Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Culture, England, Equality, Family
Recently a mate sent me a photo and – quite frankly – I’m all kinds of obsessed with it.
Look at it.
LOOK AT IT!!!
How amazing is that?!
I have no idea how they could capture so much in one frame, but they did.
Everywhere I look there’s an image that makes me go, “WTF?” … from the travel agents, that seems the most misplaced shop in the history of misplaced shops, through to that guy in the top window seemingly relieving himself on the people below.
I have no idea if this image is staged.
If it is, it’s utterly brilliantly done.
But I have a feeling its real, because while I’ve never seen all of these things happen at the same time, I’ve definitely been in places where a bunch of them have.
More than that, I’ve been in places where what we see in this photo is not some sort of circus of chaos, but everyday normality.
While I didn’t grow up in that environment, a lot of my friends did – and so I spent a lot of time in those places when I was younger. And you know what, I only saw good in it. The community. The interaction. The colour and vibrancy. The noise. The freedom.
Which is why even though it would be easy to make judgements on the people in the photo – and the environment they’re living in – my personal context tells me they’re good people [except maybe the guy urinating on those below] dealing with a different set of circumstances and options.
Or said another way, they’re a product of a system designed to dismiss them rather than enable them.
A system that determined they only deserve minimal investment in housing, education and infrastructure because there was more personal-gain to be had directing the funds to places and people who offered more political and professional capital.
Sick really isn’t it?
Especially when council’s and governments are supposed to look after the best interests of all, not just those who will keep them in power.
Now many of my friends who grew up in these places have gone on to do great things.
Started their own businesses.
Become amazing parents to amazing families.
Moved into jobs where they can help others move forward.
But all of this was because of who they are – and who their families are – rather than the system wanting to help.
Which is the issue I have with democracy … because it encourages self-interest, not the nations.
Now of course, democracy is better than the alternative but I do think it would be better served if the voting age was 16 – 65.
A way to better equalise the balance of voters.
A way to allow more policies designed for youth rather than about them.
A way to stop youth only being able to make their voice heard from the age of 18, when those 65 and above, can keep pushing their opinion till death.
This does not mean I want to rob the elderly of their rights or the benefits they deserve. It’s just I don’t want youth to be told what they can have by people who aren’t them and so, don’t really get what they want or need.
So while this photo is amazing for a whole host of reasons, the main one – for me – is how we live doesn’t represent who we are.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Dad, Death, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
I was going to say the reason for this post is because I’m still in a sentimental mood from yesterday’s Valentine’s day post.
Then I thought, ‘who am I trying to kid?’.
Because as much as I appreciate I can be a prick, I know I am also a massive sentimentalist.
Which is why this article affected me so deeply.
I can’t imagine what that must have felt like, but I do know what the impact would have been.
When I got married, I made sure I had a picture of my Dad on the table with us.
It was this one.
I wanted him there, even though he wasn’t really there.
And while it may sound weird, it made the whole occasion feel more complete … more perfect.
Which is why I get why the bride in this story would want the man who had received her father’s heart, at her wedding.
And I love that he came.
That he knew what it meant for her and for him.
That literally nothing would stop him from attending.
Because despite being invisible, he could see the thread that connects them.
He appreciated this was a chance to say hello, thank you and goodbye all at the same time.
A way to tell each other the person who is so important to both of them lives on, even though he’s gone.
I wrote about a similar situation a few years back … except this one was a chance encounter.
It still gives me goosebumps.
Still overwhelms me with emotion.
And while the price they both paid for that encounter was one of unimaginable pain, I also know how much I’d give to have that one additional moment with my Mum and Dad … which is why I’m so glad the bride and Mrs Carter got to have that with their respective loved ones.
Because while memories never leave us, moments stop us getting too lost in them.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Dad, Death, Family, Fear, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Otis, Relationships, Respect
I’m not back.
Not properly.
But today is the 24th anniversary of my Dad passing away and I couldn’t – and wouldn’t – let this pass without mention.
24 years means I’m fast approaching him not being in my life for half my life.
And yet he is always there.
Maybe not always in the spotlight of my life, but always on the stage.
A warm presence.
A secure presence.
And sometimes, a surprising presence.
You see there are times where Dad appears seemingly out of nowhere.
From deep in the shadows to centrestage of the light.
Anything can trigger this.
A song.
A place.
A situation.
But the most common of all is a pair of eyes.
Specifically these pair of eyes …
As the title of this post reveals, those eyes belong to Anthony Hopkins.
And while the life of him and my father could not be further apart in so many ways, his eyes could easily belong to my Dad.
