Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, British, Cars, Class System, Egovertising, Emotion, England, Equality, Experience, Fake Attitude, Imposter Syndrome, Individuality, Mediocrity, Reputation, Resonance, Respect, Status, Status Anxiety
Years ago, when we had cynic, George did some research on car ownership in the UK.
It focused on how drivers – specifically, British male drivers – saw car heirarchy and how they reacted and responded to it in their daily lives.
I remember us presenting it to clients who were shocked by the spoken and unspoken rules and cues of the road.
I say this for 2 reasons.
1. I recently saw an old BBC program that perfectly encapsulates George’s findings.
2. It’s near the end of the year and I’m running out of things to write about.
[Don’t get too excited, it’s only temporary, and it’s not like it impacts quality, ha]
Ignoring point 2 for a moment, the documentary was fascinating.
An insight into the mind and behaviours of middle England.
The role of the class system.
The quest for materialism.
The importance of status.
And while the way they demonstrate this is equal parts sad, curious, petty and hilarious … it’s all underpinned by a level of transparency, honesty and self-awareness that you can’t help admire and kinda-relate to.
The need to be seen … to be respected … to progress … while all the time, being deeply aware of ‘your place’ in societies pecking order, including knowing how to deal with the expectations of behaviour placed upon you because of it.
While those not from the UK may read this and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, I can assure you, it was not just very real, it was a source of huge personal anxiety, vulnerability and pressure.
Now I don’t know if this ‘company car driver attitude’ remains.
And I don’t know if the ‘company car driver’ attitude was more prevelent in the UK.
Plus I’m not even sure if company car ‘ownership’ is as big in the UK as it once was.
But what I do know is that before we judge those in the program, we should look at how we’re behaving currently as individuals and as a society … because it can be argued we’re more caught up in ‘materialism heirarchy’ than any British company car driver of 1994.
Hell, when status is now defined/judged/awarded as much by how we live as what we own, it could be said we’re more caught up in the rat race than ever before.
So enjoy the show, but remember it’s more a mirror than a moment in history.
Filed under: Corona Virus, Dad, England, Family, Italy, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Otis
So on Sunday, it would be Mum’s 92nd birthday.
Now of course, she has been gone 9 years … however despite that, I still feel deeply connected to her birthday so for me, that number still feels very real to me.
I often wonder what life would be like if she was still here.
I say that, because had she still been alive, I don’t think we would be in NZ.
When COVID happened, we would have brought her to us in London … so she would be kept safe, cared for and loved.
I would imagine it would have been quite the challenge to get her to agree because she was always fiercely independent … but apart from the fact Otis would have been the major draw card, the fact is that towards the end of her life, she had accepted she needed some help. Not much, but a little. Even if that was just so she had someone to talk to every now and then, despite loving her own company.
And if that was the case there is no way we would have left the UK.
If anything, we would have been more likely to move to Italy … so she could be back in her homeland, near her sister and nieces.
Not that she would have expected us to do that – oh no, she was adamant I had to live my life, not look after hers – but that was a [gentle] tension we endured throughout our time together.
Her wanting to look after me by never demanding anything of me.
Me wanting to look after her by being protective and supportive.
Fortunately, towards the end we had found a calmness in how we dealt with it.
She’d accept what I sent her, and I’d accept she’d do nothing with any of it. Hahaha.
I know that might sound like some weird kind of ‘truce’, but it worked for us and I presume many other families work in a similar way. Acceptance, compromise and convenience … not because it ‘keeps the peace’, but because ultimately, you know the other person is doing it with love, even if it’s not exactly as you wish/hoped they’d act.
My Mum was the master of seeing the love.
Or dealing with challenges with love.
I can’t help but feel we’d all be better off if we followed her way of living rather than the self-serving, myopic, populist, egotism that the world is riddled with these days.
While I’m glad Mum didn’t have to endure the challenges of COVID, I’d have been so happy if it had meant she would be with us. I’ve written before how one of the worst of times was – thanks to my huge privilege – very special for me. By that, I mean in terms of COVID allowing me to be with my family 24/7.
They may have been sick of it, but I utterly loved it. Treasured it even.
But the reality is Mum had died years before, which meant NZ became a real option for us. And what a move it has turned out to be for the family. And while we won’t be here forever, we have valued and enjoyed every minute … which is why on top of thanking Colenso and the country for making it what it is [which is Otis’ FAVE EVER country, hence I’m going to ruin his life again one day in the not too distant, but not close, future] I also need to thank my Mum for kinda making this happen.
Or said another way … thank her for looking after my best interests even when I don’t fully realise that until later.
What a human. What a Mum.
Happy Birthday Mum, I love you.
Big hugs to you and give Dad a big kiss from me.
