never have left … and that was an outcome they were never going to allow.
That does not mean life wouldn’t have been good if I had stayed – I loved my parents and I loved Nottingham – but it is also fair to say the life I get to live and enjoy now is nothing like the one I would have experienced if I’d remained. As I’ve written many times before, everything I have in my life today, bar my relationship with my best friend Paul, is because I left the UK.
My family.
My career.
My lifestyle.
My experience.
My experiences.
Every single bit of it … which is why their actions are not only an incredible example of ‘unconditional love’, but also proof of how well my parents knew who I was and – with a bit of encouragement – who I could be.
What a gift.
What generosity.
Which may explain why I felt such a compulsion to repay their love. I don’t mean that just in terms of chasing a life of fulfillment, but in trying to help them make their life easier, happier and – dare I say it – more comfortable.
You see, whatever way you look at it, life wasn’t easy for them. In fact it never was.
Money was always very tight and now, with Dad’s health – and Mum caring for him 24/7 – it had now become even harder.
And while I did what I could, I was not earning the money that would allow me to do what I really wanted for them which was:
Pay off the house and buy Dad a yellow 1970’s, Rolls Royce with white-walled wheels.
In that order.
But hope and reality are separate beasts and even if I could have pulled it off, I know they would have lost their shit over it, because to them, they’d tell me I should be focusing on my future, not theirs.
Which leads me back to the beginning of this post and how I saw a clip that made me feel happy, jealous and sad all at the same time … because I got to watch a kid do this for his parents. Not the Rolls Royce bit, but the house.
I love it.
I love the reaction of the Father.
The slow realisation followed by the cavalcade of emotions …. pride, relief, gratitude and love.
I can only imagine how good the son felt to be able to do that for his folks.
And while my parents did – in the end – get to pay off the family home, it was not because of me but because of an insurance payout they received for a car accident they’d been involved in 5 years prior. And while I wish they hadn’t had to experience the accident to be able to pay off the home, I also know how happy it made my parents – especially my Dad, who knew he was nearing the end of life and so it reassured him Mum would be safe – but even then, I still wish I’d been able to do this for them.
Of course – as my career took off – I was able to repay/spoil/look after my Mum – but while I may still look at that clip with a mixture of emotions, I comfort myself knowing it has nothing really to do with buying your parents a home and everything to do with celebrating a loving, caring family and viewed through that lens … I know my parents knew how grateful I was for all they did and all they were.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Creativity, Family, Mum, My Childhood, Parents, Technology, Television
I’m old.
Fucking ancient.
And yet, despite 1000’s of years passing between my single digit years and now, there are some things I remember clearly and dearly. One of those are the kids TV shows I watched growing up.
Not all of them, of course, but some.
Trumpton.
Campbellwick Greene.
Why Don’t You.
The Magic Roundabout.
Rhubarb And Custard.
Pipkins.
Mr Benn.
Mr Benn was one I particularly liked.
It was a cartoon about a man – Mr Benn – who would leave his house and visit a fancy-dress shop nearby.
Each episode, the owner of the shop would invite hum to the changing room to try on an outfit before ushering him through a magic door at the back of the changing room. From there, he would enter a world linked to whatever outfit he was wearing and go on a small adventure.
Each episode would end with him reappearing back in the changing room holding a small souvenir connected to where he’d just been and that would be it.
It was short, innocent and – for a 5 year old in Nottingham – bloody brilliant.
A window into other world’s and possibilities.
A chance to explore and imagine.
A taste of what could await.
I have probably not seen an episode of Mr Benn for almost 5 decades and yet it still has a warm place in my heart. If you asked me how many episodes I’d have watched, I’d have probably said hundreds … watching them either with my Mum when they were on at lunchtime or later in the afternoon when I was home from school.
So you can imagine my surprise when recently I saw this …
WHATTHEFUCK!???
