Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, Ambition, America, Amsterdam, Asia, Attitude & Aptitude, Auckland, Australia, Bands, Billionaire, Birkenhead, Bonnie, Campaign Magazine, Canada, Career, China, Colenso, Colleagues, Comment, Context, Corporate Evil, Creativity, Culture, Dog, Dream Small, Easter, Empathy, England, Experience, Family, Fashion, Fatherhood, Hong Kong, Japan, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Management, Martin Weigel, Metallica, Michael Jordan, Miley, Mr Ji, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Nike, Otis, Paul, Paula, R/GA, Relationships, Rockstar Games, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore, Sunshine, Sydney, The Kennedys, The Kennedys Shanghai, UK, Virgin Atlantic, WeigelCampbell, Wieden+Kennedy
I have written before that apart from my friend Paul, I owe almost everything in my life to the fact I left the UK and went on an adventure.
Without that, I would not have met my wife … would not have had my son … would not have had my pets … would not be working with rock stars … would not have had all the life experiences and adventures I’ve been fortunate to enjoy and almost certainly would not have the career I currently enjoy.
That’s pretty huge when you think about it and while there’s a whole list of people I need to thank for making it all possible, one of them is an old boss.
Who was a prick.
I had a rather complex relationship with this individual.
Because while they were pompous, petty, condescending and rude, they were also smart, knowledgable and experienced.
On top of that, they gave me a shot on a couple of projects that they probably shouldn’t have. I should point out that wasn’t because they necessarily believed in me – it was more there was no one else to do it – but I appreciated it all the same.
Anyway, when I decided to leave – to go explore opportunities in another country – they were pretty pissed off with me.
While I’d love to say it was because they didn’t want me to go, the reality was they were frustrated I was leaving after they’d agreed to give me a payrise.
That this ‘rise’ was still below market rate and they’d fucked me around for literally 2 years, seemed to have completely slipped their mind … which is maybe why on the day I left, they thought it would be ‘funny’ to write the following comment in my leaving card.
“You’ll be back. Come crawling”.
I remember watching him going around telling people what he had written, laughing hilariously at his own ‘joke’ and while I didn’t take it too much to heart – because everyone knew he was a bit of a prick – it still hurt.
Little did I know then, how those 5 little words would play such an pivotal role in how my career would turn out.
You see, when I ended up in this other country, I initially found it very difficult.
Not just because I didn’t have friends, contacts or a job … but because my Dad was very ill back in the UK.
In all honesty, the temptation to go back was huge but there were 2 reasons I stuck it out.
1. I wanted to show my gratitude to my parents for supporting and encouraging me to go, despite them going through a terribly tough time because of my Dad’s major stroke.
2. Those 5 little words.
While I’d like to think the former was the biggest motivator, I fear it may have been the latter.
That’s pretty pathetic isn’t it … especially as I could have gone back without having to go back to that old job.
But I wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction directly or indirectly.
And so I persevered.
Pushed, prodded, walked the streets, did shitty, temporary roles … anything that kept me from gaving to go back with my tail betweeen my legs.
And it everntually worked out.
Not because of any talent I did or did not have, but because of my perseverence.
And willingness to take any bullshit salary … hahaha.
But for me, getting a break was my main objective … because while I knew I was not the smartest strategst, I knew my work ethic meant I could out-work most.
Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that is a toxic trait – but it is my trait – and back then, it was a way for me to prove my worth to agencies/clients who didn’t have to give me a chance or keep me on board.
Of course, over the years, my motivation for continuing to explore the possibilities of the World and my career have evolved.
These days it is far more about wanting to feel I’d be making my parents proud than it is me reacting to 5 little words from a toxic, little manager.
But I also have to acknowledge that without that persons toxic motivation, it is unlikely I would be in the situtation I currently enjoy.
So thank you AC … you were a strange little man, but for all the fucked up shit you did – and there was plenty – you did one thing right, even if it was wrong.