Filed under: America, China, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Home, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, New Zealand, Otis, Parents, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore
So tomorrow marks the 2nd month since Rosie passed … and I am still struggling with it.
I appreciate how pathetic that may sound, but it’s how I feel.
In many ways, the loss of Rosie feels very, very similar to the loss of my parents.
I don’t say that lightly.
I also don’t say that because my parents weren’t wonderful.
Frankly, they were amazing and gave me a childhood where I can honestly say I never wanted for love, support or encouragement. And while I didn’t really appreciate how special that was until I was much older and realised not everyone got to experience that, I definitely understand how blessed I was for what they gave me and left me.
However, while Mum and Dad were my physical and emotional constant throughout my first 20+ years of my life … as I went through my key adult ’life stage’ years – such as marriage, moving countries [a lot] and starting a family – they weren’t. Part of this is because by then I was living far, far away from them – so only connected to them by phone, albeit on a daily basis, as well as my annual visit home – and part of this is because sadly, both of them died over this period of time. Which means from 2007, Rosie – along with Jill – were my physical and emotional constants.
Wherever I was … whatever I was going through … they were the ones who I went back to each and every day.
Who were there for me, each and every day.
In essence, they were on the other side of the bridge that took me between childhood to adulthood, which I hope helps explain Rosie’s significance and importance in my life.
But there is another reason I feel such loss and that is because I can’t help but feel I had something to do with it.
At the end of the day – while it was out of love to ensure she didn’t suffer given her kidneys had stopped working – I/we made the decision when her life would end. And for all the compassion, care, gentleness and tears we shed, it is something I still feel guilty about.
Of course it is full of irrationality …
Somehow, I am of the belief that we could have nursed her back to health. That … had we not taken her to the vet that Saturday morning for a routine injection, she’d still be with us.
And maybe she would … except the likelihood is she would have ended up suffering far more as we wouldn’t have had the time to get her the specialist care that ensured she didn’t suffer more than she had to.
But that Saturday is burned into my mind.
That morning she was almost back to her old self.
Jumping on our bed in the morning. Wanting food. Doing her loud ‘surprise happy scream’ every time she saw us. We even said, “she’s back to her old self”.
The injection at the vets was just to help with her arthritis – nothing more – and yet a quick blood test set off a chain of events that led to us saying goodbye to her 48 hours later.
And while I know the reality of the situation is her kidneys had started to properly fail … in fact, her readings had more than doubled within the month – from an already terrible score of 400, which represents ‘stage 4’ out of 4 possible levels for a cat’s kidney health to just under 1000 – I still find the image of leaving our house looking well and returning ready for goodbye hard to reconcile. Hard to let go of my complicity in creating this situation – even though every vet we spoke to had already warned us of the severity of her situation and, if truth be known, we were aware that her previous illness a month earlier signified a major shift in her wellbeing. As I wrote in the post announcing her death, that shift felt similar to the final stages I saw my Dad go through before he passed.
Doesn’t make it any easier.
Doesn’t make being home any less challenging.
Because everything screams she is not there.
It’s all so heartbreaking. I keep wanting to ring the vet who helped her sleep to give her an injection to make her come back alive. To erase the decision we made, even though it was absolutely the right decision … a decision that I think even Rosie wanted. Especially as kidney failure gives a cat about 30 days before it all ends in tragedy and we were close to that timeline being hit and yet I want to ignore all that as I just want her back.
Hell, I keep finding myself saying, “come on Rozzie” when we go to bed … expecting to hear her feet make a little sound as she jumps off wherever she was to follow us down the stairs. But the hardest thing … the thing that absolutely reinforces she’s not longer with us is that I no longer have to check the front door when I leave in the morning or get in at night.
Each day, as I was heading out to work, Rosie would come upstairs with me. While this was because she hoped for extra Friskies – despite I had just given them to her downstairs – I would end up giving her a couple more because I couldn’t resist her face and it was the best way to ensure she didn’t sneakily follow me out of the front door where she felt a compulsion to explore, even though she knew she wasn’t allowed to. And at night, when she heard my car come down the drive, she’d be waiting at the glass next to the front door where I would see her silently meow to me through the glass as a way of saying hello, before trying to get through my legs when I walked in.
Occasionally she’d succeed and then proceed to sit under mine – or Jill’s – car until finally getting bored [or tempted with treats of falling in reach of one of our arms] but it was a daily ritual and now I can keep the door wide open and it literally fucks with my head.
I miss it. I miss all the things she did.
Even the stuff that annoyed me … like coming into the lounge at night – when Jill and Otis were asleep – and literally screaming at me, telling me it was time to come downstairs to bed with her.
