The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]


I’ve Turned Into A Miserable But Slightly Surprised Rabbit …
November 17, 2023, 7:45 am
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Food, Health

So we’re halfway through November.

November!

How the hell did that happen?

Oh my god, 6 weeks and we’re in 2024 … where we can look forward to a year of price increases, mortgage rate increases … but not pay increases.

I’m almost in awe at how companies have seized the economic downturn as an opportunity to charge more for their product. To come up with all manner of reasons to justify why their prices are going up, despite [1] making good profits [2] paying their CEO squillions and [3] not innovating their product or service … meanwhile doing everything they can to not be so open-minded when others try and do the same thing to them.

Crazy.

As crazy as it being halfway through November.

And I’ll tell you another thing that’s crazy … I’ve been on a diet since September.

OK, I didn’t choose to be, it was because of a medical condition they’re investigating … but in essence, I’ve had to radically change how I live my life.

Few carbs.
Few sugars.
Less sodium.
Fewer calories.

Given I am a kebab and chips loving fool, you’d think it would have been a nightmare, but I am quite surprised at how quickly I embraced it.

That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kill to ram that greasy magic into my mouth – and don’t get me started on how much I miss pasta – but because I have HAD to do it, my mind basically adopted the same mindset I had when I decided I didn’t want to drink … which is radical rejection and exclusion.

So for the past 2 and a half months, I’ve been eating a lot of Weetbix … a lot of chicken … too much lettuce and copious amounts of black tea.

Has it been hard?

Yeah … mainly because everything has to be pre-planned, but once I found ways to get flavour into the blandness being shoved in my mouth, I felt a lot better.

Whoever created ultra-low sugar ‘buffalo sauce’ deserves the Nobel Peace Prize.

And do I feel better for it?

I don’t know to be honest.

Obviously there’s parts of me that does … I’ve lost 18kg for a start … but it’s not like I suddenly have tons more energy or sleep better, as all the cliches go.

But one thing I do feel more informed about is how much sugar there is in absolutely everything.

For possibly the first time in my life, I’ve had to look carefully at the labels of the food I buy/consume and Jesus Bloody Christ … it’s everywhere.

OK, I know everyone knew this.

I probably knew this.

I just didn’t know how much of it was in every teeny thing.

So that has been a revelation …

Will it change me when these tests are done?

I’d like to think yes … but I fear no.

But what has been really fascinating to me is that my real love of dodgy food is the anticipation of eating it and the first 2 bites.

That’s it.

It’s why after I’ve eaten my latest chickenweetbixlettuce combo, I feel a bit confused.

Not that I’ve been able to eat the same thing for the 1000th time, but that I feel OK after it.

That my body seems OK being given fuel rather than taste.

Or said another way …

I feel just as fine after scoffing bland as I did after chips.

Of course I miss those salty vinegary pillows of crispy delight – it sometimes gets so bad that I’ve found myself watching all manner of food related stuff on Youtube from best burger hunts to most pizza slices eaten – but as long as I have had some food in my stomach, I’m over it.

Hell, I’ve even started to appreciate taste.

OK, not in my dress sense or music choice, but definitely in terms of what I put in my gob.

It’s all so bloody mind-blowing.

And while I’m under no illusion that as posts go, this is one of the worst I’ve ever written – and let’s face it, there’s a lot I can compare it too – I’ve written this less for you and more for me … so should I ever feel I cannot live another minute without a big bowl of cheesy pasta, I can read this again and remind myself I’ll survive.

Maybe only just. But I will survive.

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How To Live Better By People Who Lived Hard …
May 19, 2023, 8:15 am
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, Health, Humanity

Occasionally you read a story that just blows you away.

It may be about human endeavor … or suffering … or achievement … but you’re deeply affected by it.

Maybe it’s because you can’t imagine how you would cope in the same situation or that you can never even imagine the situation … but it changes something in you.

I’ve recently read 2 stories that have had this affect on me.

They’re both very different … one is about finding themselves, the other survival … and yet there are commonalities as well.

Blind belief.
Dumb luck.
A desire to see things through.
Acceptance of who they are or the situation they’re in.
An ability to only deal with issues when they become issues.

One is the story of Tom Turcich, who at age 17, spent the next 7 years of his life walking around the World.

The reasons behind it are both deeply personal and emotional … but the story he then takes us on is truly inspirational.

I don’t mean that in a ‘Hollywood’ type of way, but in its everyday humbleness and normality.

And it’s exactly because of that, that he explains things that have a lot of insight and learning.

One thing that really struck me was at the end, when he was asked if his journey had made him more confident in himself.

“That’s a difficult question to answer” … he says.

“It’s a kind of Dunning-Kruger. You know, the psychological study where the dumbest person in the room is the most confident? The more you know, the less confident you are. I think I was pretty confident at the beginning, but I was an idiot. Once you know you don’t know everything, you lose some of the confidence and become less sure about things.”

I love this. Love it.

