Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Dad, Death, Gambling, Goodbye, Life, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
This is a weird post but I watched something recently that reminded me how grateful I am I was present for two of the worst moments of my life.
When I was younger, the idea of being with my parents when they were about to die was horrific to me. Not because I didn’t love my parents – but because I did.
Massively.
I’ve written a lot about how wonderful they were.
How grateful I am to have had them as my Mum and Dad … for their unshakeable love, support, encouragement and care – even when I pushed my luck with all that to the absolute extreme.
And it was that force of love that made me think being there when they were about to die, would be the worst pain I could ever experience.
And I was right. It is the worst pain. But it would have been even worse if I’d not been there when it was the end.
Because being with loved ones at the final goodbye is not really about you. It’s about them.
Letting them know they can go without being alone.
That the people who care for them the most are there to give them the love, support and acceptance they need to make their final step.
Is it horrible?
That doesn’t even come close to summing up how bad it feels.
Is it important?
Neither does that …
Because being with a loved one at the most tragic of times helps prepare you for welcoming in the memories of the best of times.
It won’t happen immediately.
It won’t happen without incredible pain and sadness.
It may – like it did for me – require therapy to help you deal with it.
But it will happen.
Because underpinning all of it is the knowledge you were there when they needed you most.
They say when you put a dog down, the last thing they look for is you.
That you are the person who has always given them the sense of safety and love that lets them live the happiest of lives.
Of course, humans are not dogs … but that sentiment feels right.
The ultimate demonstration of love is being with someone at the most painful of times you could both ever face.
And while I appreciate that some people will be physically unable to get there … and while I truly understand the idea of doing it is horrific and tragic … I implore you, if there is a chance to say goodbye at the final curtain – do it.
It is OK to feel scared.
It is OK to be upset.
It is OK to not know what to do or say.
But I assure you, going will make you feel better in the long run.
Because at the end, we all want to feel we showed how much someone mattered to us and we all want to know we meant something to someone … which is why I am eternally grateful I was able to be at my Mum and Dad’s side when it was the end for them. And while it took a long time to move past the final days that relived over and over again in my head – and while I hate I have to refer to the same few photographs I have of them over and over again – I am so happy my mind is now filled with the colour and joy they added to my life.
That they still do.
And I know they would love that too.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Cars, Dad, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Friendship, Love, My Childhood, New York, Paul
So recently I talked about how I was in New York I saw a bunch of things that triggered some deep nostalgia in me.
First was the bank of payphones at JFK airport … but then there were 2 cars.
The first was this bright yellow VW Golf soft-top.
On one level, it stood out simply because it’s bright yellow and it was a super sunny day.
But it was more than that …
Because not only did it seem to encapsulate what I thought America was like – specifically California, based on various TV shows I would watch as a kid – but it reminded me of what Paul’s Mum drove when we were growing up.
OK, so hers was more mustard than yellow, as I remember it.
And it was most definitely not a stop top … not in bloody Nottingham.
But they were the first family I ever knew that had TWO cars and that was the one that would ferry Paul and I to various activities as we grew up … so it is almost entirely associated with positive memories.
Of course, part of the reason my feelings towards this car were so positive is likely because of it’s excellent condition. It meant I didn’t have to face how old it was which meant I just connected to how present and perfect it was.
Which kind-of explains why this other car stopped me in my tracks as I was walking down a backstreet in Chelsea.
That is a Jaguar XJ-S.
Another old car in utterly excellent condition.
At the time it came out, it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
Sure, now I know it was influenced by their iconic E-Type, but as a kid it was like it had come out of outerspace.
Powerful … sleek … aggressive yet sophisticated. It was a car that was seemingly designed for the rich, famous and fast living, so it was no surprise when Simon Templar – from the British TV show, Return Of The Saint – drove one in every episode.
As a kid, The Saint was cool as fuck.
Sure, 40+ years later I realise he’s basically a Temu-James Bond character … but back then, I wasn’t old enough to watch Bond movies, so The Saint was the closest thing I had to an accessible, real-life-relevant TV/Movie hero.
So you can imagine my glee when my Uncle Andrew turned up at our house one day driving an XJ-S as his new company car. [He was a high-flying sales manager for American Express, which is why he got this beast compared to classic company car of the age, the Ford Escort]
OH MY GOD … it was like a movie star had come to visit us.
But it got even better, because Uncle Andrew said my Dad could take it for a drive …
HOLY FUCK!!!
So even though it was quite late, I was allowed to squeeze in the backseat – while still wearing my pyjamas – while Dad positioned himself in the drivers seat, accompanied by his brother-in-law before we sped off.
And while we were only gone for about 10 minutes, one part of that one-off trip is burned into my memory.
Dad drove us down the ring road and as we approached the roundabout, I remember him saying to Andrew:
“The brakes are a bit spongy”
To which my Uncle leaned over to see the speedo and said,
“That’s because you’re doing 100mph”.
My Dad was both shocked and impressed, whereas I – on the other hand – was in awe, both of the car and my Dad.
ONE HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR.
IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE!!!
