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.
… you love Queen, your cat Rosie and you share an office with other cat lovers without telling me you love Queen, your cat Rosie and you share an office with other cat lovers.
I tell you what, however bad the day may be, this will make me happy.
Despite the judging, displeased look on all their faces.
Kate Maitland, you are a bloody genius.
Have a great weekend everyone.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Food, Immaturity
I admit I have terrible taste.
I don’t mean in fashion or music, I mean in food.
The food I like is the food foodie people, hate.
It’s so bad, that on the occasions I get to fly business class, I ask for an economy meal. That is unless it’s the Chicken Satay on Singapore Airlines, then I will definitely have that.
Pathetic?
Oh I know …
Which is why I’m about to hit peak ‘first world problems’ with this post.
A few weeks ago I found myself in Melbourne.
I’d just enjoyed an ENOURMOUS Chicken Kiev – or, as it should be known, a Chicken Kyiv – when they offered me the dessert menu.
Among all the poncey, fancy stuff was a trifle.
A TRIFLE.
Trifles for me were a childhood party staple.
Strawberry Jelly. Custard. Sponge Fingers. Cream.
When you served it, it would make a sound like a Wellington Boot being pulled out the mud. It was glorious, gratuitous splodge and I bloody loved it.
So of course I ordered it and waited with glee.
My first clue should have been the dish it was served in.
It was fancy as fuck.
It’s the one at the top of this page.
My second clue was that it looked like a complete trifle rather than the road accident the typical served trifle resembled.
But if that didn’t get me, the taste did.
Instead of being transported to my childhood, I was taken to a place I didn’t belong.
Refined tastes of ingredients that don’t ever belong in a trifle.
Lemon.
Coconut.
Rose water jelly.
And don’t even get me started on the custard.
More insipid than a Tory councillor at election time.
The whole experience was this blend of bland and sour … literally ruining trifles and my childhood for ever.
I’m sure people with a evolved palette would love it.
However for people from Nottingham … it was edible violence.
But then, I do love Angel Delight, butterscotch flavour and Viennetta.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Context, Craft, Creativity, Culture, Emotion, Environment, Imagination, Immaturity, Legend, Marketing, Media, Relevance, Resonance
No, I don’t know what’s with all the postbox posts [even though in reality, there’s only been 2 in 16 years] but just like that old adage of ‘you wait for a bus and then 2 come at once’ … here is a second post about postboxes in a week.
First of all, DO NOT PANIC.
It is not as sentimental as yesterday’s.
Probably.
But recently someone sent me a photo of this …
Yes, that’s a sticker rather than a real ‘blue plaque’.
Yes, it’s about Danger Mouse rather than a real* historical figure.
But it’s still absolutely fucking awesome.
For those who don’t know what a blue plaque is a permanent sign installed in public places that commemorate a link between that specific location and a famous person, event, or a former building that serves as a historical marker.
[Yes, I did get that from Wikipedia]
For those who don’t know who Danger Mouse is … then I just feel sorry for you, because he’s the best. At least the 80’s version of him … not to mention his sidekick, Penfold – who a certain past commentator on this blog once said I had an alarming resemblance to.
Though he also once said that about the comedian Harry Hill … all because that I once turned up at a Coca-Cola event in a suit.
That said, when I look at a photo of that event – from 1996 – even I have to admit there is more than a passing resemblance to both of them. Though as tragic as that is, I ended up winning ‘best dressed’ for simply not wearing shit jeans and an ironic t-shirt, which pleased me no end but pissed off all the very glamorous female guests who were in attendance.
Anyway, if you need more info on Danger Mouse, please go here.
And to see me – I mean Penfold – please go here.
Or just look at this …
But the real reason I love this letterbox with the Danger Mouse blue circle as a sticker is that someone did it.
They decided it would be worth while doing.
Which means having the idea.
Designing it.
Getting it made.
Then going to the postbox on Baker Street in London – where Danger Mouse lives – and sticking it there.