Not just for their shade or shape, but their character.
They are welcoming. They are warm. Caressed by lines around each eye that shows they have seen and they have lived. A journey that has led them through fields of pain, fear, laughter and love. And while you’re left in no doubt they have the power to make you feel fear or guilt with just a glance … that the lines around the eyes curve upwards, reassures you their resting condition is to let you in.
And that’s what my Dad gave me.
The power to always be let in. Even when I disappointed him.
Yes, there were times later in his life – when he was ill – that became a little harder, but even that was just temporary.
Because his main focus was for me to feel his love and support not his fear or wrath.
And his eyes were his way of reinforcing that.
I still remember a moment towards the end …
Dad had had many strokes by that time which had robbed him of his ability to talk and walk.
One day I got a call in Sydney – where I lived – telling me he’d been rushed to hospital and may only have 24 hours left to live.
I caught the first flight home and after a traumatic journey from the other side of the planet, I was with him … relieved he was alive, devastated he may die at any time.
At some point Mum and I were told we should get rest and go home.
Their house was literally 10 minutes from the hospital and they assured us they’d ring if anything happened.
Reluctantly we agreed and as I was saying goodnight, we looked at each other.
A firm, focused gaze into each others eyes.
I can still feel the intensity of that moment.
How the feeling of love was almost breathtaking in its power.
Because I knew exactly what those eyes looking back at me were saying.
What those eyes looking back at me were saying for him.
He loved me.
He was proud of me.
He was so glad I was there.
But it was even more than that …
It was him trying to take in my face.
Every line. Every mark. Every detail.
To ensure he remembered how I looked in case what we both knew was going to happen, happened while we were apart.
I remember how I felt my eyes were overflowing with water as I looked down on him in his hospital bed.
Our hands gripped so tight with me kissing his over and over again.
Holding back the tears in an attempt to express what I wanted to say.
That feeling you’re trying to lift a huge weight in an attempt to not break down.
Massive pauses between words to not let any cracks take hold.
And I managed it.
I told him, “I know … I know … and I love you so, so much my dear Dad”
Then there was a pause as I wondered if I should finish what I wanted to say.
And then I decided I would, just in case …
“And you have to be here tomorrow. You have to be Dad. Please be here”
And as we walked out of that ward, with me constantly turning around to meet his gaze with my eyes, I hoped that was not the last time I would ever see him.
It wasn’t.
Despite us going through a similar rollercoaster 3 months later … a time where he would sadly not be able to find the strength to yet again surprise his Doctors, Nurses, wife and son … he did then.
And I still remember how we knew he was feeling stronger from the moment we walked into that ward.
Because my dad – that wonderful orator – had mastered another skill. This time, the ability to talk … through his eyes.
A million words and emotions passed perfectly through a look from his beautiful, blue, kind, warm eyes.
And while you may think that when I see Anthony Hopkins I get upset, you’d be wrong.
Because when he appears on the screen – even when I’m least expecting it – I am grateful.
Because he doesn’t reinforce the loss, he lets me feel like I’m close to my Dad again.
My wonderful, warm, supportive Dad.
Which after 24 years apart, is a gift.
So thank you Mr Hopkins.
And thank you Dad.
I miss you.
Give Mum a kiss from me.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Colenso, Colleagues, Creativity, Culture, Cunning, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Happiness, Health, Home, Hope, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Martin Weigel, Mercedes, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents, Paul, Queen, Relationships, Resonance, Rosie, Shelly
So this is it, the last post of 2022.
Again, I want to say a big thank you to everyone and anyone who has read or commented on my ranting rubbish.
I have to say, I miss the comments.
I know it was my choice to stop them, but I do miss them – so maybe I’ll have to bring them back, even though I’ve become waaaaaaay more productive since they’ve been turned off as I don’t have to spend vast amounts of my time checking what insults have been written to me and about me, hahaha.
But lack of comments aside, it’s been a big year … mainly because it has been the first year in a couple of years without any lock-down. And yet I still find it bizarre seeing people not wearing masks and being able to get on a plane again.
To think of the isolation, suffering and pain so many people suffered, the speed of the bounce-back has taken my breath away. Of course there are still people enduring tough times … but given the horror of the pandemic has seemingly been replaced by the threat of nuclear war and economic collapse, maybe COVID wasn’t so bad after all.
That said, I’m so grateful for the ability to travel again as it meant I was able to go on a trip that I’ll never, ever forget.
A trip where I got to see my beloved Martin getting married in Portugal.
A trip where I got to see my beloved Nottingham Forest getting promoted at Wembley.