And while I doubt you even remember me – let alone care what I’ve done – it doesn’t matter.
Because I didn’t come back and didn’t come crawling and so for that, I won, so there.
It’s Easter long-weekend that then leads into a big week for me/Colenso – from us hosting Fergus and his OnStrategy podcast to me saying goodbye [for the second time] to someone who is very special to me … so have a great weekend, overeat Chocolate and Hot Cross Buns and I’ll see you Tuesday.
Till then, this is for you AC.
With thanks.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Age, Agency Culture, Ambition, America, Aspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Brands, Colenso, Colleagues, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Curiosity, Cynic, Distinction, Emotion, Empathy, Environment, Experience, Fulfillment, Individuality, Innovation, LaLaLand, Love, Luck, Metallica, Miley, Mr Ji, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, Nottingham, Parents, Perspective, Play, Relationships, Relevance, Resonance, Respect, Rick Rubin, Rockstar Games, Standards, Talent
A few weeks ago, I found myself wandering around Marina Del Ray, in LA.
It’s an area I know well given I both worked and lived relatively near the place a few years ago.
Anyway, as I was strolling around, I was looking at the boats moored along the marina. Be under no illusion, you need a bunch of cash to own a boat in LA and even more to be able to afford to keep it in a shared dock – but that’s the thing about Los Angeles, it’s a place of financial extremes.
There were all manner of boats in all manner of shapes and sizes … but the thing that grabbed my attention was their choice of names.
I love hearing what people call things.
Years ago, with cynic, we did a project with a video rental company [told you it was years ago] which included us exploring the ‘passwords’ people had on their account.
We didn’t know whose account it was – or the details of the recipient – it was just a list of random passwords. Anyway, it was pretty fascinating.
No random letters or numbers.
In fact, nothing approaching any level of security protocol whatsoever.
Instead, it seemed to be words that reflected a family ‘trait’, an individual’s alter-ego or something mischievous that the creator forgot would have to be said out loud to the store assistant every time they rented a film.
I say this because as I looked at the boats, there seemed to be a similar approach to its naming protocol.
Of course a boat name is very different to a password, but for all the choices you have, many seemed to fall into certain groups.
+ Reference to life on ‘the high seas’.
+ An individual persons name.
+ A sea-reference pun.
+ Or a mark of achievement …
… of which, none was better than this.
For those who can’t read it properly, it’s called, ‘Dream Worked’.
I have to say, I bloody love it.
Of all the names I saw, this was arguably the most honest.
A statement that whether through hard work, luck or other means … their ambition to own a boat in LA had come off.
They’d done it.
Hit the goal.
I wanted to meet the owner. To hear their story. To understand their journey.
Was the boat the prize or a byproduct of it?
Maybe my interest in the boat was because we all like a good news story. Or because I like learning how – and why – people do stuff. Or maybe it’s simply because I’m approaching that point in life where you’re running out of time for dreams to work and so you’re questioning what you’ve done or still want to do.
This is not in any way trying to say I’ve suffered.
If I’m being honest, the life I live is beyond anything I could ever have imagined or hoped for. Probably more than my teachers imagined for me too.
But despite being 54, I still have a lot of ambitions.
Things I want to do.
Things I want to try.
Things I want to see.
Things I want to achieve.
However – as I’ve mentioned many times – the older you get, the more you realise not only will you not be able to do all of them, you won’t even be able to pursue all of them. You have to be more focused with your energy and time. You need to prioritize rather than chase down every rabbit hole.
Frankly, that part of growing older is shit especially as I’m someone whose entire bloody life has been chasing the intrigue, the possibility and the creative opportunity. But whether I like it or not, I’m slowly learning how important it is to be more measured in my choices if I want to keep moving forward rather than standing still.
Sure I’ve had to accept I’ll be working at a different pace than before.