If finding out Mr Benn’s house was a real place wasn’t amazing enough … I then discover there were only 13 episodes ever made.
THIRTEEN?
I am in utter shock.
I’d have bet everything I own saying I’d watched more than 13 different episodes.
Fuck, I thought I watched nearly all of that in a single week.
I don’t know if I’m more confused by the fact I thought I’d watched hundreds or that they only made 13.
Why so few?
It’s not like it was amazing animation.
What else of my childhood was a lie?
Was pulling a ’64 pavement slab wheelie’ on a Raleigh Grifter not really legendary?
Was Sarah Holtham not actually the prettiest girl in the World?
Was the Philips G7000 not really the cutting edge of technology?
Was the Argos Catalogue a compendium of tat rather than gold?
Were Hedgehog Flavored Crisps a bit shit?
I don’t know if I can ever recover from this …
Before I saw that image I thought I’d had a great childhood and now …
So thanks a lot Mr Benn, you’ve just fucked my entire childhood … but I’ll still go visit your house next time I’m in London.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Alcohol, Aspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Beer, Career, Childhood, Comment, Culture, Friendship, Mischief, My Childhood
I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since I was 15.
That means almost 40 bloody years!!!
And yet, over the years, I’ve been arrested for being drunk and disorderly all over the World … even though in reality, I was just being a stupid idiot.
A sober, stupid idiot.
For people who know me, that shouldn’t be too hard to imagine … however the reality is ‘being a stupid idiot’ is why I stopped drinking in the first place.
Not because I ever had a problem with how much I drank – if truth be told, I only ever got properly ‘drunk’ twice in my life and, being so young, meant I never had too much access to alcohol in the first place – but because I had a problem with feeling out-of-control.
I appreciate that may make me sound like a psychopath, but what’s even stranger is that I have a very addictive personality.
Over the years, that’s got me into a bunch of different types of trouble … which is why I am so glad my addictive side is offset by also being in possession of a stubborn-as-a-mule side.
What this means is that if my addictive side goes too far, my stubborn side kicks in and stops me dead.
I don’t just mean ‘stops me’ for that moment, I mean it stops me doing whatever it is I was doing, for good.
It’s like the ultimate flex … showing my addictive side that as influential as it thinks it is, it decides what I do and don’t do. And nothing proves that more by ensuring that when it stops me, it never ever lets me do it again.
It’s why I stopped drinking alcohol.
It’s why I stopped playing fruit machines.
It’s why I – eventually – stopped eating so much shit.
It’s also why I never tried drugs because it’s a given I’d have gone all in on them.
However, I am a bit confused why it hasn’t stepped in to stop me walking around like an idiot. But then, I guess I am choosing to do that rather than because I have a compulsion to – which is, arguably, even scarier.
Or sadder.
Anyway, I am writing all this because I read something recently that triggered all these thoughts.
It was something the actor/host Rob Brydon said this about the best time to be in a movie.
I love that. I love it for the objectivity, the vulnerability and the self-awareness.
Some people dream of being in a movie.
Some people dream of writing a hit song.
Some people – god forbid – dream of working in advertising.
And that’s great, until you let that define who you are.
Because the moment that happens, you’re no longer in control of who you are.
You are at the mercy of those around you.
Desperate for the acclaim. Hurt by any criticism. Doing all you can to stay where you think you are .. and yet, always craving to be something more.
Some companies actively try to cultivate this attitude …
Making you feel you’re special for being where others aren’t.
Letting you enjoy the trapping of industry success and clout.
Feeding your confidence with stories of acclaim and fame.
But while this is going on, they’re slowly changing the dynamic.
Shifting you from a position of strength to dependency.
Turning the screw until they’re the one in control.
Where you’ll be complicit to whatever keeps you in favour.
Because to be let go by them would feel like you no longer exist.
Until they decide you don’t.
Trust me it happens.
It’s kind-of why I started Corporate Gaslighting.