A trip where I got to see my beloved Queen in concert with a ticket I bought 2 years earlier.
A trip where I got to see my beloved Paul, after the longest time we’ve been apart in 52 years.
It was, without exaggeration, one of the most special times in my life … with stuff I thought I may never see – or see again – so you will understand why I still feel so grateful to be able to have experienced it.
But beyond that, there were many other things that made this year memorable.
We did some fun work including Beyond Binary, Rick and Morty, Phone It In and Give Up On Humans. Our agency Christmas gift was interesting too. I say interesting, but I mean ridiculous, especially compared to last years more sophisticated Restraining Order, haha.
I wrote a pretty decent April Fools post that conned a few people.
And then, more seriously, I wrote some posts about my dalliance with depression, fulfilment, prejudice and respect that seemed to mean something to people, which made me feel happy it helped in some way.
I worked with Metallica, Miley Cyrus, Muse and Journey, to different degrees of success and enjoyment, hahaha.
We produced Dream Small … which I’m not only very proud of, but has led to conversations and change I never imagined we could have.
The way Otis – and his school – dealt with his dysgraphia diagnosis.
I celebrated my Mum’s 90th.
I got to see the wonderful Maya and Bree again, after years.
I was somehow featured in a book.
My Bohemian Catsody office mural … featuring Rosie amongst others.
I laughed myself stupid about Gi’s shit explosion while also being proud as punch of my wonderful team with our WARC/Cannes Global Grand Prix for effectiveness … followed up with us winning the same achievement at the NZ Effies … followed up by us winning the Global Grand Effie a few weeks later.
Renovating the old Colenso table to give it – and the irrepressible, unmistakeable Kate Maitland – the respect and recognition they deserve.
Lizzie and Amy’s news.
And Paula’s wonderful ray of sunshine.
Then finding the brilliant Briar and Shelly … with Martin and Meg arriving in Jan. [Which in Meg’s case, is almost 2 years in the waiting]
And last – but certainly not least – seeing Boris get pushed out quickly [literally and figuratively] by Liz Truss, even though the evil Tories somehow remain in power.
Of course there was some sad and disappointing stuff.
The loss of the irreplaceable and wonderful Dan Wieden.
Queenie … which hit me far more than I ever imagined it would.
Ben. Who left us too soon.
Mike’s motorcycle accident.
Henry, Liam and Robin left the team.
My first dalliance with COVID. And Jill too.
The bullshit that Simon P was forced to deal with and face.
Not to mention the horrible situation one of our clients was exposed to by the worst of society.
And then too many terrible global events, with the situations in Ukraine and Iran being possibly the worst of them all. What makes these last two even more disturbing is how the media only pay lip service to them. As if they don’t deem the horrors ‘relevant’ enough for their viewers and readers so they hide it on pages 5 and 6 … behind articles on energy bills, political scandal and sports scores.
I know it’s Christmas, but instead of having that one extra drink or buying that one shitty pressie, donating that money to organisations who offer support and help would be amazing. Two of them are this for Ukraine and this for Iran.
2022 has reminded me how privileged and comfortable my life is.
While compared to many, I have only experienced that sort of life, there have been times that have challenged me.
1999 was horrid.
As was 2015.
And last December was arguably, the worst month I’ve ever faced.
But this year, from a purely personal perspective, has generally been pretty special for me and one of the biggest reasons for that is my family.
I know we’re all supposed to say that, but it’s true.
Not just for who they are, but because for some reason, I feel we got even closer.
Emotionally.
Supportively.
Connectively.
To be honest, I thought we were already as close as you can be, but I discovered there’s actually no limit to the level of connection you can feel with loved ones and that has left me feeling a bit overwhelmed.
Maybe it’s because NZ is so far from everyone, we feel closer to each other. Maybe it’s because we don’t see the people we love so often, we have become more reliant on each other. Maybe it’s because we just have gone through some stuff that it reinforced how special we are to each other. Maybe it’s for reasons I’ve not wanted to admit before because it challenges the priorities I’ve lived by before.
Who knows, but what I can say is I love my ramshackle collection of Campbell’s.
Including Rosie, of course.
They’re not perfect.
They can drive me nuts.
But they’re mine and I adore every bit of them.
Which is why I want to sign off by saying to them – and to the rest of you – that whatever you do over this period, I hope it gives you all you want and all you need. I am grateful for everything every one of you put in my life and I hope 2023 – as scary as many are suggesting it will be – will surprise us all with its happiness and fulfilment.
Just as long as mine is happier and more fulfilling than yours.
Hey, I may be getting more tolerant in my old age, but I’m still as only-child demanding as ever.