Sure I’ve had to accept I’ll be working from a different place than before.
But it means I don’t have to accept what others expect me to do and frankly, that’s all the motivation I need.
However despite all this, growing older in your career does ask questions of you.
Uncomfortable questions.
You realise your relevance in the industry you work in is reducing.
Your abilities haven’t – quite the opposite – but their desire to hear or work with it has.
And it can feel like you’re being left behind when you’ve got so much still to give.
Like you’re screaming in a vacuum that no one gives a shit about, hahaha.
A while back I saw a quote from an ex-footballer than summed this up perfectly …
I get it. We all will at some point …
It really forces you to question who you are and what you’ve done.
And how you deal with it defines where you can go with it.
So while it was more luck than judgement, I consider myself very fucking lucky that I fell into a new chapter of my life … where I have got to learn, express and discover how my creativity can be used in new ways with incredibly talented new people … the best and most successful of the best and most successful … who, despite all they’ve achieved, value what you do and bring far more than who you are and what you have.
I’m under no illusion it could all end tomorrow, but it’s going great right now and the stuff I’m getting to do and be a part of is not just creatively exciting, it’s allowing my creative ambitions to flex and be pushed.
To be able to do that at any age is awesome, but to do it at 54 – alongside rockstars, fashion gods and creative legends – is fucking incredible.
Which is why I realized – as I walked around those boats in Marina Del Ray – that if I had a boat, I wouldn’t call it ‘Dream Worked’ … it would be ‘The Dreams Working’ … because to be at this point of life and still be able to look forward and see exciting possibilities rather than just look back at what you’ve done, feels like the greatest achievement of all.
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As an aside, today is the 3rd annual ‘Fuck Off And Pie’ Colenso Planner Bake-Off competition.
A time where, contrary to this post, I am reminded I’m the biggest failure of all time.
Or should I say the ‘silver medal’ biggest failure.
I’ll let you know if I maintain this standard or – god forbid – achieve gold loser status.
Given this years theme is ‘birthday cake’ I’m in with a shot and to be honest I like what I’ve done.
Not just in the fact it tastes pretty good – no, seriously – but because I’ve created a design and theme that will never be forgotten. Especially by our HR department. And probably by my colleagues and team mates who run the risk of spending Christmas with gastro. The gift that keeps on giving. Cue: Evil laugh.
Filed under: Age, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Cats, China, Death, England, Family, Hong Kong, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Otis, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore
I want to apologise to someone.
Her name is Denise and I worked with her for a few months back in 1996.
While I don’t remember much about her, I do remember this …
1. She was a freelance media strategist.
2. She was a wonderful human.
3. She had amazing ginger hair.
4. She loved her cat.
The reason I want to apologise is that one day, we heard she wasn’t coming into work for the week because her cat had passed away. And frankly, I was a prick. Not because I said anything to her or about her – but because I distinctly remember thinking her reaction was a bit extreme.
A week off?
For a cat!
But of course it wasn’t just ‘a cat’ and it wasn’t just ‘a pet’. It was family.
I know some people may think calling a pet, ‘family’ is a silly statement to make … but unless your pet is a ‘working animal’, I can only imagine the reason you think that way is because of how you treat it, rather than how it treats you.
Because pets love you.
And they want you to love them.
Sure, they show it in a myriad of ways, but to them – you’re most definitely family.
Even those independent, demanding, constantly judging beasts-on-four-legs known as cats.
They may make you work hard for affection.
They may turn their back the moment they get what they want.
But they love you … almost as much as you will likely love them.
So why do I want to apologise 28 years later to a person I have no knowledge of where they’re at and who I only knew fleetingly?
Well, even though the moment I had that thought I was angry at myself for how fucked-up selfish I’d been letting that thought enter my head even for a second, I want to apologise because it breaks my heart to say I now have first-hand experience how losing your precious pet feels because earlier today, we had to say goodbye to our wonderful, cranky, seven-country-living, Singaporean street cat: Rosie.