She did a lot of screaming, but over the years she ‘educated us’ to what each one meant.
One was that she wanted to sleep under our sheets in bed and needed us to lift them up for her to go underneath. One was that she was hungry and wanted us to hand deliver treats rather than eat the food in her bowl. One was for us to open the lounge doors so she could go and sit out on her special bean bag cat bed on the deck so she could look out on the trees and feel the sun on her fur. In fact, the only time she didn’t scream was when we were actively looking for her, fearing she had got out when we came home and didn’t realise.
She did do that a couple of times, but never went far. Or for long.
She knew where home was.
She knew how well she was cared for.
She was definitely not a stupid cat.
And that’s why I can’t think about getting another. At least not yet.
I did look for cats who needed adopting very soon after Rosie had gone, but then I realised I wasn’t doing it to replace her, but to replicate her and that is both impossible and unfair to whoever we adopted.
So we need time. And while this may all sound dramatic for a cat, I point you to the post I wrote about Denise – the woman that I need to apologise to. Who gave me a very early warning as to what this would feel like. Because a pet is not just for life, a pet adds to your life and Rosie was – and will forever be – my first animal family member and I’d do anything, as I would for Mum and Dad, to have her back. Even for one day.
So regardless who you are or what you’re doing, don’t take the good shit for granted.
Because as annoying as it can be, it is better than it not being there.
And that is why – despite having experienced death throughout my life – Mum, Dad and Rosie’s passing has been the most significant.
What is interesting is that at my age – which I recently heard described as ‘the youngest of the old bunch’ – I am heading towards more of that. Including, my own one day … albeit hopefully a long time away. But it does make you re-evaluate what is important and who is important, which is leading to a lot of discussions and considerations about the future we want to have rather than the future we will get given.
But while there is a lot of sadness in this post, I want you to know I’m not in a bad way.
I was, but not now.
Part of that is because we have Rosie’s ashes with us and weirdly, it feels like she’s home.
Not exactly as we would like.
But exactly where she belongs.
And that, I’m increasingly learning, is the real definition of happiness, fulfillment and success.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
This is the last post I’ll be writing for 2 weeks as I’m off on a ridiculous trip for work.
Across Canada. Across America. And a quick visit to Australia. Quite bonkers.
But I am eternally grateful for it. Not just because of the air miles, but because it is being organised by a client who wants me – and 3 colleagues – to really understand who they are.
The details. The nuances. The values. The realities.
At a time where so many clients want simple, superficial and easy, they’re going out of their way to make it difficult for all of us … but in the most brilliant, rewarding and valuable way ever.
And for that we’re all eternally grateful.
Not because it’s rare, but because it means they give a fuck about what who they are, what they do and what they want us to create together.
They’re invested in making something great, rather than just expecting excellence without contributing anything to it beyond deadlines, mandatories and distain.
And you know what this ‘in it together’ approach achieves?
A team very, very motivated to do something extraordinary for them.
That’s contrary to what many companies think is the way to work with agencies or partners these days. Believing that if they treat people like disposable commodities, they’ll get them to work even harder for them. Which means they value you nothing other than the price they pay for something.
And while I appreciate what we do costs a lot of money and so being on top of things is important, I’ll tell you what ends up costing a whole lot more: treating partners like shit. Not because they’ll stop caring about what they do, but because they know you don’t even care about who you are.
Which is why we’re thrilled to be going on this trip … because nothing shows commitment like inconvenience.
See you on the 29th … as there’s a holiday in Auckland on the 28th, hahaha.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Brands, Brilliant Marketing Ideas In History, Cars, Communication Strategy, Context, Creativity, Culture, England, Experience, Insight, Leadership, Legend, Luxury, Management, Marketing, Mercedes, Perspective, Point Of View, Relevance, Reputation, Resonance, Respect, Retail, Strategy, Success
I’m back.
Worse, I’m back and ready to make ‘amends’ for not writing any posts for 5 days … I’m going to be writing some extra-long ones. Even by my overlong standards. However the good news is – unlike my usual standards – they are pretty good. I think. At least some of them.
So years ago I worked with on a global project for Mercedes.
One of the people they said I should meet was a dealer principal of a local Mercedes dealership in Derbyshire, England.
To be honest, I was thrilled as many companies try to keep you away from ‘the coal face’ to ensure their carefully constructed ‘delusion of perfection’ can be maintained … but they were pretty insistent I met this person.
What made it even more intriguing is when I asked them why, they replied, “Oh you’ll see”.
So, a week or so later, I found myself on a train heading to Derby to meet this gentleman.
Now let’s be honest, car salesman have a certain reputation …
A lot of the stereotypes are most likely bullshit – or shaped by a few bad eggs rather than the whole industry – but I admit I went in slightly cautious as to who I’d meet.