Because the way they win is creating the conditions of control. And shame.
But this post has taken a bit of a turn …
Because while that quote from Rob Brydon may be about the dangers of getting what you want, it wasn’t the point I was originally using it for this post.
The real reason was that when I read it, it reminded me of something The Chemical Brothers once said.
Something to do with alcohol consumption – which is where this post started, just to connect the dots in case you were as lost as I appear to have been.
You see, they were once asked, “What’s your favourite part of being drunk”.
To which they gave one of the best answers to any question I’ve ever heard:
“The second before you know you’re going to be sick”.
Those are the words of someone who has been there more than once.
Who has learned the lessons of excess the hard way.
Who’s personality is all addiction, and no stubborn.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Bonnie, Childhood, Family, Food, Health, Holiday, Mental Health, Rosie, Walking
As many of you know, over the last year, I’ve got healthy.
Through exercise and a very regimented and controlled calorie/sugar/carb diet [except on Christmas and Birthday’s where I eat a whole loaf of Sourdough with salted butter and raspberry jam] I’ve lost over 46kg.
Or said another way, I’ve lost the equivalent of my 10 year old son.
Not only that, but maybe the first time in 40+ years, I am in the healthy BMI range.
Yes, I know the whole BMI system is currently being evaluated because frankly, it’s not fit for purpose, however this is still a huge thing for me.
But not the biggest thing. Oh no …
Because despite now eating well, dressing better and basically being in the best health of my adult life, the biggest difference in me is this:
Yep, that’s my walking chart for January. Or should I say, for most of January.
And full disclosure, of the days shown, 10 were during the festive break and another 10 days were when I was not allowed to drive due to my eye problem.
But, even then, I walked over HALF A MILLION STEPS in 28 days.
HALF A FUCKING MILLION.
That’s 19,000 a day!!!
And you know what, I loved every step of it.
I walk before work.
I walk on client calls.
I walk in the lunch break.
I walk when I get home after dinner.
I’m a fucking walking machine, and yet a little over a year or so ago, I’d have probably driven to the shower if I could.
Of all the things that have happened on my health journey, my love of walking has probably been the most surprising. But what it also has done is reveal how I used to manage stress.
Truth be told, I never thought I suffered with stress.
Sure, there were the odd times it was tough, but generally I thought it was all OK.
However when I decided to sort myself out, I would continually catch myself walking to the fridge. Not because I was hungry, but because I was looking for a distraction or a diversion from something related to work.
I’d deal with my ‘auto-pilot fridge visits’ by forcing myself to go for a walk instead … however over the weeks I realized how often I was out pounding the streets which revealed to me, arguably the first time, how much stress I was probably dealing with throughout my life.
I should point out that when I say ‘stress’, I don’t mean anything like so many people have to deal with.
For me, it was more mundane stuff … like how I was going to write a deck or how was I going to cram all my meetings in.
But here’s the strange thing …
Despite walking so much, I somehow am able to do so much more.
Not because I have more energy – I’m not really sure I do – but because I have more inner calm.
I call it ‘Zen Ferocity’ … which sounds far too new age bollocks, but in essence means by being calmer, I have been able to put more intensity into what matters rather than what distracts.
Of course this shouldn’t be a surprise as there’s so much evidence on how running helps the mind … but when you have gone from walking to the fridge to walking 19,000 steps a day, it’s still a gratefully received fist in the face.
But what this walking has also done is prepare me perfectly for welcoming this into the Campbell home:
Meet Bonnie.
Or to give her, her full name – courtesy of Otis – Bonnie Bourbon Biscuit. [But we’ll just be sticking with Bonnie, hahaha]
She was only 24 days old in that photo and we don’t get her until April … but we have a very excited household.
Even our beloved Rosie may have thought she was cute …
Maybe.
And while I know owning a dog is a very different proposition than owning a cat, I can be sure of one thing.
She’s not going to be wanting for walks.