We’re all devastated.
Totally adrift in grief.
And even though we know she had an amazing 17 years of pampered, spoilt, and deeply-loved-and-cared-for life – which is much, much longer than the average tenure of a street cat [which is 2 years] – it still doesn’t feel long enough.
No where close.
While she’d had a kidney problem for a long time – as well as some arthritis in her back – it was being managed by a special diet and us putting little steps around the house so she could climb on whatever she wanted. But that aside, she was generally in good health. In fact it wasn’t that long ago the vets were surprised how old she was as she seemed so much younger in her spirit and overall well-being. And over these 17 years, there had only ever been one occasion where she had become properly ill so she was a strong little thing.
But then one day recently – about a month ago – things changed dramatically and suddenly.
Loss of appetite. Her meow sounded like she was smoking 70 cigarettes a day and she was restless. The vet had given her an injection to relieve the arthritis pain and some meds to help with her kidneys and it worked for a few days but – even though her spirit, meow, calmness and complaining returned with gusto – her loss of appetite kicked in again.
We took her back to the vet and her blood test showed a huge decline in her kidneys function – far more in a month than we’d seen in almost a decade – so we took her to the cat hospital for a few days to see if more intense treatment could help.
It was very sad in our house because while we hoped for the best, we feared for the worst.
For me, it all felt a bit like the last days of my Dad. I described it at the time of someone walking around their big, old house and closing all the windows, turning off the lights, closing the doors. One by one. Bit by bit. Getting ready to depart for the last time.
And that’s what it felt Rosie was doing.
Still loving – in her own, unique way – but spending more time in her own world.
Ironically, in the days leading up to her going into the hospital, she was more loving than maybe she’d ever before. Wanting us to wrap our arm around her while she slept next to us in bed rather than adopt her normal practice of balancing precariously on our hip. Like she was trying to say goodbye. A final loving cuddle. I even thought that at the time but I tried to put that idea out of my mind, not wanting to contemplate it or consider it in case I tempted fate. But the reality is, I knew things had changed and nothing reaffirmed that more than when we went to see her in the hospital and it was obvious the treatment wasn’t working.
She was happy we were there.
She came out for a cuddle and a brush.
But she was not great. Not just because of the sedatives, but because she was not well.
And maybe, that was the first time, we accepted we had to make a decision.
A decision no one wants to make.
A decision where you actively have to fight your instinct to be selfish and keep them around.
But while she was not in pain, her lack of eating – and the increasing effects of her kidney disease – meant she was getting very thin and her quality of life was starting to be impacted and that was the very last thing we would ever want for her. Would ever do to her. So after a call from the hospital, we brought her home today, Monday 12th, … spoiling her with love, kisses, brushes and walking her all around the house, including the deck outside, where she loved to be for hours, in the sun, in nature, watching the birds fly by … before gently letting her go this afternoon, at 2:15pm, surrounded by us by her side.
And we’re inconsolable …
For her loss and the feeling of confusion and pain we felt making this decision.
Knowing it was the right thing for her, but hating it at the same time … all while trying to fight off the feelings of guilt that we knew when her last day would be, before her.
And even though it honestly feels like she knew it was time and wanted it to be, it still feels so wrong and hurts so deeply … to the point I feel sick thinking about it, physically sick. That’s how much our wonderful little Rosie meant to all of us.
I mean Otis had had her in his life, his whole life.
Even my Mum had met Rosie, that’s how long she’d been part of our family unit.
Hell, anyone who has read this blog at anytime over the past 17 years, would know her as she made her first appearance within days of her coming into our lives.
And yet for someone so small, it’s amazing how much she filled our house.
Her presence. Her sounds. The little signs she left to make sure we knew this was ‘her house’.
Without her, it all feels quieter, emptier, less welcoming now.
Every corner reminds us of her. Every little place and piece.