And not just anywhere on the postbox, but low – where DM enters and leaves his place.
Some may say that’s madness.
Some may say that’s a waste of time and money.
But to me, that’s an act of wonderfulness.
A true commitment to craft, creativity and authenticity.
And what’s better is that while many may miss it, those who see it not only love it … but tell people about it. Which is a lot more than many of the multi-million, 48 sheet billboard, TV ads and digital DTC campaigns ever achieve.
So to whoever did this. Thank you.
You restored my faith in craft, commitment and ridiculousness.
And reignited my love of Danger Mouse. [But not Penfold]
__________________________________________________________________________
* Even though Danger Mouse was a fictional character, he lives in my memories and heart and that’s more than some living, breathing people … which means Danger Mouse is real to me. Deal with it.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Audio Visual, Authenticity, Comedians, Comment, Content, Context, Craft, Creative Brief, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Documentary, Entertainment, Immaturity, Mischief, Netflix
Congratulations on surviving the first week back of this blog.
Remember, the good news is there’s no more posts till next Tuesday thanks to yet another holiday in New Zealand. If I knew I’d be having this big a break at the start of the year, I’d have moved here 6 years ago when I first had the chance.
It’s utterly mad, which is the perfect segue to another example of madness.
Have a look at this:
That, my friends, is apparently a genuine tweet.
Someone believes a video made by Mr Beast somehow proves the creator community is the ultimate in power, influence and success because – according to them – it got more views in less time than the original Netflix show.
How many flaws can we spot in that statement?
Look, I’m not doubting the creator community can have incredible influence over culture.
I’m not doubting the creator community can attract incredible amounts of ‘views’.
I’m not doubting the creative credentials of Mr Beast [who I do enjoy following].
But apart from the fact the Mr Beast video actually took 10 years and 7 weeks to make as it required Squid Games to be written, produced and streamed prior to Mr Beast being approached by a company to ‘re-create it’ for his channel … not to mention it didn’t make nearly as much money, or have as great an impact on sales of Van’s as the original … literally copying something someone else created is the absolute opposite of what ‘creator community’ is supposed to mean.
Don’t get me wrong, the creator community is a brilliant thing.
I genuinely love it.
But there are millions of people who are putting in so much effort to make ‘content’ and often only end up with a few likes rather than real revenue. And even those who do make it big, still earn less than the biggest stars of ‘traditional’ film making – so the promise of the community may not be as bright as some think it is.
At least right now.
I’ve blanked the name of the person who wrote the tweet to protect their delusion, but it kind of reinforces my post from last year about the fine line between entrepreneurs and parasites.
In the 80/90’s, a number of UK up and coming comedian created a group called ‘Comic Strip ‘.
The comedians were Rik Mayall, Jennifer Saunders, Adrian Edmondson, Dawn French, Nigel Planer, Peter Richardson, Jennifer Saunders and Alexei Sayle.
So basically the foundation of British comedy television for the next 30+ years.
Anyway, Comic Strip was basically a creative vehicle for them to make a bunch of programs for Channel 4.
One of them was called Bad News, a ‘rockumentary’ about a fictitious heavy metal band trying to hit the big time. Yes, the premise sounds awfully like the movie ‘Spinal Tap’ … however Bad News came out the year before that seminal movie, so it’s just a bizarre coincidence.
So in the show, the guitarist, Vim Fuego – played by Ade Edmondson – tells the interviewer that he is a better guitarist than Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page.
His reason for saying that is because he could play the solo to Stairway To Heaven when he was 13 but Jimmy couldn’t even write the song until he was 26.
Later in the program, he said John Lennon had visited him in a dream and gave him a song. He decided to call it Imogen. And when the interviewer said the name – and the melody – were suspiciously like the Lennon classic, Imagine … he claimed he’d never heard of it.
Of course, all of this was supposed to be great comedy, but with views like the twitter writer above, apparently it was simply an example of future human delusion.