But the person I sat down with was one of the sharpest marketers I’ve ever met.
I also loved that – despite owning multiple different Mercedes dealerships, something like 20 – he called himself a ‘car salesman’.
He was passionate about the brand and equally as passionate about selling them and didn’t want to hide that fact.
He also said his Mum had told him she was embarrassed he introduced himself that way to people … which had motivated him to be even more focused on making his business successful.
One of the best examples of his attitude was his story about how he chose where to build a new dealership.
He was going to open a dealership in a new city and wanted it to be where all the competitor car dealerships were located. His attitude was it was better to be where everyone goes than to try and convince people to go somewhere out-the-way, just for him.
Apparently, there were a few available locations he could have built, but he had his heart set on one place … next to the local BMW dealership.
They were something like number 110 and he was going to be 111. [I can’t remember the exact numbers, but you get the point]
Anyway, by his own admission, he overspent on buying the land – but for him, there were three major reasons he wanted to be there.
The first was that he knew BMW was his main competitor and so if he was located next to them, most people in the market for that level of car would end up visiting both dealerships.
The second was that he knew many people saw the BMW and Mercedes brand as interchangeable. By that I mean their ‘quality and status’ were pretty similar so often the choice of vehicle came down to service standards and/or price.
Which led to his 3rd reason …
Because he wanted customers to feel Mercedes was the more ‘prestigious’ car to own before they had even entered the dealership – to increase the odds/desire to own – and so by choosing that specific location, he could run ads that signed off with:
Visit your local Mercedes dealership. One up from BMW.
Yep, he spent all that extra money just so he could do that with his ads.
And you know what?
It worked, because it became the most successful Mercedes dealership in the UK.
Of course, these days no one would ever do that sort of thing – at least in terms of marketing – because you’d have some ‘guru’ state ‘when you use a competitors name in your advertising, you’re promoting your competitor’.
It’s the same myopic thinking that has led to certain clients having a negative reaction to anything they perceive as negative … even if it is [1] just in the brief and/or [2] being used to elevate the value of your brand.
Now you may think this post is going to take a dark turn, but it’s not …
Because I tell this story because I saw something wonderful on Twitter/X about Everton Football club.
A story that reminded me of that Mercedes car salesman and his commitment to always finding ways to paint a particular image in people’s minds.
And while I appreciate in this case, it is so subtle that many may miss it … once you know, you’ll not only node your approval for their genius but – if you’re an Everton Fan – you’ll feel pride that you got one over the ol’ enemy.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Cars, England, Technology
So after a pretty traumatic week, I’m back.
It has been a bit of a rollercoaster, but all is looking settled and well now.
The patient is doing very well – despite me taking care of them – and so I thought I should get back to ruining other people’s day by writing this blog again. So here we go …
I’m so old I remember when car phones – literally a phone attached in a car – was a new thing.
An innovative thing.
A symbol of success and status. Or a salesman – hahaha.
You could tell which cars had them as they had a little aerial attached to the top of their rear windscreen to help send/receive the phone signal … except, in typical fashion, some companies started selling fake ‘stick-on’ aerials so people could pretend to have the tech, even though they weren’t really fooling anyone given they were in a green – if you could see the colour through all the rust – Austin Metro.
But for those who wanted something real, but cheaper [at least in terms of buying the thing and connecting the thing] … there was a phone system called ‘Rabbit’.
To be honest, Rabbit was utterly shit. Because rather than a phone, it was basically a pager system … where the only way you could make/receive/listen to calls or voicemail was if you were within 20 meters of a designated transmitting station. And there weren’t many of them about. In fact the main places you’d find them was at a Motorway Service Station or a Little Chef cafe. So because of the restriction and limitation of use, it meant you had to keep pulling in to those places to ‘check’ or ‘make’ calls … which was not only inconvenient, but expensive.
Of course I had one.
Even though I had no one to call and no one to call me.
But I remember feeling it was amazing … even more so when Rabbit became the ‘Orange’ network and, as a customer, it meant I could get access to the newest, latest, coolest Nokia GSM phone.
So I did.
Even though I couldn’t afford to call someone or have someone call me.
There’s few things that have given me the thrill and excitement of that phone.
The feeling I was entering a new dawn of independence and innovation.
And I include AI in that statement.
Maybe because mobile phones felt more about freedom whereas AI feels more about productivity. Of course I appreciate what AI can do and allow … but I get more excited by technology that enables me to stretch my boundaries rather than do it for me.
Which is why when I saw this phone in a car recently – not working, obvs – I felt more of a thrill than I will when the next iPhone is launched. Maybe because back then, tech was about liberation and possibility rather than pure profitability and control.