Of all the places she lived – and there were a lot, from being a street cat in Singapore to HK, China, America and the UK – she loved this place most.
She loved the peace, the nature, the hiding places and the opportunity to run out the front door when we would come in and then annoyingly sit under my car until finally being tempted out with Friskies.
In fact, to remember her we’re going to make a decal of her, as mocked up above, that we’ll place on the window at the side of our front door. The place where she would come sit, meow and greet us whenever she heard our cars come down the drive. And we’ll also scatter some of her ashes in the trees she loved to look at from the deck at our house as well as get another tattoo in her honour to go with the one I’ve got of her nose and whiskers from years ago.
If you think this is all a bit over-the-top, I don’t care … because I cannot put into words how much I loved that cat.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am to Jill for finding her and bringing her into our life.
And while she was my first proper pet, she was more than that to me.
She was a member of my family.
Crazy I know, but she was.
Hell, I even turned down a job – ironically at Colenso – because of her. Well, partly because of her, because the New Zealand authorities wouldn’t let people based in China bring their pets to the country. Fortunately, having moved from China to the US and the UK, it was all good.
In many ways, I don’t want to end this post because then it means it’s final. Official. The end. And while I know her memory will stay with me/us forever, the reality is our wonderful Rosie has gone. Which is why I end the last post for this week with this …
Rosie. I love you.
You made an old man very happy – even when you made me bloody annoyed.
Like the time you broke my brand new X-Box. Or destroyed that expensive lamp.
But you always did it with style.
Just like the way you would find new places to hide.
Giving me a heart attack thinking you’d got out and run away.
Like when you made Jill climb up onto the roof of a block of flats in London … only for you to be found an hour later sleeping in our wardrobe, having purposefully stayed quiet while watching us run frantically around, shaking a bag of treats shouting, “Rosie, where are you?”
I am so grateful for all you were.
I am so glad we could give you the most loving of homes.
But most of all, I’m so grateful for all we were together.
We’ll never forget you.
Please don’t forget us.
And please forgive us.
Because we love you so much.
Always will.
Thank you for everything you gave to us.
We send you off with hugs, kisses, brushes and Friskies.
Sleep well our dear Rosie.
Sleep well.
Rosie. 1st July 2007- 12th August 2024.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Clothes, Creativity, Culture, Curiosity, Jill, LaLaLand, Otis, Planners, Planning, Relevance, Research, Respect, School
I appreciate the title of that post may be misleading because – let’s face it – my posts are pants everyday, except this time I’m literally talking about pants.
These pants …
I saw them on Sunday morning while going on my daily walk.
They were near the library … and given I do this walk everyday and they weren’t there the day before, it would suggest they appeared in the last 24 hours.
And while I could say they symbolise someone having a great – or terrible – Saturday night/Sunday morning … the reality is I have no idea and without wanting to sound a perv, I’m kind-of fascinated to know more about them.
The story that led to them appearing there.
The choice of that particular pattern and design.
The feelings of having ‘lost them’.
It’s a bit like the painting I bought at Otis’ LA hippy kindergarten ‘fund raiser’ back in 2017.
The Al Pacino meets Chuck Noris thing with out-of-proportion arms.
The painting the organisers couldn’t believe someone would pay for because it’s awful.
I bloody love that painting.
I love that someone did it and I wish I knew who and why.
Given it’s 40 years old, I doubt I’ll ever know … but I’ve tried.
And while it is more a burglar deterrent than a gallery star, there’s something about it ‘everyday, anybodyness’ that is like a beacon to me.
Like those pants.
Because there’s a story there.
May be funny … may be lovely … may be tragedy.
And while I would not take them – let alone pay for them and then hang them up in my house, like my piece of ‘art’ – there’s a story there.
Which serves as a great reminder than for all the curiosity our discipline has, the fact we spend more time talking about systems and processes rather than the stories that literally surrounds us highlights the tool we should be embracing more than others.