You have to understand, our family car was – if memory serves me – either a bottom of the range Ford Escort, a bottom of the range Leyland Marina or an absolutely horrific Fiat 128 … or said another way, a car that couldn’t hit 100mph even if you were going down a steep hill with a tail wind behind you and even if it could, it would be so loud and the car so shakey, that your body would be crushed to smithereens before you reached a stop. But here we were, in a car that was not only able to reach ‘rocket speed’, but was able to do it with such smoothness and luxury that you didn’t even realise what was going on. Basically, you imagined it was what Concorde would be like it it had 4 wheels and could go on British roads.
I can’t remember what year this happened but I remember every bit of what happened which is why when I saw that Jaguar XJ-S on the street, it immediately took me back to that night. With my Dad. Sharing a moment neither of us ever had experienced before.
A bonding moment that I treasured then and treasure even more now.
Which is why – whoever the owner of that Jag is – thank you. You gave me a chance to have a little road trip with my Dad in NYC and I’ll forever be grateful for that.
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, America, Asia, Auckland, Authenticity, Bonnie, Cats, China, Comment, Content, Context, Craft, Creativity, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Design, Emotion, England, Family, Freddie, Happiness, Harmony, Jill, LaLaLand, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Names, Otis, Queen, Resonance, Respect, Rosie, Shanghai, Tattoo
I got my first tattoo when I was 42.
I was holidaying in LA, saw a tattoo shop and – after some encouragement from my friend Paul – went in and had a big one on the underside of my arm.
Hey, nothing like jumping all in eh.
But from that moment, the tattoo became something very important to me.
To be honest, I’d always wanted one but chickened out because of the fear of pain – but not only did it not hurt at all [in fact I fall asleep when I have them] I discovered it the ultimate way to express my sentimentality towards people, dates and things that held a very significant place in my life.
Since that day way back in 2012, I’ve had loads of tattoos.
Birthdays.
Postcodes.
Phone numbers.
Signatures.
Names, pictures and paws of pets.
Honoring Mum, Dad, Jill, Otis and China.
Personal philosophies and heroes.
Nottingham Forest and Queen.
Some weird shit for some friends.
And nods to LA, UK, NZ and Italy.
There’s not one that I regret because each and every one of them is there for a reason.
No ‘moments of stupidity’.
No ‘this would be good for a laugh’.
No ‘tribal or badly translated rubbish’.
Each tattoo represents something deeply important and significant to me – even if to the causal observer, it may look like I have a bunch of random and weird stuff across my arms.
I say all this because recently, Otis asked if I had any tattoos for him, to which I proudly pointed to the one of his name and his date of birth.
And while he seemed moderately pleased with this, it apparently wasn’t enough because he asked if he could design one … a tattoo that captured who he was and what he believed. And I stupidly said ‘yes’, which is why I am currently in negotiations with him to decide which of these will be inked upon my body in the next few weeks.
For the record, the reason the potential designs are all in type is because I don’t have any room on my arms for a picture and he wants to ensure it is something that can be – and will be – seen at all times, haha.
Now before you think I’m blindly pandering to my son’s whims and wants … he genuinely loves rice. In fact he has it every night for dinner which he claims is because he was born in China … so while his tastes may well change or evolve over time, ‘Rice Is Life’ does capture who he is and what he believes, which means – for me – it ticks all the criteria boxes needed to go out and make it a permanent symbol on my body.
The ad industry could learn from kids for their powers of persuasion.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Comment, Complicity, Conformity, Corporate Evil, Corporate Gaslighting, Dad, Politics, War
While this post is coming out in May, I am writing it on Sunday, April 10th.
Over the past few weeks, we’ve witnessed President Trump start a totally unnecessary war that has resulted in incredible loss [in terms of human life and economic hardship], the destruction of international relationships, and threats to undertake acts of unspeakable and illegal evil [wiping out a civilization] all so he can satisfy his delusion of being a leader who can ‘get things done’ and – bizarrely – be about peace.
And if all that wasn’t mad enough, we got to witness the sycophantic behaviour of his followers who suggest that rather than the World being on the brink of WW3, Trump was playing a game of chess us common mortals can’t understand, let alone play.
If they genuinely believe that, then maybe that’s even scarier than if they were simply too frightened to speak up because of fear of his reprisals … but maybe the real reason why so few challenged his actions is because they think that’s what loyalty means.
That regardless what Trump says or does, you agree with him, by nature of the fact he said it or did it.
But the thing is, that’s not loyalty, that’s surrender.
The dismissal of own opinion and/or consideration in favor of the whims, will and wants of another.
That’s cult shit … which is probably reinforced by the maxim ‘Democrats want to be right, but Republican’s want to win’.
And whether I like it or not, Republican’s – at least in America – are winning, so the attitude among them is probably, if we question it, we could lose it all.
Hence Trump gets away with everything … helped by his endless ability to reframe whatever he says or does as an act of genius and intelligence.
Which reminds me of something my Dad always told me:
“If someone needs to tell everyone how intelligent they are, they’re not”.
As the title of this post states: we should always look both ways.
Because nothing shows loyalty than disagreeing with someone you respect, when their decisions suggest they’ve lost objectivity at a moment where it’s key they keep it – as the first scene in this clip from the true story, The Insider, perfectly demonstrates. [If you’ve not seen it, watch the whole movie. It isn’t just good, it’s important]