It’s so true … though, judging by the bravado of so many of our political leaders – not to mention people like Andrew Tate and his blinkered followers – it seems not everyone understands that.

Well, I say that, but I feel they make it a deliberate choice.

It’s as if they realise being open to information and experiences would undermine their whole viewpoint on life … and as their entire value is based on their own delusional confidence, they’d rather choose to remain blinkered than to evolve.

The other story is about Annette Herfkens – the only survivor in a plane crash.

Her story, like Tom, is incredible and yet she also expresses it without drama or superlatives.

Again, it’s not a conscious attempt to play down her story to appear more enlightened to those who follow her … it’s a reflection of who she is and how she overcame the most tragic and challenging of circumstances.

And like Tom, what she learned from her experience has many implications on how we could all benefit in how to live our lives.

I don’t mean that in terms of ‘valuing what you have’ [though that wouldn’t be bad] … but more in terms of being quick to accept situations, however bad.

That may sound counter-intuitive – and it certainly is different to many of the ‘projection’ ideals spouted in countless self-help books – but based on how it liberated Tom and Annette from the harshest of situations, it certainly has merit.

They’re relatively long … but they’re worth it.

From a personal point of view, they’re two of the most powerful things I’ve read.

Have a good weekend.

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Not Back, Back …

So I was supposed to be back from my trip to Melbourne.

But I’m not.

Because this trip can best be described as a shit show.

It started on the flight over where we had some bad turbulence and then the people next to – and behind – me started vomiting like human fountains.

Then when I went through immigration, I was stopped as they said I didn’t have a visa to enter the country. This, despite the fact I own property here, pay tax here, my wife is Australian, my son has an Australian passport and – oh yes – I have been a permanent resident of Australia for 20+ years.

After they realised they’d made a mistake on their computer, I was allowed to go and met up with my colleagues who were wondering where the fuck I was.

Surely that was the end of the drama?

Well yes … until at 2am, where I woke up in utter agony.

The only way I can describe the level of pain I was in is that I chose to go to hospital.

No making excuses. Or popping some paracetamol and going back to sleep.

I got in a taxi and went straight to A&E.

And thank god I did as I had picked up a bad infection in my kidney’s and appendix.

Apparently it had been developing for weeks – and when I look back on some days over the previous fortnight, I realised I’d done the classic excuses and popping paracetamol – but the time had come for it to make its presence known, and boy did it do that.

To be honest, as bad as I felt, I felt even worse that I had just burdened my colleagues with my work. They already had enough to do and here I was, at the last minute, giving them more.

And they not only took it on and executed it better than I … they stayed concerned about me.

That’s proper colleagues.

Mates even.

And I’m so grateful to them, the clients – who also were worried about me – and the amazing Doctors and Nurses at St Vincent’s Hospital in Melbourne who were compassionate, concerned and efficient.

I’m on the mend and allowed to fly home today, but till then, I’m going to chill and remind myself that your body wants you to be well, so when it hurts or gurgles or aches … it’s trying to make you deal with it before it ends up seeing you in a foreign hospital desperate for help.

So while this trip was a shitshow, it was a shitshow that shined a light on all the good.

Fight for your health service. It’s a gift.

See you Monday.

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Goodbye 2022. Hello Peace And Quiet …

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.

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Chased By The Black Dog …
July 22, 2022, 8:00 am
Filed under: Dad, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Health, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Paul

So this week has been a rollercoaster of posts hasn’t it.

Some daft … some attempting to be useful and far too many about postboxes.

So as the final post of the week, I’m going to leave you with something serious.

Suicide.

Specifically mine.

Just to be clear, I’m good. But something happened recently that reminded me of a time when I wasn’t.

A couple of weeks ago I was driving home pretty late when the song Nights In White Satin came on the radio.

Within seconds, I was transported back 37 years.

At my desk.

In my bedroom.

In my family home.

The reading lamp to my right hand side, shining brightly against the yellow curtains that were closed against the dark night sky.

That song playing in the background.

Deciding if I was going to kill myself.

I don’t mean that in the dramatic fashion of a 15 year old kid who is having a bad day. I mean it exactly as it is written.

I had never told a soul about this – no one – until I talked to my wife two days ago.

In some ways, I’d kind-of forgotten about it – or I’d convinced myself I had – except the moment I heard that song, it all came back. Tumbling out of me like an uncontrollable mass of messy feelings, memories and emotions.

Where every detail was so clear, I could almost smell it, let alone touch it.

The thing is, it was not even a particularly hard time in my life. I was to experience much more challenging stuff in the next 5 years, and yet I never considered ending my life then.

I distinctly remember thinking how Mum and Dad would feel if they found my dead body. Wondering if they’d understand it was nothing to do with them. Hoping they wouldn’t blame themselves. Then wondering how I’d get on with doing it.

My Mum and Dad were downstairs in the lounge. Literally beneath my feet so I knew I had to choose a method that wouldn’t attract their attention.