Opening our eyes.
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I’m off to Australia tomorrow for work, so there’s no posts till Friday. But I’m quite excited about that post, so even though no one cares – let alone will read it – I can satisfy my ego by writing this and pretending there’ll be a clamour to read it on Friday morning. Even though there won’t be. Ignorance is bliss. Self-awareness is a killer.
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Yes, it’s Friday.
And yes, it’s the first of May.
But neither of those things are as incredible as this …
You see, on Sunday, it will be 20 years since I started this blog.
TWENTY BLOODY YEARS!
That’s before the iPhone.
And Android.
And Facebook.
And the Kindle.
And the financial crisis.
And before Pluto lost its planet creds.
AND BEFORE WI-FI WAS PUBLICLY AVAILABLE … so a very long time ago.
I still remember why I started it …
It wasn’t for any attempt for notoriety or popularity, it was more to do with survival.
You see I’d got a job that – frankly – I was woefully under-qualified for, and because it demanded so much of my time and energy to make sure I didn’t completely fuck it up, I needed an outlet for all the ideas and thoughts that were going around my head that I just didn’t feel were right for what I needed to do at that time.
Not because I was sure I was going to use them later … more because I needed to feel I was still connected to the stuff I loved while also believing that if I didn’t find a way to get them out of my head, they’d maybe be no more space left for anything new to enter my head.
And so this blog was born.
Reading through the first few posts not only reveals the times we were living in, but also the headspace I was in.
Trying to balance making sense of stuff happening around me while also needing an outlet for stuff I was feeling or thinking … which, in many ways, set the tone for how this blog has been for over 2 decades.
Which George recently described as, “the blog version of TK Maxx”.
He’s not wrong … and in some ways, I really like that.
Sure, among the almost 5000 posts I’ve written, there’s a lot of [to keep the TK Maxx analogy going] cheap and nasty shit in there … but there’s also a few ‘designer label’ gems hidden amongst it all.
At least for me.
Stuff that made me think, challenge or question stuff in ways that I had not imagined or considered before.
Stuff that ended up impacting how I did things and how I still do things.
Stuff that forced me to articulate what I believe, not just what I feel.
Maybe those posts meant nothing to anyone but me. Hell, maybe no one even read them. But while every post I’ve written reflects something about who I was – or am – those ‘self-defined gems’ have a special place in my heart because they represent a moment where I felt I was growing and learning.
It’s why I always enjoyed the comment section, because for all the overwhelming piss-taking I received, the vast majority always ‘encouraged’ me to look deeper, wider or longer at issues I’d written about. And I loved that. I loved how the people who commented always kept me on my toes … which is why one of the unexpected pleasures of writing this blog for so long has been seeing how my opinion on certain subjects has changed or evolved over the years. It’s served as a great reminder about the importance of always exposing yourself to others perspectives, opinions, experiences and standards, even if the goal of it is simply to be really sure about what you think or believe.
In many ways, that’s the biggest surprise of 20 years writing this blog.
I never expected anyone to comment on anything I wrote, because I started it just for me.
A private place to express my thoughts and idiocy.
But then Andy discovered it and he sent an email to everyone at Cynic and some of our clients announcing it and then the mayhem started.
At that point, blogging had become a big thing. A good thing. A community of people who wanted to help and contribute to what others were doing. A lot of this was down to the great Russell Davies and his iconic blog … a place that not only brought people from all over the world together, but inspired others to start writing their own as well.
It was a place that not only exposed me to a lot of brilliant people I’d never have known about without his blog – people like Gareth Kay, Paul Colman, Northern Planner, Rob Mortimer, Marcus, John Dodds, Lauren, Age to name but a few – it also brought people to my blog who helped add to the texture, lessons and perspectives I was writing about.
I will forever be grateful to Russell for that … especially as most of the people he inadvertently introduced me to, not only still exist in my life but I have met them all IN THE FLESH.