Have a great one. Back Feb 1. I hope to see you in 2023.
Filed under: America, Birthday, China, Dad, Daddyhood, England, Family, Jill, Love, New Zealand, Otis
So on Sunday, it’s Otis’ 8th birthday.
Eight.
He is basically growing up way too fast.
So fast, I wish the police would come and tell him to slow down.
It seems like only yesterday I took this ridiculous photo of him, mere minutes old …
… but here he is, 8 years later, full of life, love and joy.
He is such a wonderful boy.
Of course I’d say that, but he is.
Kind, considerate and always trying his hardest.
If anything, I wish he pushed the rules a bit more – but even his teachers say what a good kid he is. And given the challenge of recently being diagnosed with disgraphia, that’s even more wonderful to hear.
That he had started to suffer anxiety because he thought he wasn’t good enough because he couldn’t keep up with the other kids in class with writing – breaks my heart. But fortunately his teachers noticed quickly, designed a different way for him to express and contribute in class and now he’s growing back in confidence which makes me so proud.
Both of him and his teachers.
But then, where he’s concerned, he has consistently revealed his compassion and resiliance.
From moving country so many times to choosing to cutting his long hair to help ‘kids with cancer’ to being a tough little cookie when he got rushed into hospital for an emergency operation within a week of turning 7 … he’s a phenomenal human.
And now he turns 8.
EIGHT.
While there’s many thing I could wish for him this year, I think the main thing would be to continue with what he’s got.
Stability.
A safe, calm home environment.
His network of buddies and mates.
Outlets for his energy, interests and cheekiness.
A range of people who support his individual needs personally, accadmically and emotionally.
Of course he may want different things … of which I assume Superman and Transformers would feature heavily … but having a place he can continue to be connected to and enjoy is one he may – in time – also appreciate.
We’ve always known this.
And wanted this for him.
So to be able to give him it – and see how much he has blossomed because of it – is a dream.
And while we know we won’t be here forever, like all parents, what we do want is for him to be happy and fulfilled.
To not fear the unknown.
To embrace his interests and curiosity.
To feel safe in being able to express who he is and how he feels.
Maybe that’s a pipe-dream … after all, the world can be a challenging and tough place.
But NZ does offer – at least until kids are 11 or 12 – an environment where this way of life is more possible than anywhere else we’ve lived.
And he deserves that.
He deserves to be in place where he feels he can belong.
Not that he didn’t have that in other places, but he was either too young to realise its importance or we were not there long enough for him to feel it.
And that’s something I still regret.
I have a photo of him saying goodbye to his friend on our last day in America that still breaks my heart.
There he is, in his socks and on our drive – after running out the front door of our house – giving Jack a big hug after he realised he may not see him again.
The guilt I still feel about that is one I don’t know I’ll ever get over.
Which is probably what I deserve, given I was the reason for it.
I just hope Otis knows I never want to hurt him … never want to rob him of the people who mean so much to him. Which is why I’m so glad Elodie is still in his life, despite it now being filled with what seems a 1000 new friends from his school and community.
Watching that develop and evolve is one of the most beautiful and special things I’ve ever witnessed.
Sure, there’s the odd drama, but generally it’s a really happy and healthy group. Kids who look out for each other. Supportive, encouraging and just kind. They’re a better example to society than my generation … which is why I hope we don’t fuck the world entirely before they can come in and fix it.
Not that they should have to take on that burden, but that’s the generosity of that generation.
A desire to help everyone prosper, not just the usual suspects.
Of of which my son is one of them … reaffirmed by the goals, ambitions and hopes he tells us he has for his life.
Which is why I want to leave this post with this message to him.
Otis.
My wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Otis.
I love you.
Not a day goes by where I am not proud to be your Dad. Where you make me laugh at your observations of what’s happening in life. Where you blow me away with your passion and enthusiasm for life … from watching endless Kids Youtube, to your love of all things Marvel through to the way you literally transform into this powerful, confident, graceful human fish the moment you enter water.
And every little thing in-between.
You’re brilliant Otis. Proper brilliant.
Not just for what you do, but who you are.
I am so proud of you …
Proud for how you embrace life.
Proud for how you embrace challenges.
Proud for just being a kind, compassionate, considerate kid.
And as much as I wish you weren’t growing up so fast, it’s offset by the joy of seeing who you are becoming. Go forth in life with courage and optimism. It’s very easy to just be seized by the cynicism and darkness of the world … but people like you give it light.
You give it to me.
You light up my whole world.
Happy birthday Otis … you make your Mum and Dad the happiest parents in the World.
Rx