Obviously I didn’t go through with it.

In fact I didn’t go further than running the edge of the blade up and down the inside of my arm. But hearing that song reminded me how focused I was about it. How much I was considering it. How much I wondered if it would set me free me from the pain I was in.

And yet no one knew or would know how I was feeling.

To most people, I was happy and full of life. And I was … but there were times where I felt darkness would just turn up to fuck with me.

An all-consuming blackness that would envelop me in the blink of an eye. Set off by the smallest of triggers. Sometimes so small, I didn’t even realise it.

Then gone just as fast.

Something I’d put down to ‘getting out of bed the wrong side’ … when it was most likely depression.

Never diagnosed, but probably that.

It’s why the recent CALM campaign – where they showed the last photo of people who then chose to die by suicide – is so powerful.

None of the people look like they’re in pain.

None look like they’re struggling.

And maybe at that second they weren’t. Or maybe they were but had found a way to compartmentalise it. Or maybe they just didn’t want the people they were with to suspect – for reasons of compassion or to ensure nothing could stop their plan. I don’t know. Everyone is different. But whatever the reason, I think I get it … which is why this campaign is so powerful and so important.

The thing I don’t really understand is why some situations lead you to the absolute edge and some don’t. Why some cross that line and some don’t. Or can’t. I’m sure there’s professionals who can explain the reason, but all I know is I’ve faced a number of moments in my life that were of incredible pain and sadness and yet none of them came close to how I felt that day when I was a kid at home. Except once. Where I found myself in the same place. Wanting to rub myself out. Literally rub myself out. Like a stain. Over and over again. Believing – and hoping – that was the only way the pain could stop. Except in that case, I knew what had caused it and was able to talk to people before the idea took on a greater life of its own.

Fortunately those are the only occasions in my 52 years of life where I have gone to the edge. Where my thoughts were about how I’d do it rather than if I would. And while I still don’t really know what interrupted the path I was going down, I’ve learnt to not just recognise the signs when things may be going dark, but how openness and communication always lets in the light.

At least for me.

I have no problem saying I sought out professional help.

And there have been other occasions where I’ve gone for advice on things I’m trying to work out or seem to have a disproportionate hold on me.

I distinctly remember the first time I told my parents I’d been to see a councillor and they were shocked.

Shocked I felt I needed it.
Shocked I hadn’t gone to them first.
Shocked they hadn’t recognised where my head was at.

But it was good because it opened a conversation we would never have had. One that opened up understanding and support. And when I say understanding and support … I mean it in the sense they realised there were occasions when I felt talking to an outsider would be better for me than an insider. Not because they’d done anything wrong – because frankly, my parents gave me a level of love and encouragement that was breath-taking and unconditional – but it just was better for me.

A chance to talk to someone I didn’t care about.

No history.
No worry of upsetting.
No need to choose my words carefully.

I know my parents probably felt some sort of pain, sadness and guilt about me not turning to them … but they were also incredibly supportive knowing it was helping me … which is why I was able to talk to them openly about it afterwards.

And while I’ve never been in as dark a place as those two occasions – even when my parents passed – I know the circumstances for its emergence can be wide and varied.

Which is why I get very frustrated when people minimise the reality of mental health. That it’s a symbol of weakness. That it’s a ‘woke’ attitude. I also get upset when it is narrowed down to being ignited by a particular set of behaviours or situations.

Sure there are likely some common factors, but in my experience the trigger and the effect is personal not universal. To suggest otherwise not only minimises the impact but ignores the individual.

I was blessed to be born into a family that encouraged showing and sharing their emotions. Maybe if that wasn’t the case I may have ended up in a worse place. But it’s also why we place great importance on creating an environment for Otis that normalises it.

That doesn’t tell him, “boys don’t cry” or pushes him to play sport when he doesn’t want to play sport or discounts his feelings simply because he’s 7.

I’m not saying this will stop him having mental health issues in the future … but hopefully it will help him feel it’s normal. And let him know that with help – whether that is talking about it or getting professional help for it – he can better manage it.

And you can.

That said, I appreciate the privilege I have being able to talk openly about this. I am an old white man and so the ramifications on me being open about what I’ve gone through is far less than if I was a woman, a person of colour, non-binary, a member of the LGBTQ+ community or just younger in age.

And that’s kind-of why I am, because that’s fucked. Mental health can affect everyone … and while the triggers may be varied, the devastation of its impact can be the same.

To have people feel they can’t acknowledge or discuss their situation doesn’t make it go away. It makes it worse. Much, much worse. And for all the supposed claims from companies saying they are compassionate to those experiencing mental health challenges, many have found it’s either true until the company needs something from them or they just can’t risk any possible financial implications by speaking out.

[Which sounds awfully similar to how companies manage the redundancy process doesn’t it?]

Which is why if anyone out there feels they’re in a situation where they don’t know how or who to talk to … drop me a line. I am not qualified to help. But I would be very happy to listen.