Alas the blogging community, like most things in life, has moved on with maybe only Martin and I still churning stuff out via that platform. [Well, he curates, I churn] And while technologies advances allows strategists to be even more connected in even more ways, the energy of the community is not the same as it was back in the early days of blogging.
Now it feels more aggressive.
More sharp elbows and self publicizing.
Wanting the spotlight on them rather than the work they do.
But then, the industry seems to value those who talk about the work more than those who actually make it … which kind-of highlights why the industry is in the state it finds itself in but refuses to acknowledge.
Emperor’s New Clothes anyone?!
Screenshot
That this blog is 20 years old blows my mind. I never thought it would last that long, mainly because I never gave much thought about how long I’d be writing the thing. It’s not always been fun – when I was receiving a lot of anonymous hate that resulted in me deciding to stop allowing comments was definitely a low point – but all in all, the whole experience has been pretty glorious.
In many ways, this is one of the longest committed relationships I’ve ever had.
And one of the most successful, hahaha.
The fact there are some people who have been reading it for almost as long as I have been writing it, is madness.
Have they no taste?
Have they got nothing better to do?
Or maybe they’re stuck in prison and this is part of their ‘sentence’.
The good news for them is there’s no way this will still be a ‘going concern’ in another 20 years … at least not in terms of how regular I’ve been writing posts for the past 2 decades. Not because I am running out of things to say [albeit Andy said I have only ever written 3 posts and just keep re-writing them in different ways] but because I’ll be – hopefully – doing other things with my life.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always be grateful to advertising … it has given me a life I never could have dared to imagine … but I am increasingly spending more and more of my time working and collaborating with artists and I feel that’s where my future may be. Not because I don’t love what I do, but because I find their definition and expression of creativity even more interesting, challenging, open, provocative and progressive than where our industry is choosing to head.
But that’s not going to happen yet. Hell, it may not happen at all – I could get fired by all the artists tomorrow for all I know – which is why for the time being, I’ll keep happily juggling my two ‘lives’ while churning out daily blog posts at the same time.
Sorry, hahaha.
That said, the point of continuing this blog is different to what you may think and why I originally started it.
Because while it has helped me grow, learn, make new friends and even help build my professional reputation [which is hilarious when you read some of the stuff I’ve churned out, like this!] … it delivers something that is even more important to me.
Connection to my family.
I know … I know … that sounds weird-as-fuck, but what I mean is this:
A few years ago, Jill said that while she rarely ever reads my blog, when she does – she can hear my voice because of the way I write.
Put simply, how I write is how I talk … so when she reads my posts, it feels like I’m with her.
And she liked that.
Add to this that I’ve shared deeply personal and important moments in my life – from getting engaged to getting married, to Mum dying, to becoming a Dad, to getting Rosie – and Bonnie – to saying a tearful goodbye to Rosie, to moving from Singapore to HK to China to America to London to New Zealand [so far] … which means moving from cynic/WPP to Sunshine to Wieden+Kennedy to Deutsch to R/GA to Colenso [not to mention all the other highs and lows that have impacted or been introduced to my life over this period, be it death, covid, friends, family, health, books, chaos, and/or multitudes of weird, wild, crazy shit] … and this blog is no longer just a place where I rant rubbish, it’s a place my family can have me close even when I’m no longer here.
That means a lot to me.
Not because I want them to need me, but because I like knowing they can access me should they ever need me.
Or if Otis ever wants to introduce me to whoever becomes important in his life.
It’s why I’m going to keep writing it and why I’m going to move it to a free domain again, to make sure it always stay up … because what originally was a place just for me, has become a place that offers connection to the most important people to me.
And with that, I want to say a big thank you to everyone who has ever visited or commented.
Whether you meant it or not, you’ve given me far more than I ever imagined or hoped for.
Thank you. Love you. Grateful for you.